The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  “Bring her round lads!” Barin growled. “Come on!” Every spare hand was on the oars now, and even Prince Tarin took a turn. Corin heaved next to Olen and Arami, who were white-faced and silent.

  “It’s all right,” Corin grinned manically at them. “If you hang out with me for long enough this sort of stuff happens now and then. Nothing untoward. You cannot say I haven’t warned you.” Olen awarded him a wild look but didn’t reply.

  The black island rose up like a tower of slime, the giant almost on top of them, straining and tugging at his chains. That was bad enough but then he stared howling, a woeful ululation and dismal racket that had everyone covering their ears with anything available.

  Shallan found Corin and squeezed alongside. “Hello love,” he smiled. “How are you feeling?” Corin pulled her between the oar and his waist and she snuggled close. “It’s just another giant and sorcery and nonsense. Don’t fret. I think we are all right,” Corin observed. “We seem to be clearing yonder hazard.”

  “It’s Crun,” Shallan glanced up at the monstrous figure, now slipping behind them as Barin’s skill and brawn guided The Starlight Wanderer free of the island’s slippery surface by a whisper. Within minutes they were ploughing clean toward blue clear water, island and hollering skinny giant sinking slowly below.

  “Who is Crun?” Corin asked her.

  It was her brother who answered. Tolemon had been visiting the heads but had re-emerged to add his wisdom. “The Forsaken God. Legend states that seeing him is the harbinger of the final war on earth.”

  “Thanks,” Corin said. “That’s good to know.”

  “You are welcome.” Tolemon locked eyes with Shallan’s lover and curled his upper lip. Corin could tell Tolemon had things on his mind but that was small concern for him at the moment. “I don’t think your brother likes me.”

  “I will talk to him, my love. Tolemon is bitter and proud but he’ll come round.”

  “Your Zukei doesn’t think so.”

  “Zukei doesn’t know everything.” Shallan’s eyes flashed irritation. “I’m sorry Corin, I’m tired and so much has happened, is happening, it’s wearing me out. You deserve more from me, darling man.”

  “Don’t fuss.” Corin flashed Shallan a brave grin. “This weird crap doesn’t faze me any more, nor does old Oroonin with His tricks. I don’t pretend to know His game, but at least I think we have an understanding with each other.

  “I’m sorry about Danail,” Corin added changing the subject. “A brave lad.”

  “The house of Morwella grows lean, Corin an Fol.” Shallan turned and studied the black isle, still sinking slowly from view. “So it seems we are heading north. To what, I wonder?”

  “Laras Lassladden.” Corin’s smile ran away from his face. “I haven’t mentioned this to anyone, but I know that’s our destination, and I also know we cannot avoid it. That island and its giant was Oroonin’s doing. If we change course again doubtless he’ll throw something else at us.”

  “I thought Laras Lassladden a myth.”

  “As did I until our recent trip to Valkador.” Corin recounted his conversation with the Wanderer, and Shallan’s eyes widened in alarm.

  “You are over-bold, Corin an Fol. He is a fell spirit to taunt!”

  “That he is but He pissed me off and… well, you know what I’m like.”

  “Yes I do, and I love you for it.” Shallan smiled for the first time that day and kissed Corin warmly on the mouth. “Look, the island has gone!”

  Corin turned and saw nothing but blue water lining the row of cliffs flanking their right for mile upon mile. “You had best go see Barin,” Shallan said. “I’m for taking some rest. I’ll see you soon, sweetest man.” She kissed him again and departed from the deck. Zukei’s and Tolemon’s eyes watched her leave with different expressions.

  Corin sighed and passed the oar to Olen, still white-faced and silent beside him. “I need to speak with the master,” Corin told him, and Olen nodded without changing his expression.

  Barin steered closer to the cliffs lining their east like an endless grey curtain of stone. “Your doing?” he grunted, as Corin approached.

  “I believe so,” Corin grunted back. “That spook wants me in the north. I’ve another job to do. You’ve heard of Laras Lassladden?”

  “Certainly have. We call it Valhall in Valkador. But throughout my sojourns, I’ve also heard it called Hu Brysail, Ynis Scaffa, and Tyr Nanog. There are other names too. All speak of an enchanted mythical island where summer always rules.”

  “Our destination,” Corin nodded. “That Huntsman is playing us, Barin, and it’s all my fault.”

  “You put too much on yourself, boy!” Barin had recovered his humor and now grinned down at Corin. “I’ve been close to you long enough to realize you’re the spark ignites their flames. Besides, I don’t think we’ve much choice but to hold this course, witchery or no witchery.”

  “How so?”

  “We have company closing on us from behind.”

  Corin turned and cursed, seeing five sleek ships lining the southern horizon and flanking the cliffs just as they were. Beyond them were three ungainly square vessels, which could only belong to Daan Redhand. But the first were easily recognisable too: Real Hakkenon’s sharks from Crenna.

  “That Assassin must have alerted them somehow,” Barin shook his head. “Got to hand it to Rael, he’s a persistent bastard. His crews must have been lurking hereabouts.”

  “And Hagan will be with him too.”

  “And Redhand,” growled Barin. “He’ll not tarry in his tubs when he can hitch a ride with Rael. It’s almost poetic, Corin. Like some lost saga of long ago.”

  “If you say so, Barin.”

  “So, lets get this straight.” Barin flagged his hands enthusiastically in the air. “We are sailing to an island that doesn’t exist. Should we by some miracle find it, we will land on its beaches and clash with our friends back there in some kind of epic grand finale.”

  “It’s not just that. I’ve a sword to collect.”

  “I hope it’s a sharp one.”

  “I imagine so. It’s called Callanak.” Barin gulped. “Yes, the same. With Callanak in my grasp and the Tekara on my head, I can counter the malice of Morak and Caswallon and send them packing. That’s the sales pitch I got from you-know-who.”

  “Well then, what’s keeping us?” Barin whistled back to Fassof who was currently yelling at him about the ships on the southern horizon.

  “They’ll hem us against those cliffs if we change course now!” Fassof shouted Barin.

  “We’re not changing course, Fassof. We make for the ice realms and see what we find. I’ll explain later, it’s a trifle complicated.”

  “As you wish.” Fassof scratched his head and vanished aft.

  ***

  Cruel Cavan had found his master on board the first of three ungainly barges filing the narrows between Westfjord and sea, their sides almost scraping on the rock. But Redhand’s ships had flat bottoms and therefore could pass over skerry and shoal without much ado.

  Cavan guided The Black Serpent toward Daan’s flagship, and Rael, watching from the bow, could scarce stop himself from jumping with joy.

  “My sharks!” Rael yelled in Hagan’s ear. “Those are my sharks and that’s The Black Serpent!”

  Hagan nodded, a bit confused, and not entirely sure this was a good development. Also confused was Daan Redhand. “Is this some game, Assassin?”

  “Call it insurance.” Rael grinned like wolf. A convenient twist of fate had played into his hands and he determined to use it well. “I had my boys await my arrival from your shores, king.”

  Hagan glanced at him askance and Rael’s grin widened. “Providence,” he whispered to the Morwellan. “Now we can catch our quarry at our leisure.”

  “You kept that card close.”

  “Closer than you know.”

  As The Black Serpent slid alongside Redhand’s vessel, Rael leapt on board. Hagan followed
after a moment’s deliberation. “How many can you carry?” yelled King Redhand.

  “We don’t take passengers!” Cavan shouted back at the king.

  “You do now!” King Redhand leapt on board Rael’s ship followed by twelve of his men, crashing and thudding onto the deck and skidding into the crew.

  “Get off!” yelled Cavan reaching for a knife.

  “Cool it Cavan, they can stay!” Rael waved his second back. “This worthy king owes me gold and I’m sure he’ll deliver it, but no harm keeping him close by.”

  “You threatening me, Assassin?” Daan Redhand towered over the slim figure of Rael Hakkenon, his huge hands on war axe and mace.

  Rael remained unperturbed. “It’s just good business, king. I’m keeping you on the level, is all.”

  “I could split you in two.”

  “You are too slow. Besides you are now outnumbered, and those fat tubs you call ships will trail far behind us, whilst my crew will ensure we catch our quarry. You can have Barin of Valkador roasting on a spit by nightfall, so stop whining and shut your face.”

  “I’m a king, you insolent knave!” Daan looked like he might explode, and his men close by puffed and blew out their cheeks.

  “Shut up, king.” Rael smiled, and feigning insouciance showed the Leethmen his back. But Cavan’s crossbow’s sights were on Daan. The king, seeing that, cursed Rael and stomped off to the prow of the Serpent, silently vowing he would deal with Rael Hakkenon when chance allowed.

  Half an hour later, the narrows yawned into open sea and the grim sleek triangle of the black isle and its howling tenant filled the horizon.

  “What is that doing there?” Rael said as Cavan heaved to in shock and dismay. King Redhand ignored the island. He was looking north, his lust for vengeance and vendetta bigger even than his dread of sorcery.

  “Look, there’s Barin!” the king bellowed, spittle flying. “He escapes north!”

  “Then we fare that way too,” Rael nodded to Cavan who ordered The Black Serpent change course.

  Even as they fanned out from the narrows and hugged the cliffs, the black island and its dreary wailing tenant sank like solidified oil below the churning waters. Crenise and Leethmen stared and muttered from the decks.

  Cruel Cavan glared and fingered his knife. Hagan had that familiar sinking feeling things were on the turn again. But Rael grinned cheerfully, and Daan Redhand growled at the sinking island and turned once more to raise his iron fist at Barin’s distant ship. And so the chase was on.

  ***

  For two days, the cliffs of Leeth ranged to their west before suddenly falling away like swiftly drawn drapes. Ahead were white shapes and choppy slate grey sea. Barin and crew had reached the realm of eternal ice. Behind, the tiny dark shapes of Rael’s ships kept pace but hadn’t gained overmuch.

  Fassof worked the wheel under those leaden skies, as Barin held counsel below with those gathered around his table. Shallan was there, her pale face intense; beside her sat Zukei, hawk-lean and confident. Tolemon flanked her left, his eyes shifty and awkward.

  Across from Shallan’s brother was seated Corin an Fol, his face deep in a chart Barin had supplied. Next to Corin sat Olen and Arami, looking more cheerful than they had of late, but still uncomfortable and keen to be on dry land again.

  Bleyne leant by the door in casual manner, and King Ulani perched on a stool at the other end of the master’s cabin. With him was Prince Tarin, looking half asleep. Behind him, Sir Greggan and Valentin’s rangers hustled close. Suffice to say the cabin was full.

  “It’s hard to read, and there’s a lot of gaps,” Corin complained as he scanned the chart. “And what’s all this messy stuff and smudges?”

  “Ice,” Barin blinked his way. “’Tis an old chart and most likely inaccurate, but it’s all we have. These waters are seldom frequented. Thus these are whalers’ charts from an age gone by.” He shoved another crumpled parchment Corin’s way.

  “Smells like someone pissed on this one,” Corin complained and wrinkled his nose.

  Barin ignored him. “There are lands, as you can see, but most are uninhabited, or else the ward of demon and witch. Helga Three-bolts came from up here.”

  “Who is that?” Tarin piped up with sudden interest.

  “A witch I once knew,” Barin shrugged the question away. “We have to reach our destination tomorrow or else we’ll run out of sea. Already the grinding ice closes in on us.”

  “And how do we find our destination, and what shape will it take?” King Ulani alone dare ask the question currently hovering on everyone’s lips.

  “I dunno.” Barin rubbed an ear. “Any suggestions?” Barin looked to Corin.

  “I guess we just have to wait and hope we don’t run out of water and have to tramp over all that ice.” It wasn’t a helpful response but seemed to work as no one else had much to offer.

  That day passed long and slow as the grinding gleaming ice creaked closer to either side of The Starlight Wanderer’s hull. It was eerie and the cold chewed at faces and extremities. They voyaged through a blue world comprising dark silent water, pale expanse of sky, and silver-sapphire glittering rime. Beautiful, yet ominous and foreboding.

  Toward evening, shapes appeared on the horizon like spiky stick men carrying long poles. On closer inspection they were moving, jerking back and forth, their poles clacking together.

  “Ice warriors,” Barin said. “I’ve heard of such.”

  As they inched nearer, with the ice now scraping along the timbers, the strange figures came into view. They were tall and angular, very thin, and their legs extremely long. The ice warriors’ faces were blue with jagged beards, and their heads pointed, with frozen hair fashioned into random spikes, these sprouting out in all directions.

  An uncanny sight set in a surreal ice-scape. There were dozens. Each ice warrior stood on a brittle islet, noisily defending his station against another. The long poles were spears of ice, which the stick-like warriors clattered together without much show of skill. Occasionally a spear would snap and its owner would fold and topple into fragments.

  They passed the region where the ice warriors dueled without the beings showing any sign of noticing them. Far behind, Rael’s sharks still kept pace, and just showing on the southern horizon were King Redhand’s three raft ships.

  Light faded and the sky took on strange hues. Green and scarlet flooded the north as The Giants’ Dance blazed forth and dazzled all who witnessed it. A deep booming echoed through the night like the sound of heavy voices, accompanied with a dazzling vibrant array of light and shifting shape, twirling, flickering, and dancing high above. Ahead the even-star shone diamond bright—a single lantern guiding their way.

  For most that long night The Giants’ Dance held the sky captive, but there were other sights and sounds all around them. The wayfarers witnessed weird and disturbing phenomena. All around were booming shouts and urgent answers. There were weird alien howls and distant crackling glows like bonfires, whilst lightning knives cut cloudless sky above. Surrounding the ship, the wind wove women’s voices, these like sirens whispering up from the ice.

  Corin saw shapes, huge dark figures striding and shouting—ice giants away to battle. The figures joined together, becoming glittering armies marching through midnight mist, their voices alien and strange.

  Once they passed close to a lonely fire where three scrawny naked figures cooked and cavorted—witches carving rune spells from the night sky. On another occasion they saw a wall of ice hundreds of feet tall shimmering in the dark. Stood upon it were three giant warriors, their heads encased in steel, with battle axes and spears in hand. These three glared down upon them until they faded back into the night. No one slept.

  Finally, dawn cracked a line across the east, revealing the pale crust of an orange sun floating above that sea of rime. Heads turned as the distant hoot of horns heralded yet another visitor.

  A pale rider in the sky was approaching at speed. The horns bellowed and His hounds
bayed and snarled as Oroonin’s Wild Hunt passed by high above. The Wanderer shook His spear down at them as His ashen host fled the morning and fell hungry upon the west, the corpse army following on this, the eve of the final war of the gods.

  Morning won through eventually and the fell wind faded to an eerie sigh. All around was a shimmering, shifting, and rifting like a disturbance in the vortex. Nobody spoke as they waited in tense fascination. Something was about to happen.

  Then they saw it: a rainbow-mantled island rising cool and easy like summer daydreams, it’s far-reaching warmth chasing the fleeing ice and vapourizing it. Green hills beckoned them like forgotten lovers, their verdant flanks wrapped in summerwoods, and the warm welcome aromas of earth, flowers, crystal waterfall, and lowing beast beckoned them to hurry forward.

  Laras Lassladden—they had found it at last.

  Chapter 37

  Callanak

  Vaarg was in a playful mood as he settled like a thundercloud on the drizzle-damp walls of Wynais, sparing those silver ramparts his fiery breath for the nonce. Instead he scraped and tore at the stone with his talons, as his hooded master watched in silence like a sinister crow camped on his back. Like his dragon, Morak seemed in no hurry to destroy this city. Rather would he revel in the fear seeping out from those souls hiding behind door and shutter.

  Wynais’s citizens had gone to ground; the guards had deserted the walls, and no figure stirred as evening dwindled to night. Outside the walls, the dark legions of Groil mustered and shuffled. The old guard led by Flail Six-Hands were now recently reinforced by new creatures fresh out of Ulan Valek, raised by Morak’s spear and sorcery and hungry for blood. A sable host comprising two thousand strong, and all awaiting command of their master and his dragon.

  A crackle and fizz turned eyes to the lake where a lone scarlet rocket soared into the dark. This was followed by a second rocket trailing blue, and a third blazing silver like star fire. Three sparklers, mocking the dragon.