The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  “However, almost all trading routes pass through Venitte,” Avrell interjected. “It’s a major port, more so than Amenkor when it comes to the shipping lanes. Amenkor is significant as a port, yes, but mostly as a stopping point for those tradesmen heading farther north by both land and sea and as a crossroads, with the pass to the eastern Kandish Empire. Even if lately the Empire has fallen unsettlingly quiet.”

  “They could use Venitte as a launching point,” Eryn added. “It would give them the ability to stage an attack anywhere along the Frigean coast. So even though they aren’t attacking Amenkor directly now, they would be able to launch an attack from Venitte in the future . . . and from a much stronger position.”

  Darryn leaned back in his chair. “I see.”

  But it was a grudging acceptance. I could still see the urge to lick wounds and thank the gods in his eyes, leaving Venitte to fend for itself.

  Eryn must have seen it as well. “There are other reasons why the Chorl turning their attentions to Venitte is a problem,” she said.

  Avrell nodded. “Amenkor has a treaty with Venitte, an agreement that both sides have honored for hundreds of years. We’re allied, which means that in the event of war, Amenkor must come to Venitte’s defense, and they will come to our defense in return. If we’d had forewarning of the Chorl’s intent to attack Amenkor on the first day of spring, Venitte might have been able to help us defend the city.”

  “But Venitte and Amenkor have fought each other before,” Darryn countered. “The Carter’s War, and the Ten Year’s War.”

  “Those disputes were between the two cities themselves,” Avrell said. “This threat is from outside. It’s not a trade dispute, or a misunderstanding between the Mistress and the Lord of Venitte. This is an assault by a force that’s invading the coastal region, the same force that prompted the alliance between the two cities in the first place.”

  “And there’s a more significant reason we can’t ignore the Chorl attacking Venitte,” I said.

  All but Eryn turned toward me. I could feel their eyes on me. Everything that Catrell and Avrell had said—all the reasons they’d given for going to the defense of Venitte—they were all true. But there was only one reason to keep the Chorl out of Venitte. A reason impressed upon me by the Seven when the Chorl were attacking Amenkor.

  The second throne.

  “When the Skewed Throne was created, there was another throne made, one just like the Skewed Throne, called the Stone Throne. I think that throne is still in Venitte. I think that’s one of the reasons the Chorl are concentrating their attention there, rather than here in Amenkor. I don’t know how they came to know the second throne is there, but I do know they came to Amenkor to seize this throne, the Skewed Throne. They came here specifically because of that. And now that it’s been destroyed . . .”

  I let my gaze fall on Darryn and Catrell, watched them stir beneath it. I thought of the priest who had tortured Erick on the Ochean’s ship, thought of Haqtl, the priest who seemed to lead the Chorl priests themselves. I recalled the fervor in Haqtl’s eyes when he realized there was a piece of the Fire of Heaven inside of Erick on the deck of the doomed ship The Maiden. It had been that fervor the Ochean used to get the Chorl to attack Amenkor, that had led Haqtl to the Skewed Throne. He’d only ordered a retreat when the throne had cracked. If he’d somehow learned there was another throne, another source of power . . .

  And if Eryn was right, and the second throne was a male version of the Skewed Throne . . .

  The Chorl seemed to be divided into three segments: the Ochean and her Servants; Haqtl and the priests; and Atlatik and the Chorl warriors. The Ochean had been destroyed, her power structure lost. Which left only Haqtl and Atlatik. And from what I’d witnessed through the Ochean’s eyes before she’d died, the Chorl warriors followed the priests’ advice.

  Haqtl’s advice.

  “We cannot let the Chorl take the second throne,” I said. “We’re going to Venitte.”

  Everyone remained silent for a moment, and then Catrell nodded. “We will need to begin planning.”

  “Draw up a list of what you will need,” Avrell said. “Nathem and I will handle it.” At Catrell’s nod, both captains of the guard rising and filing out, the First turned toward me. “You will have to speak to Captain Tristan and Brandan Vard about this. As representatives of Venitte, they need to know of the Chorl’s intent, and our . . . offer to aid them.”

  I frowned, hearing the warning in his voice.

  “You are planning on sending a military force—an army—into a foreign port,” Eryn said. “You can’t do that unannounced unless you intend to attack them. You need to ask for Tristan’s sanction. He needs to accept your offer of help on Lord March’s behalf.”

  “You may have to convince him,” Avrell added.

  I stared at them both, then sighed and turned to Keven. “Send someone for Captain Tristan and Brandan Vard.”

  * * *

  “You wished to speak with me, Mistress?”

  I motioned Captain Tristan to one of the seats in the outer rooms of the Mistress’ chambers. He frowned, glanced toward Avrell seated to one side, and then settled himself while Marielle poured him a glass of wine.

  “Where is Brandan Vard?”

  “Occupied at the moment.”

  I nodded. “I have news of the Chorl that concerns both of you.”

  Tristan stiffened. The slight smile that had touched his lips faded. “I will pass on whatever information you have to Brandan Vard as soon as possible. What have you heard?”

  I thought about Tristan leading Brandan away at the docks and wondered if Tristan would inform Brandan, but pushed the concern to the side. “As you may have learned, Amenkor sent a scouting party to Temall to determine the extent of the Chorl forces, their location and resources. I’ve had word from the party. It seems they have not yet taken Temall, that in fact they haven’t begun to march toward Amenkor. It seems they have a different goal.

  “They intend to march on Venitte.”

  Tristan became absolutely still, face a rigid mask.

  But beneath the river, the currents roiled.

  Tristan’s eyes locked with mine. “I haven’t seen any ships return, haven’t seen or heard of any group of guardsmen returning from the south. How have you learned this information?”

  I’d drawn breath to tell him of the Fire within Westen, but Avrell leaned forward.

  “You are speaking to the Mistress of Amenkor,” the First of the Mistress said. “Suffice it to say that she is indeed in contact with the scouting party.”

  “Even with the Skewed Throne destroyed?” Tristan snapped.

  “Even so,” Avrell said coldly.

  Tristan’s gaze had never left mine, and in their depths I could see him reassessing me. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tightened, and his lips thinned. “Lord March must be warned. Immediately.” He stood abruptly, bowed low. “Forgive me, Mistress. I must ready my ship for departure, leave on the next tide.”

  “Amenkor would like to extend an offer of help,” I said. “Captain Catrell has already begun to assemble a force. We can escort you and your ship to Venitte.”

  “I’m . . . not certain that is necessary.”

  I shifted forward. “You are Lord March’s representative. And it’s my understanding that Amenkor and Venitte are allied, that Amenkor will come to Venitte’s aid in case of an attack.”

  “But Venitte did not aid Amenkor this past winter when the Chorl attacked you.”

  “Because we had no advance warning,” Avrell said. “If we’d known, we could have asked for aid. And, given our current relationship with Venitte, I’m certain that Lord March would have helped.”

  “We have experience with the Chorl, Captain Tristan. We’ve fought them once already, and won. It’s in our own interests to keep them out of Venitte. Are you w
illing to turn down our aid?”

  Tristan remained silent long enough I thought perhaps he would, but then he smiled tightly. “No. No, it would be foolhardy to refuse such a generous offer. On behalf of Lord March, the Council of Eight, and all of Venitte, I accept. Any aid you can offer would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Then I will have Captain Catrell coordinate our preparations with yours.”

  “Very well.”

  Bowing again, toward me and Avrell, he left the outer chambers, Keven closing the door behind him.

  “He seemed somewhat reluctant,” Keven said.

  “No,” I said, frowning. “He was hesitant. He wanted our help, he just isn’t certain he can trust it.”

  “You are an unknown to him, Mistress. And he just agreed to allow Amenkor’s forces inside of Venitte’s walls.”

  I shook my head. “It’s more than that. But I don’t know what.”

  * * *

  “Can you get all of that ready before the ships are set to sail?” I asked, handing over the list that Avrell had prepared.

  “Of course,” Regin said, glancing over it again with a frown. We were walking briskly down the wharf, gulls shrieking overhead, wheeling in the wind. “Trade caravans have started arriving from the north. Most of the supplies on the list we already have or can get from them. Which ships are you intending to take?”

  I motioned out toward the harbor, where one of Borund’s trading ships, the Defiant, was anchored, two of the smaller Chorl ships nearby. All three had been refurbished and repaired, were simply waiting to be stocked and given orders. “The Defiant will be the main ship, escorted by the Spoils of War and,” I winced, “the Booty.”

  Regin laughed. “I see a trend in the naming of the captured Chorl ships. Prize, Spoils of War, Booty . . .”

  “Avrell was horrified with the last one,” I said. “He tried to get them to change it—the Treasure or even just Salvage—but it had already stuck. Someone even painted Booty on the hull overnight.”

  Regin glanced down the length of the docks, turning serious. “That doesn’t leave Amenkor many ships.”

  We paused. Two other traders were tied to the wharf, along with Tristan’s ship; the last two Chorl ships were swarming with repair crews, having just been pulled in to berth. In the other direction, three docks had been given over to Borund and the construction of the new ships. Some type of scaffolding had been erected, carpenters working in a frenzy of activity.

  “Borund is working as fast as he can,” I said.

  “But what about the defense of Amenkor while you’re gone? What if the Chorl do return?”

  Eyebrows raised, somewhat surprised at the concern in Regin’s voice, I said, “Ships didn’t seem to slow the Chorl down much last time. And William and the other new merchants have begun work on a new outer wall.”

  “True. But having no ships doesn’t make me—or any of the other guilds for that matter—feel any more confident. And the wall will not be built overnight; it will take years to complete. You and Avrell are taking a significant portion of the army with you. No ships, an army composed mostly of recently trained militia . . . no, Mistress—it doesn’t make me or anyone else comfortable.”

  “You’ll have Eryn. She’s staying here, along with a few of the Servants.”

  “It wasn’t Eryn who saved us from the Chorl,” Regin countered, eyebrows raised.

  I frowned. “I can’t stay behind, Master Regin. I can’t just sit here in Amenkor knowing that the Chorl are going to attack Venitte.” The words came out more vehemently than I’d intended, and something hardened in my chest, beneath my breastbone. Something hot and visceral. I needed to be active, needed to move. I couldn’t simply sit in Amenkor and pass judgments on petty disputes while the Chorl destroyed the coast.

  “A few months ago, you wouldn’t have had a choice,” Regin said. “The Skewed Throne would have kept you here.”

  I turned toward him, eyes wide. Because that was exactly it. A few months ago, I’d felt trapped in Amenkor, imprisoned by the throne. I’d resented it, especially since I’d just come to realize that there was more to the world than the streets of Amenkor, had only been able to withstand it because of the desperation of the city and then the attack by the Chorl.

  But now the throne was dead. I was free, could travel beyond Amenkor and its boundaries. And I wanted to, the urge to explore like an itch beneath the skin, one that until now I couldn’t scratch. That’s why I’d tried to leave on the scouting ship with Westen, why I’d resented everyone arguing that I had to remain behind.

  This time, I didn’t have to stay behind. In fact, Avrell was insisting that I go. No Mistress of Amenkor had traveled to Venitte, to any of the coastal cities, because of the throne. Diplomatically, he said I had to go, as a show of good faith, and to emphasize the seriousness of the Chorl threat and Amenkor’s allegiance to the treaty. And with me being inexperienced in the ways of true diplomacy, he felt he had to accompany me, to explain the intricacies of the politics involved in Venitte, to guide me.

  To make certain I didn’t screw up, I thought wryly.

  But I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted out of the city. I wanted to feel the deck of the trading ship rolling beneath my feet, wanted to feel the wind stinging against my face as we sailed, wanted to taste the salt of the spray kicked up from the bow of the ship cutting through the water. I’d dreamed about it since I’d first come down to the docks. An unidentifiable yearning at the time, because it had seemed impossible, but that had changed the longer I’d been around the wharf as Borund’s bodyguard.

  The yearning had grown, I just hadn’t realized it until now.

  “—just send these down to the warehouse, then,” Regin was saying, and I returned to the conversation with a jerk.

  “What?”

  Regin grinned. “I said I’d take care of everything, have everything sent down to the warehouse for loading as soon as possible. And I think the merchants’ guild needs to send William to Venitte, a representative to meet up with the guild members there, inform them of Alendor and his cohorts and what really happened with the consortium. And what’s happening now with the Chorl of course. He needs to stretch his legs as a Master Merchant, needs to start making contacts. This is the perfect opportunity.”

  “I suppose so,” I said. Me and William on a ship for two solid weeks, at the least. I could already feel myself tensing up. And not simply because we’d barely spoken to each other since the incident with Brandan on the wharf.

  “Very good,” Regin said. “Then if you’ll excuse me.” He bowed and headed off down the wharf, immediately calling over his apprentices as he moved, motioning toward the paper Avrell had prepared. Messengers had already been sent before he passed from sight.

  “Where to now, Mistress?”

  Keven had come up behind me. Feeling unsettled, I motioned toward the palace. “I want to go see Erick.”

  Keven’s face grew grim. “Very well.”

  I pursed my lips as we headed away from the wharf, winding up through the streets of the lower city, past stalls and warehouses, taverns and shops. I’d checked up on Erick almost daily at first, had spent hours inside the Fire at his core consoling him, comforting him, speaking to him. I’d managed to pull him up out of his self-imposed stupor enough to eat on occasion, but he always retreated from the pain eventually.

  A pain that neither I nor Eryn could lessen. We’d tried, repeatedly. Tried to dampen it, since we knew we couldn’t deal with the spell directly. A few of our tricks worked, but only for a short time, the seething needles that pricked Erick’s skin returning, sometimes worse than before.

  But it hadn’t all been worthless effort. His other wounds—the burns, the nicks and bruises from the fighting on The Maiden and the subsequent mundane torture by the Ochean and Haqtl and the others—had healed. All except one, the circular puncture
wound in the middle of his chest that Eryn had identified as the location of the spell placed on him. That wound was still angry, still raw. The fact that everything else had healed had kept everyone’s hopes up for a while, Keven’s included.

  Not any longer. Erick had been lost for almost three months now. Hope was fading. I’d heard it in Keven’s voice, could see it in the healer Isaiah’s bitter eyes every time I entered Erick’s chambers.

  Perhaps it was time to see if Ottul could help. I hadn’t called on her before because I couldn’t trust her—still didn’t trust her—but I was becoming desperate.

  As we entered the Great Hall of the palace, the long corridor with the vaulted ceilings that had awed me when I’d first come to the palace to kill the Mistress, I said, “You don’t have to come with me, Keven. You can wait outside.”

  For a moment, it was as if a huge burden had lifted from Keven’s shoulders. He straightened, shoulders back, and relief flickered through his eyes.

  But then he sighed and shook his head, his jaw clenched. “No, Mistress. Erick and I trained in the barracks together. We’ve known each other far too long.”

  I nodded, and then a movement far down the corridor caught my eye.

  I slowed, felt the escort slow around me. Keven’s brow knit in consternation, then relaxed.

  Down the length of hall, on the left, near one of the numerous open doors that led to the interior halls and rooms of the palace, Eryn and Avrell stood together, conversing softly. Even as we slowed, Eryn shook her head, and I saw tears on her face.

  Avrell reached up and, with a care that sent a tingling sensation through my chest, cupped a hand to her jaw and brushed the wetness away with his thumb. Eryn smiled, the contrast of tears and happiness terrible and wonderful at the same time.

  Avrell leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. When she glanced up into his face, he kissed her on the lips.

  I suddenly thought of both of them, here, in the palace, Eryn trapped by the throne. I thought of them talking animatedly this past winter as we searched for the supplies Eryn thought she had hidden throughout the city, discussing parties and people, scandal and gossip. And I suddenly remembered being with each of them as they stood on the walls of the palace, the Chorl surging through the newly breached gates, stone crumbling around them, both hurt, both wounded, the world seeming to collapse in on them.