“And if he doesn’t, we can take the offensive,” she added. “It will take him months to crush the barons.”
“Let us hope so,” Jade said. He wasn’t as confident as she was that the Barons would manage to delay the king for long. The Noblest were a pack of traitors. They’d come apart if the king managed to land a few solid blows. “We probably need to start planning to move against Winter Flower.”
Alassa frowned. A month ago, the thought of ravaging Winter Flower from one end to the other would have been very satisfactory. Alicia, Baroness Winter Flower, had had the nerve to bear King Randor a son. Babe in arms or not, Alexis was a deadly threat to Alassa’s position. But Alicia had risked her life – and worse – to help Jade and his friends spring Alassa from the Tower. Alassa honestly wasn’t sure how she should react to Alicia now. Her emotions were a mess.
“Yeah.” She reached out and held him, tightly. “But we can do that later.”
Jade smiled. “As you command, Your Highness.”
Alassa elbowed him. “We’re alone. You don’t have to be formal.”
And she kissed him again.
Chapter One
THE NIGHT WAS WARM, UNCOMFORTABLY SO. It reminded her of too many other dark days.
Emily lay on the hillside and peered down towards the castle below. It wasn’t much of a castle – it was really nothing more than an oversized blockhouse – but it blocked the bridge crossing the River Swanhaven and prevented traffic from moving between Swanhaven and Winter Flower. Emily didn’t need to be Alexander the Great to understand the strategic significance of the otherwise unimportant castle. As long as it remained in the king’s hands, it made it impossible for Alassa to move an army into East Swanhaven and secure her borders with Winter Flower. Worse, perhaps, it prevented river trade that countless communities depended upon to survive. The economic damage from a long-term lack of trade would cause all sorts of problems on both sides of the divide.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the building. She was no expert in castle design – she’d never had the chance to study the mechanics at Whitehall – but it would be difficult to take by conventional assault. It was positioned neatly in the middle of a river, forcing any would-be attackers to advance along the bridge if they wanted to reach the gates. They’d be exposed to archers, perhaps even musketmen, along the way, even if they were protected by siege engines. And getting a catapult – or a cannon – into position to bombard the castle would be tricky. Emily silently admired the designers. They’d taken a small building that should be impossible to defend and turned it into an impregnable fortress.
And we can’t even starve them out, she thought. She’d seen the manifests. The castle had enough supplies to keep a company of soldiers fed for months. Somehow, she doubted King Randor had skimped on the supplies. We simply don’t have the time.
And yet, there was no choice. The castle – and the bridge – had to be taken. Fording the river was supposed to be impossible, at least in large numbers. Alassa had teams of engineers working on pontoon bridges, but they thought it would be several weeks before the bridges were ready. By then, King Randor could have moved an entire army up to the border, blocking his rebel daughter from driving on the capital. Emily shuddered to think of just how many people would die if Alassa had to force her way across the river. The waters would turn red with blood.
She turned to look at Cat, lying next to her. He looked odd in the darkness, the night-vision spell she used washing his face of color. She wondered, absently, how she looked to him. She’d donned a pair of dark trousers and a shirt – and concealed her hair under a cap – but she wasn’t hidden from his gaze. She hoped she was hidden from the castle’s guards, if they were watching the hillside. They’d set up protective wards, of course, as soon as they’d crawled into view, but a single charmed arrow would be more than enough to ruin the mission. King Randor had encouraged his archers to develop their skills, handing out rewards to any who proved able to hit a target at over two hundred meters. Emily was all too aware that they were far closer to the castle than that.
The king won’t have sent his best archers up here, she told herself, although she wasn’t sure she believed it. King Randor had a lot of archers. He needs them down south in Harkness.
“There’s no way we’re going to get close to the castle without being seen,” she muttered, trusting in the spell to hide her words. Sergeant Miles had taught her just how far sound could travel in the night air. “What do you think?”
“Agreed,” Cat said. “We don’t even dare try to swim to the castle.”
Emily nodded. She was a confident swimmer – Sergeant Miles had taught her – but the river was too dangerous to take lightly. They might be able to make it to the castle walls, if they were lucky, yet there was no way they could take any supplies with them. Their magic might be enough, but it might not be. She reached out with her senses, feeling – gingerly – for protective wards. The castle had two, both very limited. It suggested there was no sorcerer in residence.
“King Randor doesn’t have enough sorcerers to risk one here,” Cat said, when she pointed it out. “He’ll be keeping them close to home.”
“Let’s hope so,” Emily said, doubtfully. King Randor might not have many first-rank sorcerers, but he could have hired a dozen magicians and put them to work. He’d need someone to help keep his disparate forces connected, if nothing else. A communications sorcerer could make good money during wartime. “Do you really want to risk flying to the castle?”
Cat glanced at her. “Do you see any other option?”
Sergeant Miles would kill the pair of us if we suggested flying to him, Emily thought. In theory, the plan was perfect; in practice, if there was even a fifth or sixth-rank magician in the castle, the plan was suicide. It wouldn’t take much magic to disrupt their spells and send them plunging to their deaths. But it would give us a chance to take them by surprise.
She shook her head, trying to conceal her nervousness. Flying to the castle was exactly the sort of plan Cat would devise, despite the dangers. Hell, the dangers were one good reason why no one would expect them to try to fly. But she wasn’t anything like so confident that the plan was a good idea. And yet... she couldn’t think of anything better. They simply didn’t have the time.
“I’ll alert Sergeant Rotherham,” Cat said. “You wait here and watch for signs of trouble.”
Emily nodded and turned her attention back to the castle. It was a dark brooding mass, barely visible even though the night-vision spell. No lights shone from its arrow slits, the better to ensure its occupants remained accustomed to the dark. Emily wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. King Randor would have wanted to show off his strength as much as possible, particularly if he was running a bluff. The castle might be undermanned, given the circumstances. Randor had had no reason to expect trouble from Swanhaven or Cockatrice – he’d had Alassa and Imaiqah imprisoned until they’d been broken out two weeks ago – and he might have withdrawn the troops to the south.
But they were patrolling during the daytime, Emily reminded herself. The locals had been very clear on that point. And they’ve been interrogating and searching everyone who wants to cross the bridge.
Cat scrambled back to her. “The sergeant’s putting his men in position now,” he said, as he stood. “Are you ready?”
No, Emily thought. “Yes,” she murmured. “I’m ready.”
“Good.” Cat winked at her, a brief flashing expression in the darkness, then cast the first spell. “Try and stay over the river. It might save your life if you lose control of the spell.”
Or get blasted out of the sky, Emily thought, as she cast her spell. She felt her body slowly rise into the air, gusts of wind pushing at her as she levitated towards the castle. What are the odds of surviving if we crash into the water?
She tried not to think about it as they glided over the river and headed towards the castle, her eyes probing for signs of watchmen on the tiny battlements.
There would be someone on watch, she was sure, even if the castle’s wardens thought themselves impregnable. She dreaded to think what the king would do to any of his people who allowed themselves to be surrounded during the night. She’d watched a man get beaten within an inch of his life merely for falling asleep on watch.
A flicker of movement caught her eye. She tensed as she saw the lone watchmen lean against the battlements surveying the darkness. His face was pale against the shadows, peering constantly from side to side... he never looked up. Emily wasn’t surprised. The odds of being attacked from the air were very low. There were people in Cockatrice who were experimenting with hot air balloons and gliders, but so far results had been mixed. It would be years before the Nameless World’s armies deployed parachutists against their foes.
Cat dropped down towards the battlements and landed neatly, one hand snapping into a casting pose. The guard whirled around, then froze as Cat hit him with a freeze hex. Emily landed beside him, feeling a flicker of sympathy for the guard. If they won, he’d be spending the rest of the war in a POW camp; if they lost, he’d be in deep shit with his superiors when the spell wore off. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t simply carried to the battlements and thrown into the rushing water below.
“Got him.” Cat stopped in front of the door and muttered a charm. The lock clicked open without resistance. “Shall we go?”
Emily let Cat take the lead as they slipped into the castle. The stairwell was strikingly narrow, tight enough to make her feel claustrophobic and dark enough to make her acutely unsure of what waited at the bottom. Cat had to bow his head to avoid cracking it against the stone roof. Emily felt her hair brush the roof as they reached the bottom and opened another door. It led into a small guardroom. Four men were sitting at the table, drinking and playing cards. They looked up and stared in horror as Cat froze the first two...
“Intruders,” a third shouted. “Intruders...”
Emily froze him. The fourth grabbed an earthen mug and threw it at them. She swore, then sidestepped it neatly, freezing yet another guard a second later. But it was too late. She heard clattering in the distance as the rest of the guards realized the castle was under attack and scrambled to its defense. Cat shoved the guards to one side and strode to the nearest doorway. The sound of clattering grew louder.
“They’re in their armor,” he muttered. “It might be charmed.”
Emily nodded and readied her spells. Charmed armor could absorb or deflect a handful of curses, but a series of spells would be more than enough to overwhelm any protections worked into the metal. She wondered, as it got louder, if Randor had given any charmed armor to the guards. If there was anywhere he should have sent the armor, save for Alexis itself, it was here... but charmed armor was expensive. Randor might have hesitated to send it anywhere outside the capital.
The first three men appeared, wearing conventional armor. They should have been weighed down by the its sheer weight, but they moved with surprising speed. Emily had long-since ceased to marvel at just how fast knights and guards could move, or how strong they were. Knights had to work hard to earn their spurs, training for years before they were deemed ready to wear their lord’s colors. They couldn’t simply pick up a gun and start shooting.
Cat threw the first spell, freezing the lead guardsman in place. Emily joined him, but the guards kept coming, using their frozen companions as human shields. Emily was almost impressed. Whoever was in charge on the other side had clearly thought fast. Worse, they’d realized the freeze spells would protect their victims from anything else hurled in their direction. They were better than standard wooden or metal shields.
Clever, Emily thought. And futile.
She gathered her magic, then summoned a wind and blew it down the corridor. The guards wobbled, then tumbled over, thrown head over heels by the sheer force of the wind. Cat snapped out spells, freezing every soldier who came into view; they crashed, hard, against the stone walls and toppled to the ground. Emily allowed herself a moment of relief, then ran forward. A handful of guards moaned in pain and she froze them on the spot. It would give the poor bastards some relief until the spells wore off or were removed.
“We have to get down to the gates,” Cat snapped, as he moved past her and down the corridor. “Once the sergeant is in, we can search the castle properly.”
Emily nodded and followed him as he found another stairwell leading down to the ground floor. The stench of horseshit rose up to greet them. Emily breathed through her mouth as they reached the bottom and looked around, hunting for the gatehouse. The horses were an unexpected bonus – Alassa’s cavalry would be delighted to have them – but she’d never liked the mangy beasts. Despite Alassa’s best efforts, Emily knew she would never be anything more than a marginal horsewoman.
A hand grabbed her cap, yanking her back. It came loose, allowing her hair to tumble down. Emily heard someone gasp behind her – clearly, her assailant hadn’t realized he’d caught a woman – and then threw a hex over her shoulder. Her attacker flew back, still holding onto her hair. Emily hit the ground hard enough to hurt, but rolled over and stunned him before he had a chance to stick a knife in her. The stable boy – she thought he was a stable boy – looked disconcertingly young. She rather doubted he was even in his teens.
Poor kid, she thought. It was far from uncommon for children to be given adult responsibilities – the stable boy might well have been fostered to one of the men upstairs – but it never ceased to surprise her. And he’ll be going into the camps too.
She heard the sound of a fireball behind her and spun around. Cat stood by the door, trading hexes with a pair of men in armor. Emily thought they were sorcerers, at first, but then she saw wands. It was unlikely they had any real magic, then. A person with a spark of power – but very little else – would probably not be able to use a wand, not in the way Alassa had used hers six years ago. No, someone else had charged the wands and issued them to the soldiers.
And issued them with charmed armor too, Emily thought. It was a neat little trap. Cat could take out one soldier, but the other would get him. But whoever had planned the ambush hadn’t realized that there were two attackers. I can get the other one...
“You take the one on the left,” Cat said, as the two armored men started to advance. A fireball struck Cat’s wards and exploded, the heat of the flames scorching the stone walls. “I’ll take the one on the right...”
“I’ve got a better idea,” Emily said. “Hang on.”
She stepped forward, shaping a spell with her mind. The guardsmen didn’t have any idea how their wands worked. They were merely jabbing them at their targets, trying to force them back before they ran out of magic. Emily wondered, as she finished the spell, just how much magic had been invested in the wands. It couldn’t be that much. Apart from her batteries, anything used to store magic leaked with terrifying speed. The wands might already be on the verge of dying.
A fireball slammed into her wards and detonated with a loud bang. Emily ignored it, concentrating on her magic. She cast the spell a moment later, ignoring Cat’s puzzled frown. The guards seemed to hesitate, then jabbed the wands at her again... and stumbled back as the wands exploded with terrifying force. Emily smiled as the guards hit the floor, their armor ruined by the blasts. She’d turned the air surrounding them into pure oxygen. Their own fireballs had exploded the moment they’d been cast.
Cat ran forward and froze both of the guards, muttering spells to put out the fire. “Emily,” he called back. “What did you do?”
“I’ll explain later,” Emily said. She was surprised the technique hadn’t been reverse-engineered three years ago, when she’d used it against Master Grey, but it was quite possible that no one had been able to figure out what she’d done. The Nameless World hadn’t realized yet that air was a combination of gases, one of which was explosive in sufficient quantities. “We have to get to the gates.”
“Down here,” Cat said. “Watch my back.”
Emily nodded as Cat hurried down the corridor and into the gatehouse. It was remarkably simple for a castle’s portcullis, although she supposed the designers hadn’t been able to make it as secure as they would have liked. The building wasn’t big enough for a proper gatehouse.
It’s still pretty secure, she thought, as Cat used magic to force the cogs to move. It must take at least four strong men to move the gates without magic.
The portcullis opened with a rattling sound. Emily tensed, glancing back the way they’d come. If there was anyone in the castle still able to walk, they knew where Emily and Cat were. She moved to the corridor and listened carefully, but she heard nothing. A moment later, Sergeant Rotherham and his men flowed into the castle. They looked around admiringly, their eyes lingering on Emily. She flushed. They admired Cat, both as a combat sorcerer and a soldier, but they practically worshipped her. She didn’t feel comfortable with it. There was no way she could live up to the legend.
“Search the building, then bring the prisoners outside,” Cat ordered. “And if you find any papers, I want to see them.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Sergeant Rotherham said. He looked at Emily. “My Lady?”
Emily sighed, inwardly. “Do as he says,” she said, ignoring Cat’s huff. “We need to have this building secured before dawn.”
Chapter Two
“OVERALL, A SUCCESSFUL OPERATION,” CAT SAID, as the sun started to rise. He held out a mug of mulled wine. “Do you not think?”
Emily shrugged, watching the prisoners as they were marched to the nearby field under heavy guard. The senior officers had given their parole – and the enlisted men would probably be quite happy to swap sides or simply go home – but it would be a while before any were released. Alassa and Jade needed to interrogate them, even though it was unlikely that any of them knew anything useful. Randor wouldn’t have sent his most capable subordinates to a place he’d believed was going to be quiet.
The Broken Throne Page 2