The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “And everyone else,” Alassa said, slowly. Her gaze sharpened. “Why did you come here?”

  Simon looked down. “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “That isn’t true,” Alassa said. “You and your little band of brothers could have gone anywhere.”

  “No, Your Highness.” Simon looked up, his eyes begging her to understand. “If we’d gone to any of our allies, our former allies, we would have been captured and used as bargaining chips. The king might have spared them punishment if they’d handed us over.”

  “Might,” Alassa said.

  “If we’d crossed the border, the same thing would have happened,” Simon said. “We’d have had to change our names and become mercenaries, or something. That would have been a bit like giving up. And... I want revenge. I want my mother’s killer to burn. That’s why I came here, Your Highness. I want to continue the war.”

  Alassa studied him for a long moment. “What happened to my uncle?”

  Simon paled. “The Duke? He was taken to Gaillard, before Castle Harkness was surrounded. I dare say he’s on his way to his elder brother now.”

  “You took him from his comfortable retirement,” Alassa said, coolly. “And you handed him over to his enemies.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Simon said.

  Alassa cocked her head. “Tell me,” she said. “Is there any reason I should forgive you for kidnapping my uncle?”

  Emily blinked in surprise. She’d never had the feeling that Alassa and her uncle were particularly close... and his wife had been the mastermind of a coup that had come very close to succeeding. But they were blood relatives, after all. If Duke Traduceus ever had children, they’d be somewhere in the line of succession. Alassa had to care...

  Or maybe she’s just making him sweat, Emily thought.

  “I could tell you that I was following orders,” Simon Harkness said, flatly. “Or I could tell you that we were trying to put him on the throne, as a member of the royal family. Or I could tell you that...”

  He sighed. “You rebelled against your father, Your Highness. You cannot blame us for doing the same.”

  Alassa looked displeased, but she said nothing. Emily felt a flicker of pity. A child was not supposed to rebel against his or her parents, even though it happened all the time. Alassa’s reign would be forever marred by the simple fact that she had rebelled against her father, something that made her look like an ungrateful – and unnatural – brat. But then, no one would dare to say it too loudly. She wouldn’t be the first monarch who took the throne after a parent’s untimely death.

  “I wonder how different my father would have been,” Alassa mused, “if his aristocracy hadn’t been the most treacherous bunch of bastards on this side of the Craggy Mountains.”

  Her voice hardened. “You want to serve under me, right? Are you prepared to swear total loyalty to me? To follow all orders, no matter how pointless or humiliating or suicidal they may seem?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Alassa looked displeased. “You will not be on my council. You will not be treated as an aristocrat. You will have to work long and hard to earn my trust. If I get one hint that you are less than totally committed to my cause, you will be executed. The same goes for your friends. If they find my terms unacceptable, they can go peddle their services elsewhere. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “We shall see,” Alassa said. She looked at Jade. “Jade, take... Simon down to the intelligence staff and get everything out of him. I want to know every last detail about my father’s forces, what he’s seen of them... everything. Do the same for his people. I want them interrogated thoroughly. After that... put them where you see fit, with the proviso that they are not to be in command. If you want them digging latrines, they can dig latrines.”

  Emily was torn between amusement and a certain kind of pity. On one hand, it was absurd for Simon Harkness to ride into the city and be instantly granted a place on Alassa’s council of war. She wondered, absently, if he’d expected it. Alassa had spent weeks fending off noblemen who believed their rank gave them the right to wield authority. Hell, Randor had problems with noblemen who weren’t competent enough to be useful, but too high-ranking to be dismissed. But, on the other hand, Simon Harkness was a broken man. There was no need to rub salt in the wound.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Jade said, evenly.

  “Your father is already heading this way,” Simon said. “The lead elements of his army started to move bare hours after they murdered my mother.”

  Alassa lifted a single elegant eyebrow. “And your father?”

  “They killed him too,” Simon said.

  “How strange that you have more loyalty to an adopted mother than a true father,” Alassa mused. “Someday, you must explain it to me.”

  She shook her head. “But not today. Jade, take him away.”

  Emily watched Jade go, taking Simon with him, then looked at Alassa. “Is that wise?”

  Alassa shrugged. “He has nothing to offer us beyond a sword and a handful of followers. I don’t see any reason to treat him gently. If he wants to fight, well and good; if he expects me to roll out the red carpet for him” – her eyes narrowed – “he’s going to be disappointed. I have no reason to trust him, even if he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “We should keep an eye on him,” Cat warned. “He could have mounted an attack on the king himself, if he wanted to throw away his life in a desperate bid for revenge. Him coming here may be a good sign or a very bad sign.”

  “We will keep an eye on him,” Alassa said, flatly. “And we won’t trust him until he’s earned that trust.”

  She stood, smoothing down her dress. “If father is already on the way, he’ll be here soon.”

  “Yes,” Emily said.

  “Gambling everything on a battle,” Alassa mused. “We’ll be gambling with everything at stake.”

  “You could always go into exile,” Emily pointed out. “Or simply slip into the magical community and vanish.”

  “That would mean giving up,” Alassa said, with quiet determination. “That throne is my birthright. I do not intend to abandon it. And even if I managed to get away, what about my supporters? I can’t simply abandon them to my father. They’ll be slaughtered.”

  Emily nodded. “So we’d better not lose.”

  “My father will have magicians with him,” Alassa said, her voice grim. “Do everything in your power to stop them. Otherwise... we should have the advantage.”

  “Let us hope so,” Cat said. “The king isn’t short on experience himself, Your Highness, and his subordinates have plenty of their own. Their weapons may be inferior to ours, but they have an awful lot of them.”

  “And the difference isn’t that great,” Emily pointed out. Randor had concentrated on mass-producing flintlocks, muskets and cannons, rather than constantly looking for ways to improve the designs. “Superiority strikes again.”

  “They have to destroy our army if they want to win,” Cat said, giving her a sidelong glance. He hadn’t understood her reference. “And they know it.”

  Emily nodded. Previous wars had been concentrated around towns, cities and castles, around places that had to be captured and held to defeat the enemy. Now, with more professional armies taking the field, it was the armies themselves that had to be destroyed before the war could be won. Randor couldn’t push into Swanhaven from Winter Flower as long as Alassa had an intact army at his back. She could either attack him from the rear or head to Alexis and take the capital for herself. No, Randor needed to destroy Alassa’s army. That would be his objective.

  Jade stepped back into the room. “Our new friend is currently explaining himself to the intelligence staff,” he said, as he closed the door. “Hopefully, they’ll get something useful out of him.”

  “He won’t know that much,” Emily pointed out.

  “He’s a trained observer,” Jade said. “But yeah, I’m not hoping for
a complete order of battle from him. Not for the king’s forces, anyway.”

  He shrugged. “We’re going to have to start deploying our army later today. We don’t want to be caught out of position when they ford the river.”

  “Assuming they don’t try to be clever and cross the river somewhere else,” Cat pointed out.

  “That will give us time to reposition our forces,” Jade countered. “We’ll see them coming.”

  “Let us hope so,” Alassa said. “Everything hinges on one battle. If we lose here, we lose everything.”

  Emily tried to look reassuring. “And if we win, we win everything. Right?”

  “Perhaps,” Alassa said. Her face fell. “My father won’t give up, though. As long as he is alive, the war will go on.”

  Interlude Three

  THE VILLAGE WAS A BURNED-OUT ruin.

  Sir Roger shook his head slowly, wondering just who had destroyed this village. The Royal Army? The mercenaries? Simon Harkness and whatever troops remained under his command, if indeed he was still alive? Or perhaps it had been destroyed by the inhabitants, determined to keep what little they’d saved out of the king’s hands. The peasants had been increasingly hostile over the last few weeks. A handful of troopers had simply vanished when they went into the woods to relieve themselves; a dozen mercenaries had been caught, castrated and hung from branches by peasant fighters who’d retreated into the greenwood when challenged. And a would-be rapist had wound up bleeding to death when his victim had produced a knife and stabbed him in the gut. Somehow, Sir Roger hadn’t been able to feel too sorry for him.

  But the peasants were slowing the army down.

  He spurred his horse into a gallop, then looked back at the marching columns of infantry. The Royal Army was exhausted, even though their victories gave them confidence and drove them onwards. His troops needed rest, but he knew they weren’t going to get it. King Randor was desperate to reach Winter Flower and stop his daughter before her troops started to press towards Alexis. Randor had no illusions. Alassa’s proclamation of the Great Charter would win her many friends and allies amongst peasants, merchants and townspeople who had no cause to love their king.

  His eyes sought out a gilded carriage protected by Royal Guardsmen. King Randor hadn’t shown his face since the army had departed Harkness, trusting his officers to handle the task of marching thousands of men to the next battlefield. Sir Roger wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. The king had sent hundreds of messages in all directions, and held a couple of conferences with his pet sorcerers, but otherwise... nothing. Sir Roger knew he should be pleased at being allowed to run things without interference, yet his instincts told him that something was badly wrong. The king should not be allowed to brood indefinitely when there was work to be done.

  Let him brood, he thought. He has lost so much.

  He felt a stab of sympathy for his monarch, something he knew he would never be able to say. The king’s wife had withdrawn from society, the king’s brother was an amiable fool who was still unaccounted for, the king’s daughter was a rebel leading troops against her own father... even if the king won the civil war, what then? Should he look for an heir amongst the surviving nobility? Or seek out someone who might be able to hold the kingdom together? Or... or what? The king could win the war and still lose everything he’d fought to win.

  A scout rode towards him and bowed his head. “Sir, we have located no traces of the enemy troops along the border.”

  “Good,” Sir Roger said, although he knew better than to take that for granted. Alassa’s troops wouldn’t know Winter Flower any better than the Royal Army, but she wouldn’t have any trouble recruiting local guides. “Inform the pickets they are to secure the bridges, if possible.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The scout cantered off, leaving Sir Roger to his thoughts. Princess Alassa... would she know they were coming? Sir Roger had driven his men hard, pushing them to break records as they marched across half the country. It was quite possible they would arrive before any warning of their advance reached the princess. But it was also possible that the princess already knew. She could have handed out hundreds of chat parchments to peasant spies and told them to report when the army came into view. And that meant her forces would already be taking up position.

  And it will be a more even fight, this time, he reflected. The foundries of Cockatrice would be arming the princess, of course. Swanhaven was nowhere near as developed, but it could still churn out cannons, muskets and gunpowder. And the princess controlled access to Beneficence. The free city would almost certainly side with her. We could lose.

  He banished the thought as Routier, damn the man, rode up beside him. “Are we still slashing and burning through Winter Flower?”

  “The king has not ordered us to slash-and-burn,” Sir Roger said. It was true. “So keep your rats under tight control.”

  “My men are fighters,” Routier said. “And better fighters than yours.”

  Sir Roger shrugged. It was too hot for a proper argument. “If you say so.”

  Routier smirked. “They say the princess is beautiful,” he said. “Is that true?”

  “Yes,” Sir Roger said.

  “Perhaps I will ask the king if I can marry her.” Routier leered. “He’ll need someone to keep her under control, once she’s in his clutches again.”

  Sir Roger opened his mouth to point out that the princess was a trained sorceress – and also trained in both armed and unarmed combat – then closed it again. King Randor would never let a man like Routier marry his daughter, no matter how badly she’d betrayed him. And yet, if Routier got ideas... Sir Roger kept his face under tight control. A man as ruthless and violent as Routier might just plan to rape the princess, then use it as leverage to force her into marriage. But somehow Sir Roger doubted Routier would survive the attempt...

  “I dare say he will,” Sir Roger said, trying to hide his disgust. “But, right now, we have work to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “THE VULTURES ARE ALREADY CIRCLING,” CAT muttered, as they lay on the ground and peered east. “They know there’s death in the air.”

  Emily said nothing. It was a hot morning, hot enough to make her uncomfortably sweaty under her protective leathers. It was the sort of day that made her want to swim or use spells to cool the air, but instead... she watched, grimly, as the enemy army came into view. The scouts hadn’t exaggerated much, she thought. King Randor had put together the largest army the kingdom had ever seen. The lead cavalrymen were already splashing across the river, watching for trouble. Behind them, the infantry looked grimly determined to keep going. They carried muskets as well as swords and spears.

  “They’re coming right at us,” she said, finally. The air was thick and unpleasantly humid. “Do they know we’re waiting?”

  “I’d be astonished if they didn’t,” Cat said. “We cast all the spells to keep their sorcerers from spying on us, but doing that ensured they knew there was something we wanted to hide.”

  Emily nodded as the enemy army continued to advance. The river posed no obstacle, not in the hot weather. It looked impressive, but it was too shallow to do more than slow down the army. The infantrymen would be safe as long as they were careful. Jade’s men had planted traps in the water, hoping to snare a handful of unwary soldiers, but it was starting to look as though it had been a complete failure. It certainly wasn’t slowing the enemy down.

  She studied them carefully, using a spell to enhance her eyesight. The enemy army looked coldly professional, although it was clear that the lead elements consisted of baronial regiments as well as the king’s cavalry. The former didn’t look entirely happy to be there, while the latter was prancing around, eager to come to grips with the enemy. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the banners: Gaunt, Gaillard, Silversmith and Thornwood. The king’s former enemies had sent their troops to serve under his command, hoping for mercy in return. Emily wondered, sourly, if the troops within eyesight wer
e the only troops the barons had left. Their defeat would have caused their armies to disintegrate, men either offering their services to the king or simply throwing down their weapons and going home. The Noblest probably hadn’t done anything to gain loyalty.

  And even if they were loyal, they couldn’t have stopped the king, she thought. His forces were simply too powerful.

  A group of horsemen crossed the river, splashing through the water and cantering onto the far side. They didn’t were any obvious livery, which suggested they were the king’s commanders. Emily had to admire their nerve as they started to bark orders, forming the men up into assault ranks. They were close enough to Alassa’s lines for a lucky crossbow shot to take them right out of commission. Behind them, archers and cannoneers started to cross the river, bringing their weapons with them. Randor’s men were careful to keep the cannons and gunpowder out of the water.

  A shame we can’t convince the weather to rain, Emily thought wryly, but it would hurt us more than them.

  She leaned forward, reaching out with her senses. The men on the near side of the river were easy to sense, although they were protected by simple wards; the men on the far side of the river were hidden in a haze of magic. Her blood ran cold as she remembered the magical haze she’d seen at Farrakhan, although it was clearly a far subtler piece of spellwork than the haze the necromancer had generated. King Randor’s sorcerers were determined to ensure that no one spied on the king’s forces. She had to admit their technique was effective, even though it would hamper their magic as well as hers. Randor probably believed it didn’t matter.

  “They’re going to launch an attack immediately,” Cat said, sounding disbelieving. The reports had all stated that Randor had pushed his men hard. They needed a rest before launching an offensive across the river. “Are they mad?”

  “They probably don’t want to give us more time to dig in,” Emily told him. Alassa’s forces had been digging trenches, positioning weapons and turning Winter Flower into a fortress for the last few days. Randor presumably had spies in the city. He had to know the defenses were growing stronger, day by day. “And I think he considers the baronial forces expendable.”