The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  Corin had watched in fascination as Olen had accepted the sword and held it to Arami’s neck. The young Anchai leader hadn’t flinched once. Nor did he close his eyes, until Olen threw the sword on the dirt and turned away.

  “I do not want your death,” Olen had told him. “Not yet anyway.” That had been yesterday afternoon, whilst they were deciding who and how many warriors would go where.

  The Tcunkai were already small in number. Olen had his prized two hundred riders, and they scooped up a few more hiding in bushes and caves around the mountains. These, like Teret and Tamersane, had evaded capture and were more than ready for vengeance.

  That night, Corin watched and drank as Olen’s people built a large pyre and carried the Kaan’s greying corpse over to it. Olen lit the wood and the pyre took to flame. They sang dirges as the body was consumed by orange flame.

  Afterwards, Rogan approached his leader. “You are Kaan now, Olen. You must tell us what to do. Do we ride on the red camp and seek out and destroy Sulo and his scum?”

  “Upon my honour, I will slay him!” Arami stepped forward. “And from now on my allegiance switches from my own people to yours, Kaan. The Anchai are tainted for ever, but if you will have us, we here will prove loyal fighters at your side!”

  “That is well-said, and I thank you and accept your offer.” Olen’s cool blue gaze rested on Arami for a moment before returning to the flames where his father burned. “Now I will have silence and solace for a time so that I may mourn my kin.”

  Olen had lost two brothers and three cousins, whose bodies now burned alongside his father. The new Kaan’s face was ashen grim, and after his last words he had taken himself off and spent the rest of the night alone, leaving Corin, Rogan, and Arami of the Anchai to discuss their next options. But when Olen returned in the dawn his mind was made up.

  “We ride east and we ride fast!” he told them as they consumed a cold breakfast by the dying embers of last night’s fire.

  “What of our vengeance? What of Sulo?” Rogan’s eyes were bloodshot. He’d drunk heavily last night and was still savage to catch up with Sulo. “And what of Teret and the Kelwynian? I said for them to wait and then join us when they saw you return to Morning Hills.”

  “Teret must look to herself.” Olen waved a dismissive hand at Rogan, whose face was flushed with emotion.

  “Tamersane will protect her,” Corin said, shuffling uncomfortably in the chill. Close by Thunderhoof snorted, announcing that he was ready to be away.

  “He had better, or I will cut him open from neck to bollocks.” Corin let that be; clearly Olen was in no mood for compromise this morning. “And Sulo can wait too. He’s a dead man; he and his rabid pack of curs cannot hide anywhere that I won’t flush them out. But that pleasure must needs wait. Our country’s survival is more important than our vengeance, Rogan. We have to take the fight to these Ptarnians, we must catch them unawares whilst they roam lost and weary in the wilds.”

  Rogan nodded. “As you wish, but at least let me return to where I last saw Teret and the westerner.”

  Olen nodded, “Be quick about it. We ride within the hour.” Rogan vaulted onto his horse and thundered toward the nearest fold of mountain without further word. Corin watched his horse kicking up dust into the distance.

  That left Olen and Arami and their riders, who still kept a wary distance from each other despite their leaders’ new alliance and pledge. Corin could tell that some of the Anchai were not over happy about Arami’s offer. More trouble for later he suspected.

  “So what is the plan?” Corin asked Olen as the Kaan mounted his black stallion Loroshai and bid him trot back and forth to shake off the cold. “Do we join Belmarius?”

  “We ride the Long Fend and kill any raiders we find. Other warriors from the clans will find and join us when they hear what happened at the Delve. But we won’t wait for them. I need to see where this horde is going. I alone have seen the size of it.”

  “But why attack Rorshai?” Corin could see the dust returning and was relieved that Rogan was on his way back. But there was no sign of him having anyone with him. Corin surmised that Tamersane had persuaded the woman to journey west to Wynais. If anyone could persuade a lass to cross The High Wall in deepest winter it was Tamersane.

  “I suspect those murderers were scouts, or else a small raiding party. Where their real destination lies is hard to guess. Permio? The Gap of Leeth?”

  “I bet it’s Kelthaine,” replied Corin. “Via the Gap. Maybe the Ptarnians you saw are Caswallon’s new foot soldiers.”

  “I doubt that.” Olen watched as Rogan thundered toward them. “Their country is far away, Corin an Fol. The force I saw looked more than ready for a long campaign war. Something they’ve been planning for years.” Corin wanted to say more but Rogan reined in his horse alongside.

  “I found tracks leading up into the mountains—nothing else.”

  Olen nodded. “Then let us be off,” he said. “Are your lot ready, Arami?”

  “We are Kaan!”

  “That’s good! Tell them to keep their steel sharp and heads sober. We ride to battle!” With a thunder of hooves and storm of dust, the riders of the Tcunkai and Anchai cantered free of the valley that had been Morning Hills.

  They rode apace for many hours, eventually passing the Delve. Here they collected three hundred assorted warriors from various clans. Many more joined them as that day fell to dusk. They camped beneath the arm of the Long Fend. In Corin’s estimate they now numbered nearly two thousand horsemen. Not a lot against an army the size Olen had spoken of, but surely enough to make a dent.

  Corin smiled as he unsaddled Thunder and rubbed down his back and legs. In the days ahead they would find Belmarius, or at least some sign of his camps. Then Corin would part company with his new friends and fare north to Car Carranis with the Bears. Somehow he would get inside that fortress and find his beloved Shallan waiting for him. Simple really.

  Get ready lady - I’m on my way!

  It took three days’ hard riding to clear the Long Fend and enter the wide lands beyond. During that time they passed ruined camps and saw evidence of raiding and looting.

  Kerante, the heavily moustached leader of the Oromai, the purple clan, met them where the last folds of the Long Fend dwindled to stubby hillocks. Kerante had with him five hundred riders, all brimming with rage at the damage done to their homes.

  After that they had turned north. Olen and Arami rode ahead scouting the way. They reported back no sign of the enemy, but instead announced there were tracks showing a large force of foot soldiers and some horse had passed this way several days earlier.

  Corin could only hope that was Belmarius’s Bears, though he had expected the general to be further north by now. Maybe the same marauders that had plundered eastern Rorshai had attacked him too? That thought was cause for concern.

  The fourth evening found them camped among the ashes of Greywoods, a high plateau of trees awarding sweeping views of the wild country surrounding it. Corin watched from beneath the wind-scoured limbs as light faded in the east.

  That way, the ground fell away and smoothed into what looked to be an endless sea of grass, the Ptarni Steppes. The terrain to the north was similar, and Corin began to fret about what had happened to Belmarius. He had expected to see more signs of movement by now. What tracks they had found had vanished in the stiff brush, or else were buried beneath the blanket of freshly fallen snow.

  Their camp was bitter chill. Olen dared light no fires. Corin was struggling to sleep when he heard the soft sound of boot on soil. He rolled to his feet in one motion, his hunting knife in hand.

  “’Tis only I.” Olen stared down at him, framed by creaking trees and a wide wandering moon. The Kaan’s eyes were wild as the night sky glinting through those wintry limbs. “I grow restless—care to walk for a time?”

  Corin nodded. He was restless too. On a whim, Olen walked deeper into the Greywoods with Corin close at his heel. It was eerie, and Corin was
reminded of his dislike for woods at night. Or really, in the day time as well. He turned once, sensing something watching him. It was just an owl; its huge eyes blinked once at Corin, then the bird took to wing in silent flight.

  “Something’s brewing,” Olen muttered as they reached a clump of broken stone path leading up to a higher elevation. This they climbed, and after several minutes’ panting, broke free from the forest’s breezy crown.

  It was bitterly cold, and a fresh wind stiffened, numbing Corin’s ears. “Borian is about in the land.” Olen studied the grey shape of land beyond the western fringe of the forest. “I can feel His violence brewing all around us. The Wind God is hungry for battle!”

  “I too feel something,” Corin nodded as his breath steamed into the dark. “An uneasiness, like we are close to a place of great peril.” Together they waited as night dwindled and a red sky shone through the trees at their back.

  “Time to move on.” Olen tugged Corin’s shoulder. “The men will be wondering where we’ve got to.” Olen turned and started back down toward the nest of trees below.

  Corin made to join him then stopped. “Wait!”

  Olen gazed back at where Corin stood looking hard into the west.

  “What is it?”

  “There’s something down there. Come look! Your eyes are most likes sharper than mine!”

  Olen re-joined him, and together they scried the wide grasslands below, which slowly revealed themselves as the sun’s winter rays filtered through the trees.

  “I see men marching west on foot,” said Corin his hands shielding his eyes. “They are making for that distant forest. They appear to be in a hurry.”

  “That is because those over there are after them.” Olen guided Corin’s hand along the fringe of wood until he spied a much larger troop of soldiers also marching at speed into the west. These wore brightly painted armour that glinted gaudy in the sunlight.

  “Ptarnians?” Corin squinted at his friend.

  “For sure.”

  “Then that other lot must be Belmarius’s Bears. They must have been attacked in the night. We have to help them Olen!”

  Olen nodded. “We’ll return to camp and lead a scouting party west, find out what we are up against.” Corin sprinted behind Olen as the Kaan crashed through trees on his way back to camp.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Rogan grumped at Olen as his Kaan broke through the waking camp. “We thought you’d been taken by night spirits.”

  “Finding the enemy,” replied Olen. “I need a hundred riders willing to join Corin and me in riding out and taking a closer look at them. The rest of you will stay hidden lest we fare into a trap.”

  Arami was first to offer his services and Rogan second. “You stay,” Olen told his old friend. “Keep an eye on these Anchai and post sentries throughout the woods. We’ll need updating on any enemy movement.”

  “How many Ptarnians are down there?” Rogan pulled his pouch from his saddle holster and took a swig of yak milk.

  “They were too distant to be sure, but I suspect several hundred, pursuing a force half that size.”

  “They are making for that distant forest,” Corin told Rogan whose face blanched at his words.

  “What forest would that be?”

  “There is a great wood nestled beneath the mountains. I saw it in the distance. A deep dark wood it appeared, even with the sun flooding the countryside surrounding it.”

  Rogan exchanged glances with Olen, who nodded. “We don’t go near that wood,” the Kaan told Corin. “We’ll ride just close enough to see what is going on, then we’ll turn back and be on our way. I suspect that’s a Ptarnian scouting party that caught your friends unawares. Their main force must be north of us.”

  “What of General Belmarius?”

  Olen shrugged. “Hard to guess. Perhaps the Ptarnians ambushed his Bears during the night and what we saw is all that remains of their force.”

  Corin shook his head. “Belmarius is no fool to be caught out like that. But whoever is down there will need our help from those Ptarnians.”

  “Not if they are making for that forest.”

  “Why so?” Corin stared hard at Olen.

  “Because that forest is cursed, Corin an Fol. It is not named Darkvale for nothing.”

  Darkvale.

  Corin shivered as an icy tingle settled along his spine. He recalled that someone at some time had warned him about Darkvale. Why, who, and when? Too late to worry about that now. An hour later, Corin left the camp with Olen and a hundred volunteers, among them Arami of the Anchai and Kerante of the Oromai. It was later that morning that they caught up with Belmarius.

  Chapter 16

  The Fury of Corin an Fol

  It didn’t prove difficult. All they had to do was follow the heavy boot tracks leading from east to west, and then make for where the birds were circling high in the winter sky, their small black shapes studding the grey ahead. There was no snow this morning, but a chill wind soughed relentless from the steppes.

  Corin shivered; no amount of wool or leather could rebuff those icy probing fingers. Perhaps Olen was right and the Wind God was close. Certainly there was a grim atmosphere to this region. He hoped that wasn’t the case; he’d seen enough deities recently to last a lifetime.

  Closing the gap, Corin saw ravens swooping and diving in the lowering skies ahead; with them, the larger shapes of buzzards could be seen gliding down, some settling out of sight in the distance. Corin steeled his heart; this didn’t bode well. Olen caught his eye and nodded grimly. There were more tracks now, evidence that a great many feet had marched this way since last snowfall.

  They rode apace for several miles, at last slowing down as they reached the base of a low flat hill. Above this mound, the ravens croaked and mocked them. Olen reined in, motioning his men follow suit. Corin patted Thunder’s back and then blew on his hands, enabling movement to return to his fingers.

  “No point in us all riding up there!” Olen yelled through the wind. “Corin and I will take a look. Arami too. Kerante, best you stay here and keep watch for any movement on the steppes whilst we investigate.”

  The Oromai leader nodded quietly, and Corin noted how the Purple Clan’s Kaan seemed content to follow Olen’s lead. Kerante watched as the three riders split from the pack and urged their steeds up the gentle rise of the hillock.

  A huge lone oak stood like a mighty guardian at the top of that climb, its bare branches blackened and crowded with the squawking cluster of carrion birds. From those stark limbs, the birds observed the three riders’ approach with baleful glares, then as one, they took wing and screamed at them from above.

  Corin felt an icy shiver run along his spine. He had a very bad feeling about this. Wary-eyed, the three approached the tree. On closer inspection, they found the trunk was hollow, with a great split running down its entire length, those crow-deserted limbs reaching out like creaking black fingers as the wind whipped up a gale around the tree.

  Crows, rooks, and ravens shrieked down at them, as Corin and Olen and Arami guided their horses closer to the great oak. The tree was dead, and so was the man hanging from it.

  Without comment, Corin eased his long limbs from Thunderhoof’s back and ventured toward the oak. He gazed up at the bulky figure swaying in the wind and his heart sank like a brick tossed down a well when he recognised the bluff honest face of General Belmarius, renowned leader of the Regiment of Bears.

  The general swung in his armour, creaking and swaying. His eyes were gone and half the hair on his scalp was missing. Corin stared up at Belmarius’s lifeless body in silence, and as he stared it seemed to him that his whole world was crashing down around him. Belmarius was dead, and Corin’s dreams of reaching Car Carranis and Shallan were shattered into dust.

  Behind him, Olen slid from Loroshai’s back. Knife in hand, he scaled the tree, reached out across the limb and sliced the rope above the dead general’s head. Belmarius’s corpse thudded onto the soft snow bene
ath it. Arami watched on wild-eyed, whilst Corin scarcely blinked.

  “Belmarius?” Olen had sheathed his knife and shimmied down the tree. He studied the corpse.

  Corin didn’t respond. He seemed as one frozen in time.

  “What ails him?” Arami yelled at Olen as the Kaan remounted his horse to survey the area past the tree. “Did he know this man?”

  “Aye so, best we leave him be for a moment and take a look around.” Arami nodded and the two Rorshai left Corin standing silent in the icy wind, his face white and his eyes cold as northern seas.

  Beyond the lone tree was evidence of a large camp. All around it were strewn the hacked and maimed bodies of men. There must have been several hundred. Many were big warriors, moustached and clad in rusty armour, though most were smaller in build, their armour shiny and painted in bright colours and their pointed helmets covered by face chains.

  Olen leaned down from his horse and with his scimitar eased back the mask-chain of a dead warrior. The corpse-face staring back at him was dark-skinned and lean, with narrow sloping eyes the colour of coal. Olen had seen faces like this before when he’d spied down on the army in the ravine far to the east.

  “Ptarnian.” Olen slid his sword back in its scabbard. “They must have crashed in on Corin’s friends whilst they were sleeping, despite their being veterans.”

  “Even so, they sold their lives dear.” Arami scanned the bodies as he sat his horse. “There are twice as many Ptarnian dead here.”

  Olen nodded that he’d seen enough. He motioned Arami return with him to where Corin stood statue-still beneath the tree. “Nothing we can do here,” Olen told the Anchai. “Best we head back to Rorshai. This was only a small part of the army I saw. I guess most have headed north making for the Gap of Leeth. These must have been stragglers or else maybe scouts.”

  “What of those we saw earlier making for the forest?”