The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Probably,” Cat growled.

  Emily felt for the batteries at her belt as the enemy troops formed up, trumpets blaring. She’d risked exhausting herself to make sure they were fully charged, even though she wasn’t sure how useful they’d be. She would only be able to use each battery once. The valves rested in her bag, ready to be fixed to the battery. She’d only have a few seconds to select the spell once the batteries were ready to be used, before magic started to spill out of the device. She wasn’t sure what would happen then, but she suspected it wouldn’t be good.

  “They can’t flank us, not in great numbers,” Cat muttered. “Our flankers will deal with any probing attacks. No, they have to come straight at us.”

  “They’ll try both,” Emily said. Randor was no fool. He’d want to push his lines up and down the riverside, even if the terrain was poor. “And, given time, they can get a flanking force into position to turn our lines.”

  A trumpet blared. Emily looked at the enemy lines just in time to see the cavalry begin their charge. She sucked in her breath as the sound of hoof beats echoed over the valley, the horses picking up speed as they charged the lines. She’d never shared the awe many of her fellows felt for the cavalry, she’d never seen them as akin to rock stars or celebrities, but she had to admit the sight was magnificent. A cavalry charge into a line of archers might just work if the sight of hundreds of horsemen bearing down on them was enough to make the archers panic and run. It took great nerve and determination to stand one’s ground.

  But our soldiers don’t have anywhere to run, Emily thought. And they have muskets and flintlocks as well as arrows.

  “Here we go,” Cat said. “They’re using the horsemen to keep us busy.”

  He jabbed a finger towards the riverside. Randor’s gunners were deploying their cannons, while hundreds of archers were taking up position beside them. Emily shivered as she realized what Randor was doing. He was deliberately sending the forces he couldn’t trust into the maelstrom, giving them the chance to conquer or die. And, if they did die, he would still come out ahead. The Noblest would never have a chance to reform their armies.

  And how many of their sons, she asked themselves, are going to die in the next few moments?

  The musketmen opened fire. Emily watched in horror, unable to tear herself away, as the cavalry charge simply came apart. Dozens of horses fell, throwing their riders as they crashed to the ground; others crashed into their fellows, knocking them over like dominos. The remainder kept charging, unwilling or unable to stop, only to run into the second volley. Emily felt sick as they were shot down, the entire charge coming to a halt. Only a handful of men survived long enough to turn and flee. One was shot in the back and thrown from his horse as he fled.

  “Gods,” Cat breathed.

  It is magnificent, Emily quoted mentally, but it is not war.

  The enemy cannoneers opened fire, hurling red-hot cannonballs towards the trenches. Emily wasn’t sure if they knew what they were aiming at or not, but they would force the defenders to keep their heads down. Their infantry slowly started to advance, keeping as low as possible. They’d probably get closer to the trenches than the dead cavalrymen, but they wouldn’t get close enough. Randor was sending his men to die. But then, he seemingly wanted his untrustworthy men to die. Was he steadily losing his mind?

  She forced herself to watch as the fighting grew more and more intense. Randor’s sappers were starting to dig trenches of their own, slowly extending the network to provide cover for the infantrymen as they continued their advance. Behind them, the cannoneers kept firing while the archers rained arrows across the battlefields and into the trenches. There were so many of them that they were certain to hit something.

  “He’s bringing across more infantrymen,” Cat said. A second regiment was crossing the river, followed by a third. “I think these are his professional musketmen.”

  Emily studied the advancing men, then nodded in agreement. They looked like the men Sir Roger had commanded, back at Farrakhan. Randor had ordered the musket regiments expanded as quickly as possible, once the musket had proved itself in combat. Emily wondered if Randor understood what he’d unleashed. Five years ago, a peasant would need years of training before he could pick up a sword and stand up to a knight; now, a peasant could simply pick up a gun. The Noblest had dreamed of returning to the days when the peasants knew their place, and could be put down if necessary, but those days would never return. Randor knew the world would change beyond repair. There was no hope of putting the genie back in the bottle.

  But he doesn’t care, as long as he’s in charge, Emily thought. And if he can crush all his opposition, he wins.

  The fighting grew more intense as Randor sent more and more men into battle. Small skirmishes broke out on both sides of the battlefield as flanking elements ran into blocking elements and found themselves unable to either push forward or retreat. The trench network kept expanding, allowing more and more infantrymen to get closer to the other set of trenches before exposing themselves. Emily wondered, as yet another attack shattered under the weight of the defending firepower, just how long the men would keep advancing into the flames. Didn’t they know they were being slaughtered for the greater good?

  But Randor is good at winning loyalty, Emily thought. Alassa’s father had always been good at convincing people to work for him, although the magic rarely lasted. And what would happen to a soldier who refuses to advance?

  She opened her mind and tried to peer into the haze. Once again, she sensed nothing, save for hints of great power lurking below the magic. She couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or not, but it worried her. Randor shouldn’t have been able to lure any first-rank sorcerers to his side, yet... she might be wrong. A single sorcerer might be enough to turn the balance of power upside down... she shook her head as she probed harder. The power felt oddly diffuse, as if it were scattered over the enemy camp. Maybe several magicians were working so closely together that their power had blurred together.

  The air grew warmer as the battle raged on. Emily could smell smoke from the cannons and muskets wrapping the battlefield in an unpleasant haze. It was actually making it harder for the musketmen to see their targets as the wind was blowing the smoke east, towards the king’s armies. She tried to estimate how many men had been killed as Randor’s forces launched yet another attack on the trenches, but found it impossible. Too many men had walked into the teeth of Alassa’s firepower and died. She shifted uncomfortably, wishing there was something she could do. But she’d been warned to keep herself – and her magic – in reserve.

  “They’re going to overrun that hill,” Cat said. He reached for a chat parchment and scribbled a quick note. “We don’t want them trying to turn our lines.”

  Emily barely heard him. She could sense flickers of power coming from the enemy camp on the other side of the river. Whatever they were doing, it was bad. She reached out with her senses once again, but it was impossible to get a clear picture. Her stomach churned as she realized just how much power was being gathered. Randor’s magicians were about to perform a ritual.

  “Warn Alassa,” she said, reaching for one of the batteries. “They’re about to do something dangerous.”

  Cat shot her a droll look. “And they’re not doing something dangerous already?”

  Emily ignored him as she grabbed one of the valves and attached it to the battery. A ritual would, for a few brief seconds, allow the united magicians to shape and cast an extremely powerful spell. She had no idea what they’d do, but she’d read enough stories of magic on the battlefield to know that it might shatter the defenses or cause the trenches to collapse, burying their occupants under a pile of earth. The power was still building up, reaching out towards them... she lifted the battery, scanning the battlefield for the spotter. Someone would be targeting the spell. But none of the men in eyeshot seemed to be a magician.

  Which means nothing, Emily reminded herself. As long as he doesn’t cast spe
lls, there’s no way to separate him from the rest of the crowd.

  The magic spiked. A second later, the ground started to shake violently. Emily heard a crashing sound behind her as trees tumbled to the ground. She raised the battery, primed the valve with a cancellation spell and released the magic. The spell flared into existence, so brightly that her head started to pound; it grew stronger and stronger, spreading out to crash into the ritual spell. There was a long moment of confrontation, when the two spells battled for supremacy, then the earthquake simply stopped. Emily stumbled and fell a moment later. Her protective spells were gone.

  “I’m naked,” Cat protested. “You’re naked!”

  Emily glanced down at her leathers instinctively, then nodded in understanding. There had been no time to fine-tune the spell, assuming that it had even been possible. Every piece of magic within range had been cancelled, from her wards to the handful of protective charms cast over the enemy soldiers. Her head felt stiff, as if she’d caught a cold; it took her several minutes to concentrate her mind and start rebuilding her protections. Cat wasn’t entirely wrong. Without their wards, they were at the mercy of the first magician who happened along.

  She turned to peer towards the trenches. The earthquake had done considerable damage to the front lines, forcing Jade to order a retreat to the second row of trenches. Emily could see a handful of men half-buried in the earth, either dead or badly injured. She hoped – prayed – that she’d acted quickly enough to save the rest. Alassa didn’t have enough men to throw them away as casually as her father.

  “Shit,” Cat said, as trumpets blared. “Here they come.”

  Emily sucked in her breath as the enemy cavalry made a second charge. This time, they were the king’s men, flying his banner proudly as they rushed towards the trenches. This time, she thought numbly, they might succeed. She’d never understood why Jade and Cat – and nearly every officer she’d met – had insisted that the cavalry still had a place on the modern battlefield, but she understood now. Alassa’s forces had taken a beating. The cavalry intended to put the boot in before they could recover.

  She felt her heart sink as the sergeants bellowed orders, forcing the fleeing soldiers to turn and prepare to repel the cavalrymen. The line looked pitifully weak, a handful of men standing in front of a cavalry charge. They raised their weapons on command, took aim and opened fire. The cavalry flinched – a dozen men fell – but kept coming. A moment later, they were amongst the musketmen, cutting them down as they passed...

  ... And then they started to tumble.

  “Jade primed the space between the trenches,” Cat said, with heavy satisfaction. “And now they’re having real problems.”

  Emily shuddered. Jade’s men had scattered caltrops, twisted pieces of wire and potholes between the trenches, then done everything in their power to hide them. The cavalry hadn’t even realized they were there until it was too late. Now, their charge was coming apart... and Alassa’s gunners were opening fire. And then, a moment later, it was over.

  No, Emily corrected herself. It isn’t over.

  Randor’s infantrymen were advancing again, securing the first set of trenches and killing any defenders who were still alive. Behind them, the gunners were unlimbering their guns and dragging them forward, hoping to set them up by the captured trenches. Emily felt sick as still more men splashed through the river, readying themselves to push onwards. Randor seemed to have an unlimited supply of men...

  She heard someone crawling up the hill and cursed under her breath. She’d hoped they’d remain undisturbed until the time came to go into action, but the enemy magicians wouldn’t have any trouble sensing her when she’d unleashed the spell. She wondered, as she readied her magic, if they thought she’d led her people in a ritual... or if she’d made the spell work all by herself. They’d certainly notice something odd about the spell, if they’d had the chance to analyse it before the analysis spells were cancelled. Its magic had definitely come from a single magician.

  And that will tell them things they don’t want to know, Emily thought. If they think I cast the spell on my own, without help, what does that say about my power?

  Cat slipped up beside her, holding a sword in one hand. Emily glanced at him, then readied a handful of spells. There was nowhere to go. They had to fight.

  And then the enemy magicians stepped into view.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  EMILY TENSED AS THE ENEMY MAGICIANS spread out, clearly preparing to cast a net. They didn’t seem tired, as she would have expected after a ritual; they either had more magic than they cared to admit or, more likely, Randor had more magicians than she’d thought. Instead, they looked a little surprised. It took her a moment to realize that they’d expected to find more than two magicians when they’d crept up the hill. They’d assumed that several magicians had cast the cancellation spell.

  But I had to leave the rest of the magicians in the trenches, Emily thought. They couldn’t help us up here.

  “You’re working for a madman,” Cat said, as his magic rose up around him. “Join us, instead. Or simply walk away.”

  “We swore an oath to the king,” the lead magician said, curtly. He was a dark-skinned man with mixed features that suggested he’d been born in Beneficence or one of the other coastal cities. His eyes lingered on Emily for a long moment. “Surrender to us now and we won’t have to use force.”

  Cat hesitated for a second, pretending to think, and then lunged at the leader and beheaded him with his sword. The other magicians gasped in horror, then started to cast a series of spells. Emily deflected the ones aimed at her with casual ease, ducking and dodging as Cat added his magic to the mix. The enemy magicians had lost their leader. Hopefully, that meant they couldn’t work together closely enough to cast the net.

  She and Cat stood back to back, their magic blurring together as they held off the four magicians. The magicians weren’t as strong as she’d feared, but they knew how to use what they had. Emily felt a whole series of nasty spells trying to sneak through her wards, the wards she’d barely managed to put back together again after casting the cancellation spell. She had to force herself to keep moving as some of the spells reached through her wards, trying to suppress her will and take control. They were trying to capture them, she realized, as she forced the spell out of her head. Randor presumably wanted her alive for a show trial and execution.

  Not again, she thought. Never again.

  She cast a light-spell, the strongest she could, and beamed the light directly into her target’s eyes. He stumbled, blinded; she doubted it would last, but it hardly mattered. Summoning her magic, she crashed into him and pushed. His wards wilted under her assault, leaving him helpless. She slammed a stunner into his chest, then turned him to stone. He fell backwards, just as a fireball shot over her head. Emily turned and grinned savagely at the magician who’d cast it. His face paled, but he stood his ground. Emily gathered her magic, then hit him with a force punch. His body flew back, tumbling down the hill. She hoped he was unconscious before he hit the ground. He’d be lucky if he didn’t break his neck.

  A body flew over her head. She glanced at it, then turned to Cat. He was struggling with the last magician in the group, his arms wrapped around the man’s throat. They were trying to strangle each other! Magic flickered and flared around them as they searched for weaknesses, trying to break through the wards before it was too late. Emily reached for her magic, but she couldn’t see how to intervene. She simply couldn’t blast the magician without running the risk of blasting Cat too.

  Keeping a wary eye on the struggle, she knelt down beside the magician Cat had beheaded and searched his robes. He hadn’t carried much, save for a wand, a ration bar and a piece of chat parchment. Emily tested it carefully, hoping to establish a link to the companion piece, but the magic was already fading. Whoever had cast the spell had tied it to the owner’s life force. Whoever held the companion piece would know that the magician was dead.

 
Cat shoved his opponent away from him with a grunt, then blasted him in the face with a fireball. The magician kept standing, somehow, until Cat hit him with his bare fist. Emily watched as the magician stumbled, then fell. Cat stunned him, just to be sure, then searched him roughly. He turned up a wand and a green crystal. The latter was still glowing with magic.

  “A protective charm,” Cat growled. “But not a particularly decent one.”

  Emily took the crystal and tested it, carefully. It wasn’t a neat piece of work, certainly when compared to some of the magical devices she’d seen at Whitehall. But it had done its job, she supposed. Cat hadn’t been able to simply blast the magician into little pieces. The crystal had presumably made it difficult, if not impossible. She checked it for unpleasant surprises, then dropped it into her pocket. It might come in handy for something.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t send stronger magicians,” Emily said, as she knelt down and reached out with her senses. The haze covering the enemy camp was as strong as ever. There wasn’t any hint the king’s magicians were about to perform another ritual, but... there was something off about it. She probed it gingerly, hoping for answers. They didn’t come. The faint sense of wrongness merely grew stronger. “Did he really think we drained ourselves?”

  “He doesn’t know about the batteries,” Cat reminded her. “So yes, he might have thought we drained ourselves dry. Or his magicians might have set out to capture us on their own bat. This fellow” – he pointed a finger at the stunned magician – “will probably be able to give us some answers.”

  Emily nodded, then turned her attention back to the battlefield. The fighting had, unbelievably, managed to get worse. Randor’s cannons were firing constantly, hurling cannonballs into the trenches, while his archers were advancing forward to cover the infantrymen as they advanced. Alassa’s troops were holding the line, but it was clear that they were taking a beating. The only real question was who would break first.