The Princess in the Tower

by Christopher Nuttall

  Her blood ran cold as she saw the steps up to the platform–and, mounted on the top, a single wooden block. A man stood beside it, his face hidden behind a black mask and robe that hid almost everything. The Royal Executioner wouldn’t want anyone to know his identity, not after he’d sent hundreds of men–and a handful of women–to the next world. He probably had more enemies than the Custodian of the Tower of Alexis. Emily wondered, idly, if he was actually a she, but it didn’t seem likely. The figure was too solidly built to be a noblewoman.

  And besides, he’s in public even if he is wearing a silly mask, Emily thought. It would be harder for a woman to pretend to be a man under so much scrutiny.

  She stopped at the base of the steps, her legs suddenly unwilling to go any further. Matilda gave her a gentle shove, then let go of her arm and stepped back. Clearly, she was expected to make the ascent on her own. Emily tried to look, one final time, for a chance to escape, but there was nothing. An odd calmness descended on her as she climbed the steps, counting one by one. Five...six...seven...she was at the top, looking across a sea of faces and shining armor. It looked as though every soldier in the country was guarding the execution grounds. And yet...

  Her eyes drifted across the city. It was quiet and still, as if the entire population was holding its collective breath. And yet...she could hear something in the distance, the sound of battle being joined. Sir Roger had said there was an army marching on the city, hadn’t he? She lifted her eyes to look at Randor, noting the pinched expression on his face. He was wearing a glamour, but the mere fact she knew it was there made it easy to see through it. She couldn’t resist a faint smile. The timing was awful. He couldn’t cancel–or even reschedule–her execution without looking weak, but he needed to split his forces between fending off the Noblest and guarding the execution grounds. No doubt he intended to rush his remaining soldiers to the front as soon as she was dead.

  She took a long breath as the executioner gestured to the block. This was it, then. She was going to die. She felt as though she should feel something, but...she felt nothing as she carefully knelt in front of the wooden block. It had been a good run, she told herself, again and again. She’d changed an entire world. And...

  And she didn’t want to die.

  But there was no way out. She wanted–she needed–to leave behind a legend, a story of a girl who’d walked to her death rather than sell herself to the king. Alassa would take the throne, she was sure, and extract revenge for her death. She wondered, morbidly, if Randor would last a year. He had too many enemies to survive indefinitely.

  And he didn’t give me any money, she thought, with a flicker of amusement. I can’t pay the headsman.

  The executioner looked down at her, his eyes oddly familiar. Emily tensed as he motioned for her to bow her head, resting it against the hard wood...it felt almost warm, against her neck. The executioner lifted his axe...

  ...And all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “GET DOWN,” THE EXECUTIONER SNAPPED.

  He shoved Emily, hard. She rolled over, landing roughly on the platform. He landed on top of her a moment later as the ground shook repeatedly, enormous bangs echoing over the city; he pushed her down as the shooting started, bullets flying in all directions. Emily gritted her teeth as the noise grew louder, feeling the entire platform starting to shake. People were shouting and screaming and running in all directions.

  The executioner pulled off his mask. “Emily,” Cat said. “We found you!”

  Emily stared at him in shock. “You? What are...?”

  “Saving you,” Cat said. He rolled her over, effortlessly, and cut through her bonds with a knife he pulled from his sleeve. “We need to be ready to move.”

  Emily nodded, stiffly. It was hard to see anything from her position, but it was clear that the Levellers were attacking Randor’s men. The sound of shooting was growing louder, accompanied by explosions that seemed to echo over the city. And...she looked at Cat, feeling a burst of something she wasn’t sure how to describe. He’d come for her, he’d saved her...she wanted to kiss him, caught up in the sheer pleasure of being alive. And yet, they weren’t out of trouble yet.

  “Drink this,” Cat said, passing her a small potions vial. “Hurry.”

  He stood, whipping up his magic. Matilda flew up into the air, her magic billowing around her, and came straight at him. They crashed together, waves of magic spilling in all directions; Emily heard people screaming as they were caught in the flow. She kept her head down as bullets flew over her head, opening the vial and putting it to her lips. The smell nearly made her think better of it, but there was no choice. She had to restore her magic before it was too late.

  The taste tried hard to make her retch, but she kept her mouth closed as she silently counted to thirty before opening her mouth and throwing up, violently. Her entire body convulsed, sweat pouring down her body as it expelled the potion. Normally, it would be better to wait for the potion to wear off, but they didn’t have time. Her fingers were shaking, helplessly, as she forced herself to sit up and cast a spell. The magic responded slowly, still suffering the effects of the potion, but it was there. She hastily removed the spells Matilda had put on the bracelet, then wrapped a set of wards around herself. The entire platform was on the verge of collapse.

  A young woman jumped up the steps and ran towards her. Emily blinked in surprise as she recognized Alassa, wearing a shirt and trousers more suitable for a laborer than a princess. She carried a wand in one hand and a flintlock pistol in the other. A faint haze of magic surrounded her, deflecting a handful of bullets as she knelt down beside Emily. Her face was practically glowing with excitement.

  “Emily,” she called. She wrapped her arm around Emily’s shoulders and helped her to her feet. “Get up!”

  Emily nodded, feeling her legs threatening to give way. She’d been pushed right to the limits even before she’d taken the purgative. It was hard to remain upright, even with Alassa holding her in place. She had to fight to start moving towards the edge, despite the bullets snapping around them. They were far too exposed on the platform.

  She looked past the platform edge and shuddered. Dead bodies–civilians and soldiers–lay everywhere, while small groups of soldiers battled an angry mob of armed civilians. The Levellers had brought a lot of weapons to the party, Emily realized numbly; fighting in close quarters, the soldiers had fewer advantages than they might have wished. She sucked in her breath as she saw the largest group of soldiers surrounding the pavilion, where Randor was still seated in his throne. There was no sign of Marlena.

  “Father,” Alassa said.

  She levelled the flintlock at Randor. Emily stared, torn between horror and a grim awareness that Randor’s death–now–might mean the end of the war. Randor looked back at them, his gaze firmly fixed on his daughter. The entire world seemed to stand still for a long timeless moment, as if it was waiting to see if Alassa would pull the trigger or not. Emily’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t speak. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to say...

  And then a force punch crashed into them both, blasting them off the platform–the wood smashed to splinters under the impact–and throwing them across the square and into the ground. Emily barely managed to cast a cushioning spell in time to save them from the worst of the impact, her magic still performing oddly under the lingering traces of the durian potion. Matilda had saved her king, Emily realized dully. She’d saved Randor’s life and prolonged the war and...

  At least Alassa didn’t have to shoot her father, Emily thought, as she turned and peered towards the pavilion. Randor was gone, as if he’d never been; a number of his guards were missing too. He’d probably departed the moment he could leave without looking like a coward in front of his daughter. She won’t have that on her conscience.

  She scowled at the thought. The Nameless World placed a high value on family, although Alassa would hardly be the first royal child to rebel against his or her parents
. Rebelling was one thing, actually killing them was quite another. Better to make it look like an accident, something that could be blamed on one’s underlings, than something blatantly obvious...it made her sick.

  The sound of shooting grew louder as someone ran up behind her. “Emily,” Jade said. “We need to move!”

  Emily looked at Cat and Matilda, still locked in their battle. Cat was doing well, she thought, but Matilda was more than holding her own. Emily couldn’t help thinking that Cat was going to lose, badly...she glanced at Jade, then looked around her. The soldiers were retreating in the direction of the castle–there were plumes of smoke rising up all over the city–but it would only be a matter of time before they regrouped and counterattacked. Whoever was in charge hadn’t made a bad call.

  Unless Randor decides that any hint of retreat is cowardice and must be punished, she thought. Randor had just watched his daughter take aim at him, preparing to fire. His mind might have snapped altogether. That commander might be executed for issuing pragmatic orders.

  She glanced at Jade. “Take Alassa and go,” she said, mustering her magic. “I...I’ll meet you at the dockyard inn.”

  Jade looked pale. “Emily...”

  “Go,” Emily ordered. “This will all be for nothing if Alassa gets killed!”

  She shoved them towards the nearest side-street, then looked around. There were hundreds of bodies, more bodies than she’d seen since Farrakhan...she tried, hard, not to be sick as she shaped a spell in her mind. Matilda was intensely focused on Cat, throwing spell after spell in a desperate attempt to wear down his defenses. Emily was impressed, despite herself; she hadn’t seen anyone, save for Void, spellcasting so rapidly. Matilda was clearly someone special.

  One measly civil war in the whole history of England and I’m on the wrong bloody side, Edmund Blackadder whispered in her memory. She’s on the wrong side too.

  She braced herself, then hurled the spell directly at Matilda. It struck her wards, hammering against her shields while simultaneously trying to break through the weaker points within her spellware. Matilda reacted with lightning speed, throwing back a series of fireballs to make Emily duck as she shattered her own wards and rebuilt them before Cat could take advantage of her sudden weakness. Emily gritted her teeth, feeling her magic surging free, demanding release. She didn’t want to face Matilda again, but she had no choice.

  A dark figure flew through the air, one finger pointed at Emily. A spell snapped free a moment later, slamming into Emily’s wards. Emily couldn’t help thinking of a ninja as the figure landed, his entire body shrouded in a black suit that hid even his eyes. She hastily reached out with her senses, trying to get a sense of her opponent’s power. He wasn’t that powerful–it struck her, again, that he might be a she–but he knew how to use what he had to best advantage. His magic was intensely focused, with hardly any leakage. She couldn’t help finding his discipline a little impressive.

  And I can’t afford to trade spells with him, she thought. King Randor would have dispatched other sorcerers, surely. I don’t have time.

  She summoned her magic, then slammed it into her opponent’s wards. He altered his wards, trying to deflect her power away, but she was ready for him. The weak points, suddenly clear, were easy to strike with her magic. His wards shattered into a thousand pieces, leaving him defenseless. A dozen nasty ideas ran through her head before she stunned him, allowing his body to fall to the ground. He’d be out of it for the next few hours.

  More figures appeared, wearing the same black outfits. Emily ducked a force punch that would have badly dented her wards, at the very least, then blasted her new opponent right across the square. A third sorcerer appeared, his magic reaching out to grab her; she thrust her power out, shattering his magic as she leapt backwards. The second sorcerer threw a pair of fireballs–somehow, he’d managed to land on his feet–and she deflected them at his comrade. He caught them on his shields and paused, clearly gauging her as she was gauging him.

  Or stalling, Emily thought. Randor would have sent most of his sorcerers to the front, but they might have been recalled by now. They’re waiting for reinforcements.

  She risked a glance at Cat and Matilda. He was fighting hard, but it was clear that he was slowly losing. Matilda was still pounding away at his wards, while his counterspells didn’t seem to be having much effect on her. Emily wracked her brain, searching for a solution...there had to be something. They couldn’t flee for their lives while Matilda and the other sorcerers were right behind them.

  A thought struck her. She summoned a force punch and threw it at Matilda, relying on the spell’s sheer power to hide the second spell. Matilda deflected it with ease, the blast spiralling harmlessly into the clear blue sky. Emily ducked a blow from the black-clad sorcerer, hoping that her second spell had gone unnoticed. It wouldn’t slow Matilda down for very long, if at all, but it might give them a fighting chance.

  The third sorcerer came forward, power surging out towards her. Emily felt her patience snap. She reached inside her for all the magic she could muster, shaped it into a complex set of spells and hurled it at him. His defenses seemed to hold, just for a second, then shattered as the second and third spells tore them apart. Emily smiled, tiredly, as the fourth spell turned him into a frog. It was a childish end, she knew, but she barely had the energy to do anything else. She’d worn herself out again.

  Matilda snorted, then let out a yelp of alarm as the ground started to move and break beneath her feet. Vines sprouted out of the ground, growing with terrifying speed as they reached up to coil around her hands and feet. Matilda barely had a second to snap out a spell–the wrong one–before she was pulled down. Emily took a moment to appreciate the sight–and silently bless Adana for inventing the spell–before she grabbed Cat’s arm. Matilda was still dangerous. They had to put as much distance as they could between them and her before she broke free. Her magic was already snapping away at the vines.

  And we don’t even have time to try to kill her, Emily thought. She wasn’t sure she could muster the energy to light a fire, let alone crack Matilda’s wards and finish the job. We have to outrun her.

  Cat laughed, throwing a force punch at the sole remaining sorcerer. The young man was blasted into a wall, falling to the ground and landing hard. Emily hoped he’d have the sense to stay down, if he hadn’t been knocked out. She took one last look at Matilda, then yanked Cat down the nearest alleyway, casting obscurification charms all the way. Matilda would have to come after them the old-fashioned way if she wanted to find them.

  “That was fun.” Cat laughed. “Was I a convincing executioner?”

  “Very convincing,” Emily said, as they ran past a row of shops. Shopkeepers were slamming shutters into place and breaking out weapons, such as they were. Emily doubted they’d be able to defend themselves, if the soldiers went on the rampage. The rules of war in the Nameless World didn’t grant any protection to rebels and those who supported them. “I was very scared.”

  “You were very brave,” Cat said. He glanced behind them as another explosion shook the city. “I was afraid they’d have to drag you up to the block.”

  Emily shrugged. “What’s happening?”

  “The Levellers had enough gunpowder to make a lot of bangs,” Cat told her. They turned a corner, crossing what looked like an abandoned barricade. “We started hiding it around the city as soon as we heard of your date with the headsman.”

  “Oh,” Emily said. “And now the city is under attack.”

  Cat nodded, soberly. “We may have weakened the defenses quite badly,” he said. “The city may fall to the nobles.”

  The Noblest, Emily thought. She had a feeling that name would prove painfully ironic. And what will happen to Randor if he retreats into his castle and closes the door?

  She shuddered, looking up at the looming bulk as they hurried down the street towards the docks. The castle would not be easy to take. Randor could happily bombard the enemy positions with cannonb
alls while waiting for the besiegers to run out of food and drink. Or for disease to wreck their forces...somehow, she doubted the Noblest would take any interest in the New Learning. And everyone living in the city would be at risk if the barons tried to lay siege to the castle.

  “Thank you,” she said. She took his hand, just for a moment, and squeezed it. “I would have died on the block...”

  “You would have died well,” Cat said. “And instead, everyone saw the king get a black eye.”

  Emily swallowed. Randor had stared Alassa down and won...for a given value of won. His daughter hadn’t been able to pull the trigger, although there was no guarantee that she could have killed her father. Randor wasn’t stupid. He’d have no trouble working out why most wards wouldn’t stop bullets and devising a counter. A solid ward would drain him badly–or whoever cast the spell–but it would save his life. Who knew what would have happened if Alassa had pulled that trigger?

  Her legs were aching as they ran into the upper docklands, but she kept moving anyway. The streets were coming to life, young men building barricades while their elders handed out weapons and shooed women and children off the streets. Emily sucked in her breath sharply as she saw a handful of preteen boys helping the older men. They would be torn apart by the soldiers, if the fighting spread into the docklands, but...they’d die anyway, if the troops went on a rampage. Randor might not be able to stop them, even if he wanted to. Troops that had to fight their way into cities and towns that really should have surrendered saw their opponents as fair game for looting, raping and mindless killing.

  And Randor might prefer to hand out an object lesson, she thought, feeling ice running down her spine. A brutal series of attacks now might cow resistance elsewhere.

  “Tam got a lot of his organization done in record time,” Cat said. His voice was pleased, yet there was an edge in it that worried her. “But I don’t know how long they’ll last if they’re attacked.”