The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  “This is Westfjord,” Barin informed Corin. “I was brought up here in secret after my mother fled the witch who’d cursed my father and placed a price on our heads back in Valkador—may she still rot in Yffarn! Mine was a rough upbringing thanks to her.

  “There are some villages and strand-hamlets around but we should go unseen. They are a dopey lot, mostly fisher folk living in dread of Grimhold’s charming tenants.”

  “How long?” Corin demanded, itching to jump ashore and reach Grimhold Castle whilst dark still ruled the sky, giving them a chance.

  “Half hour to safe haven, then two hours’ ride for your rescue party. The road to Grimhold is easy to follow and you shouldn’t be troubled this late at night. Leethmen are seldom sober after dark.”

  Half an hour later, just as Barin said, they set to in a quiet land-locked northern corner of the Westfjord, with deep water allowing The Starlight Wanderer hug close to shore, and high hills and dark woods hedging the banks, ensuring she stay hidden from prying eyes during the following day, or as long as they needed to wait.

  “There’s a wooded track leads up to the road several miles north of here,” Barin explained as the appointed seven readied their borrowed steeds and struggled to lead them down the makeshift ramp into the icy dark water below. The horses would have to swim some forty feet before gaining the shingle strand, now just showing pale silver in the gloom.

  “Once on the road, use what speed you can and you should raise Grimhold Castle long before dawn. Fassof and Cogga will take over then. Go now—and may the gods give you the luck you deserve!”

  Corin was first to lead his horse down the ramp. The others had sold their horses before leaving Kashorn but Corin had insisted to Barin that Thunderhoof come with them. And Barin was happy to let him. And so during their brief stay on the island Thunderhoof got to know the wild steeds of Valkador.

  “Brace yourself boy, this will be a tad chilly.” Corin patted Thunder’s back. But the big horse didn’t respond, so Corin launched his dripping body onto the beast’s back and commenced guiding Thunder ashore. The others followed on their steeds in grim determined silence.

  Last came Zukei, her black eyes glittering as she studied the shore for foes. The seven and their horses were soaked and half frozen when they reached the track leading up through the dark shadow of hill and forest.

  An hour saw them coated in night with stars above and dense pines hedging their way. The road ran arrow-straight and they drove the horses hard. It was cold, and fresh rime glittered the sides of the road like silver tracing.

  Hooves thudded and riders focused on the task ahead. Now and then an owl would call and a second answer, whilst further away the eerie cry of wolf and fox filled an otherwise silent forest.

  Two hours before dawn, the woods fell away on either side, and a dark craggy line of bleak hills lined the night horizon. Thrust in their midst like a broken tooth was the winking shadow of what must surely be a fortress.

  “Grimhold,” Cogga yelled in Corin’s ear. “About ten miles to go. We’d best keep our wits sharp from now on.” They filed into single column, Cogga and Fassof at front, Corin next with the brothers behind him, Zukei and Bleyne at the rear. These last two were in their element tonight.

  The jagged hills rose as the distance shrank, and the grey vastness of Grimhold Castle took form ahead. The winking lights were torches high on battlement and keep. It looked strong did Grimhold, hard and grey and cold as those who dwelt within. Though much smaller than Car Carranis, its commanding position crowning the line of hills gave it an impressive and foreboding power.

  The seven rode on apace until reaching a clump of knotty thorns. Here Fassof signalled they dismount and go through their next moves amid whispers.

  “Two ropes,” Fassof nodded to his and Cogga’s horse. “And two climbers to haul them up over the battlements. Cogga is good with a knife, so he will take the first rope. I need a volunteer for the other.” Corin, Zukei, Danail, and Bleyne all stood forward.

  “Fuck, I only need one of you, else why bother with the sodding ropes?” Fassof muttered. “Bleyne—you’re the man, I well remember your catlike skills from Kashorn Harbour. You will need three knives.”

  “I brought four,” Bleyne replied pointedly.

  “And we need someone here making sure the horses are ready when we come running back.” This time no one volunteered. “Come on, it’s an important job, I’d do it myself but I’m going to be Tail End Charlie with the ropes.”

  “You do it,” Tolemon told his brother.

  “Why not you?” Danail replied; alone of the crew he looked nervous and edgy.

  “It has to be one of you,” Corin growled.

  “Who says?” Tolemon glared at him.

  “I do,” Corin’s growl deepened and Tolemon reached for his sword.

  “Enough children!” Zukei stepped forward. “I will wait here and you clowns better get moving.”

  “You, more than anyone are needed in that fortress,” Cogga said. “I’ve seen this warrior fight,” he explained. “She’s phenomenal!” Cogga look pleased with himself, having recently mastered that word. In the end Fassof decided to stay with the horses, lest they argue until dawn and then get skewered by guards.

  “You’ll have to be Tail End Charlie with the ropes,” he told Danail. “Don’t leave them dangling and don’t let any sentry see them. They need to be coiled neat and ready for casting off when the team gets back. Now piss off the lot of you while it’s still dark!”

  The six stole low toward the grey mass of wall ahead. Cogga signalled they make for the right of the keep where the walls were shortened by the rise of a hillock. Once they reached the nearest wall’s base, Cogga and Bleyne took twenty paces apiece and then, ropes over shoulders, commenced scaling the wall with the aid of the daggers wedged in mortar, allowing feet and hand to purchase, lift, remove knife, and so on.

  Bleyne reached the top before Cogga got halfway up, despite his legendary castle storming skills. Bleyne, after casting his gaze along the battlements, tied one end around a crenulation and tossed the rope down.

  Corin grabbed it and started hauling his body up, Clouter swinging from his back. Zukei followed. Then Cogga’s rope hit soil and Danail and Tolemon took to climbing fast as they could.

  Twenty minutes later they stood on the battlements, the star-studded night granting just enough visibility to award wide views of wood and rimy pasture below. Danail shivered. “What’s next?” he said.

  “This way.” Cogga led them in the opposite direction of the keep, looming like a square rock behind. Corin noted that Grimhold Castle was circular in shape and they were following that circle toward the rear where another, smaller keep led to stairs leading down to the castle main below.

  “Guards?” Zukei hinted at the smaller rear keep.

  “Probably half a dozen,” Cogga nodded. “They should be on the walls too but they’re most likes drunk and dicing in there with the rest in the main keep and manning the front gates. They won’t be overly vigilant—only an idiot would attack Grimhold Castle. Now do your stuff woman!” Cogga hissed Zukei forward.

  “Go with her,” Corin told Bleyne, who nodded and trotted behind the sleek woman, both vanishing inside the keep. Two minutes later Bleyne emerged grinning.

  “There were eight,” he said cheerfully. “She did for most of them; she’s rather good you know.” Tolemon and Danail exchanged baffled glances whilst Corin rolled his eyes.

  They entered the keep and soon noted the seven still corpses sprawled on the floor (the eighth one twitched a bit until Zukei’s Karyia stilled it). “I hate an unfinished job,” she told Bleyne.

  Cogga scanned the stairs and castle main below. “No movement,” he said, satisfied. “They should either be asleep or too drunk to find their cocks. Best we get to it, the hall is close by. After the stairs we turn left, there’s a barracks and some stores and stables. Beyond these lies the king’s hall. It’s a dingy shithole as I remember.”r />
  “That I do not doubt,” Corin nodded.

  “Everybody ready?” Cogga asked and the team nodded. “Off we go then.” But halfway down the stairs, the sudden clash of steel, bay of hounds, and harsh cries of angry voices announced that the party had started without them.

  Corin slammed Clouter into his palms and crashed through the hall’s wooden door amid splinters and flying nails. “Shallan!” Corin yelled. “I’m here!” Then a horn blast split the night, and chaos took hold again.

  ***

  “So what’s it like down there?”

  “Hot and sticky, and every creature bites. I doubt you’d like it.”

  “Hmm, Permio was enough for me—all those flies and grubby little cheese vendors.”

  “Yamondo is not Permio, my friend. Has Corin told you nothing?”

  “He never tells anybody anything.”

  “I like it here—surprisingly.” Ulani and Barin were seated on a bench at the stern of The Starlight Wanderer, each with an ale clenched in fist. “And the cold doesn’t bother me like I thought it would.”

  “So Zukei’s your daughter?” Barin’s shrewd blue gaze caught Ulani’s sharp glance.

  “Aye, so?”

  “I like her, and she’s been good to have around, especially for poor Shallan.” Barin looked morose for a moment. “So what is it with her?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Like, why is she so angry all the time?”

  “Angry? Her? You haven’t met my wives.” Ulani slurped a half pint in one gulp and then belched famously. “I like to travel, Barin.”

  “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “She’s wanted in three countries: Yamondo, Vendel, and Shen.”

  “Shen?”

  “Yep, she did some contract work way out east a while back. She’s good at what she does, Barin.”

  “Killing people.”

  “Zukei was the highest paid assassin in western Vendel. It’s why that man over there,” Ulani wagged a finger to where some of the crew sat playing dice. “Wogun is it? He’s scared of her, knows who she is. But Zukei, though subtle with dagger and garrotte, lacks communication skills. She pissed off some pretty high people in Vendel and hence got banished. She came home and no one wanted her around—especially two of my wives, though her mother still harbours a soft spot for her. I got a lot of earache so I was obliged to banish her too.”

  “And she hasn’t forgiven you.”

  “Doesn’t look like it—does it? So then Zukei went off in a huff to Shen. That’s a weird country, Barin. A long way away.”

  “I never believed it really existed.”

  “It does. They are all sorcerers there, and killing is a very subtle art in that land. Zukei killed the wrong people, so again she had to leave. But this time she was caught and sold as a slave in irons, eventually ending up in a market in Syrannos, where she tells me she murdered her master and scat, but was caught and marked for execution.”

  “Until Taic saved her.”

  “Your nephew, yes. I need to thank him.”

  “He’s an idle tosspot.”

  “You like him really.”

  Barin pulled a face. “Just a little.” They sat and drank for another two hours, whilst Barin’s crew rested, drank, and diced some more. Nearby the Rorshai juggled daggers with Greggan and the Rangers, each participant placing wagers on the winners.

  Prince Tarin appeared now and then without saying much, and the night passed quiet and slow as they waited for the sound of hoof beats announcing their friends’ return.

  “Care for an arm wrestle?” Barin asked Ulani. “Corin says you’d beat me, but I must disagree.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Ulani slapped his meaty palm in Barin’s and the pair commenced grunting and heaving and straining for twenty minutes before Ulani’s forearm curled around Barin’s and levered down hard. The was a loud thwack that turned heads as the bench snapped in two.

  “I win!” Ulani laughed flexing his hand.

  “That was cheating!” Barin complained. “Straight arms or no win.”

  After six more matches, three wins apiece and twelve ales sunk, the pair slunk into a heavy slumber until woken by noises as dawn broke through the eastern sky.

  ***

  The king laughed as his men grabbed Shallan and dragged her toward him. Behind them Hagan scowled, not pleased with how things were going.

  “What did you expect?” Rael looked tired and not a little bored. “Let him play a bit, then we’ll get our dosh and piss off somewhere warm. I’m sick of winter. What about Golt? Never been to Golt.”

  Shallan spat and clawed and kicked, but the grinning Leethmen tossed her to the floor at Daan Redhand’s feet. “She’s a pretty wee thing. How much do you want for her, Assassin?”

  “A lot,” Rael answered without looking up.

  “She’s a duchess,” Hagan added. “A brave lady to boot.”

  “I know who she is.” Daan’s iron-studded boot scraped a trace of blood on Shallan’s cheek. She said nothing, just glared up at him. “Lady Shallan of Vangaris, who so boldly came to rescue her brothers from my father. Daughter of that tosser Tomais and rumoured frigid. A cold wench and a friend of Barin of Valkador.”

  “Barin’s worth ten of you!” Shallan spat up at the king, whose smile faded as he kicked her in the stomach, causing her to double up in pain.

  “Barin’s dead meat when I get hold of him.” He turned to his guards. “I grow weary of this, strip her.”

  One of the guards reached for Shallan’s shirt but froze as his comrade pitched forward with a horn-handled blade in his back. A second knife tore into the other guard’s face and all turned, including Shallan, to see the huge gnarly figure filling the doorway.

  Cornelius the Faen, by some called The Horned Man, had come for his daughter at last.

  Chapter 34

  Golganak

  A witch-storm is not a pleasant sight to witness—even from afar. To be beneath one is to perish. Such was the fate of Kella City that winter day. Wind arrived first, then a sudden noisy dark that smothered the city and hushed any whispering voices. Broiling clouds hurled yellow lightning daggers from the gathering storm, as the dragon beat his mighty wings through its dark and crash-landed like an avalanche on the palace roof in Kella City.

  Vaarg, his full might returned after the recovery of the spear, unleashed his fury, jetting a gush of flame through the palace windows, causing glass to explode and tapestries and carpets within the gloomy silent halls to ignite. Those few Groil Caswallon had kept as retainers screamed as their flesh dissolved, consumed by that alien heat.

  High above in the Astrologer’s Nest, Caswallon was more prepared. He watched the dragon claw and scrape at the palace as his funnel flame sent another jet inside. This one reached the throne room, but even dragonfire had no power over The Glass Throne. The room was in ruins, but the throne glistened like wet glass and Vaarg, bored, turned his attention to the rest of the city.

  Kella blazed like a fallen star as Morak’s witch-storm added more lightning spears to Vaarg’s tongues of flame, and as he worked his storm, Morak held Golganak aloft to counter the battery of spell blasts now issuing like tracer bullets from the Astrologer’s Nest—a lone aloof finger in the maelstrom of the witch-storm.

  Caswallon was fighting back.

  Vaarg lifted skyward at word from his master. Once level with the lone window of Caswallon’s study, the dragon’s huge eye found the sorcerer standing alone amid charts and scrolls and looking back at the dragon with grim determination in his coaly eyes.

  “TIME TO DIE MORTAL!” Vaarg’s next blast funnelled through the window, but Caswallon’s prepared incantations rebuffed that flame and he remained unharmed, as did his study. Vaarg fired again, harder, and this time Caswallon’s detonator-trap exploded white powder in the dragon’s face.

  Vaarg roared red froth as that acid white agony blinded him temporarily, and his wings folded like crumpled leath
er as he plummeted, a thousand-ton lead weight crashing onto and through the palace roof.

  Morak’s own spell-shield protected him against that detonation. As the dragon fell, his rider lifted feather light from Vaarg’s back and, riding the spear as a rocket, Morak circled the Astrologer’s Nest three times, wording breaking-spells as he did.

  A cornered cat, Caswallon watched his enemy circle warily and worded counter-spell after counter-spell. Meanwhile below, recovered and raging, the dragon crawled free of Kella Palace, shook off the mass of rubble and dust and other clutter stuck to his hide, and resumed torching what was left of the city.

  Vaarg was in a bad mood now; it had been millennia since last he’d felt pain and he hadn’t enjoyed the reminder. Occasionally he would send blasts up to the lean finger where Caswallon still held court. But these had no effect, and Vaarg soon lost interest.

  Instead he crawled through the city, incinerating the streets one at a time, spiteful and greedy for destruction as only a dragon can be. Those Groil and men still around were fried, as was anything else moving.

  Even the fields outside were grilled like overdone bacon. For over an hour Vaarg patrolled the streets of Kella until nothing but ash and rubble remained. After that, he turned his lizard attentions to the city walls, and like a bored puppy commenced chewing and clawing at them, until they too had crumpled to rubble. Finally satisfied with his demolitions, Vaarg returned to the palace to level that building too.

  Caswallon, increasingly desperate, discharged a ward spell so violent it caught Morak off guard and sent him flying backwards in wild spirals, still gripping his spear in hand. Morak steadied his steering rod and Golganak glistened like polished black marble as it responded to his instructions.

  Morak prepared another strike, but not before Caswallon had time to reach his glass ball, grasp it close and gaze within its cloudy depths. After a panicky second scrying, Caswallon found his armies. They were still a day away, both the Groil and Gonfalez’s legions marching—a dark host toward Kella. They were moving at speed but not nearly fast enough.