The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  They turned a corner and walked alongside a canal as a string of gondoliers punted their boats down the waters. A cluster of barges followed, lumbering towards the nearest warehouses. Emily wondered, vaguely, what they were carrying. Water transport was nowhere near as efficient as the railways would become, given time, but she had to admit it was a neat solution to the problems facing the city. Even when sealed off from the rest of the kingdom, Winter Flower could move supplies around at a quite surprising speed.

  “Look,” Imaiqah said. “They’re signing up.”

  Emily followed her gaze. A number of young men were listening avidly to a sergeant as he outlined the benefits of being in the princess’s army. Some were already signing their names to the lists, promising to report for training the following morning; others, perhaps more cynical than the rest, were asking questions in tones that suggested they expected the sergeant to lie. Emily wouldn’t have dared speak to Sergeant Miles in such a tone, but the sergeant handled the questions calmly and reasonably and – somehow – never lost his smile. Emily was impressed.

  “They’re not mocking the cowards,” Cat commented. “I wonder why.”

  “They’re not sure which side they should be on,” Emily pointed out. She’d never liked the idea of forcing someone to do something through mockery and insults. She freely admitted there were a lot of things she’d never do, no matter what she was called. “If we lose the war, Winter Flower will be in deep trouble. They won’t want to send too many men to the army.”

  She sighed, inwardly. It wasn’t fair – or right. Alassa could conscript every young man in the city, if she wished. Separated from their families, from everyone they’d ever known, they would have little choice but to shut up and soldier. And Randor knew it, and he would still blame Winter Flower for supporting his enemy. The city would bear the brunt of his wrath if he won the war.

  Although he’s going to have to devastate the entire western half of his kingdom, if he wants to crush the New Learning, Emily thought. Ideas aren’t that easy to kill.

  “Yeah,” Imaiqah said, after a moment. “Do you know how many noblemen on our side have relatives on the other side? Both other sides?”

  Emily didn’t, but it made sense. The nobility had always kept one eye towards survival. If they sent someone to serve the king, they’d also send someone to serve the rebels... ensuring that, whoever won, they’d have a foot in their camp. Randor might listen to a nobleman who’d covered himself in glory begging for his family’s life, even if his family had been on the wrong side. Alassa might do the same.

  “They’re traitors,” Cat said. “How do we know they’re not sending information to their families?”

  “We don’t,” Emily said. She was surprised that Hansel and Tobias had both joined Alassa’s side. Either they were too close or, more likely, they doubted Randor would do them any favors. “We just have to keep a careful eye on them.”

  “And look strong,” Imaiqah said. “As long as Alassa seems a likely winner, her enemies here” – she waved a hand at the nearest building – “will hedge their bets.”

  “True,” Emily said. The sergeant was moving on now, walking along the canal. “But that doesn’t mean we can trust them.”

  “There are very few people you can trust completely,” Cat said. “And you can’t trust anyone when their interests are separate from yours.”

  Emily gave him a sharp look. “Is that what you believe?”

  “It’s human nature,” Cat said. “People are self-interested. And they will do what they think is in their own best interests.”

  “Yeah,” Imaiqah agreed. “They do.”

  Interlude Two

  THE ROLLING THUNDER OF GUNS SHOOK the air.

  Sir Roger stood on the mound and watched as Castle Harkness shuddered under a mighty – and utterly unprecedented – bombardment. Giant cannonballs – some loaded with gunpowder, some charmed with devious hexes – slammed into the stone wall, weakening the very foundations of the castle itself. King Randor had ordered a constant bombardment, despite the risks. Three cannons had exploded already, taking their gunnery crews with them, but the king hadn’t cared. He’d merely ordered the others to continue firing.

  Sir Roger felt... he wasn’t sure how he felt. His men had done well when put to the test; they’d cut through the enemy forces when they’d dared to offer battle. He had no doubt that the civil war would be over soon, if only because most of the rebel leaders were trapped in Castle Harkness and facing extinction. But he’d also seen the devastation inflicted on the countryside, the dead bodies lying where they’d been killed... even if the war ended tomorrow, with no further fighting, it would take years for Zangaria to recover.

  The world is changing, he thought, as another round of cannonballs struck the castle. It had once been seen as practically invulnerable, so invulnerable that only magic or treachery could ensure its fall. The Noblest had probably thought they could wait out the storm. Now... cracks were already beginning to show in the stone walls. And nothing will ever be the same again.

  He looked south, towards the remains of Harkness City. Smoke was still rising from the wreckage, hiding the mercenaries as they performed their gruesome task. Harkness City’s walls had barely stood for an hour before the Royal Army smashed them flat and sacked the city, discipline breaking down into an orgy of looting, rape and outright murder. It had taken hours to regain control, particularly as the king had wanted the city destroyed. His mercenaries were now finishing the job, exterminating the population. Sir Roger didn’t want to think about how many innocent men and women had died in the last few days.

  A herald strode up to him, looking nervous. “Sir Roger, the king commands...”

  “My presence,” Roger finished. “I’m on my way.”

  King Randor had set up his tent on the edge of what had once been a tourney field before the war had turned it into a sea of mud. A handful of other officers were heading there too, passing through the guards and into the tent. Silence fell as soon as Sir Roger stepped through the flap, suggesting that one of the king’s pet sorcerers had cast a silencing spell to keep out the racket. Sir Roger made a mental note to suggest that the spells be extended to cover the ordinary men. They were having problems sleeping during the bombardment.

  It will be worse for the people inside, he thought.

  His eyebrows lifted as he saw the man standing next to the king’s throne. Lord Burrows had always affected an exaggerated masculinity, in an attempt to belie the rumors that he favored men to women, but now... now he looked tired and worn and somehow lesser. Sir Roger felt a twinge of the old prejudice. There was nothing wrong with being the penetrator, even if one preferred men to women, but it was hard to escape the sense that there was something wrong with being penetrated. And besides, Lord Burrows had been given Lady Alicia’s hand in marriage. Sir Roger hated to admit it, but he was jealous. Marriage to a baroness would have made his social position unchallengeable, even during wartime.

  “Winter Flower has fallen,” Lord Burrows said, when the king commanding him to speak. “Princess Alassa has captured the city and...”

  Sir Roger stared in disbelief. Princess Alassa had moved that quickly? Winter Flower should have been a tough nut to crack. Lord Burrows was hardly incompetent... and he was the king’s man, through and through. But if Winter Flower had fallen... he didn’t need to look at a map to know that it changed the entire situation drastically. Princess Alassa would soon be within striking distance of Alexis itself. And that meant...

  If we stay here, the princess may capture the capital and cut us off from our supplies, Sir Roger thought. But if we lift the siege and move to face her, we will be leaving an enemy at our back...

  “Increase the bombardment,” the king ordered, finally. “This castle must fall.”

  It took another day for the defenders to finally surrender. Sir Roger was morbidly impressed they’d held out as long as they did, even trying to continue the fight after their walls st
arted to collapse. But the merciless bombardment eventually drove them to raise the white flag. King Randor, in no mood to take risks, ordered the defenders out of the castle instead of sending troops into the wreckage. Sir Roger watched as a few hundred men and women, including Baroness Harkness herself, stumbled out. They looked as if they’d been through hell.

  “There’s no sign of the bastard,” King Randor said, as the defenders staggered towards him and collapsed on their knees. Traditionally, they were supposed to prostrate themselves in a wordless plea for mercy, but it didn’t look as if they were up to doing even that. “Where is he?”

  “Simon could have fled already, Your Majesty,” Sir Roger said. “Or he may be lurking in the rubble.”

  “Or dead,” Routier said.

  “Yes,” King Randor said. He cast an eye over the pitiful collection of prisoners, then looked at his guardsmen. “Execute them.”

  Sir Roger felt nothing but numb horror. “Your Majesty...”

  The king ignored him as the guards moved forward, swords at the ready. Sir Roger met Baroness Harkness’ eyes, just for a moment, and winced at the shock he saw within. It was vanishingly rare for women to be executed, even if they committed high treason. Their fathers, husbands or brothers were more likely to get the blame for womanly misdeeds. No doubt Baroness Harkness had expected to be spared. She’d be reduced to a common wife again, with all her lands deeded to her new husband, but at least she’d be alive...

  Sir Roger forced himself to watch as Baroness Harkness was beheaded, her head rolling in the mud in front of her king. The others didn’t even have the strength to protest, let alone to fight, as they followed her into death. And the king watched it all with an expression of grim satisfaction that chilled Sir Roger to the bone.

  “It is well to be rid of shit,” the king said, when the executions were done. “Now... prepare the army to march to Winter Flower.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  EMILY WAS NOT PLEASED, FIVE DAYS after Winter Flower had fallen, to be awoken by a desperate banging on her door. Cat snapped awake, snarled a curse and headed to the door, holding a charmed knife in one hand. He spoke briefly a messenger, who hadn’t been able to look into the room, then closed the door with a loud bang. His face looked as angry as Emily felt.

  “You have been summoned to Her Highness’s office,” he said, crossly. “And I’m not included.”

  Emily groaned. “What time is it?”

  “Five in the morning,” Cat said as clambered back into bed. “Good luck.”

  Emily swallowed a number of very nasty comments, some of which would probably have led to a fight, and climbed out of bed. Yesterday had been busy, yet she’d gone to bed with the sense she’d accomplished absolutely nothing. She pulled on a robe, checked her appearance in the mirror and smiled to herself. If Alassa wanted her at five o’clock in the morning, she could hardly complain if Emily didn’t look her best.

  Besides, there’s no point in trying to outshine Alassa, she thought. If she’d been the sort of girl to care about such matters, the princess would have given her an inferiority complex. She looks perfect at all times.

  She opened the door and slipped out into the corridor. The castle was quiet, but she could hear servants going about their business as they prepared for the day to begin. Her lips quirked into a smile as she passed a young serving girl, who turned red and hastily dropped a curtsey when she saw Emily. Jade hadn’t been too keen on using Alicia’s servants, pointing out that they might owe their loyalty to Alicia and her husband, but there was no choice. It would take time to train newer servants.

  Alassa’s office was guarded by two men, who bowed when they saw Emily. She felt the wards brush against her as she touched the door, which opened a second later. Alassa was sitting behind a desk, wearing a long blue nightgown that showed off her baby bump. For a second, Emily wondered if Alassa was on the verge of giving birth before realizing that her friend’s pregnancy had several more months to go. If Alassa had gone into labor now, something would have gone very wrong.

  “Emily,” Alassa said. She sounded tired. Emily wondered if she’d managed to sleep at all. Jade was out with the new recruits, teaching them the ways of modern war. “We just had word from the south.”

  Emily met her eyes. “What happened?”

  Alassa picked up a bell and rang for tea. “Harkness Castle has fallen,” she said, bleakly. A serving maid stepped into the room. Alassa ordered food and drink, then looked back at Emily. “My father butchered everyone.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. She sat down, resting her hands in her lap. “Everyone?”

  “Everyone,” Alassa confirmed. “Up to and including Baroness Harkness herself.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. He’d executed a noblewoman? Randor had nailed his colors to the mast. She could imagine the aristocracy, even the ones who were nominally on his side, reacting with utter horror to the news. Who knew? Some of them might even switch sides.

  “He also executed a number of noblemen,” Alassa said, quietly. “If the reports are accurate, everyone who was in the castle when it fell was killed.”

  “... Shit,” Emily said. No wonder Alassa was shocked. Noblemen might die in battle, but they were rarely executed. They could always claim they were following the orders of their feudal lord. Besides, their captors would want to ransom them. “Why?”

  “I think he wanted to terrify everyone,” Alassa said. “My sources tell me that he sent a set of messages to the other barons. Surrender... or die. I don’t think the rest of the Noblest will continue the fight.”

  Emily was inclined to agree. King Randor’s armies had crushed everything in their path, eventually taking a castle that most authorities had considered impregnable. The Noblest would have no choice but to go to the king and beg for mercy. They certainly wouldn’t want to continue the fight if it meant the complete extinction of their family lines. Randor had effectively won the war, at least in the south.

  The maid returned, carrying a tray of sandwiches and drinks. Emily took a ham sandwich and munched on it quietly, her eyes narrowing in concern as Alassa drank a mug of Kava without touching the food. She looked as if she had pulled an all-night study session, something Emily remembered all too well from Whitehall. Alassa still looked fantastic, but there was something about her attitude that suggested she was at the end of her rope.

  “It will take him some time to consolidate his gains,” Emily said, after a moment. “And then...”

  Alassa shook her head. “He’ll be marching his army here as quickly as possible,” she said, grimly. “He won’t want to leave me in place here, not when I can thrust east towards Alexis and capture the capital. I think he’ll be here within the next week.”

  Emily wasn’t so sure. King Randor might be able to get his cavalry to Winter Flower in a few days, if he pushed his horses to breaking point, but she doubted he could get the remainder of his army up so quickly. They’d be marching on foot, wouldn’t they? She suspected they’d need at least a fortnight to reach Winter Flower, if they wanted to be in any state to fight when they reached their destination. Alassa had plenty of time to prepare for the coming engagement.

  “It will take them longer to reach us,” Emily said, and outlined her reasoning. “They’re not going to be able to get here in a hurry.”

  “They’re still going to cut us off from Alexis,” Alassa said. “We’re in no fit state to push on ourselves, not now.”

  Emily nodded in agreement. Jade had made it clear that the army needed a breather before going to their next target. He’d been reorganizing the regiments over the last few days, putting experienced men shoulder to shoulder with raw recruits. Alassa might be able to send her own cavalry east, but there would be no way to take advantage of her gains until she could send infantry after them. Besides, Randor had a clear advantage in cavalry. He’d use it, mercilessly.

  “Then we use the time to prepare,” Emily said. “We can try to be ready for them.”

&nbs
p; She took another sandwich and held it out to her friend. “Here, eat something.”

  Alassa shook her head. “I don’t feel like eating anything.”

  “You need to eat something,” Emily said. “Did you even sleep last night?”

  “No,” Alassa said. “My bed felt cold.”

  “You need to sleep,” Emily told her. “What will you do if you fall asleep tomorrow – today, really – while you’re sitting on the throne?”

  Alassa smiled. “I’ve often wanted to fall asleep during a particularly boring audience,” she said. “But you’re right. It would be a sign of weakness.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. In theory, a monarch had absolute power. He – or she – could be late to the audience chamber, if he wished, and no one would dare say anything about it. But being late would be seen as a sign of weakness. And then, who knew what would happen?

  The people who want to seek advantage for themselves will look for a way to exploit it, she reminded herself. And the people who have assassins on the payroll will start thinking about sending one of them to kill their Queen.

  “Then go to bed,” Emily said. She stood, brushing down her robe. “Why not call Jade back from the barracks?”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t have sleep in mind,” Alassa said, “even if what he did have in mind involved a bed.”

  “It might help you to relax,” Emily pointed out, after a moment. She didn’t really want to think about her two friends in bed together. “And you do need to rest.”

  Alassa stood, one hand resting on her baby bump. “I don’t think this little fellow will let me rest for long,” she said, dryly. “He’s as energetic as his father.”