The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  She sighed and pushed the thought aside, concentrating on her meditative disciplines. Her body relaxed slowly, although her stomach still felt heavy. She’d have to make sure the other magicians were fed, she reminded herself. They’d need bigger rations if they were expected to use their magic constantly. She’d pushed them hard over the last few days...

  Someone touched her shoulder. She started, throwing out a punch. Cat jumped back, crashing into the wall. Emily stared at him, slowly realizing that the room was no longer dark. A light-globe floated near the ceiling, casting a pearly white light over the scene. How long had she been asleep? It didn’t feel as though she’d slept at all.

  “Ouch.” Cat made a show of rubbing his back. “I think I busted something.”

  Emily glared at him. Served him right for sneaking up on her. “What time is it?”

  “Sunset.” Cat nodded towards the shuttered windows. “Are you ready to go?”

  “I suppose,” Emily said. She rubbed her forehead. Her clothes felt grimy, but there was nothing she could do about that. “Give me a few moments to...”

  “I put water in the bowl,” Cat said, as if he’d read her mind. “There’s a washroom through there if you want to freshen up. And I’ll see you downstairs.”

  Emily watched him go, then forced herself to climb out of bed. She didn’t feel particularly well rested, but when had she ever? It beat sleeping on the warehouse floor. She wondered, idly, what sort of explanation Cat had given Alden and the others. They’d admired Emily for sharing their hardships.

  Not that it matters, she thought, as she opened the shutters and peered across the darkening town. Small groups of people were gathering in the streets, being organized by the sergeants into evacuation columns. Some of them would probably be marching through the night, despite the risks. Worry about that when you get back.

  She splashed water on her face, then headed downstairs. It was time to go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “WE’RE GETTING CLOSE, MY LADY,” ETHAN whispered. “Can you smell them?”

  Emily nodded stiffly, her arms wrapped around his chest. It made her feel awkward and uncomfortable. She’d never had any trouble sitting behind Alassa as she rode her horse, but Ethan was... different. She wasn’t sure why. Ethan didn’t seem to be anything like as much a show-off as Alassa had been, back at Whitehall. Emily remembered those riding lessons as long hours of boredom intermingled with terror. It was just like the war.

  She took a deep breath as Ethan pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop. The enemy camp was lost in the darkness, but she could smell the presence of too many horses and men in too small of a space as the wind shifted, now blowing towards them. There would be pickets out there, men – probably armed with night-vision spells – watching for trouble. Lord Burrows wouldn’t leave his men unprepared for a possible ambush. He’d have done everything in his power to make certain they didn’t get surprised.

  Her eyes prickled as she swept the darkened sky. Was there a faint glow over there? A handful of campfires, perhaps? Or was she imagining it? She swung her legs over the side of the horse and dropped to the ground, landing neatly on the muddy ground. Ethan couldn’t go any further. He’d taken a considerable risk by bringing her so close. But then, he knew he needed to take her as far as he could.

  “I’ll be here, My Lady,” Ethan said, as he jumped down beside her. His horse promptly started cropping the grass. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  “If they find you, run,” Emily ordered, flatly. “I’ll find my own way home.”

  Ethan actually looked stricken at her words, as if she’d ordered him to do something flatly dishonorable. Perhaps she had. He was a nobleman, after all, and his reputation wouldn’t survive if people heard he’d abandoned a woman – or at least a noblewoman – to a ghastly fate. They wouldn’t care that the noblewoman was a powerful sorceress, fully capable of teleporting herself across half the world if necessary; they’d just take advantage of his weakness to mock him. Ethan had good reason not to want to run, even if it saved his life.

  Having my breasts pushed into his back probably didn’t help either, she thought. She wasn’t sure how much he’d felt, but she was sure he’d felt something. That had never been a problem when she’d been riding beside Alassa. A man, on the other hand... she shook her head. He might not have felt anything at all.

  “I’ll be fine,” Emily assured him. She supposed it was a good sign he was at least pretending to care. “Good luck.”

  She turned, casting a series of spells on herself. Half would make it easier for her to see in the darkness, the other half would make it nearly impossible for anyone to see her. A basic invisibility spell might be enough to fool soldiers, but not trained sorcerers. She’d woven a handful of concealment and obscurification charms into her defenses, then reinforced them with subtle magic. Even a skilled onlooker might be fooled into thinking there was no one there.

  No one here, but us chickens, she thought as she started to walk towards the camp. They won’t see me coming.

  She pressed on, picking her way up the hill. The sound of nightlife – and the flickers of magic from supernatural creatures that only came out at night – seemed weaker, somehow. Perhaps it was the presence of the army. Or perhaps it was simply because the entire region was steadily becoming more human. Even the king’s forest, lands reserved for him and his favorites, had been sharply reduced over the last hundred years. There were simply fewer places for supernatural nightlife to hide. And yet...

  Emily froze as she saw a flash of light ahead of her. She peered ahead, gambling that her spells would hide her, and spotted a man standing on the top of the hill. He was smoking a pipe – she’d seen him light it – probably in a desperate bid to stay awake. Emily understood, better than she cared to admit. If Sergeant Miles, one of the most decent men she’d ever met, was prepared to issue harsh punishments to anyone who slept on watch, she dreaded to think what Lord Burrows could do. She watched him long enough to make sure he was truly alone, then froze him with a flick of her finger. He would remain frozen, without ever knowing that he’d been suspended in a moment of time, long enough for her to come and go.

  She waited, reaching out with her senses to make sure she hadn’t tripped an alarm. There were a handful of wards hanging in the air, waiting for her, but none of them had sounded the alert. Emily let out a sigh of relief, then walked up to the frozen man and peered down at the camp. It was larger than she’d expected, practically a small town in its own right. There were rows upon rows of tents, all seemingly identical. She peered from tent to tent, but she couldn’t pick out the command tent. Lord Burrows hadn’t missed a trick.

  Smart guy, she thought, as she checked for more pickets. There were none, as far as she could tell. She might have already slipped past the outer edge of the defenses. Time to get moving.

  She braced herself, then started to crawl down the hill so she could touch the wards directly. They were stronger than she’d realized, but surprisingly simple. One of them kept out supernatural vermin, one kept soldiers from deserting... and one kept out women. Emily blinked in surprise, then remembered that Lord Burrows was homosexual. He wouldn’t care about depriving his officers of their mistresses... and, given that he was the king’s favorite, no one would dare complain either. The king probably saw it as a way to keep their eyes firmly fixed on the prize instead of their latest conquest.

  Emily had to smile as she started to figure out a way to trick the ward. It was a neat way to keep her out without making it obvious. She wondered, absently, if it had really been aimed at her. Three of the five powerful magicians on Alassa’s side were women, while – apart from Matilda, who was dead – she knew of no sorceresses on Randor’s side. Or maybe it was just an odd coincidence.

  Focus your magic, she reminded herself. Thankfully, the wards didn’t appear to be monitored. That would make life difficult. It was a great deal harder to trick a ward that was connected to a human mind,
particularly when she was lying about something so fundamental as her gender. Let it guide you through.

  There was a moment of acute weirdness, as if she was in the wrong body, and then she was through the wards. She allowed herself a sigh of relief, then cast a new glamour over herself. As long as she didn’t look too far out of place – and the glamour made her look like a senior officer – no one should bat an eyelid. People inside garrisons, Sergeant Miles had grumbled, tended to assume that anyone there had a right to be there. They would have been stopped at the guardposts otherwise, wouldn’t they? She stood upright and walked into the camp, careful to keep her footsteps muffled. The handful of people she saw paid no attention to her whatsoever.

  She looked around, then walked towards what she was fairly sure was the supply carts. They were kept some distance from the rest of the soldiers, as if their commander was afraid of looting – or worse. Emily wouldn’t have cared to bet against it. If the carts carried gunpowder, and they probably did, a single accident would be an utter disaster. She smiled at the thought as she reached the edge of the tents and stopped to survey the scene in front of her. The supply carts were surrounded by a small barricade – really, little more than a fence – with only one entrance. A pair of guards stood there, looking alert. Emily doubted she could strengthen the invisibility spell and slip past them. They would feel something.

  Her lips curved into a smile. What would Lady Barb do?

  Drawing her glamour around herself, she strode towards the guards. She wasn’t hiding, she reminded herself time and time again. She was a senior officer. She had no need to hide. She had a perfect right to be wherever she was and no common-born underlings could stand in her way. The guards straightened to attention when they saw her – or, rather, when they saw the officer she was pretending to be. There was enough magic woven into the glamour to make them want to accept it without question.

  “Stand aside,” she ordered, imperiously. The spell would make her voice masculine. She almost babbled out an excuse before remembering that a stiff-necked senior officer wouldn’t bother to make excuses to mere guardsmen. “I have work to do.”

  The guards exchanged glances. “My Lord,” one said, finally. “We have strict orders not to...”

  “I have orders from Lord Burrows himself,” Emily said, sharply. She allowed a hint of nastiness to creep into her tone. “Do you want to discuss the matter with him?”

  The guard paled. Emily understood. On one hand, they presumably had strict orders; on the other, Lord Burrows would not be pleased if he was awoken to vet a senior officer’s credentials. The two guards might find themselves in a penal unit before the night was through, if they weren’t beheaded on the spot. Emily had seen aristocrats demand harsh punishments for tiny offences, for little mistakes that didn’t even deserve to be called microaggressions. The poor guards were caught in the middle.

  “You may pass,” the leader said.

  Emily felt a pang of guilt as she walked past them. They’d be in deep shit if they survived until morning. Lord Burrows would probably order them brutally executed for disobeying orders. She wondered, just for a moment, if she should urge them to desert, then dismissed the thought. There was too much else to do. She came to the first cart and peered inside. It was crammed with arrows and musket balls. Emily let out a long breath. Lord Burrows did have muskets, then.

  She had to check four more carts before finding the one with the gunpowder. It had been placed to one side, but otherwise it was completely unmarked. Emily stood inside for a moment, considering her options, then concealed a timed spell underneath the cart. It should be impossible to find, unless someone knew to look for it, but when the timer ran out it would explode, setting off the gunpowder. One way or the other, the enemy would get a nasty surprise.

  “Hey,” someone called. “Who are you?”

  The freeze spell struck her in the back a moment later. Emily hesitated, unsure if she should shrug it off or pretend it was holding her tight. The sound of running footsteps convinced her to break the spell. There was more than one person running towards her. She might be able to convince one of them she was relatively harmless, but a group might decide to slit her throat if they realized who she was. They’d certainly know there was something odd about her. She’d walked across a ward that should have kept her out.

  She heard someone gasp in surprise as she broke the spell, throwing herself to one side as another spell cracked over her head. Hopefully, the magicians would have enough sense not to start throwing fireballs around. She tossed back a force punch of her own, using it as a diversion to allow her to get back on her feet and look around. Three men faced her, all clearly magicians. They weren’t full-fledged sorcerers, she was sure, but they were used to working together. She would have thought they were triplets if she hadn’t known that was impossible.

  The men picked themselves up and advanced towards her, spreading out as magic crackled from their fingers. Their spells were blurring together into a web, as if they intended to catch her in a net of complicated spellware. Emily was impressed, despite herself. She’d seen magicians work together before, but nothing quite so complex. Their limited power forced them to make the most of what they had. She grinned, then launched herself into the air. The net snapped out at her, but couldn’t even begin to reach her. Emily felt her smile grow wider as she flew over the wooden fence and landed on the far side. They couldn’t lay a finger on her.

  A bell started clanging, loudly. Emily pulled her glamour back around her as men started spilling out of the barracks, looking around in shock. They’d probably expected some warning if the camp was going to be attacked, given how many pickets Lord Burrows had scattered around the area. Men ran everywhere, most waving swords. Emily had no difficulty slipping into the crowd and following a handful of men towards the centre of the camp. It would be a long time before anyone managed to regain control and start hunting for her properly.

  She hesitated, then started to cast a series of hexes and jinxes. The latter were not particularly dangerous, but they’d be alarming to soldiers who’d never seen malicious magic before. Tents collapsed, trousers fell down, waves of panic spread through the masses... she felt almost guilty, even though she knew what the soldiers had done during their march from Winter Flower. Their magicians were nowhere to be seen.

  “Remain calm,” a voice bellowed. An officer – not Lord Burrows – was shouting at his soldiers. “We will not be beaten by this unfair...”

  Emily admitted, privately, that the man was showing remarkable composure in the face of dangerous magic. But she couldn’t let him calm the troops down, not when it would make things harder for her. She shaped a hex in her mind, then cast the spell. The man started to bray like a mule. His troops stared, then started to panic. Emily felt a stab of guilt as she slipped back into the shadows. She was no better than a bully.

  Think how they treated everyone they considered beneath them, she told herself, sharply. They...

  The netting dropped over her head. She glanced around, cursing under her breath as the three magicians surrounded her. Their magic was clever, she admitted as she tested it quickly; it was designed to spread the burden between pieces of spellware, making it harder for her to simply tear the web of magic apart and escape. She thought she could overload it, if she tried, but that would leave her tired and drained.

  And I can’t let myself be captured, she thought. Randor wouldn’t bother with a public execution, not this time. He’d have her beheaded at once. Whatever happens, I can’t let myself be captured again.

  Gritting her teeth, she thrust out her wards as hard as she could. The webbing sparkled with magic as it tried to keep her under control, but it was hard to spread out the burden when nearly every piece of spellware was in contact with her wards. Emily heard the magicians roaring and chanting spells as they struggled to reinforce their net, putting everything they had into holding her down. She was stronger than all three of them, yet they nearly had her...
>
  No one taught us about this technique, she thought, as she angled her wards to make it harder for them to crush her. It was a really neat way to bring down a powerful sorcerer, if not a necromancer. Why not?

  The ground shook, violently. Emily looked up, just in time to see a massive fireball rising into the sky. The sound hit a moment later, tearing at her ears. She felt the netting give way, shattering as the magicians lost control of their magic. Emily tore the remainder of it apart, stunning the first two magicians before they could react. The third stared at her, then turned and fled. Emily didn’t give much for his chances. He’d been on guard duty too when she’d rigged the gunpowder to explode. Lord Burrows would be searching for a scapegoat once he’d worked out just how badly he’d been hurt.

  Time to go, she thought.

  She was tempted to teleport out of the camp, but instead she wrapped yet another glamour around herself and strolled through the wards. They were buckling under the pressure of conflicting commands – there had to be at least two more magicians in the camp – and made no attempt to stop her as she walked over the line and out into the darkness. Behind her, the sounds of utter chaos grew louder. Officers were barking orders, but no one was listening. It would be a long time before Lord Burrows could resume the offensive.

  Ethan stepped out of the shadows as she approached. “My Lady? What happened?”

  “I spread chaos,” Emily said. She wondered, suddenly, what else she could do. No wonder sorcerers were encouraged to stay out of conflicts between kingdoms, if she could do so much damage with a handful of relatively minor spells. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes, My Lady,” Ethan said. He scrambled onto his horse and motioned for her to chamber up behind him. “Back to the town?”

  “Yes,” Emily confirmed. Now that it was over, she felt tired and worn. “I need a nap.”

  And then I need to discuss the netting with Cat, she added, silently. It was hard to follow him onto the horse, but she forced herself to do it anyway. What was it?