The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  Barin took to ambling along the harbour wall, recalling the excitement and kafuffle last autumn when he broke through the Crenise ships and Bleyne worked his magic with that arrow.

  As he contemplated those halcyon days, Barin gazed out at the grey churning water. It was there that he saw Him, far out across the water. The Sea God Sensuata, heaving his mile-long nets. Much nearer was the recognisable shape of a multi-masted ship heading hard and fast for harbour.

  The Starlight Wanderer.

  Fassof had arrived at last.

  Chapter 31

  Urgolais Rising

  Shallan rubbed her cold knees by the makeshift fire as snow filled the evening and settled on her like doom. She watched her captors much like a trapped bird of prey dreaming of soaring free into blue skies above. Hagan was busy skinning a rabbit whilst Rael Hakkenon lounged indifferent on a wet log. Neither man spoke. Nor had they said much in the three days since they’d found each other back on The Wild Way.

  They had travelled at speed and were now clogged beneath the vast pine forest flanking most of southern Leeth, a land so huge that Shallan found it hard to comprehend. But Hagan knew the way; he’d fared north many a time about his villainous business—Shallan had gleaned such from his and the Assassin’s rare discussions.

  And there were broad paths beneath the forest, allowing for good progress, plus no shortage of game for easy slaughter and full stomachs. Worst was the cold that bit into her like creeping ice, but Shallan never complained. She spoke no word to her captors and they mostly ignored her, save the Assassin when he felt the need to taunt. And even he became bored at her non-reaction.

  But as that evening lowered to dark heavy night and wolves cried lonely in the distance, Rael shuffled and fidgeted until Hagan asked him what was wrong. It was then that he told him about Ulan Valek. Both men ignored Shallan, who feigned sleep but heard every word.

  ***

  “A bad place.” Rael stared at the fire and shuddered. “Very bad. Cold and dark, but much more than that. Even as I approached, I sensed something alive and waiting down beneath those mines.”

  “Mines?” Like most folk, Hagan knew little of Ulan Valek.

  “Yes, mines. Black tunnels leading down and down—we passed many, my lads, the Groil, and I. On our mission to find the spear.”

  “Groil—you had fucking Groil with you?”

  “Caswallon sent them to help me. I had some men with me too, including Cavan. I think they might have got out because they fled before me, but I cannot be sure. It was confusing in the bitter dark—what with all the witchy spells stabbing my eyes. Aralais and Urgolais—I understand it now.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “They were both down there, Hagan. It was like renting a premier seat in someone else’s nightmare. Then the dark one got inside my head and the real horror started.” Shallan listened captivated as the Assassin relived his time spent in the catacombs of the ruined castle Ulan Valek.

  ***

  But Rael was only a witness. Zallerak was living the nightmare.

  The pain was white lightning inside his head; only his spell shield kept him alive as the dragon’s breath and claws tore into his flesh. Vaarg had waited a long time for this and his master too. Zallerak was dimly aware of Morak’s metallic laughter somewhere close.

  “It was all a ruse, Arallos,” the Dog-Lord was saying. “”You’ve been trapped by your own cleverness, just like the mortal sorcerer who thought to hoodwink me. Both of you have failed and both of you will die.”

  Not yet…

  Zallerak was aware of creatures entering the tunnels like ants. Groil—Morak’s slaves. He saw men too and a small part of his tortured mind caught a glimpse of the Assassin, Rael Hakkenon, looking wild-eyed and askance in a corner.

  Out of your comfort zone boy?

  Fire and claw and pain and terror—almost he was done. But Zallerak—though caught off guard—maintained his innermost defences and refused to give in to the pain. Slowly but steadily he worked his locking spells on the dragon.

  These spells became steel nets, coiling and tightening around Vaarg, even as the dragon tore Zallerak’s mortal flesh to shreds. As his flesh collapsed, the Aralais’s soul stepped neatly out of his body, allowing him to fight back whilst sacrificing his physical form.

  Flesh was only flesh. Zallerak had used several guises over the many millennia he’d dwelt in Ansu. Like Morak, he was hard to kill. And like his enemy he was determined to survive.

  Now a cool observer, Zallerak watched the dragon consume the last of his body, his handsome face falling into nothing as the dragon’s metallic breath scalded his flesh blacker than Morak’s.

  But Morak’s flesh was no longer scorched. There he stood in plain view, laughing and hurling acid bolts toward where Zallerak’s inner being lay invisible, yet vulnerable and cold.

  “This is my time, Aralais. You played and you lost!” Morak stood tall and strong, handsome with dark piercing eyes and long silky hair the colour of wood smoke in winter.

  “You thought me crippled and weak, and thought to find the spear and keep it from me. The crown affair was a ruse to buy time while your ranging spells searched out the spear. We both knew it was here, but your ranging spells located it—not only for you but for me too!

  “So I gave you what you wanted in Crenna and at Croagon’s forge. Small price for Urgolais Rising!”

  As he spoke these last words, an explosion blasted through the tunnels and the walls of the mines, beams splintered and sheared, and earth came crashing down, killing Groil and man—not that Morak or his adversary noticed.

  Vaarg, temporarily held by the steel nets, was buried in rubble, and Morak’s image vanished from view, but his laughter remained.

  Morak’s search blasts were bullets banging and striking all around his weakened self, but Zallerak morphed again. He became a bubble: a pocket of air the size of a flea, his essence and malice and vengeance stored tidily within.

  As the mines below Ulan Valek folded in on themselves, Zallerak’s essence floated free of Morak’s mind blasts and drifted up out of the mines, into the ruined city, and then out into the cold night air and was gone.

  Amid falling stone and crashing mud, men’s death screams and Groil snarling in chaotic terror, as gas and noxious fumes choked the atmosphere and stole the light, Morak stood unscathed, Golganak in hand.

  “I am cured,” the Urgolais warlock said, blasting aside rubble and stone with the spear and touching Zallerak’s steel nets that gripped the dragon, freeing him again. “I am Dog-Lord no more! Dragon, know this: that I, Morak, have returned to my full glory. Now is both your vengeance and mine sated! Come now, old friend—let us leave this place now victory is ours.”

  “WHAT OF THE ARALAIS? HIS SOUL IS STILL OUT THERE.”

  “And we will hunt it down! But first we have another debt to settle.”

  ***

  Rael had fled back through the mines the minute he saw the dragon fall on Zallerak, as did those of his men still living. The Ptarnians were not so lucky; they chose another way out and Rael heard their muffled screams, until the mine shafts’ collapse choked them silent.

  Rael ran heedless of the utter dark, crashing into stone, scraping his flesh and bruising his bones, until his eyes adjusted and he was able to find a way out into the ice-cold streets of the haunted city. Briefly he’d caught Cavan’s eye before an explosion and spurt of dust forced them apart.

  “I got out alive,” Rael told Hagan, as if he still didn’t believe it. “I suspect Cavan and the others did too, though I cannot be sure, but their horses were gone when I found mine, alone and wild walking the path above the ruined city.”

  “A duel of wizards?” Hagan didn’t know what to make of the story but was delighted that the meddling freakball Zallerak had been destroyed. “You sure it was him, the same bastard that tricked me in Agmandeur?”

  “He is no more,” Rael said. “Warlock or not, he couldn’t h
ave survived the dragon’s attack. I saw it, Hagan. It scared the shit out of me, huge and black with claws like sabres. Gods, but I never knew such things existed!”

  “The dragon destroyed the mines?”

  “I don’t know—I didn’t stick around long enough to find out, did I?”

  “Then maybe the dragon’s dead too?”

  Rael shook his head, an ironic grin smearing his lips. “I saved the best bit till last,” he said quietly and Shallan had to strain her ears to hear him.

  “I found my horse, as I said, and lost no time fleeing that horrible place. But just before I reached The Wild Way and relative safety I heard something, terrible wings, that made me rein in and take a look.

  “Dawn was breaking and I saw them rise up high above the city. Dragon and rider, the first huge and terrible, the second worse. The rider held something in his arms, I couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked to be a black spear. That same shaft I was charged by Caswallon to recover.

  “Had I succeeded I would be dead. Because that thing is death, Hagan. Golganak. The Urgolais spear of myth. The brief glimpse I had filled me with uncanny terror and I delayed no longer, and after witnessing their departure into the early morning skies I fled north along the mountain path until we met that afternoon.”

  Rael shivered and rolled himself into his blanket. “I saw what I saw, Hagan, and I who so despise fear was almost undone by it.”

  “Where were they headed, this unholy duo?” Hagan stoked the fire and cast a sly glance at Shallan who lay motionless in her blanket. Close by, the wolves dared howl again now the story was over.

  Rael shook his head. “Kella or Kelthara—what does it matter? They won’t be making for Grimhold if I’m any judge on the matter. I never had plans to journey up here, what with the cold and all, but now it seems oddly appealing.” Rael grinned at his words and turned himself in his blanket.

  “I’m off to sleep, lest the ghosts from that city find me wittering nonsense in the night.” He said no more, and Hagan left him alone.

  The Morwellan watched the slow crackle of embers. It was late and a young moon steered free of cloud and forest. The wolves were closer and other beasts could be heard in the deep of the woods. Hagan didn’t know what to make of the Assassin’s tale. Had anyone else spoken of such things he would have thought him insane. But not Rael Hakkenon.

  A shift and shuffle behind him. “I know you’re awake.” Hagan turned, awarding Shallan’s sleeping face a crafty smile. “Enjoy the story?” No response so he shuffled close to where she lay.

  “It’s not like you think,” Hagan said, and Shallan blinked slightly confirming she was awake. “I’m not the villain you believe me to be. I know I’m a bad lad and I’ve had shit luck lately, but it wasn’t always that way. And me and Corin were mates once, until he pulled that stunt in Permio.” Shallan opened her eyes and awarded Hagan a brittle stare.

  “I know you love him. He has a certain oafish charm and nothing I can say will change your opinion. But we were both good fighters—back then. Mercenaries who made good money, him for that merchant and me for myself.

  “Then after returning home I was falsely accused of that murder in Vangaris. I was nowhere near the place, but your old man pronounced me ‘Wolfshead’ and banished me from my homeland, just because of lies and rumours regarding my reputation.

  “I’d done nothing against my fellow Morwellans. But the Duke didn’t see it that way. I was branded outlaw and villain, so I decided to act as such, becoming a thorn in the Duke’s side.

  “Still you say nothing.”

  “I have no words for one such as you,” Shallan said quietly. “To me you are worse than a rabid hound, and now you seek to excuse yourself like any craven criminal. I —”

  “I couldn’t give a toss what you think, Duchess, just thought I’d put you in the picture. You love Corin an Fol, believing him so different from me, and yet we two are so alike. Fate has chosen different paths for us—that’s all.”

  “You, villain, cannot hold a candle to his shadow!” Shallan spat on the ground close where Hagan perched. “I curse you to a slow and violent death!”

  “You might get your wish, girl, but not before the Prince of Leeth has you naked and chained and begging their mercy. I’d enjoy these quiet forest nights if I were you. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll not bother sharing my thoughts with you again.”

  Hagan stood and stretched his limbs as Shallan watched him in glaring silence. He held her gaze for a moment and then shrugged and retired to his station by the fire.

  When Shallan heard Hagan’s snores mixing with the Assassin’s, she rolled to her knees and shook warmth into her body.

  Where are you Father? Please do not forsake me!

  But The Horned Man didn’t answer, nor did she hear from him during the rest of that journey. The three reached Grimhold castle four days later and were informed that Daan Redhand had now proclaimed himself king, and hearing who had come was most eager to await them in his throne room.

  ***

  I am the wind through the trees: the dark star, the evening breeze.

  I am lost in the void yet I live and I breathe—a free bird unfettered.

  I am as I once was and shall be again—flesh is only flesh.

  I was fooled but not broken—I am defeated yet unbowed.

  The game must play out without me for my part now is done.

  It is a small matter…

  I am the spinning tower— I’m the hidden doubt.

  I am the question inside and the answer without.

  I am the eagle in flight, the lion’s roar

  I am the shadow that creeps beneath your door.

  I am the dreamer, the poet, the schemer, the fool!

  I am everything and I am nothing, I break every rule.

  I am a teardrop in a storm, a single grain of sand.

  I am the salmon that swims upstream,

  I am ocean, I am land.

  I am the stranger at the gate.

  I am destiny and I am fate.

  I am Aralais, I am Golden, I am present and I am past…

  What I have started cannot now be stopped—I shall watch and wait the outcome.

  It will not take long…

  The bubble burst over water, and the tiny essence of the Aralais being, by some called Zallerak, fell—a single rain drop silent to the ocean. Once there it morphed again, becoming a great salmon that writhed and wriggled through water on its journey to the shore.

  And so the time wheel turns full circle. Nothing is ever forgotten. The fish finds shore on the beaches of Fol. It changes again, this time becoming an osprey that lifts and cries up from the spindrift.

  Along the cliffs the white bird soars, at last reaching that lone tower. Once there his form turns back to a man again—albeit a frail and battered one.

  From here shall I watch the final outcome.

  The ghost of Zallerak smiles and enters the tower where he used to dwell. Outside the cries of seabirds welcome him home.

  Nothing is ever forgotten.

  ***

  The globe fell from the table and rolled across the floor. Caswallon watched it as though it were a snake. His fingers burnt from the heat of what he’d witnessed and his eyes stung like acid drops.

  “Urgolais Rising!”

  The voice on the wind.

  He’d scried ever eastward until he’d reached the mountains, and within their midst, that hidden fortress. Ulan Valek. He’d seen it before with his crystal gazing, but this was different. Then he had been searching—questing for the spear. Now he had found more than what he was looking for. Now he was trapped!

  The spear was there, but clasped tight in Morak’s fist, with Morak seated on Vaarg’s back and both hurrying west to Kella City. Caswallon slipped and crashed to the floor, paralysed by weakness and terror. What ward spells he had would ill serve him against a renewed, fully-operational Morak in possession of his spear.

  He heard a flutter and squelch foll
owed by an evil chuckle.

  “Come to mock me?” Caswallon’s white face witnessed Gribble settle on the window ledge outside.

  “They are coming for you, Mr Caswallon.” Gribble chewed his index claw and sucked some meat off it. “I’d settle your accounts if I were you.”

  “Gloat then and be damned!” Caswallon tried to stand but his knees wouldn’t support him.

  “We had some good times.” Gribble seemed reflective. “And they are a rough pair. I barely escaped the carnage over in the mountains. Not sure I want to stay around to see them arrive here. That said, I just thought I’d drop by to say ta-ta. You’ve been a nice boss compared to old Dogface. Hope he don’t torture you for too long.”

  “Do me one last service as a friend?” Caswallon rolled to his knees and then struggled to his feet. “I beg of you, Soilfin.”

  “Such as?” Gribble sucked another claw clean and winked at Caswallon.

  “Fly to Kelthara. Order Gonfalez and the Groil… all my armies return here at speed!”

  “It will be too late.”

  “Do it anyway, I’ll stall Morak—somehow.”

  “Good luck with that,” Gribble sniggered and then flapped his leathery wings urgently, banging the glass and making it shudder. “I’ll do it for friendship. Never had a friend before, even a soon to be dead one. Touched me it has, and methinks they’ll be lots of fresh meat at Kelthara. Farewell, Mr Caswallon, it’s been sublime!” Gribble chuckled and lifted jaunty out into the blue beyond.

  Caswallon watched his speck fade from view like a drunken missile and then set about placing his urgent defence spells everywhere he could. Gonfalez could be here in two days; his ward spells only had to hold till then. Even with the spear Morak lacked the power to blast through so many traps—after all, he’d taught Caswallon well. Too well. Caswallon chuckled despite his predicament.

  Over the next few hours he fashioned and glued cunning ward-spells out of six dimensional runes and placed artful locking spell-mechanisms and also sly binding incantations. And added to those, Caswallon sowed a hundred hidden traps within the lonely rooms of the palace. Last up, he fashioned a detonator rune he’d acquired from Limbo around the Astrologer’s Nest lest Vaarg attack him from without.