The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  But the homeless have been offered places in the army, Emily thought. It wasn’t much, but it would help the homeless regain some pride in themselves. They’d also have a chance to educate themselves and win apprenticeships. And others have found jobs cleaning the streets.

  Something rumbled, above her. She looked up, just in time to see a piece of masonry detach itself from the roof and tumble towards her. Other pieces followed, as if the entire wall was collapsing. Emily yelped, throwing up the strongest ward she could as she tried to run. A colossal weight slammed into her magic a moment later, slamming her to the ground. She gasped as the breath was knocked out of her, concentrating desperately on maintaining her wards. More and more pieces of debris landed on top of her. The pressure alone would eventually shatter her wards and crush her.

  Crawl, you idiot, she thought. Move!

  Her hand and feet ached – she’d bumped her knees badly – but she forced herself to start moving. Her magic was draining rapidly, sapping her strength. It didn’t feel as if more wreckage was about to fall on her, yet she knew it was just a matter of time. Someone had used magic to bring the wall down on top of her. It had to be magic. And whoever had tried to kill her knew she was still alive.

  She reached the edge of the wards and crawled out, expecting to be hexed or cursed at any moment. But the alley was empty. She forced herself to stand, then allowed her wards to collapse. The debris crashed to the ground, the noise almost deafening. She tried to mask her magic as much as possible as she leaned against a dark building, hoping that the assassin would think she was dead. Even Lady Barb or the Grandmaster would have had trouble keeping wards up under that much pressure. Her breath came in fits and starts, sweat running down her back as she tried to gather herself. Whoever had tried to kill her would probably want her head to take back to his master. He’d have to prove he’d killed her if he wanted to be paid.

  And then someone will try to take the head off him so they can claim the reward themselves, she thought with a flicker of amusement. And then someone else will try to steal the head from the first thief...

  She had to fight down the urge to giggle, even though it wasn’t remotely funny. The idea of people doing battle over her head struck her as absurd. And yet... she tensed as she heard footsteps, realizing – for the first time – that no one had come to investigate the noise. Eagle’s Rest wasn’t the sort of place where people came running to help, if there was a disaster, but she would have expected someone to come. Was the assassin approaching? Or was it an innocent bystander?

  Emily pushed herself as far as she could into the shadows, wishing she dared use a glamour or an obscurification charm to hide. Her magic was drained, too drained. She didn’t think she could cast the spell and hide it from the assassin. There was no way to know how powerful he was, but he was clearly skilled. He’d brought down a wall and she hadn’t even sensed the magic until it was too late.

  Perhaps I should have run, Emily thought. Jade or Cat would have sooner died in place than retreated to save their lives, but she was a little more practical. She who ran away had time to recover and return to the fight. Let him chase me through the streets instead of staying in place.

  A man stepped into view, wearing mercenary leathers. Emily’s eyes narrowed as he walked past her, his gaze fixed on the pile of rubble. He stopped on the edge of the debris and... did nothing. Emily frowned at his unmoving back, trying to understand what was happening. An assassin would be sifting through the rubble, looking for the body; an innocent bystander would be calling for help, trying to see if anyone was hurt. The building had lost an entire wall. It was quite likely that someone would be seriously injured...

  The man turned, slowly. Emily tensed as his eyes met hers. For a moment, he honestly didn’t seem to see her, even though she wasn’t hidden that well. And then his gaze sharpened and he started to walk forward, one hand raising a knife. He moved like a puppet from an old television show.

  Shit, Emily thought. He’s not in control of himself.

  She hesitated, then cast a freeze spell. The knife sparkled and the spell shattered, the spellware splintering into nothing. Emily cursed under her breath as she saw the weapon clearly. It was made of iron, with powerful runes carved into the blade. There was no way it could do more than slow her down – like charmed armor, the blade would have difficulty handling more than a handful of spells – but she was too tired to cast them. And if he stuck the blade in her, she was dead.

  He advanced with jerky footsteps, his face utterly blank. Emily couldn’t tell if he was fighting the compulsion or not, but it didn’t matter. Shadye had used blood magic to turn her into a puppet, trapping her in her own mind and warping her perceptions until she hadn’t had the slightest idea what she was doing. She hadn’t tried to fight, at least at first, because she hadn’t known she needed to fight. The poor bastard was nothing more than a puppet.

  She braced herself, then cast a summoning spell, aimed at the debris behind him. It launched itself off the ground and flew towards her, slamming into his back with deadly force. He tumbled to the ground, his knife spinning off and clattering down somewhere further along the alley. Emily cast another spell, sticking him to the ground, then forced herself to walk forward. If she could break the chain between the enspelled mercenary and the sorcerer, she might be able to interrogate the sorcerer’s victim and...

  The man jerked, blood foaming from his mouth. Emily ran forward, but it was already too late. The suicide curse was too powerful. She cast a desperate healing spell as blood poured out of the mercenary’s mouth, nose and ears, but it did nothing. The man had been dead from the moment he’d hit the ground. Emily forced herself to search his body, hoping that the assassin had left some clue behind, but found nothing. The assassin had probably had no trouble taking some blood, brewing up a potion to make the victim a little more vulnerable and then using him as a puppet. And when the mercenary had been threatened with capture, he’d simply been killed.

  Damn it, Emily thought. She sat beside the body for a moment, paying what little respect the mercenary might be due, then stood. Whoever tried to kill me in Swanhaven followed us here.

  She searched the alleyway, then the darkened building, but found nothing. The building had apparently been deserted, something that puzzled her. She’d seen far more unsafe buildings that had been crammed to the gunnels. If the owner didn’t want to use them, squatters would move in very quickly. But the assassin had made sure to pick an empty building. It was odd.

  Maybe he just didn’t want to take the risk of being interrupted, Emily thought. Or maybe he takes pride in only killing his target.

  She scowled at the thought. She’d heard too many noblemen – and sorcerers – talk of honor, of chivalry, while ignoring their naked hypocrisy. They would claim to protect women, and put aristocratic women on pedestals, then go out and have sex with prostitutes. Or rape peasant women. The rules of war didn’t apply to commoners. A nobleman would be outraged if a noblewoman was roughly handled when a castle surrendered, but care nothing for the commoner women who were savagely raped and then murdered. Honor was a lie, as far as Emily could tell. None of the aristocrats lived up to their own words.

  But I’m going to have to tell Hansel about this, she thought, as she started to walk back towards the main road. And who knows how he will react?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “YOU KILLED ONE OF MY MEN?”

  Hansel was not pleased, Emily noted. Nor was Captain-General Gars, his mercenary commander, who looked as if he wanted to strangle Emily with his bare hands. He was a powerfully-built man, with big hands and bigger muscles, wearing bloodstained leathers that showed off his strength. Emily knew he would have intimidated her, if she’d met him on Earth. Now, even with magic at her fingertips, he made her wary. She had no doubt that he was an extremely violent man.

  “He was under a spell,” Emily said, patiently. Hansel seemed to have forgotten that she was his social superior. Questioning her word, at
least in public, was very bad form. “Someone was trying to use him to kill me.”

  “A likely story,” Gars snarled. His accent suggested the Cairngorms, rather than Zangaria or one of the other kingdoms. “You killed him...”

  “And she brought down an entire wall?” Cat snorted, rudely. “Why would she need to bother?”

  Gars turned to face him. “And you believe her story, little man?”

  “Lady Emily is not a liar,” Cat said. Lightning danced over his palm. “And this is the second attempt on her life.”

  “And now I have to go back to his captain and tell him that one of his men was killed,” Gars said. “And that we don’t even know who killed him!”

  “It may be too late for that,” Cat said. “Some of the truth is already out there.”

  “His captain will demand a blood price,” Gars said. “What do we give them?”

  Emily took a long breath. Mercenaries were loyal to their own. They had to be, if only because no one else was loyal to them. Hansel was caught between two fires. He couldn’t give them the assassin – or throw Emily to the wolves – but he had to do something. The mercenaries might quit if one of their number was murdered and the murderer got away with it. It might solve one problem, but it would create others. What if the mercenaries went straight to Winter Flower and signed up with the king?

  “I will pay a double death bond,” Hansel said. “The poor bastard died in my service, after all.”

  Gars scowled, mightily. “And the murdering bastard?”

  “When we catch him, you can have him,” Cat said, sharply. “But right now we don’t even know the bastard’s name.”

  “It was her who cast the fatal spell.” Gars jabbed a finger at Emily. “She killed him!”

  “I examined the body,” Cat said. “The suicide spell was not cast by Emily. And she couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

  “You’re sleeping with her,” Gars snapped. “You’d say anything to protect her.”

  Hansel coughed, his hand hiding a smile. Emily felt herself flush. They hadn’t done anything, in or out of the manor. They hadn’t held hands, let alone done anything more intimate. But Gars was clearly skilled enough at reading people to figure out that they were lovers. Emily suspected it wouldn’t be long before the entire city knew.

  Cat drew himself up to his full height. “I am a trained combat sorcerer with genuine experience,” he said. “I would not lie about such matters. If you don’t believe me, you are free to ask for a second opinion. The poor bastard was turned into a weapon and sent out to kill, then killed himself when he became a liability. Emily did not kill him.”

  They glared at each other for a long moment. Emily felt her heart sink. Cat knew a hundred spells he could use to humiliate, injure or even kill Gars, but he wouldn’t use them. No, they’d fight with their fists and Gars might have an edge. He’d clearly spent years practicing his trade, fighting in places where the laws of war were ignored. He might wind up beating Cat to death...

  “Very well,” Gars said, finally. He turned to Hansel. “I will expect the death bond by the end of the day.”

  He turned and stalked out of the room. Emily looked at Hansel, expecting him to have something to say, but instead he shrugged and dismissed them. Emily was almost relieved. She wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Cat followed her as she walked out of the door, feeling her body start to ache. Her magic was slowly recovering, but she still felt drained.

  “That was close,” Cat said, as they entered her room. “Did you sense anything?”

  “No,” Emily said. The assassin might not be a powerful sorcerer, but he clearly knew how to use what he had. “There was no warning until the wall started to topple and fall on top of me, no sense that there was anyone nearby. That could have...”

  Her body started to shake. She’d come very close to death. “That could have killed me.”

  Cat stepped up behind her. “It didn’t,” he said, as he hugged her gently. “You survived.”

  “And an innocent man is dead,” Emily said, although she knew that hardly anyone would argue that a mercenary was innocent. “He followed us here.”

  “It’s no great secret that we’re here,” Cat said. “Someone could easily have traveled from Swanhaven to Eagle’s Rest over the last few days. They might even have sailed on one of the barges, then abandoned the boat when it reached the city.”

  “True,” Emily said. “But...”

  She shook her head as she checked the wards, then stripped off her clothes. Her legs were covered in bruises, trickles of blood running down her bare skin. She put her trousers to one side – she’d have to cleanse the blood before she let the maids clean her clothes – and rubbed salve on the scars. Cat touched her back lightly, running his fingers down her spine. Emily shivered – in a good way – and leaned into his touch.

  “We shouldn’t,” she said. Her voice held no conviction, even to herself. “It might...”

  “Hansel knows,” Cat said. “We may as well make the most of it.”

  Emily nodded, slowly. She’d survived a deadly trap that had come far too close to killing her. It was galling to realize that she might have been killed by someone who was far inferior to her in power, but cunning enough to work out a plan and ruthless enough to go through with it. She wanted to celebrate being alive...

  Afterwards, they washed and dressed quickly. “Sergeant Rotherham and I were planning to meet tonight at the Belching Hydra,” Cat said, as he straightened his shirt. “Do you want to come along?”

  Emily hesitated. “Is it a marathon drinking session or something else?”

  “Definitely something else,” Cat said. “We want to talk away from prying ears. And I want to tell him to watch for our assassin too.”

  “I’ll come,” Emily said. There was little to do in the manor, beyond practicing her magic and planning for the future. She certainly didn’t want to spend any more time with Hansel and his brother than strictly necessary. “Should I come as a boy?”

  “It might be a good idea,” Cat said. “And keep your glamour up, just in case.”

  Emily nodded, curtly.

  There was a nasty sense of trouble in the air as they left the manor house and strolled down the darkening streets. Large groups of people were gathering on street corners, swapping stories and rumors; mercenaries were clearly visible on the streets, their hands on their weapons at all times. Emily felt her heart sink as a line of armored figures marched past her, ready for trouble. Everything they’d done over the last few days seemed to have been wasted.

  “They’re talking about you,” Cat muttered. “Some of them think you’re dead.”

  Emily winced. She knew, all too well, how a rumor could mutate into something unrecognizable fast enough to make her head spin. They’d be saying she was brutally raped and murdered tomorrow, if the rumors weren’t squashed rapidly. She’d have to make a speech in front of the Levellers, perhaps even in front of the entire city. She didn’t want to do it – she hated talking in public – but it would have to be done.

  The Belching Hydra was slightly more upmarket than the Rabid Wolfhound, but it seemed to attract just as many disreputable customers. Emily recoiled as the stench of beer struck her nostrils – someone had spilled beer on the earthen floor – and reminded herself to breathe through her nose as they entered the pub. Hundreds of men were drinking, heavily. There were no women in sight, not even prostitutes. The sense of violence hung in the air like a deadly fog.

  All hell will break loose soon, Emily thought. She spotted a handful of Levellers amongst the customers, drinking and chatting with their fellows. What will happen when the anger bubbles over into madness?

  Sergeant Rotherham was seated in a booth at the back, a hood drawn over his face. Cat sat down, motioning for Emily to sit next to him. The sergeant looked tired and deeply worried, even though he was trying to hide it. A single jar of beer sat in front of him, untouched. He was too smart to get drunk in a possible war zone.<
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  “My Lord,” Sergeant Rotherham said. He looked at Emily for a long moment. “My Lady?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. He knew her well enough to see through the glamour. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you,” Sergeant Rotherham said. He leaned back against the wall as Cat cast a handful of privacy spells. “I’ve forged some links with the criminal underground here.”

  Cat nodded. “And?”

  “And there’s no hint, as far as I’ve been able to tell, that they’re hiding a sorcerous assassin,” Sergeant Rotherham told them. “Whoever we’re looking for must have arrived in the last few days, My Lord, but they don’t know anything about him. They don’t even know about newcomers to the city who are not who they seem.”

  Emily wasn’t surprised. The assassin had already shown that he knew how to cast glamours and control people. It wouldn’t be hard to rent a room from a landlord, then use a simple web of compulsion and memory charms to keep the man from telling anyone he had a lodger. Come to think of it, there was no reason to rent a room in the first place. The assassin could simply move into someone’s house, either enchanting the original inhabitants or simply murdering them and taking their places. There were enough people in Eagle’s Rest who were relatively new to the city to make it easy to impersonate them. They wouldn’t have close friends or family who’d spot the deception.

  “Then we still know nothing,” she said. “He could be anywhere.”

  “He’ll certainly be biding his time,” Cat agreed. “Perhaps we should just lock you away.”

  “No,” Emily said. “I could go elsewhere, let him follow me...”