The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  But we can withdraw to Winter Flower, Emily thought. And force the king to take it by storm.

  “This place isn’t going to be safe for long,” Cat said. “We need to move.”

  Emily nodded. Randor was feeding more troops across the river. She knew he didn’t have an unlimited supply of men, particularly now that he’d expended the baronial troops, but it felt as if he could keep the pressure on forever. Emily shuddered helplessly. Whoever won the battle was going to feel as though they’d lost.

  No, she corrected herself. Alassa might feel that way, but Randor certainly won’t.

  “Leave him,” Cat said, gesturing at the stunned magician. “we’ll come back for him later.”

  If there is a later, Emily thought.

  She stood and followed Cat down the back of the hill, crouching within an old dried-up ravine to keep from being seen. The sound of cannons seemed to grow quieter as they headed down, but the smell of smoke was growing stronger. Emily hoped the troops weren’t having too many problems seeing through the smoke, particularly as the enemy forces continued their advance. They’d be able to get very close without being seen if the smoke grew thicker.

  The enemy must be having the same problems, Emily told herself, firmly. But they have the wind blowing their smoke away.

  The sound of shooting grew louder as they reached the edge of the third trench network. A pair of guards saw them and lifted their muskets, then relaxed as they recognized Emily and Cat. Cat spoke briefly to them as Emily peered into the trench, feeling a flicker of dismay. It was muddy, with pools of water congealing at the bottom. She scrambled down the ladder into the trench, feeling completely out of place. Arrows hissed overhead as they picked their way through the network of trenches, rallying points and makeshift bunkers. It felt as if the trench would collapse at any moment.

  They used the earthquake to weaken the trench, she thought, as she noticed a mudslide that had destroyed a section. And they came very close to winning in a single blow.

  Jade had set up his command post midway between the second and third trenches. Emily didn’t even realize it was there until Cat opened a hidden flap and motioned for her to enter the compartment. It was dark inside, the only light coming from a flickering globe that hovered over the main table. The sound of gunfire cut off abruptly when the flap closed. Jade had clearly cast a whole series of silencing spells.

  “You did well,” Jade said, once he’d given a messenger a set of orders and pointed him at the door. “That earthquake could have killed us all.”

  “We also killed or captured five magicians,” Cat said, bluntly. “You’d better send someone to go pick them up.”

  “Will do, if we win,” Jade said. “Right now, the second trench is in danger of being overrun.”

  Emily sucked in her breath. There were only three lines of trenches, with the third being the weakest of the three. Jade had intended to strengthen it, perhaps add another set of trenches around the city walls themselves, but he simply hadn’t had the time. If Randor overran the second set of trenches, the third would fall quickly. And then he’d be able to bring in the bulk of his army and lay siege to Winter Flower.

  No, he won’t have to lay siege to the city, Emily thought. He can use cannons and gunpowder to blast down the walls and storm the city.

  The ground shook, violently. Pieces of debris started to fall from the ceiling. Jade took one look up, then started to snap orders for the room to be evacuated. Emily took the maps he shoved into her arms and hurried for the door, the staff following in their footsteps. Outside, the air was thick with smoke. A massive fireball was rising slowly into the air, taking on the shape and form of a mushroom. For a horrified moment, she thought Randor had somehow discovered the nuke-spell. He’d certainly had hints that she had something very destructive up her sleeves...

  No, she told herself, as the smoke began to clear. He’d have blown us all to hell if he knew how to cast the nuke-spell.

  “They must have been digging a mine,” Jade said, as troops began to stream back from the remains of the second trench. The network had been shattered beyond repair. “And then they blew a hole in our lines.”

  The smoke cleared, allowing them to see a line of enemy cavalry and infantrymen charging towards them. Randor knew, Emily realized numbly. He knew that the second trench was the most important, that it had to be held at all costs. His cannoneers were already firing, slamming cannonball after cannonball into the third set of trenches. The sergeants were barking orders – Emily saw Sergeant Rotherham in the throng – but panic was starting to set in. Even Jade couldn’t rally the troops quickly.

  Shit, she thought.

  Randor’s commanders knew they’d made a breakthrough. She could see thousands of men running towards the hole, not even bothering to seek cover as they ran. They were desperate to overrun the trench before resistance could be organized, desperate to get into position to take the third and last set of trenches. Cold resolution flowed through her as she pulled the second battery from her pocket. She was damned if she was letting them get so close to victory.

  “Cover me,” she ordered Cat. “I’m going to do something dangerous.”

  She stood and started to walk forward, wrapping a protective ward around herself. It wouldn’t last long, certainly not if Randor started hurling charmed weapons at her, but it should last long enough. She linked the battery to the valve, carefully emplacing a spell within the structure. If she’d had more time... she shook her head. There had been good reasons not to make more batteries, back when they’d been in Eagle’s Rest. But she missed them now.

  I didn’t know I’d need them, she thought. None of us knew.

  Raising the battery, she triggered the spell. A massive force punch burst into existence, so powerful that it felt more like a hurricane than a punch. Emily gritted her teeth as the battery began to shake in her hand, forcing her to keep a very tight grip on it as she directed the force towards the enemy soldiers. The cavalry started to tumble off their horses, only to be picked up by the wind and hurled away before they hit the ground. A handful of infantrymen had the presence of mind to duck, but the remainder were picked up and thrown towards the river; the cannoneers were blown away too, even as their cannons merely crashed to the ground.

  It’s not strong enough to reach the king’s camp, she thought, as she pushed it as far as she could. It isn’t...

  The battery ran dry. The force vanished a moment later. But it had worked. She felt a thrill of relief as she realized it had worked. The enemy force had been completely smashed. And yet... she swallowed, hard, as Jade ordered his cavalry to exploit the sudden change in fortune. How many men had she just killed? Hundreds? Thousands? How many men had she injured? How many of them would be crippled for the rest of their lives? She didn’t want to know.

  “Nice,” Cat said, surveying the battlefield. “You blew them away.”

  Emily said nothing as the reserve troops hurried past her to repossess the trench lines before the king could reorganize his troops and launch another assault. There were no more batteries, there would be no more supersized spells... unless, she supposed, she managed to teach the basics of ritual magic to the handful of magicians. But that would take weeks, if they were lucky. She doubted it could be done in time.

  “I suppose,” she said. It was hard to be sure, from their distance, but it looked as though the river was running red with blood. “Cat, I...”

  She shivered. She couldn’t grasp the enormity of what she’d done. One death was a tragedy, a million was a statistic... she understood, now, why that was true. The men she’d killed had been faceless enemies, not people. But they were people. No, they had been people. And she’d swatted them like bugs, killed them as casually as a man might step on a snail. They hadn’t stood a chance.

  Cat put an arm around her shoulders. “You did well,” he said. “And those men would have killed us if they’d had the chance.”

  Emily gave him a sharp look. “How do
you know what I’m thinking?”

  “You care,” Cat said. “You care about everyone. And I don’t.”

  Emily had expected Randor to throw in another assault, but – as the sun sank in the sky and darkness fell over the land – it rapidly became clear that the king had decided it wasn’t worth the cost. He had a considerable force – still – yet even he could not afford to write off over two thousand men without wincing. Emily suspected, as she joined Alassa and the others for tea in Alassa’s tent, that Randor was considering his options. Perhaps he’d take the time to find another place to ford the river after all.

  But he still needs to destroy our army, Emily thought. He cannot leave us in his rear.

  They were midway through the second course when a herald entered the tent. “Your Highness, we captured a man crossing the river,” he said. “He says he has an urgent message for you.”

  “Then escort him in,” Alassa ordered.

  Emily tensed as the herald left the tent, returning – two minutes later – with a man she recognized. Sir Roger looked to have aged ten years in the two months since they’d last met, when she’d been facing a traitor’s death. She wondered how the strain of living and working directly under the king was affecting him. Sir Roger was a loyalist. He was, perhaps, the most loyal man Emily had ever encountered.

  “Sir Roger,” Alassa said, as Sir Roger went down on one knee. “I must say I’m surprised to find you here.”

  “I bear a message from His Majesty the King,” Sir Roger said. He cleared his throat, nervously. “Ahem, from His Majesty King Randor, Lord of Alexis, Duke of...”

  Alassa held up a hand. “Just the message, Sir Roger,” she said. “Please.”

  “He wishes to meet with you to discuss a long-term truce,” Sir Roger said. “If you agree to meet, he is prepared to declare a truce between your forces and his until the meeting is concluded. He will also offer safe conduct to anyone who attends the meeting, regardless of what crimes they may have committed against the crown...”

  “I see,” Alassa said, when Sir Roger had finished. “And we are supposed to trust him?”

  “He offers a sworn oath,” Sir Roger said. “And a hostage exchange.”

  Alassa’s face darkened. Emily winced in sympathy. There weren’t many people Randor wouldn’t consider expendable in a pinch. Alassa herself – and her unborn child – was the only plausible hostage. Even Queen Marlena, if she was even still alive, would be considered expendable. And Alassa was on the wrong side.

  “We will consider your kind offer,” Alassa said. “But make it clear to him that we expect his forces to remain on the far side of the river. Should they cross the waters, we will assume that the deal is over and continue the war.”

  Sir Roger bowed deeply. “That will be clearly understood, Your Highness.”

  “My people will discuss the mechanics with your people,” Alassa said. “Until then... you may return to your master.”

  “You do realize that this might be a trap?” Jade said after Sir Roger had gone. His voice was very quiet. “He could be trying to get you alone.”

  “But I won’t be alone,” Alassa said. “And we have to know what he wants to say.”

  “He could be just trying to buy time,” Emily said. “What’s he going to offer you?”

  “I don’t know,” Alassa said. “That’s why we have to find out.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  IT WOULD BE VERY DIFFICULT, EMILY told herself, for anyone to mount an attack on the tents.

  One set of tents stood at the western edge of the field, a second stood at the eastern edge of the field and a third, more like a giant pavilion, stood at the exact centre. The handful of noblemen who’d been turned into diplomats, including a grumbling Viscount Hansel, had spent four days haggling over the details, from who would enter the pavilion first to precisely how Alassa should greet her father. They’d pointed out, as if it had been a great discovery, that there was little protocol for how a rebellious daughter should greet her father. There wasn’t even any protocol for rebellious sons. Emily had done her best to follow the debate, but she’d eventually dismissed it as silly. Alassa – and Randor – had too many problems that had to be addressed to worry about how they should be addressing each other.

  She sucked in her breath as she looked towards the eastern tents. Randor was there, if his people were to be believed; the Royal Tent was so heavily protected, with so many wards, that there was no way to be sure. Emily had tried to slip closer, under cover of darkness, but the entire cluster of tents was so heavily guarded that even she couldn’t get close. Randor was clearly taking his personal safety very seriously. And yet, she couldn’t help feeling that he’d overdone it. There were so many protective spells that she rather suspected some of them were interfering with others.

  Cat walked up and stood beside her. “It’s time to change,” he said. “Are you ready?”

  Emily shrugged as they walked back towards the tents. She wasn’t sure what Randor – or anyone – hoped to gain from the meeting. Randor had taken a bloody nose in the recent battle, but he hadn’t lost. His broadsheet singers were no doubt already turning the battle into a victory. Even if his propaganda proved unconvincing, who was going to take advantage of the defeat? The Noblest were a spent force, the remainder of their men lying dead in front of Winter Flower. They wouldn’t be revolting again for years, if at all. The only real threat to Randor might come from the Levellers, but they’d need time to rebuild their forces too.

  She stepped into the tent and winced, slightly, when she saw the dress on the bed. It was a nice dress, one of Queen Marlena’s better gifts, but it wasn’t easy to move in it. She would have preferred to wear her leathers, or a shirt and trousers, if there was even the slightest prospect of the meeting turning violent. But she had to look presentable... she shrugged off her leathers, stripped to her underwear and pulled the dress over her head. The light blue silk contrasted nicely with her pale skin and blue eyes.

  “You’ll probably start a new fashion for simple clothes,” Cat said, as Emily smoothed the dress into place. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

  “I did,” Emily said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Alassa had told her that the courtly ladies had adopted her style for a few weeks, much to the horror of their dressmakers. The simple dresses weren’t expensive, by their standards, even though they still cost more than a peasant could hope to make in a decade. “And then it was replaced by something else.”

  She brushed her hair into place, checked her appearance and turned to the flap. “You’ll be ready?”

  “The troops are on alert,” Cat assured her. “If this is an elaborate trap, we’ll get you and the princess out of there.”

  And Jade, Emily thought, as a distant trumpet blared loudly. Don’t forget him too.

  She stepped out of the tent just in time to meet Alassa and Jade. Alassa wore a long white dress that Emily knew had been tailored to allow her to remove the outer layers in a hurry, while Jade wore a suit of silver armor. He wasn’t carrying any obvious weapons, but Emily knew better than to think that made him harmless. Jade had his magic, as well as whatever weapons might be concealed within his armor. And Alassa wasn’t helpless either, although Jade had made it clear that she was to save herself at once if the shit hit the fan. Emily would have bet half her fortune that Alassa had concealed a virgin blade within her sleeve.

  They walked steadily towards the pavilion. King Randor and his two companions – Sir Roger and Baron Gladstone – appeared at the far side, heading towards the pavilion themselves. Sir Roger and Baron Gladstone looked as Emily remembered, although Gladstone looked oddly worried, but Randor himself was wearing a suit of charmed armor that made it impossible to get a good sense of him. He’d layered spells over himself to do... to do what? Looking at him through her senses was like trying to stare into the sun. His face was practically covered in glamours.

  Emily frowned as they reached the pavilion. What wa
s Randor trying to hide? A paranoid thought flashed through her head. Was that really Randor? Or someone else, wearing the king’s armor and crown? It was death to wear the king’s crown, but Randor could easily have overruled the law... couldn’t he? Or... she tensed, promising herself that she’d grab Alassa and teleport out at the first sign of trouble. Jade could follow them as soon as they moved.

  “Daughter,” Randor said. His voice sounded strained, as if he was having difficulty keeping himself under control. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble.”

  “You separated me from my husband and locked me in the Tower,” Alassa said. Her voice was as cold as ice. “I dare say you caused me trouble first.”

  There was a long, awkward silence. “I suggest that we take our seats,” Baron Gladstone said, finally. “We have much to discuss.”

  Emily nodded and took her seat on Alassa’s left side, wishing they’d brought something to drink after all. Alassa had vetoed the suggestion, pointing out that they’d need clear heads to talk. But... Emily sighed, inwardly, as the tension continued to rise. It felt as if the merest cough would be taken as a sign to start something violent. It was going to be a very long day.

  Randor cleared his throat. “Daughter, you have come a long way,” he said, “but it ends now. I can bring up enough troops to smash your defenses, then occupy Winter Flower, Swanhaven and Cockatrice. The war will not last for more than a few months.”

  “Perhaps,” Alassa said. Emily heard the edge in her voice. She wondered, morbidly, if Randor could hear it too. “But we don’t know.”

  “Surrender now,” Randor said. “If you do, without any further ado, I will ensure that you are my heir. You will take the throne when I die and your son” – he pointed a finger at Alassa’s baby bump – “will follow you. Your reign will be easier than mine. Most of the trouble-causers have been killed.”