The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  So was slipping past the gate guards and cranking the huge wooden gates ajar. He’d been careful to shut them afterwards. Not that he should have worried overmuch; he’d taken note of the guards on the way in. “Drunk” was the word that came to mind. And certainly no one noticed him leaving.

  His captive had struggled and wriggled as he galloped his horse across the Gap of Leeth once he had cleared the mangle of bodies sprawled frozen near the walls. Free of the Gap, he’d dismounted and tied horse and prisoner to tree, and then circled back to see if anyone was coming.

  He’d heard voices and glimpsed riders a way off. Sounded like some kind off argument. Hagan hadn’t hesitated. Satisfied they hadn’t seen him, he had returned to his horse and guided the beast and its burden up the steep climb toward The Wild Way—a slow and dangerous affair in the dark of night.

  Once there, he’d rested a short time and seen to his prisoner’s welfare. He needed her looking her best for Redhand, so he forced some food and water down her throat. At day break, Hagan had commenced the long ride south to this hide he knew from earlier days—a high ledge hidden by pines overlooking the track. From here, Hagan could see any pursuit long before they found him.

  He’d freed Shallan from the horse, allowing her to stretch her limbs and relieve herself in a bush. The leash around her throat ensured she wouldn’t try anything stupid—not that such a doe-brain would last five minutes out here. But he’d rather not risk losing her.

  It was when she came back that the rock caught him between the ears, making his head ring. Bitch had somehow gripped it in her tied hands and hurled it at him. That was when Hagan lost it and knocked her to the ground. She lay there now, looking up at him, her eyes daggers of loathing.

  “You are going to die soon, Hagan Delmorier,” Shallan spat up at him. “Whatever your plans for me, your own time in this world is short. And if you touch me…”

  “Oh, stop being so bloody dramatic, my lady. It’s boring, and this is business rather than pleasure, I do assure you. Not that it couldn’t be both, if you wanted to improve our relations. We are going to be together for a while.” Hagan laughed at the loathing on her face. “I understand completely, though you hurt my feelings.”

  “You don’t know the calibre of the people who will hunt you down for this,” Shallan hissed up at him. “You’ve nowhere to hide from such as they.”

  “We shall see, my lady.” Hagan thought of Corin and smiled. “Let me worry about them. I suggest you get some kip, Duchess. We’ve a long ride ere dusk. And don’t trouble your pretty head with any more pranks, or I’ll work the knife on you somewhere where it don’t show. I’m good with a knife, sure Corin an Fol told you that.”

  “Corin will kill you, villain! That’s if Zukei doesn’t kill you first.”

  “Zukei? Ah, the black vixen I saw watching after you before you entered the hall. Can’t say I’m worried about her. As for Corin, he can try. I owe him that much.”

  Shallan was exhausted. Her fury, outrage, worry, and the loss of Corin so soon after finding him again had taken their toll. Despite her desperate state and the bitter cold she slept motionless like a dead thing on the piney snow for three long hours. It was the sharp intake of breath from her captor that woke Shallan.

  She opened her eyes to see Hagan crouched on the ledge looking south as the slow thud of hoofbeats announced a rider coming their way. “They’ve caught up with you,” Shallan said, shivering and wriggling to warm her veins.

  “Silence bitch!” Hagan glanced back her way. “Whoever this is it ain’t one of your lot, so best you hold that acid tongue of yours until we find out.”

  And find out they did several minutes later.

  The rider approached slowly. He looked bone weary, his head stooped forward and his horse limping. The hood and cloak hid his features but no one else Hagan knew wore boots trimmed with gold and a jewelled hilted rapier at his waist.

  “I don’t fucking believe it,” Hagan muttered as he checked Shallan’s leash and vaulted down to hail the rider.

  Rael Hakkenon reined in seeing the tall man approach. He reached for his crossbow then remembered how he’d lost it fleeing the haunted city. He was beyond shattered and his mind was filled with the horror of the day before yesterday when he’d witnessed the darkness returning.

  Rael reached for his rapier and then stopped, finally recognising Hagan standing there alone on the track. “What the…?”

  “Precisely.” Hagan grinned at him and motioned Rael follow him to where he had Shallan stowed. “Since you’ve dropped by, I’ve something to show you, Assassin. By the way, you look horrendous.”

  “I’m lucky to be alive.” Rael’s cat green eyes looked vacant, and he had none of his usual menacing tone. Whatever had happened to him must have been profound.

  “This will cheer you up!” Rael stared in disbelief at seeing Shallan of Morwella lashed to a tree.

  “You’ve done well Hagan,” he croaked, and dismounting, staggered over to where Shallan waited wild-eyed and scared, now she realised who had come. But Rael let her be.

  “We cannot linger here. Too much has happened… I cannot talk about that at the moment, the memory burns inside my head. We need to flee this place! Where are you planning on taking that bitch?”

  “Grimhold—or Vangaris if I’m lucky. Haal is dead and Redhand will need cheering up after losing most his warriors at the Gap. And I agree, it’s getting too interesting to linger around here.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Rael as he chewed at the beef jerky Hagan tossed him. Both allies were too tired and wary to speak of the last few days, or their amazement at finding each other.

  But Rael’s grim insistence that something very nasty was about to happen in the mountains had Hagan convinced enough to descend that evening close to Point Keep fortress and then ride through the night into Leeth. Once clear of Car Carranis they would turn west and head for the ocean and Vangaris.

  Shallan refused to succumb to despair. She knew Corin and Zukei wouldn’t stop until they found her, though Corin had higher duties now. And then there were Barin and her brothers, all loyal and stout. But seeing the assassin had nearly broken her nerve.

  Why was he here? And why alone and so dishevelled? The only thing that made sense was they had planned her abduction together and determined to keep her in the dark. But something profound must have happened to so unnerve a man like Rael Hakkenon.

  If only she had her bow and horn. Both were back at Car Carranis. Even her knife was missing. But Shallan held to courage, and late that following night as her captors snored in a deep wood, she woke to find The Horned Man gazing down on her with those huge sad eyes.

  “Free me!” Shallan hissed.

  “I cannot,” he answered, his voice like wind blown leaves along a stony path. “For I am far from here in body. You must be strong, daughter.”

  “Father?” Somewhere an owl hooted, then silence. The Horned Man was gone and instead, Rael Hakkenon was staring at her like a cat with torn mouse.

  “I’ve had a rough few days,” Rael told her smiling slightly. “But not as bad as what’s waiting for you. For him it’s business—so he says. But for me it’s personal.”

  Rael thrust up his right hand, clearly showing the missing pinkie. “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to see you, Shallan of Morwella.” He winked at her then reclaimed his blanket and rolled back to sleep.

  ***

  “So Ariane is at Kelthara?” Corin downed his second ale as cold rain lashed the glass of the tavern. It felt surreal being back in Kashorn again. The locals were wary and suspected trouble, remembering Barin and Corin from the fight in their village last autumn.

  They kept their distance, but the innkeep served good ale and that evening, like the day before, passed without any trouble.

  “Aye so.” Bleyne’s cool eyes surveyed the taproom. Barin was missing, having departed with Taic to watch out for any sign of Fassof, though they weren’t expecti
ng him till the morning at earliest. But Barin was restless to be away and all fired up about seeing his family again. Greggan was outside somewhere too. Aside these few, everyone lurked in the tavern.

  Over in a dark quiet corner, Zukei was seated at table with her father the king. Bleyne sat close by, watching father and daughter with interest. The archer had little notion how the King of Yamondo’s daughter came to be with them, but she seemed tough and self-reliant and that was all that mattered in his opinion. Beside him, Corin was staring into space, his expression morose.

  “Strange to be back here,” Bleyne said after a moment’s thought.

  Corin grunted and then cast a bleak eye at Prince Tarin, seated alone at another table and watching the fire crackle as though in a dream. “So much has happened since last we were here. I’d thought we’d turned a corner in this war, and then…”

  “We have.” Olen’s keen eyes pierced Corin’s. The Rorshai had just come in from the rain. Like Barin, they were eager to get going. Arami in particular was excited about faring into strange lands, and he eagerly shared bow talk with Bleyne, who, like Arac and the other bowyers, he now held in great respect.

  Aside those mentioned and the other Rangers and two dour-faced fishers, the inn was empty—the only exception being Shallan’s two brothers, sitting aloof and stern by the back door.

  “This Caswallon is in for a shock when Halfdan arrives at Kelthara.” Olen took seat beside Corin and Bleyne. Arami remained standing.

  “Perhaps.” Corin didn’t share Olen’s optimism. “But sorcerers usually have tricks up their sleeves, and I doubt not he knows about the Gap already.”

  “And the Crystal King?” Olen held Corin’s gaze until the other looked away.

  “And what of him?”

  “Your destiny,” Bleyne remarked, having heard from “Lord Greggan” all about events on The Wild Way, including Corin discovering who his father was. “You have to fulfill it. Caswallon won’t know about that yet.”

  “Won’t he?” Corin laughed bitterly. “Crystal King, what crap! What am I supposed to do, rush into Kella City with a flaming sword and golden underpants and slay all the nasty beasties, and then once that’s done fry Caswallon in his crib?”

  “Make for interesting viewing,” Arami grinned.

  Bleyne clutched Corin’s arm, his dark eyes intense. “Elanion is with you, Longswordsman! Don’t forget that. This is your destiny. You are the chosen.”

  “Not you too.” Corin curled his upper lip and shouted for more ale. “You and Olen should form a club. Anyways, I’ve not had time to think about that stuff. Once Shallan’s safe in my arms, I’ll take a proper look, I promise.” Corin saw that Tarin was watching him with a strange haunted expression.

  “And what’s your problem?” Corin awarded Tarin a cold eye and the prince turned his troubled gaze back to the fire.

  At that moment, Greggan appeared, spraying water on Corin and Olen as he joined them at table. “Pissing down out there,” he grumbled.

  “Yeah, that’s why we’re in here,” Tarin muttered.

  “Barin still out there?” Corin enquired without much interest.

  “Gods alone know. I couldn’t see bugger-all in that deluge. I need a brandy.” Lord Greggan dripped over to the taproom where the innkeep slumped half asleep.

  Meanwhile, Zukei leaned back in her chair and puffed on the pipe her father had given her. She hadn’t smoked for a long time, and it eased her nerves, which had not been good since Shallan’s disappearance. She blamed herself for that, having appointed herself as Shallan’s personal bodyguard. The king watched her with keen dark eyes. These two hadn’t spoken in almost four years.

  “You’ve aged,” Zukei said, and King Ulani smiled his big smile.

  “And you, daughter, look gorgeous as ever.”

  “And you’re fat, you’ve put on weight, Father.”

  “Never!” Ulani’s smile fell from his face replaced by a shocked denial. “I’ve never been more trim.”

  “How is my mother?” Zukei puffed at the weed and stretched her scrawny legs out from under the table; her blue fizzy hair was still damp from the ceaseless rain.

  “Enjoying her life with my other queens; they get on well when I’m not around.”

  “So why are you here?” Zukei cut through their easy conversation like a hot knife slicing butter.

  “I was of a mind to ask you the same thing.”

  “I got there first.” Zukei flashed her rare grin.

  “I was seeking Corin over there.” He nodded to where Corin was chuckling at something Greggan was saying, as Olen and Arami smiled beside him.

  “Him?” Zukei nodded and snorted at the same time. “Star attraction he is. Quite the character is old longshanks the lover boy.”

  “He is a good friend of mine,” Ulani said, looking pained. “I need to talk with him alone. Only Bleyne and Silon know the dire news I carry.”

  “What news?”

  Ulani sipped his beer and glanced at the others sharing the tavern. He lowered his tone to a barely audible grunt. “He is back.”

  “Who?”

  “He—Himself. The one we do not name in Yamondo. That volcano, Zukei, the Forbidden Mountain, has erupted and discharged its filth for miles across the jungle to our west. Vendel is in uproar and the whole of Yamondo shaking with the echo.”

  “It’s just a mountain, Father.” Zukei shook her head, though her dark eyes were troubled. “And those are only stories.”

  “I thought so too, and rather than trust to rumour I fared into the jungle alone. Deep into Vendel I ventured, close as I dared to the ruin surrounding that terrible mountain. There I saw things, daughter. Dark things and horrible things I cannot begin to describe.” Ulani’s tough face tensed with the memory of that horror. “I became afraid and fled as fast I could back to our land.”

  “You have no fear Father.”

  “I have now.” Ulani sipped his ale and lowered his tone yet further. “I saw Him, daughter. I saw His face reflected in a poisonous puddle of steam.”

  “You saw Old Night?” Zukei whispered, choking on her words. “How can that be?”

  “The face in the puddle, flies and insects all around, and the stench of decaying death everywhere. It was Him—his head anyway, dripping dark gore, and that ruined face with those carrion eyes mocking me. I know what I saw, daughter.”

  “Then the myths are true—He has returned?” Zukei’s fierce face was hollowed with dread. “And you, like most here, believe that man . . . ,” Zukei nodded to where Corin still sat with his friends, “you think that longlegged twit can somehow stop this storm? I don’t see that, Father. I don’t see that at all.”

  “We cannot give in to despair, Zukei! And down in Permio, when I travelled with him, there was a tribesman—a worthy fellow called Yashan. This Yashan called Corin ‘Marakan.’ It is Permian for chosen by the gods. I never gave it much thought at the time, but now I wonder.”

  Just then Barin’s soggy bulk emerged through the doorway. The Northman stooped and grumbled his way into the inn, followed by his three men.

  “He must be Barin,” Ulani said, but Zukei had slipped outside.

  ***

  Hours later, as rain still lashed windows and drummed roofs, Corin an Fol leaned against a dripping wall relieving his bladder. He was quite drunk. The three excuses: inaction, bad weather, and depression, had driven him hard into drink. Most of his companions snored in the compact but clean lodgings above the tavern—courtesy of Barin, who had insisted on paying for everyone.

  Taic and Sveyn were still keeping the innkeep busy, both drunker than Corin and spoiling for a fight. Zukei had not returned, whilst King Ulani and Barin shared notes on their forays and scrapes by the warmth of the fire. Barin stayed sober enough to keep a sharp eye on his nephew and Sveyn. Cogga had departed for bed some time earlier, as had Tarin and the Rorshai. Or so Corin thought.

  “We need to talk.” The voice at his side interrupted his flow, and Corin
cursed seeing Tarin staring at him out of the rain in the misty dark.

  “Thanks,” Corin scowled at the prince. “But I am currently preoccupied.”

  “I owe you an apology, Corin an Fol.”

  “What?”

  “On Fallowheld and back in the desert.”

  “That was the dragon’s poisonous breath or something Caswallon cooked up. Forget it.” Corin was resigned to be patient for once in his life. That in mind, he fumbled his organ back into his breeches and pushed himself free of the wall.

  “There is a garderobe inside the inn,” Tarin said.

  “I needed air and time to think. Pissing outside’s good for thinking. So what’s on your mind, princeling—out with it!”

  “We haven’t got on, and I’ve hated you at times.”

  “Join the queue.”

  “Unjustly. I now regret the way I’ve behaved.”

  “Because you’ve listened to all the bollocks about me being the Crystal King?” Corin smiled like a wolf and staggered back inside the tavern.

  “It’s more than that.” Tarin followed him in. “I’ve got something for you, something important. It’s in a bag I brought with me.”

  “Give it to me tomorrow.” Corin wasn’t really listening, the ale having fuddled his brain. “I’ve a deal on my mind right now so methinks I’m off to bed.”

  Without waiting for a response, Corin glanced at Taic and Sveyn, the latter now sprawled on the floor snoring and Taic singing dreadful ballads at the fire. Barin and Ulani glanced his way as he found the stairs. Corin saluted them and clambered above where eventually he found a room that wasn’t filled with snoring occupants. He launched his wet aching body on the creaky bed and was out till mid-morning.

  Prince Tarin followed suit, and soon after, Ulani and Barin. That left only Taic and Sveyn, now both on the floor sleeping like hounds.

  ***

  Morning found Barin alone on the quay. He watched in silence as three fishers guided their skinny crafts out the harbour. The rain had dispersed to leave a grey shiny morning that had all the heat sucked out of it.