The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  Shallan’s attacker grinned as he pulled her toward him, his eyes shining with lust. She found her knife and pulled it free with her good hand, slicing up and in. Shallan cut open his belly and broke free of his grip as the Leethmen gasped, watching his guts spill free.

  Everywhere hounds yapped and growled, some attacking their own ale-fuddled masters, only now coming to their senses. Cogga reached the door flap and tossed Danail through. “Keep moving!” he yelled at the brother. “Don’t stop!” Danail nodded and faded off into the night.

  Taic reached the door with Tolemon in tow. He ducked as a thrown axe thudded into the pole a inch above his head. “Follow your brother,” Taic yelled at Tolemon, “I’m needed inside.”

  “I can fight!” Tolemon yelled back, but then more warriors emerged yelling and Taic was forced back inside the tent and Tolemon was lost from view. Taic shoulder-charged a giant axeman bearing down on Cogga. Taic grappled the axeman’s legs, tripping him, whilst Cogga sliced along his throat.

  “Go!” Cogga hissed at the younger Northman. “Steal some horses and retrieve those brothers. I’ll help Zukei and the duchess!”

  “You need me in here!”

  “Just fuck off!” Cogga ducked as a cast spear flew over his head. Taic caught the spear’s shaft, spun it around his arm and launched it back at the sender, puncturing a deep hole in his chest.

  “Sure you can manage without me?”

  “Yes!” yelled Cogga, cutting and stamping and slicing his way back to where the real fight was happening. Reluctantly, Taic fled the tent. Within minutes he had purloined some steeds from the nearest corral. Fortunately the commotion erupting inside the marquee was muffled by the heavy blanket of snow settling deep all around. Taic found Tolemon and Danail crouched around the back of a tent.

  He freed a horse, tossing the reins to Tolemon. “Take the hint and piss off!” Taic told him and watched as both brothers hurled themselves onto the horse’s back. Soon they were gone amid hoof beats in the night. Taic lashed the other steeds to a pine stump and waited.

  A boot impacted Shallan’s face, pitching her on her back. A huge man loomed over her, and Shallan recognised Corvalian Cutthroat grinning down on her with long-hafted axe clutched in both hands.

  “Who are you, warrior-witch?” He kicked out, striking Shallan’s legs as she struggled to roll over. Then Zukei was on him, spitting, biting, and slicing with the Karyia.

  But Corvalian was a veteran of a thousand hand-to-hand fights. He cunningly evaded every lunge and twist and stab Zukei tenaciously provided. He at last was a foe to match Zukei’s steely skills.

  She cut and sliced hard at Corvalian’s face, knocking the horned helm free of his head. He caught her wrist and twisted, until Zukei yelped and dropped the thin sword. She swung the Ptarnian throwing axe but Corvalian’s ironclad forearm knocked it from her grasp. He kicked Zukei hard in the belly and she doubled over in pain.

  Shallan found her feet, and gripping the horn with both hands (she’d lost the knife when he’d knocked her to the floor), she smashed it hard into the back of Corvalian’s head. The warrior prince swore, shook his head, and without turning, sent an elbow back cracking into Shallan’s chin. She saw stars and fell again.

  Vorreti had just despatched his opponent with a slice of his knife. He clambered to his feet and rounded on Corvalian who just laughed at him.

  “Think you a match for me, boy?” Corvalian’s right fist telegraphed toward Vorreti’s head, but just then Cogga arrived and slammed a shoulder against the prince, knocking him sideways. Meanwhile, Zukei had recovered and, after regaining her Karyia, recommenced slicing and hacking at any limb within reach. Corvalian chewed his beard as the madness took over him.

  “Who are you, bastard?” he roared at Cogga, who staggered to his feet and leered back at him.

  “I’m Barin’s right hand man, so start shitting yourself, Leethman!”

  “You’re Barin’s man? What the fuck are you doing here? Don’t bother answering, let me skewer you instead!”

  Corvalian reached back and retrieved his war axe perched by the seat. He swung hard and fast at Cogga’s face. Cogga leapt back, but not before the axe scored a long furrow across his forehead and through his left brow. Cogga blinked blood from his face and snarled back the pain. But he couldn’t see, and now Corvalian was swinging down on him again.

  The axe went wide. Corvalian yelped as Zukei’s Karyia needled into his wrist an inch above his right hand. The big prince roared and tugged the blade free of Zukei’s grasp whilst smacking her over the head with the axe’s shaft. Zukei saw stars but hung on. She produced a knife and leapt to attack as Corvalian pulled the Karyia free from his punctured wrist and again grasped the axe in both hands.

  The flat of the blade sent Zukei’s knife sailing across the marquee. Zukei blinked, the prince loomed over her, axe held high for the final blow. Zukei blinked again. The axe fell, but again that blow went wide, as Shallan’s recovered knife stabbed hard and fast and deep up into Corvalian’s exposed groin. The warrior prince gasped and groaned and sank to his knees as agony tore into him, and his berserkergang faded as he realised he was overcome.

  Shallan twisted the knife, and Corvalian screamed. “That’s for Vangaris! I only wish you were your brother, but his time will come too!” Corvalian made to reply but his mouth filled with blood and his knees gave. Zukei stepped over him and sliced the Karyia neatly along his throat. And that was the end of Corvalian Cutthroat.

  Vorreti gripped Shallan’s arm. “Thanks for coming, sister, I always knew you were the strong one!” Her youngest brother smiled at her and only then did Shallan notice the knife lodged in his side.

  “No! Vorreti!”

  “I’ve got him.” Taic’s bloodied face loomed close. “Best we get moving, duchess!” Cogga slung the limp Vorreti over his shoulder and staggered toward the distant tent flap. Close by, Zukei had reclaimed her axe and now fell upon any still living in the marquee. A man made to slip outside and sound the alarm. Zukei’s tossed axe split open the back of his skull.

  A second man made it through but his yell was cut short as Taic’s slung knife tore into his throat. Cogga’s head emerged from the tent. “Where are you?”

  “Here—waiting for you lot!” Taic hissed from the corner of the tent.

  “Horses?”

  “I have four and they are spooked!”

  “Nicely done!” Cogga grinned as Zukei and Shallan appeared through the tent flap. They found Taic and the steeds. Cogga hoisted the prone form of Danail across his saddle and sat behind. Taic, Zukei, and Shallan each claimed a horse. Within moments they were ready to vacate the camp.

  Then three horn blasts sounded the alarm. One warrior had managed to evade Zukei’s questing Karyia. It was he who ran headlong into another, larger tent hidden behind the marquee. Here King Haal lay sleeping with a leman clutched in both hands. The king’s guards leapt up as the warrior entered yelling.

  “Corvalian is dead!” yelled the man. “Corvalian Cutthroat is slain!” Within an hour, the entire army of Leeth stirred into angry life like a twenty-mile-wide ants’ nest. But they were too late. The night raiders had escaped the trap.

  They cleared the outskirts of the camp just as the first warriors emerged yelling and cursing out of the dark. These hurled spears and nocked arrow to bow, but they couldn’t see much in the snowy gloom, and those they cursed as the murdering horse thieves were soon lost to sight.

  Ralian opened the gates as Shallan and company thundered in. “My brothers!” Shallan yelled at the captain.

  “They are here!” Ralian motioned toward the barbican. Shallan dismounted and ran inside. Soon Taic and Cogga joined them as did a very relieved and drunk Barin and Sveyn. Cogga yelled Ralian to get a cart for Vorreti who was slumped across the saddle of the horse.

  “How fares he?” Ralian asked the Northman.

  “It don’t look good,” Cogga replied and sprang from the horse to join his friends. Last in was Zukei, who’
d been scouting their rear.

  “We’ve stirred up a hornets’ nest!” She grinned down at Ralian.

  “I thought you might—but I’m glad to see you dark-eyed lady!”

  “I am glad to see you too, Captain!” Zukei flashed him a rare smile as she vaulted from her horse. “How is the Lady Shallan?”

  “She is well, but her brother…”

  Zukei nodded and vanished inside the barbican. Shallan looked up as she saw the dark woman enter. She smiled weakly, but Zukei could tell she’d been weeping. “How is he?” Zukei’s tough, bloody face was lined with concern.

  “He is dead,” Shallan said. “Vorreti is dead.” Beside Shallan, her two older brothers knelt in sorrow and said nothing. “He was ever the brightest of us.”

  “He died fighting and has kept his honour,” Tolemon said stiffly, and retired to a corner where Farien poured him a brandy. Outside the walls, the muffled sounds of horns and drums pierced the snowy quiet.

  “Well,” said Barin after they’d all listened to the noises for a moment. “Looks like we’re in for a rough few days.”

  Ralian told off some men to seek out physicians to look over the wounded. Danail and Tolemon were weak and starving; aside that, they were not in bad shape. Taic had some stitches sewed along his head and Cogga too. Zukei wouldn’t allow anyone near her. She stitched her own face back together and then swallowed a whole flask of brandy.

  By dawn, everyone was back at his or her proper station. Shallan slept exhausted in her bed, as did the men from Valkador. Zukei alone sat wakeful and staring at the fire outside Shallan’s room.

  Ralian watched as dawn revealed a mass of figures lined up outside the walls. He sighed. It seemed at long last the real battle for Car Carranis had begun. A sergeant approached him from the distance.

  “Captain!” The man’s voice was urgent and worried beneath his helm.

  “What is it?”

  “You are to accompany my soldiers at once!” The sergeant’s brisk strides brought him alongside Ralian, who now noticed a squad of spearmen approaching at speed.

  “What nonsense is this?”

  “You are under arrest,” the sergeant puffed inside his helmet.

  “On what charge?” Ralian’s eyes were hawk hard as they pinned the sergeant.

  “Three charges: insubordination, subterfuge, and treachery.”

  “Treachery? This is absurd!”

  “Treachery,” the sergeant repeated. “The punishment for which is death. I am sorry, Captain. These are the general’s specific instructions.”

  “Starkhold wants me dead?” Ralian laughed out loud as they lashed his hands behind his back and led him down from the walls. “You are mad! Aren’t there enough enemies outside?” They tossed Ralian in the deepest oubliette where he shivered and waited. It was a full day before Starkhold paid him visit.

  “Choose your death,” were the only words the general awarded him.

  Chapter 15

  The Kaan Rides Forth

  The face within the crystal mirror was both inhuman and beautiful. Symmetrical features were dominated by purple eyes and blade-lean nose. Slightly arched brows and soft brown skin was surmounted by wispy hair of smoky crimson. The lips were full and lush, and these now opened to reveal perfect ivory teeth—each one filed with precision to a razor sharp point.

  The young man bowed his head to the face in the mirror and the face smiled back.

  “You have done well, Callanz. You and your forefathers have served me with devotion over the years. And for that service you, young Emperor, have been well rewarded.”

  Callanz bowed again—deeper this time, his tanned face and dark narrow eyes fierce with concentration.

  “My Lord Morak, we of the Ptarni race will always be loyal to the Urgolais overlords. Your mountains overlook our city just as your counsel guides our every thought. My forefathers served you well, as you say, but I wish to do better than they. I’ve read the signs and seen the portents. Ptarni is ready, Great One!”

  Morak’s eyes narrowed, and his smile faded like smoke over water. “There is much to do, and you are yet young—even for a mortal. I cannot keep this form long; my strength is badly depleted as my other self lies trapped in limbo. You, Emperor, have the means to free it.”

  “The ruined castle? I’ve already sent an army west to probe and report back. They have provisions to set up permanent camp within sight of those other mountains and await your command.”

  Morak smiled again. “That is well. You will need all three of your imperial armies during the next few years. I have been deceived by a servant, and my old enemy has returned. Twice now, he has gotten lucky. There will not be a third time.”

  “What is it you wish of my people, Great One? They are yours to command, as am I.” The young emperor shifted on his knees and wiped his face. It was so hot in the Dark Room—the place reserved for astral communications and certain special sacrifices. The place where he and his ancestors had always consulted their god and mentor—the Urgolais Witch-Lord known as Morak.

  Morak’s visage faded in the mirror. “My strength fails—I cannot hold this guise. I need Golganak, and I need your soldiers to obtain it for me, Callanz. I still believe it to be lost beneath the ruins of my old home, but when I searched I found it not. But my time was brief back then, and the cosmic balance set against us.

  “Things have changed. Victory draws close, Callanz. The one true lord of Ansu has awoken—the Shadowman will reward all his loyal servants, especially the Urgolais who have ever stood close to him.

  “With great Cul-Saan whole again, the Urgolais will return to their original power and form. We were once beautiful like the vision you see before you, but the Aralais hated us, and their witch-spells twisted our form into creatures of unimaginable horror.

  “We were branded as evil ones, and they, our envious cousins, became the golden folk. Ill did they serve us back then. But they paid a high price, for when we sought out the Shadowman before His fall, He aided us well, and our enemy was torn apart.

  “But we also were worn out, and then your distant kin arrived from a land called Gol, and through their intervention the Aralais were saved. Their leader was ever crafty. Arollas knew he was spent and that the only way for him to survive was to invest in these new mortals—hence he gave them the Tekara and Callanak, his two greatest artifacts, to protect their realm and enable him to vanish into retirement. There he could lick his wounds and scheme fresh schemes.

  “Callanak is lost, which is well. That sword alone can undo us. But the crown has been found—and worse, remade by the blind fool, Croagon. Arollas struck when he knew we were weak. I had misplaced trust in a mortal wizard who had shown great promise. But this Caswallon has deceived me. My servant, the dragon Vaarg, informs me Caswallon desires the black spear for himself and is already planning a mission to Olen Valek to retrieve it.

  “He must not get that spear! He already has too much power, and with Golganak could put an end to our return to rule. You, Callanz, will send your finest fighters into those western ranges. Find my old city and delve deep within. I will do all I can to aid you from any sorcery. But I am weak without my spear!”

  Callanz shuddered as Morak’s beautiful face blurred and warped into a blackened mask of horror. He gasped as feverish eyes of lamp-yellow glared back at him, the face surrounding them burnt and roughened like ancient charcoal. His nose was swollen huge and thrust out so it resembled the snout of a hound.

  “Yes, look well, young mortal.” That strong voice had faded to a croaky bark. “I show this image so you can understand my ancient hatred. The Aralais did this to me. They blamed it on my spear, but it was their sorcery that tore my flesh from my body and altered my shape. My kin suffered likewise—you cannot imagine the pain we have endured since that abomination was worked upon us.”

  Callanz coughed and felt sweat stream down his face. He wanted to take his leave but dared not depart until his master allowed it. “We will find Golganak
and Vaarg, and with his help we will seek out this Arollas and break him, or at least bring him to you so you can destroy him once and for all.”

  “That is well, Emperor. Now I leave you.” Callanz watched as the twisted warped face in the mirror shrank and darkened and faded back into nothing. Smoke filled the mirror’s surface, and a bitter cold filled the Dark Room, freezing the sweat on the young emperor’s brow.

  Callanz rose to his feet, wrapped the golden robe tight about his shivering frame, and then walked briskly from that hallowed place. Later that day, Emperor Callanz addressed his people, informing them of his new plans for expansion in the west.

  “We hold the east,” he told them. “All save distant Shen pay tribute to our tax collectors and slavers. But that is not enough! My father and his father before him created this empire, but I, Callanz, will make it greater yet. There is a land in the west. A land of legends. A land of riches. And a land ready for the taking. Already my first army approaches its boundaries, and soon the ravens of victory will return with good news!”

  Callanz sat back in his golden throne and smiled as the million-strong throng below roared and clapped approval and adoration for their lord and emperor. That night there were many sacrifices in the ancient groves. Ptarni would soon be the greatest nation in the world.

  ***

  The camp was deserted save a few dogs wandering and sniffing at discarded offal. The wind blew bitter from the east, and Corin an Fol watched with a sour expression as his new friend Olen of the Tcunkai walked among the ruins of his people’s camp at Morning Hills. With him was the hotheaded Arami, who had taken great pains to distance himself and his people from the atrocity surrounding them.

  Arami had offered Olen his sword and bid the Tcunkai leader—now the Kaan—remove his head to save the honour of his Clan. “We the Anchai are warrior-fierce and proud. But we are not murderers and neither are we cowards. Take my head as payment for what that mad dog Sulo did.”