Free Instruments of War (Iron Kingdoms Chronicles) by Larry Correia

she had been yelling for hours.
    The warrior in the shadows stood quickly. “She is awake,” he spoke loudly, his voice seeming to echo through the chamber. “Makeda is alive.”
    “I tire of hearing that said as if it is some sort of surprise.” Speaking hurt. She welcomed the minor pain as it helped clear the sleep from her mind. She had seen real agony, from now on minor pain would merely be another tool. “What is going on?” Makeda pushed herself up, but the effort made her head swim.
    The figure in the dark had been Urkesh, and he rushed to her side. “Do not struggle.” He caught her by the shoulders and lowered her back to the furs. It was an insult to have someone of a lower caste touch her without permission, but it was obvious no offense was intended. “Those assassin’s blades were poisoned. You nearly died.”
    Poison … a weapon of cowards and traitors. “Akkad. He poisoned Telkesh.”
    There were other voices inside the cavern. Armored footsteps echoed. More figures appeared. She should have been able to recognize them, but her vision seemed blurry. However, they were wearing the colors of House Balaash. Some of them were bearing their own lanterns, and now she could see the room was larger than expected, with windows covered in thick brown curtains. A small hunched figure moved between the much larger skorne. “They are aware. I told them. Most even believed.”
    Haradum? “So you survived the assassins, elder teacher. Good.”
    “I followed your cohort for days, even after Akkad’s loyalists gave up the chase.”
    “Days?” Her body felt weak, but she did not feel like she had been asleep for days. “How long have I been ill?”
    “Ten days and ten nights. I believe it was the same poison which felled mighty Telkesh. The others thought you had died.” The old extoller came closer and placed one cold hand on Makeda’s forehead. The crystal oculus stared down at her. “But I could see that your essence had not yet left your body. You would not allow death to claim you ... It seems the last of the fever has passed. You must rest. The flesh needs time to heal.”
    “The flesh will do as I tell it to.” Makeda rubbed her eyes. Her vision was improving. Now she could recognize many of the other figures as officers of her father’s army. Their faces were grim, their white eyes reflective in the glow of the lanterns. “Where am I?”
    “The Shroudwall Mountains,” Urkesh answered. “We were fleeing Akkad’s army and needed a place to hide.”
    “This is an old fortress. The mountain passes are extremely difficult to cross,” stated one of the warriors, who Makeda recognized as a veteran Cataphract of her father’s cohort. “Your army is safe here until you decide it is time for us to mobilize.”
    My army? All that had remained of her small cohort had been a few battered taberna, and many wounded. This time Makeda focused through the dizziness and forced herself to sit up. Urkesh was there, ready to help, but she ignored him. She placed her hands on the stone and forced herself upright. Her knees nearly buckled, but she would not show weakness before these warriors. “What army do you speak of?”
    The Cataphract nodded to the side. One of his soldiers rushed to the nearest curtain and drew it back. Cold night air flooded into the room. “While you were taken with the fever, they gathered.”
    Though curious, Makeda first walked slowly to the side and retrieved the Swords of Balaash. The scabbards felt good in her hands. Only then did she go to the window. Her steps were slow, unsteady. Her muscles quivered with weakness, but she would not show it. The cold air cut through her thin robes and she began to shiver uncontrollably. She had lost weight and knew she had to look like a spirit that had escaped from the Void.



Outside the window was the ruined courtyard of a once great castle. They were so high in the mountains that the clouds had come down to gather around the towers