The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  In appreciation of your loyal attentiveness and devotion to our cause we promote you to Lord General of the Armies of Kelthaine. Your predecessor has failed us utterly and therefore lost our trust. I charge you to re- enter the rebel city and slay all inside, including the fools Perani posted there. After that, take the rebel queen and her little army and tear them apart—but leave her for me.

  I will be sending my messenger south, and you will also have reinforcements including fresh Groil and other creatures. Once Kelwyn is finally under our control you must take the army north to Kelthara and destroy all in that city too. You stand to gain much by succeeding in these tasks, General. Your promotion is as of now and I do not wish to see Perani again.

  C

  ***

  General Perani gazed up at the moon and smiled. Strangely, he felt at peace tonight, at one with this crazy world. He no longer regretted his rash decision to pursue Ariane way up into the mountains.

  He should have guessed that their ally the wizard would blow the bridge and block any quick return north. Since then, he’d lost countless scouts to archers waiting in the rocks above. And now he was committed to following Ariane’s army through the mountains back down to Wynais, where doubtless the little minx had already planned a way inside the city, or else maybe the traitor Tolranna was a double agent.

  Perani had badly underestimated that girl. Ariane had proved a brave and resourceful opponent and he quietly saluted her as he stood in silence beneath the questing moon.

  It mattered not. He’d play the game out until its end, which wouldn’t be long. He had failed Caswallon too many times now to expect to survive another winter.

  Perani was hardly surprised to see the tall shape of Captain Gonfalez striding toward him out of the dark. “A fine night General.” Gonfalez’s eyes were shining.

  “You have something for me?”

  “I do indeed.” Gonfalez’s hidden sword sliced through Perani’s belly, spilling his guts. Perani crumpled without a sound. Gonfalez stepped back and swung again and Perani’s head flew from his shoulders, spraying the moonlit snow with scarlet drops.

  So passed the former leader of the Tigers, once a proud and honest man who had fallen to the corruption of the Usurper.

  Gonfalez grinned down at Perani’s kicking corpse. “You know what they say about working for sorcerers, General? You’re only as good as your last job.”

  Gonfalez wiped his sword on Perani’s cloak and departed back to his tent. Late that night he heard the wolves howling and feasting under the moon. He smiled and rolled back to sleep. Tomorrow was a new start for General Gonfalez of Kelthaine.

  Chapter 19

  The Wild Way

  “What you got there?” a rough voice called from outside the cave. Corin stared at the young man with the accusing eyes who was pressing the knife to his neck.

  “Dunno—maybe a spy?” Another face appeared, followed by two others. All were bearded and hard-looking, their hair shaggy and long and their eyes wary as they gazed down on their prisoner.

  “You got a tongue?” The man who had first spoken loomed into view. He was older, his tough face dominated by a badly broken nose and missing front teeth.

  “Not one I’d share with you, Greggan.”

  “What did you say? How does he know your name?” The young one pushed the knife harder into Corin’s neck, piercing skin.

  “I’d stow that blade if I was you, Scaff, else you might end up wearing it. I know this man and he’s got a nasty temper and a bloody great sword.” Scaff looked baffled but after a moment he withdrew his knife and stood to join the others. Their prisoner rubbed his neck and glared at the younger man.

  “I don’t blinking believe it.” Greggan shoved Scaff out the way and grinned down at Corin. “The terror of Permio has returned to join his old mates. Corin an Fol, where the fuck have you been?”

  “He’s Corin an Fol?” Scaff’s face paled to the colour of the snow outside. “The Corin an Fol? The legendary Longswordsman who fought with the boss down in Permio, and him wot done for Taskala Swordsmaster high on Gardale Moor?”

  “The very one,” Greggan smiled, as the others gazed down at Corin with dubious expressions.

  “Fuck.” Scaff blinked and fiddled with his fingers. “Sorry about your neck, mate.”

  Corin ignored him. Instead he rolled to his feet and spat phlegm on the floor of the cave. “You got any food, Greggan? I’m starving.”

  “Oh, sure. Scaff, you young tosspot, go do something useful and make some porridge for our long lost laddie. And you Baley,” this to the second bearded man on his right, “Go tell the boss what we found lolling idle in this cave.”

  The shaggy-faced Baley nodded and grinned fiercely at Corin before backing out of the cave. His companion, who looked just like him and whom Corin vaguely remembered was called Bonkers (and they both shared the nickname Strongarm due to their great strength), followed on without a word, but grinned at Corin just the same. That just left Greggan, who chose to take a seat on the cave floor next to Corin.

  “You all right?” Geggan said, picking dirt from one of his better teeth.

  “Not bad,” Corin yawned. “How long will that shithead be with the porridge?” He really was feeling hungry now.

  “He’ll be back in a mo. Camp’s close, and once you’ve stuffed your face the boss will want to see you.”

  “Who’s the boss these days?” Corin scratched his neck and wiped a bead of blood on his sleeve. That boy Scaff had been a tad overzealous, in his opinion.

  “Same as has always been.”

  “Halfdan?” Corin leapt to his feet and banged his head on the cave ceiling. “Fuck! Ouch, bollocks! But I thought he was dead? Murdered by the King of Leeth on contract to that bastard Caswallon. Fuck but that hurt!” Corin nursed his aching skull. “Halfdan’s alive?” he added after a moment.

  “He lives, as do about a hundred of us, by the skin of our elbows. We lost the city, Corin. The bastards found a way in and killed many of the lads before we could sneak out the back passage, if you pardon my expression.”

  Corin was grinning from ear to ear. He hadn’t felt so happy since he’d left Silon’s villa. “So Halfdan’s really alive.” He rubbed the bump on his head. “I can scarce believe it.” Minutes later the nervous Scaff reappeared with a wooden bowl of steaming oats.

  “You want a spoon?” Scaff handed Corin the bowl.

  “No. Fuck off.”

  Scaff departed without hesitation and Corin shoved the contents of the bowl into his mouth with his dirt-covered fingers. “You got any ale in that camp?”

  “Not much—the bastard Snake’s got most of it.” Greggan looked mournful.

  “Who?”

  “Vale the Snake, one of Haal’s delightful sons. He’s the viscous prick that took Point Keep from us while we had our pants down.” It was apparent Greggan was still bitter about losing their fortress. Just then, Baley and Bonkers Strongarm showed their beards in the cave entrance.

  “Boss wants to see him,” Baley said to Greggan whilst his twin grunted agreement and picked his nose. Corin grinned; it was good to be back with his old crew again. The Wolves were ever the salt of the earth, far better than the dour Bears or the snooty stuck-up Tigers. The Wolves were always up for the craic. And he had thought them all dead. Things were finally looking up.

  The camp was a hundred yards to the left of The Wild Way, where a large overhanging rock awarded shelter from the raw east winds, and the shoulder of the mountain rose steep to the other side. There were wooden huts and sheds and a few tents, and a corral containing mounts, these stomping their feet and blowing steam into the cold air. Corin thought of Thunderhoof and his recent joy was dulled for a moment.

  A man was seated by a roaring fire, his features hidden by a white mottled cloak and snowy hood. He was chewing at a rabbit leg and spitting its small bones into the fire. Greggan approached him and grunted in his ear. The man turned and awarded Corin a hard expression. Corin gave
him look for look. It was years since he’d last seen this man.

  “So, you live yet. It warms my heart to see you, Longswordsman.” Halfdan was thinner than Corin remembered him and his close-cropped beard whiter. But his eyes were the same hard blue/grey and his lean face and sharp nose unchanged. The High King’s brother—despite all the rumours, he lived and appeared in reasonable fettle.

  “As my heart warms to see you, Lord.” Corin stood with arms either side. Neither man smiled.

  “No one has called me ‘Lord’ lately.” Halfdan bid Corin join him by the fire. “Greggan, you twins, bugger off and leave me alone with this wastrel. We’ve a deal to catch up on.” After they had departed Halfdan placed a hand on Corin’s shoulder. He was smiling now. “I cannot express how happy I feel to see you alive and well, Corin an Fol.”

  “Likewise, the rumours said you were dead, but I always hoped…”

  “We’ve come very close, and my own stupidity cost us Point Keep. The lads were worn out scouting on the enemy day after day. I decided on a feast and we all got hammered. My timing wasn’t that great, as Vale the Snake chose that very night to crash in on us, killing the sentries and taking us unawares.”

  “But you escaped.” Corin smiled; he had always liked Halfdan, who had guided him during his wayward days serving in the regiment.

  “Aye—to my eternal shame. We lost a lot of men that night, and a lot more the day Caswallon showed his hand back in Kella City. The Wolves are few now, Corin.”

  “They are faring better than the Bears.”

  “How so?” After Corin had told him about Belmarius, the Wolf general’s face grew grim. “He was a good man—strong and dependable. A sad loss and a heavy blow for us.”

  “I met him in Raleen at Silon’s house—I liked him. But it’s not all bad news.

  I’ve found friends in the Rorshai. Olen, the new Kaan, thinks I’m some kind of ‘harbinger of victory,’ though I don’t share his view.”

  “The Rorshai? Can they be trusted? I thought they were wild and crazy horse thieves?”

  “Some of them are, but this Olen is a friend. A good ally against the foe.”

  “Which one?” Halfdan barked a bitter laugh. “There are several to choose from.”

  “I’ve got a notion about that; you might say it’s a bit of a plan.”

  “As I recall most of your plans involve risk of slow, violent death. Tell me later of this plan. First let me know what’s become of you. I see you still carry your swords and I trust you still have that gold brooch?

  “It’s at Silon’s house. I forgot to pack it on my last trip.”

  “You still work for that merchant?”

  “Funny you should say that.”

  During the next two hours Corin found himself recounting all his adventures to Lord Halfdan, starting with his leaving Silon’s employment right up to the Tekara business in the desert, and finally rounding off with the Rorshai and his near-death experience in Darkvale.

  Scaff, who seemed desperate to make up for his earlier behavior, was keen to serve at hand to bring Corin fresh stewed rabbit and even a large flagon of beer, at which point the Longswordsman almost forgave him—almost. Halfdan declined any ale and instead sat in thoughtful silence as Corin told his tale.

  When he finally finished, Corin stretched out by the fire and yawned. “So as you see, I’ve been rather busy lately.”

  Halfdan said nothing; his face looked troubled and he appeared on the brink of tears, as though recalling some distant memory sparked by Corin’s words. “I need a drink,” he said at last and signalled Scaff, still perched close by, to go get ale and another for Corin. He waited for the boy to return and then bid Scaff out of earshot.

  “This changes things,” Halfdan said as he sipped his beer and winced as the cold liquid found a sensitive tooth.

  “I thought you would be pleased, about the crown at least.” Corin felt warm and fed for the first time in ages, and the ale was making him sleepy.

  “Naturally I’m pleased about the Tekara being remade, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about you, Corin an Fol.”

  Corin shuffled uncomfortably. “So? What of that? I’m still he same. Just an ex-Wolf and recent mercenary who’s not bad at poking people with sharp things.”

  “That’s my point. You never were just those things. Yes, you have a talent for killing, as do most my lads—it keeps them alive. But you are very different from them.”

  “I do not understand you.” Corin was starting to feel alarmed. He knew something big was about to happen—something a lot of people had hinted at.

  “This is hard for me.” Halfdan took a long gulp of ale. “But here we go. You, Corin an Fol, are different because you are noble-born.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Not so, and not only are you noble born but you are the true heir to The Glass Throne. The High King’s nephew. You are my son, Corin an Fol. There you are—I’ve said it.”

  Corin placed his tankard on a log by the fire. He slid Clouter free and commenced working his whetstone along its length, his face set in stony silence. Halfdan watched him until he could stand it no more. “Well? Don’t I at least deserve a response?”

  Corin shrugged, “All right, here’s my response. I don’t believe you.” He shrugged again and returned to the sword honing.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me before? All these years and I’ve never known who my real father is and the whole time he’s been under my fucking nose!” Corin stood and hurled Clouter and whetstone onto the ground. He paced from the fire and then turned to confront his father. “Why?”

  “To protect you.” Halfdan struggled to his feet, stiff with cold and aching joints. “When I first knew, my prime worry was keeping you alive—my long lost baby son returned to me by some miracle.

  “I knew nothing of your upbringing in Fol and neither did anyone else. But when I saw your scrawny face that day you first enlisted back in Kella City, I knew you for my son, and therefore the High King’s true heir.

  “But Caswallon was everywhere—even back then. I knew I had to keep your identity hidden, so if anything I was harder toward you than most others in the regiment, and bid Taskala treat you roughly. Of course that got out of hand, and again I blame myself.”

  “Because I killed him? So that’s why I never hanged then?” Corin’s laugh was bitter. “Excuse me while I go take a piss. This is all a bit much to swallow.”

  After he had drained his bladder Corin ventured back to the fire and carefully wiped Clouter free from the dirt he’d gotten on it. “So you’ve known all that time.” Corin felt exhausted, as though all the air had been sucked out of him.

  “I still don’t believe it,” he muttered after a moment.

  “Story goes they found your naked tiny body on the beach a day after that cursed storm took my other child, and Kelsalion’s eldest son. And the High Queen and my own beloved wife. That day the best part of me died.

  “The villagers never asked any questions; you were a gift from the gods—that’s what they told me. You see, I went to Finnehalle once I knew that was your home. I guess I dared hope my other son lived too, or even the High King’s boy. The Innkeep at The Last Ship told me about the Crenise raid and how you, a mere stripling, had fought beside your foster father. I knew that had to be my son he spoke of.”

  So Burmon knows too. Corin made a small noise between his lips.

  “But think about it. All this attention by otherworldly folk you’ve told me about. It’s no great riddle. You, my son (Corin shivered slightly, hearing that), are crucial to this war, and for some reason it’s a conflict of high interest to the powers that be. The Wanderer, Elanion, Vervandi, and Croagon—even this horrible Maife you’ve spoken of—all of them interested in you? Why? The Rorshai Seeress was right Corin. You are the fulcrum - the turning tide. I don’t like that any more than you do, but its truth cannot be denied. You are destiny. The spinning coin of
fate.”

  “I hate this shit.”

  “And then there’s Shallan and Queen Ariane.”

  “What about them?”

  “Well obviously, they both love you, and you’re not that fucking good-looking. So they must have sensed something about you, a hidden layer you couldn’t even see yourself.”

  “And I thought it was my rustic charm and the soap I rarely use.” Corin managed a wry smile. “Guess I’ll have to start calling you father.”

  “Please don’t.”

  Corin stared into the fire and as he stared the tears at long last fell free from his eyes. Halfdan let him be and ventured off to check on his men. They left Corin alone that night, though on Halfdan’s orders Scaff kept him well replenished with their low stock of ale.

  “You feeling all right now?” Scaff dared ask when night was well underway.

  Corin turned and awarded the younger man a long slow glance. “Yes, master Scaff, and you know why?” Scaff shook his head. “It’s because from this day on we’ve turned a corner in this war. Because I am Corin an Fol and for the first time in my life I know who I am. And Scaff,” (Scaff nodded urgently) “no fucker is going to stop me from getting what I want. You got that?”

  “Yes,” Scaff nodded.

  “Good. You can go now.” Scaff went.

  ***

  Dawn saw Corin up and ready. He’d slept exhausted in a tent without dream or worry and he felt alive and ready for the next big thing. Finding Shallan, then claiming his inheritance. Not that he wanted that, but it now seemed the logical next step to shaft Caswallon’s plans. Ironic to think that the crystal crown was rightly his all along. But before all that there were a few things to tie up locally.

  “How are you feeling?” Lord Halfdan looked tired as he greeted Corin. Beside the leader stood Greggan and the twins and a few others. They’d been discussing their latest situation.

  “I’m fine.” Corin flashed his father a grin fit for a former wolf. “I found it!” He produced the wolf brooch and pinned it to his cloak. “Must have been in my back pocket all this time.”