The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  “You grown old and feeble, Little Brother,” Cul-Saan laughed as He strode to meet his younger sibling. “Take the city, slave!” he bellowed to Morak. “I will deal with this one!” Morak, seated on the dragon wheeled high into the air and Vaarg loosed his funnel of flame down upon the citizens.

  “I love you, Ariane!” It was Tarello who had spoken. “I just wanted you to know that before we die, my Queen.”

  “I do know it.” Ariane closed her eyes as the flame fell upon them.

  Chapter 39

  The Crystal King

  White light exploded inside his head. But there was no pain, only a sudden searing clarity beyond the comprehension of his mortal mind. He laughed as wild alien energy flushed through his veins. He felt strong as iron, light as silk, smooth and calm as summer water.

  And he fell! Down, drifting and floating, spinning and whirling, as warm breezes whispered and caressed his ears.

  “Corin…?” He heard a voice and part of him recognised Shallan somewhere close.

  “I’m here…”

  “I cannot find you! Everything has changed…where are you?” her voice trailed off like mist over water, and still Corin fell. He saw visions, battles in the sky, heard heavy voices and sharp trumpets blaring out clarion calls. Faces rushed out at him but vanished as the light surrounding him consumed them.

  He fell, and as he descended—like a leaf drifting from an autumn tree without intent or purpose—Corin gazed down and saw the diamond glaive clutched in his right palm.

  Callanak—this is your power I’m feeling!

  The sword had no weight and yet its balance was perfection, Corin laughed and twirled it through his hands, and the sword sang to him in cool clear words.

  We are your destiny, the long awaited three. You must complete the triangulation. It has started.

  The words made no sense, but Corin cared not as he was filled with joy, his body and mind washed with wondrous visions of beauty and light. Here, anything was possible and everything probable. No fear marred this place, no doubt or hesitation. Here there was only clarity, vision, and strength.

  Corin gazed down and saw the grey ruins of a broken city rushing up to greet him. He laughed as he crashed through a roof and felt no pain, laughed again as he fell sprawling to the mosaic floor of a ruined broken building. But then Corin dropped Callanak and the return of sudden pain tore into him and caused him yell out.

  Corin opened his eyes and winced: that had been one heck of a trip.

  “What’s happened? Where am I?” Obvious questions but he voiced them regardless.

  “In the palace of Kella City.” Prince Tarin stood over him, a scruffy bag held out with both arms. “Callanak brought you here to fulfil your destiny, my brother.”

  “What?” Corin’s head hurt and he now remembered his earlier wound gifted him by the Assassin. There was no sign of it now.

  “Shallan?” He looked around with sudden panic and saw her standing there, tears still staining her cheeks, but a relieved smile on her lips. Further glances revealed Zukei and Bleyne. All four were looking at Corin with expressions hinting expectation, wonder, and fear.

  “What just happened? Why, how are we here, and where are we exactly?” Corin coughed as dust settled in his mouth. He looked up and saw the hole in the roof that he’d crashed through. “I feel a bit sick.”

  “Hold the sword, it will clear your head,” Bleyne said. “You need a clear head to complete the triangulation.”

  “Triangulation? Bleyne, are you all right?” Corin couldn’t see him properly but it seemed that Bleyne’s face was changing as soft light shifted his features into the beautiful face of a woman, her long hair descending from her back like a copper waterfall.

  “I have never left you,” Vervandi said as Corin’s eyes blinked furiously. “Behind you is the Glass Throne—your inheritance. Prince Tarin has the crown, and you, Corin, have Callanak. All three are needed to unlock the valve that will save this world from He who has come.”

  “I don’t understand. Are you Bleyne or Vervandi?”

  “Does it matter?” Vervandi’s beautiful face was fading even as she answered, and now Corin stared at the mocking smug smile of Zallerak, the Aralais wizard.

  “I thought you were dead?” Corin looked across at the sword as though it were a drug that could fix all he needed—and perhaps it was.

  “What is death?” Zallerak’s huge sapphire eyes sparkled irony as he loomed over Corin. He turned his head, awarded the prince a meaningful stare. “Tarin lad, it’s time and place to get redress for your wrongs. Award Corin an Fol the Tekara or we’ll be here all bloody day.”

  Tarin nodded and stepped forward and reaching out with both hands placed the small bag in Corin’s left palm. “I offered it before and I offer it again.” Corin glanced across to Shallan and Zukei who looked baffled and spooked by what was happening.

  “Take it Corin,” Shallan said after a moment’s hesitation, and he closed his fingers around the bag.

  “Now complete the triangulation,” Zallerak said urging him turn and take seat on the throne at the end of the ruined hall. “The Glass Throne wasn’t damaged like the rest of the palace. Morak and his pet have no more power over it than they have over the Tekara or Callanak. Thus, here the throne remains untouched by evil whilst the city surrounding it crumples into dust and ash.

  “Take seat, Corin an Fol. Time is passing!”

  Corin reached down and retrieved Callanak by its glistening hilt. He smiled as the urgent surge of energy rushed through his veins a second time. Staggering from the impact charging his body, Corin approached the throne as a drunken fool. But as he took his seat upon it, the throne’s diamond glare fused with Callanak’s white fire, and then the bag containing the Tekara blazed into sudden life.

  The Crown of Kings swelled like a silver mushroom, bulging and stretching until it burst through the sack, and manifesting, taking form and shape, and becoming weighty until he could scarce hold it in one hand.

  “Place it on your head, fool!” Corin could just make out Zallerak standing close by, wagging his arms about like a scarecrow in a gale, so bright was the glare in the room. Corin nodded and placed the Tekara on his head.

  “Behold the Crystal King!”

  Zallerak’s voice fused with Bleyne’s and Vervandi’s, and through his crystal-empowered clarity, Corin saw a white flickering figure standing there, his/her face shifting from Zallerak to Vervandi, from Bleyne and then finally settling into someone else—a man without a face at all, slight of build and plainly dressed.

  “Who are you?” Corin felt the power of the sword fuse with the cement of the Tekara’s shield protection and the steady rightness of the throne. The triangulation was complete: strength, protection, and wisdom—sword, crown, and throne.

  The faceless man shimmered and hovered before him, his was an aura hard to define; constant and solid, yet shifting like quicksilver spilt from a vial.

  “I am the Dance,” the Maker said, his voice filling the ruined room.

  “I have been far away, but your signal called me back, my youngest children. And now I must address what has come to pass. The final retribution for some and a brave new Dance for others!”

  The figure faded and vanished, as did the haze surrounding him. Instead Corin gazed at the scared faces of Zukei and Shallan and young Prince Tarin.

  “Where is Bleyne?” the Prince gasped. He’d stumbled to his knees and his upper lip was trembling. “Who was that? I heard only rushing wind and thunder booming, then Zallerak was here and someone else, and now they’re all gone.”

  “I saw smoke,” muttered Zukei, “and heard a voice. Nothing else. Where is Bleyne?”

  “Corin?” Shallan took a step toward him. “Are you…unhurt? I can’t see you properly; it’s too bright over there.”

  Corin didn’t answer her but instead reached out with his left and Shallan clasped it, gasping as the vision fell on her as well. “Feel the power of the three, my love!�
�� Corin said and Shallan laughed as wild joy and energy surged through her veins.

  Air raced past them as the freed minds of Shallan and the Crystal King flew south and east at lightning speed and then circled high over the Silver City. There they hovered like zephyrs on gossamer wings fashioned from the Maker’s thought.

  The triangulation was the key that unlocked the door opening on that forgotten corner of the multiverse where the Weaver fashioned new worlds from the fabric of His mind. There, in that far place, the signal reached Him and sent out its message.

  WE YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN NEED!

  Chosen…

  A voice filled Shallan’s ears.

  Look now and witness the final defeat of Old Night…

  ***

  Zukei fell to her knees as the blast of white light and rumble of loosening stones knocked her over. Ash covered her face and she couldn’t see, but then a strong grip caught her arm and hoisted her to her feet. Bleyne stood there surrounded by dust and rubble, a broad smile on his tattooed face.

  Zukei threw her dark arms around him and kissed him long and hard. “Where did you go?” she demanded.

  “I do not know, it was all shadows and wind,” Bleyne said. “But I am back,” and now it was his time to kiss her. “Come, we’d best go else we perish in this tumult!”

  Even as Bleyne spoke, the ruin that was Kella City imploded and buckled, like a closing clam at spring tide’s ebb.

  They ran, the archer and the assassin. Two lost loners that had somehow found love in the chaos when neither was looking for it. They fled, and the city fell to dust around them. Zukei held the archer’s hand as the broken walls of Kella tumbled like dusty dominos into the turf at their feet.

  They reached a forest. There beneath a creaking willow, a tall man waited, his huge hairy arms folded and his expression resigned.

  “Welcome home,” said the Lord of the Faen as Bleyne and Zukei vanished beneath the trees. At this point they leave our tale, but the story of Bleyne and Zukei continues in the legend by some called “Archer’s Moon.”

  ***

  Barin opened his eyes, finding that he was floating face down in dark clear water, his massive arms locked around the same tree he’d carried to form part of their barrier.

  “Am I dead?” Barin blinked as a white bird settled on the end of the soaked tree and commenced preening its feathers industriously. The bird became a man. A man without a face. “I must be dead.” Barin looked mournful.

  “You live.” The man’s face shifted and Barin gasped as he gazed at Roman Parrantios, his old friend.

  “We all live again, Barin, though some of us dwell in different dimensions. But I will see you in time, my friend.” Roman’s rugged, bearded face faded and fused into another. King Ulani reached up and hauled himself onto Barin’s log raft.

  “Are you a ghost as well?” Barin stared suspiciously at his friend.

  “I’m too fat to be a ghost,” Ulani said. “Now slide along and make room, will you? If we paddle hard we can make the ship.”

  “What ship?”

  “Your ship, you twit! The Starlight Wanderer is scarcely a league distant.” Barin gulped as he strained his neck sideways and saw the familiar sails of his beloved vessel unfold beneath a clear bright sun.

  “She looks pretty, gods bless her!” Barin laughed as he and King Ulani paddled like frantic flapping whales over to where the brigantine sat her waters in surreal serenity.

  Fassof leaned out from the beam. “Two fat fish!” he yelled and other faces joined him.

  “Ho Uncle!” Taic grinned. “Wondered when you’d show up!” They hoisted Northman and king out of the water, and once on deck Barin blinked and shook his head.

  “I need an ale,” he said. “A large one.” Much later that night when he’d drunk enough, Barin reflected on the past day. It was difficult to know where to start.

  “An explosion, that’s all I remember.”

  “White dust,” Ulani nodded, “People yelling, and sliding rocks, and then the whole bloody island sinking fast below the water. I thought I was drowning, but then a fish swam across to me—a fish without a face—he spoke kindly to me, that fish, and then I showed up next to your log. Strange doesn’t cover it really.”

  It seemed everyone had a story on-board ship that night. Most involved visions and sounds, and some had seen wonders they couldn’t begin to describe.

  “Cogga’s dead,” Fassof grunted. “Sveyn too, and Ruagon.”

  “Haikon and Wogun also, but Norman’s still with us, though we all thought he was slain,” Taic waved to the hard-faced easterner lying on a makeshift bed at the far end of the cabin.

  “They died well, those men,” Ulani said. “Warriors to the last.”

  “Aye, they did that,” said Barin and raised his tankard proposing a toast. “To lost comrades and old friends.”

  “I saw the king fall,” Fassof said.

  “He won,” Barin looked thoughtful. “Beat me fair and square did Redhand.”

  “No, you were asleep, so I killed him, uncle,” Taic grinned. “Redhand’s lads were all focussing on gutting you, so I stepped up behind old Daan and shoved my sword right up his arse. Last I saw his bloated carcass was carried off by that big wave.”

  “You always were a wild lad, Taic, but I thank you.” Barin shook his head and gazed around the cabin. He’d had some strange days of late but these last capped them all. “So we can assume Corin got his magic sword.”

  “I think so,” nodded Ulani. “I wonder where they are now, and I wish I knew how my daughter fares.”

  “Zukei can handle herself,” Taic grinned at the king. “She’s a great woman.”

  “She is a handful,” Ulani smiled. “But then so are my wives.”

  “One thing I was wondering,” Taic said after a moment’s reflection.

  “What’s that?” Barin and Ulani both answered at the same time.

  “Where the bloody heck we are and why it isn’t cold here.”

  “That’s a good point,” said Fassof and vanished to take a look on deck. He came back moments later, a broad grin smearing his freckled face. “You’d best come see!”

  Barin hoisted his weary bones on deck as did everyone else. Once there, Barin scratched his beard and looked a trifle puzzled.

  “I thought it was night-time,” he said, gaping at a bright sunny morning, and looking up at white gulls swooping and crying above.

  “Where did those shitehawks come from?” Ulani muttered and then thumped Barin in the arm and bid him gaze the other way.

  An island filled the southern horizon, a place Barin knew well.

  Valkador.

  They were home. Hours later, they moored alongside Barin’s private dock and Marigold jumped aboard, throwing her arms about her husband; their daughters joined them, laughing and weeping.

  “I dreamt you were dead,” Marigold said.

  “For a while I thought I was,” Barin responded. “How long have we been away?”

  “Six months,” his wife replied and Barin shook his head again.

  “I need ale and a large roast chicken,” he told Ulani. “You interested, king?”

  ***

  Ariane felt a whoosh of heat passing close to her face but then a cool breeze replaced it almost immediately, and a soft calming voice entered her head.

  You are safe for the time being, daughter.

  Ariane opened her eyes and stared at the woman standing before her. A beautiful woman with an ancient face and eyes of flickering green and gold, She was clothed in a dark green robe and a deep hood shrouded her features, though the soft silver of her long locks fell free of its cloth.

  Elanion, Mistress of the Trees, smiled warmly at Ariane and took her hand.

  “Your city is safe, queen.” The Goddess appeared at ease with her mortal form. “I have woven a thread of protection over it. They cannot reach us, least not for a time.”

  “I saw you die,” Ariane said, “torn apart by…Him.” Ariane
’s scared gaze flickered across to where the two giant figures of Old Night and Sensuata still wrestled knee deep in the waters of lake Wynais.

  “Part of me died. Scaffa the warrior Queen is no more. Shame, I liked being Scaffa and have worn her image many times over countless years. But we are the first Children of the Maker. The Great Old Gods are multi-faceted and complex beyond your mortal ken.

  “I live inside your thoughts, little queen, just as I dwell in my forests and throughout this, my green realm, Ansu.”

  “But what of Him?” Ariane saw how the towering white figure had His glowing hands locked around the Sea God’s neck and was forcing Sensuata slowly to His knees.

  “Let it take its course,” said a strange calm voice. The Goddess had vanished and in Her place stood a man without a face. “All things must pass in time—even The Great Old Gods. But I am the Weaver, and I live outside time!”

  The man smiled at her and took on the shape of a white owl, lifting and silently gliding over to where the leviathan figures wrestled above the churning waters.

  And so there on the battlements of Wynais, Queen Ariane and her people witnessed the third great war of the gods. They stood, small forgotten things, watching as the immortal beings mustered for their final battle.

  Borian of the Winds strode across the mountains to aid His struggling brother the Sea God. Then came Telcanna, sapphire-bright and angry, his chariot creaking as He steered it down through the trees, His lightning shafts bolting out and striking the white figure attacking Sensuata.

  But Cul-Saan was undismayed. At His silent bidding, His servant Crun broke free from His island prison and tore down upon the Silver City. There, His half-brother, Croagon the Smith met him with His hammer and tongs and the two giants joined in the battle against Sensuata.

  Undeyna broke free of her forest cage, and taking the form of a giant bat, came to the aid of Her father and master. With Undeyna rode the Dark Faen, led by the horned Cernunos, each one riding on the back of a ghostly winged white hart.

  Then Elanion appeared, tall and beautiful, a horn at Her lips and the true Faen, her guardians and servants rose up in silver-green legions from the many forests of the lands. They rode forth on giant fireflies and will o’ the wisps, and one by one fell upon their blighted kin.