The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “There’s food in the cupboard,” Tam said. “Do not go outside during the day. I’ll see you in two nights, when the time comes.”

  When Alassa lays siege to the city, Emily thought. They’d outraced the army easily, but Alassa’s men weren’t going to stop until they reached the walls. And then we tell you what we’re really doing here.

  Cat smiled as Tam nodded to them, then left the house. “It could be worse.”

  “True,” Emily agreed. The Levellers had promised a safehouse, but it could have been anything from a room in a brothel to a pallet on someone’s floor. “Let’s set up the wards, then see what we have to eat.”

  Her stomach growled as she drew runes on the floor, but she ignored it until the house was securely warded. It had to be done before they used magic themselves. Randor probably wouldn’t be able to sense them unless he was right next to the house – necromancers tended to be unable to sense magic, as their power reserves effectively blinded them – but he had other magicians under his command. Emily hoped they’d deserted him, yet – again – they had no way to be sure. The magicians might have sworn oaths that kept them by the king’s side.

  “Cheese, ham and bread,” she said, glancing into the cupboard. Someone had cast a preservation spell on the cupboard, ensuring that the food stayed fresh. “And beer. Lots of beer.”

  “They know how to live,” Cat said, dryly.

  Emily rolled her eyes, then started to make a pair of thick sandwiches. She’d eaten worse, back when she’d gone on forced marches with the class. Cat watched her for a moment, then went to check out the bedroom. Emily heard him clumping about upstairs and hoped that the neighbors couldn’t. She felt a little jet-lagged – her body was telling her that she’d been up too long – but she knew it was too late to make noise. A single complaint to the local guardsmen and they’d be in real trouble.

  She poured herself a glass of water, cast a spell to make sure it was safe to drink and sat down at the table. Cat joined her a moment later, after taking a bottle of beer from the cupboard. Emily kept an eye on him until he cast a spell to remove the alcohol before taking a swig. He grimaced at the taste. The beer clearly wasn’t the best he’d drunk. She had to admit that the water wasn’t much better.

  “So... we wait,” Cat said, as they chewed their sandwiches. The bread was hard, the cheese sour, the ham tasting as if it had been preserved... but they ate the sandwiches anyway. “And see?”

  “We wait for the army to arrive,” Emily said. She was tempted to go into the castle earlier, but she knew they needed a distraction. “And then we move.”

  She finished her sandwich, washed her mug and plate and clambered up the ladder into the bedroom. It was very simple, nothing more than a handful of thick blankets. She wondered why they hadn’t bothered to install a bed, then dismissed the thought as Cat followed her up the ladder. She knew what he had in mind.

  Afterwards, she lay on the bed and reached out with her senses. Randor’s mere presence was pervading the city now, casting the population into his shadow. Anyone with any sensitivity to magic, any sensitivity at all, would be able to feel it. Emily couldn’t tell if Randor was doing it deliberately or not, but it was seeping into the city’s collective unconscious and making it harder for the population to resist. She’d read horror stories about people who lived in the Blighted Lands, terrified wretches who jumped at shadows and willingly gave their children up for sacrifice. She hadn’t understood how they’d been broken so thoroughly, but she understood now. Randor was steadily breaking his own population to his will.

  He has to be stopped, she thought, as she tightened the wards as much as she dared. Randor was using a subtle spell, but there was nothing subtle at all about the amount of power he was channelling into it. It was easy to tell the spell was there, yet resistance was incredibly difficult. He cannot be allowed to get away.

  She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but it was a long time before sleep overcame her. Her mind ran in circles, worrying about the effectiveness of her spells and fretting about what Randor would do and... fearing for Cat’s life. Randor would kill them both, if he got a chance. There was a part of her, a part influenced by Randor’s spell, that just wanted to turn and run. She tightened the wards – again – and concentrated on a mild sleep spell. Her mind fell into darkness...

  ... But the nightmares began as she plunged into sleep. She twisted and turned, always on the edge of waking up, as half-glimpsed images tormented her mind. She tried to remember them, but they slipped away from her every time she tried to focus on them. She was hot and sweaty when she woke, the blankets damp beneath her. If the entire city was getting the same treatment... she swallowed, hard. Randor had turned the world upside down once again.

  Cat didn’t look any better when he woke the following morning. She was sure he’d had nightmares too, but she knew she couldn’t ask. Cat wouldn’t tell her. There was something unmanly about admitting to bad dreams, even though they hadn’t been natural. Randor was probably giving everyone nightmares. She just had no idea if he was doing it deliberately or not.

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself, as she washed and changed before the day began. He has to be stopped.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “PRINCESS ALASSA IS LAYING SIEGE TO the city,” Tam said, two days later. The sound of distant gunfire underlined his words. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Take us to the Crone’s Temple, then leave us,” Emily said. Alassa was probing the defenses, making a great deal of noise as her men hunted for weak spots, but it wouldn’t be long before she unlimbered the cannon and attacked in earnest. “We have to move now.”

  Tam’s eyes narrowed. “The Crone’s Temple? Why...?”

  “We’ll tell you that later,” Emily said, sharply. What Tam didn’t know, he couldn’t be made to tell. “The king cannot be allowed to realize what we have in mind.”

  “As you wish,” Tam said. He sounded annoyed at not being told what was happening, but he seemed to have accepted her logic. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. Cat echoed her a moment later. “Let’s go.”

  The sound of gunfire grew louder as they hurried onto the streets. She could hear armored men running down the Royal Mile, rushing to reinforce the walls. Tam kept them to side-streets, often pulling them aside to hide from the soldiers. The firing kept growing louder, suggesting that Alassa had found a weak spot. Emily just prayed that she wouldn’t lose too many men as she forced her way into the city.

  A giant explosion shook the air. Emily glanced back just in time to see a fireball rising into the air. Two more followed in quick succession, shouts and screams echoing in the distance as the uprising began. Emily looked at Tam, who smiled. The Levellers clearly had their own plans to take the city. Emily cursed under her breath as they reached Temple Row and made their way towards the Crone’s Temple. If the Levellers hadn’t coordinated their plans with Alassa, the whole conflict would devolve into a three-sided war.

  She looked up at the castle just in time to see a puff of smoke rising up from the walls. Randor was firing into the city, she realized dully, as the cannons fired again. He was bombarding his own people. She cursed again as they reached the temple, then hurried around the back. The building appeared deserted, but it was heavily warded. They were powerful enough to make her skin crawl.

  “Good luck,” Tam said. “I have to rejoin my people.”

  “Be careful,” Emily said. “And make sure Alassa knows you’re there.”

  She exchanged a glance with Tam as they approached the smaller building behind the temple itself. Alassa had explained that it was a retreat for particularly dedicated – and wealthy – devotees and initiates, the ones who wanted to escape from their menfolk for a few days and were willing to pay for the privilege. The wards snapped and snarled, but retreated as soon as Emily held up the vial of blood. Emily stepped into the building, unsurprised to discover that it was strikingly luxurious. The cynic in h
er wondered if the devotees wanted a holiday, rather than a religious retreat.

  “Fancy,” Cat commented. “And I’m the first man to see it.”

  Emily had to smile. The Crone Goddess was regarded with suspicion and fear because it was a female-only cult. Young women joined to rebel against their parents, a handful becoming cultists and spreading the word. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it – she’d seen enough to wonder if there was some truth behind the cult’s claims – but it hardly mattered. There was no one around to see Cat trespassing on sacred ground. Besides, Randor had banned the cult. The Crone’s followers had every reason to want the king dead.

  She felt a flicker of déjà vu as she found the painting at the rear of the lower chamber. It was detailed enough to make her blush, even though there was nothing particularly sexual about the image. A nude woman, standing so openly that it was clear she wasn’t remotely ashamed of her body... Emily found the hidden switch and pressed it, opening the door. The painting moved aside, allowing them to step into the tunnel. It closed behind them as soon as they were through.

  “Tell Alicia we’re coming,” Cat ordered.

  Emily shook her head as she led the way down the sloping passageway. She’d told Alicia to be ready, but otherwise... she hadn’t told Alicia precisely when they’d be coming. There was too great a chance of Randor realizing that something was wrong and forcing Alicia to talk. Instead, Emily kept walking, using the vial of blood to break through the endless series of wards. Cat walked behind her, one hand resting on Emily’s shoulder. It was important that the wards didn’t realize he was with her.

  “Unbelievable,” Cat breathed, as they reached the bottom. “How many of these tunnels are there?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. “Lady Barb showed me a few” – unfortunately, Randor was aware she knew about that tunnel – “but there were others. It’s like being under Mountaintop here.”

  She sucked in her breath as the earth shook, dust dropping from high overhead. The city was under attack. It wouldn’t be long until parts of the cave network started to collapse under the bombardment. She moved forward as fast as she dared, noting the hidden stockpiles of weapons, gemstones and food. Randor had clearly been planning ahead. If the Noblest had taken the city – it felt like years since the war had begun – Randor and his forces could have continued the fight indefinitely. She wondered if he had something similar in mind for when Alassa took the city.

  Another ward, a far more complex one, snapped at her as she reached the tunnel that led up to the castle. She held up the blood, silently willing the ward to accept that she had a perfect right to enter the tunnel. Randor couldn’t lock Alassa out completely without locking himself out as well... could he? He didn’t have the power – or the control – to craft truly secure wards. She reminded herself, sharply, not to underestimate him. If he’d gone further than anyone else in learning and controlling necromancy, he might well be more capable than she’d realized.

  She touched the supplies at her belt as they started to walk up the tunnel. She’d done everything she could, save for casting the spell itself. That would have to wait until they were right on top of their target. If nothing else, she promised herself, they’d give Randor one hell of a fright. It might be enough to make him panic and lose faith in himself. And that would be instantly fatal.

  “I can feel him,” Cat said, quietly. “He’s angry.”

  Emily nodded. The pulsing had been dulled by the tunnels – and the layers of stone between them and the necromancer – but now it was growing stronger. Randor’s anger drove his men onwards even as it terrified his enemies. Emily hoped his anger was a good sign. If the Levellers had brought down a section of the walls, and attacked the defenders in the back, Alassa would be on the verge of taking the city. But as long as the castle stood, her victory would be meaningless.

  We could bring hundreds of tons of gunpowder up the tunnels and blow the castle to hell, Emily told herself. It might be the only way to win if we really can’t take him out.

  Another ward snapped at her, then parted. Emily sucked in a breath as they reached a featureless black hatch. The wards on it were strong, strong enough to make it impossible to open from the wrong side. Emily wondered, wryly, just how Randor was meant to return to his castle, then dismissed the thought. There would be other secrets. She reached for the chat parchment, scribbled down a quick note and leaned against the stone wall, waiting. The faint tremors seemed to be weaker. She hoped that was a good sign too.

  Cat caught her eye. “What if we can’t get in?”

  “Then we have to think of something else,” Emily said. She had a battery. She might be able to break down the hatch. But that would set off all the alarms at once. “Right now, we have to wait.”

  It felt like an eternity before the hatch slowly opened. Emily raised her hand, ready to cast a spell if they were greeted by armed guards; she let out a sigh of relief as she saw Alicia standing there. Her face looked as if she’d been brutally beaten, with one eye blackened and bloodied, but she was alive. She looked relieved to see them.

  “Lady Emily,” Alicia said. Her mouth was swollen and ugly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Likewise,” Emily said. She’d never disliked Alicia. The poor girl had never had any real freedom of her own. She’d been a pawn from the day she’d been born. “What happened to you?”

  Alicia touched her cheek, but said nothing. Emily could guess. No one but the king would dare lay hands on a baroness. Even her husband – Emily wondered, suddenly, if Lord Burrows was still alive – wouldn’t beat her. And even the king would hesitate to hit a well-born woman. It wasn’t as though she was a scullery maid.

  Necromancy and domestic violence, Emily thought, with a flicker of morbid humor. How will he ever keep his job with a record like that?

  She reached out and touched Alicia’s shoulder, lightly. “Go down into the tunnels,” she said, “and head up the furthest passageway. You should be safe there.”

  Alicia shook her head. “My son is in my quarters,” she said. “I can’t leave him for long.”

  “Then keep your head down,” Emily ordered. “You don’t want to be caught in the middle of this.”

  She glanced at Cat, then hurried along the passageway. Alicia would be fine... she hoped. It was unlikely anyone would intercept her before she reached her quarters. She opened her mind gingerly, trying to locate the king. The pulses grew stronger, as if someone was banging a drum beside her ear, their source too powerful to localise. She hesitated, knowing that using any active magic would increase the odds of being detected, then took careful hold of the blood vial and cast a seeking spell. An arrow appeared in front of her, pointing upwards. She guessed that meant Randor was in his Throne Room.

  “Stay behind me,” Cat ordered, as they reached the stairs. “You have to get to the Throne Room. I don’t.”

  Emily nodded stiffly and allowed him to walk past her, his sword held at the ready. It was possible they might be able to bluff their way past any guards, but she wasn’t willing to count on it. Randor’s crack guardsmen would know the names and faces of everyone authorized to be on the upper levels and they wouldn’t hesitate to hold any intruders for questioning until their identities were sorted out. It was the only time low-born guards got to manhandle noblemen, and they tended to make the most of it. Randor wouldn’t complain. His safety came first.

  The air smelled... odd... as they reached the top of the stairs. It smelt like an alchemist’s chamber, although it lacked the wards that kept older ingredients from destabilising and exploding. Was Randor experimenting with alchemy? Emily looked up and down the corridor but saw nothing. Randor might have his pet magicians brewing up potions to give his forces an edge. He wouldn’t be the first monarch to believe he could find a silver bullet that would solve all his problems in one stroke.

  “Halt,” a voice bellowed. “Who are you?”

  Emily spun around. Five men ran towards them, we
aring Randor’s personal livery over their armor. Emily cursed as she saw a second group of men coming from the opposite direction. Gritting her teeth, she cast a set of spells on the air, transfiguring it into pure oxygen before hurling a fireball at the nearest soldier. The explosion – and the wave of heat – sent them toppling to the ground. Emily covered her mouth and turned back to the second wave of soldiers. Cat was tearing into them with his sword.

  Keep them busy, Emily thought, as she readied another spell. Just give me a second...

  She reached out, feeling her magic glinting off the charmed armor, and hit the floor under their feet with a powerful locomotion spell. The floor shifted violently, stone shattering under the weight of the spell. The soldiers toppled like ninepins, giving Cat a chance to kill them. Emily winced, then ran forward. She could hear other footsteps rushing up behind them. There were more guards on the way.

  “This way,” she snapped. “Hurry!”

  Cat followed her as they ran through a pair of open doors into the king’s antechamber. Emily remembered Nightingale, sitting at his desk and making himself indispensable, as a trio of magicians ran towards them. Emily caught the first one with a force punch, throwing him backwards, but he merely bounced off the walls. He was stronger than he looked, she realized, as he hurled a series of spells at her. Emily cursed – she couldn’t afford to waste power battling him – and aimed a fireball at the hanging chandelier. It crashed into his head, cracking his skull. Cat dispatched his opponent a second later and turned to the third magician. The young man, barely out of his teens, looked from Cat to Emily and back again, then turned and fled. Emily didn’t blame him. He knew he was outmatched.