The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  And so it went until a voice resounded, “Enough!”

  The tall terrible figure of Cul-Saan held his fingers to the eyes of His brother and squeezed, but Sensuata broke free of His grip and butted His brother in the face. Old Night shifted and slid into the form of an oily grey worm that wound and slithered its length tight around Sensuata’s neck, until the Sea God choked and again fell to His knees, the water crashing all around Him.

  But then the voice came from everywhere at once, and even Cul-Saan stopped and stared in puzzlement. And at that last moment Cul-Saan saw how he’d been tricked, for Oroonin’s death host fell upon him from above, and the One-Eyed God laughed as He rode Uppsalion’s back, and circled His brother three times before jabbing His icicle spear deep into Cul-Saan’s heart.

  “Did you think I’d desert you, my wife and sister?” The Wanderer settled His eight-legged steed on the battlements where the mortal form of the Goddess greeted Him with an ironic smile.

  “ENOUGH!” Again the voice stilled the air. Gods, demi-gods, demons, faen, men, and women—all looked for the voice, but He who spoke was everywhere and nowhere.

  “This is the end of this beginning. Behold, a new Dance!”

  As the Weaver spoke, His bird form sped west toward the setting sun, pulling with it the fabric and substance of much that He had fashioned. Old Night vanished, as did Undeyna, Morak, and the dragon. Gone too were the Groil, the Soilfins, the Dark Faen, and the kraken. But gone also was Bright Elanion and her guardians, the Wild Hunt, Borian and Telcanna, Croagon, and Crun.

  Instead, Queen Ariane stood on her city’s battlements watching clean green fields over which a lone white bird vanished into the west.

  “You killed them all!” Ariane called out to the speeding bird. “Why? Elanion was good!”

  “Good and evil—there never is one without the other.”

  Ariane turned sharply, and for the glimmer of a quarter second, caught the face hidden inside the faceless man. He was smiling at her.

  “Now, you mortals must rule by the laws you devise. This world belongs to your race now. Banished are those that ruled before. I suggest you make the most of this my gift to you, Ariane Queen of Swords!”

  The faint shape of the faceless man flickered then vanished, and like a zephyr, a hint, or an echo, drifted far out from the brittle fabric of this green planet by some called Ansu.

  ***

  On a summer evening five years later, Queen Ariane of Kelwyn approached The Glass Throne, and its occupant smiled down at her. “You look fine,” the Crystal King told her. Years had passed since last they’d spoken and he was delighted to see her.

  “You look better, my liege—regal and strong.” Ariane dipped her knees but the High King bid her stand tall.

  “Do you like our new palace?”

  “It’s beautiful, and I heartily approve of your queen’s idea of moving the royal seat to Car Carranis, especially now that the Four Kingdoms have grown to include southern Leeth and Rorshai, and even Permio in the south.”

  “They’re our allies,” the king smiled. “Not my subjects, Ariane. The Ptarnian Empire is growing stronger by the day. They lost an army at Car Carranis, but Kaan Olen tells me they have new, greater forces and are bent on invasion.”

  “Will it never end?” Ariane said. “I thought after the fall of Old Night that there would be peace, but it seems I was over optimistic.”

  “It is the nature of things,” the High King smiled. “But let us turn to merrier matters!”

  That night the High King feasted Queen Ariane and her entire retinue alongside the visiting kings of Yamondo and Permio. King Barakani stood sharing cups with King Ulani of the Baha, and the newly crowned King Jaan, ruler of Raleen. With them was the merchant Silon, discussing new schemes with two of Barakani’s sons and the free tribes’ representatives, Yashan and Hulm.

  Others there sought the attention of the High King and his Lady Queen. Old friends and companions, among them Sir Greggan of Point Keep, Galed the notary (now Lord Chamberlain of Wynais), and newly-appointed Captain Cale, looking sharp and neat in his green and silver uniform. It was hard to believe he was once a rag-tag cutpurse from Kelthara.

  Cale’s roving eye caught the glance of a pretty girl; she smiled impishly and turned away. Cale caught up with her later and pressed a glass of sparking wine into her soft hand.

  “What is your name?” Captain Cale awarded the girl his most dazzling smile.

  “Sorrel,” the young woman told him and jerked her head away.

  “That’s a pretty name,” Cale grinned. Are you one of the High Queen’s maids?”

  “It’s a plant,” said Sorrel, “and yes I am, and I have work to do.” She shook her hand free of Cale’s grip and flitted off to attend the High Queen her mistress. Sorrel glanced back once with the hint of smile.

  “I think I’m in love,” Cale called after her and determined to make the most of his weeklong stay in Car Carranis.

  That night, after the feast and chatter had died down, High Queen Shallan drew her cousin, Queen Ariane aside to a set of glass doors, standing open to freshen the hall. “I would we two be real friends from now on,” Queen Shallan told her cousin in a whisper.

  “I want that very much.” Ariane smiled and hugged the taller queen. “Very much indeed! And congratulations on birthing those beautiful twins, whose gorgeous eyes remind me so much of Corin and yourself—blue/grey as the northern ocean.”

  “They are my greatest joy,” Shallan smiled. “And served as a good excuse to hold this feast. It’s wonderful to see so many old friends here, and meet new ones too!”

  “A lot of stories to tell,” Ariane laughed. “And a lot of sore heads tomorrow.” The two queens stepped out into the gardens, lit by torches and lanterns and the stars.

  “How fares Tamersane?” asked Shallan. “Does he still blame himself for Tolranna?”

  “He is a changed man. I seldom see him but I think he’s happy enough. Tamersane spends his days with Teret and the new Kaan east of the mountains.”

  “And what of you, Ariane? What of your vow to the Sea God?” Shallan asked in quieter tone as she and Ariane strolled beneath vines trailing wisteria and jasmine, the yellow glow of lanterns swaying above their heads.

  “I know captain Tarello is in love with you, as are half the men in your court. Surely you need not worry about Sensuata coming back? The old gods have gone, cousin.”

  “So the faceless one said,” Ariane nodded. “Though my memory of that day is addled. But, yes, I think they are gone, as is much of the magic that once inhabited this realm. And that, dear Shallan, saddens me. But then nothing lasts forever does it?”

  “We were all confused back then,” Shallan agreed. “What happened was beyond our comprehension, and therefore we all chose to forget it. Bury it deep inside.” She grinned impishly. “Life moves on, Queen Ariane.”

  “It does indeed.”

  “Think you now that you will marry, coz?” Shallan wasn’t quitting.

  Ariane smiled evasively. “Perhaps I shall or perhaps I shan’t,” she said. “Time will tell.” She swiftly changed the subject.

  ***

  “You might be the most powerful ruler in western Ansu but you are still crap at dice,” Barin laughed as he trounced his friend the High King a third time.

  “Sssh, don’t tell! I’m the Crystal King remember—even my undergarments glitter and shine.”

  “That’s too much information,” Barin said. “This is a worthy feast, my friend.”

  “I’m so glad you could come.”

  “And miss the blessings of your twin laddos? No way.” Barin smiled. “They’re bonnie boys, but they look like trouble.”

  “They take after their father.”

  “That’s what I suspected. Fancy another game?”

  “Not really.”

  “Oh come on, you’ve only got a few kingdoms to rule.” The High King smiled at that and joined his giant friend in another game. Later, just be
fore dawn, the little antechamber they shared was filled with people. Galed, Cale, Silon, Barakani and his seven sons, and Arami, newly arrived form distant Rorshai all laughed as Barin won his ninth consecutive game.

  ***

  Two men and a woman crouched around a table in a bustling marketplace drinking coffee under the shabby eaves of a grubby tavern in the poor quarter of the city. Their faces covered by deep hoods, they spoke in low voices, keeping their eyes on the distant city gates.

  Tamersane gripped Teret’s hand. “You’re sure you’re all right? We’re a long way from Rorshai.”

  “If you think I’d let you leave me on my own then you are soft in the head, husband. We do everything together, remember.”

  Tamersane nodded and brushed a strand of hair from Teret’s face. He awarded her his haunted smile, feeling guilty and selfish exposing his wife to such danger. This risky venture had been his idea.

  The Kaan had offered to go alone, as he knew the way, but Tamersane had insisted on joining him, and therefore Teret came too. Tamersane’s reason was that he needed to keep busy these days, lest the ghosts rattling about inside his head catch up with him and swallow him whole.

  Their time spent in Wynais after the war had driven Tamersane inward again until Ariane herself suggested they settle in Teret’s rural country. Tamersane had needed little persuasion, though Teret had come to enjoy life in Wynais.

  They’d crossed the mountains, dwelling in peace for several years in the new Kaan’s camp. Then the rumours started coming from the east, and again Tamersane became fidgety. He was a fighting man haunted by his past, and here at last was a chance for some action.

  “I’m just saying,” Tamersane continued sipping his coffee. “We’re a long way from home in the heart of this sweaty shithole, surrounded by slavers and cutthroats. I don’t like you being here,” he added lamely, whilst wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve.

  “Here they come,” Olen said suddenly. “See, the gates are opening!”

  “So that’s the new Emperor?” Tamersane shook his head at seeing so much gold decked on one man.

  “He calls himself ‘God of the World,’” Teret said, quietly watching the distant figure riding high on his golden dais—a great platform being dragged by over a hundred slaves hauling ropes. The showy cavalcade stopped just a hundred yards from the market place on the knoll of a round grassy hill. From here, the emperor addressed his adoring subjects, a golden cone pressed to his lips.

  “Unoriginal, and more than a touch pretentious,” said Tamersane as he listened to the distant drone of the emperor’s voice. “And I must say a very unremarkable speech. Remind me why we are here, Kaan?”

  Olen flashed a look at Teret who shrugged. “Humour him brother, he’s spoiling for a fight. We’ll need to get him out of here soon.”

  “The High King requested information on the new emperor in Ptarni,” Olen whispered just to shut Tamersane up. He loved his brother-in-law but sometimes wanted to hit him with something hard. This was one of those occasions.

  “So I volunteered myself and you to go glean it. And of course that meant my sister coming too. Now shut up please, we need to know their plans.”

  The three listened for over an hour as the distant voice of the emperor rose and fell amid cheers and claps from all around. They clapped too lest any suspect they weren’t from round here.

  The speech was followed by a grand parade and three executions, apparently failed generals of the old regime. Then the three great armies marched clear of the gates amid fanfare and bluster, and the City in the Clouds exploded with rockets and flares and flying burning lanterns, as the emperor announced his divine intention of conquering the west.

  The three waited until late that night before recovering their horses in a nearby inn and then riding out from the city at speed. The poor quarter had no gate guards, and within an hour they were crossing the newly constructed bridge spanning the brown sludge of the nameless river, and re-entering the wide remoteness of the Ptarni Steppes.

  “So,” Tamersane whispered in his wife’s ear as he rode. “Do you think you’d enjoy the life of a spy?”

  “As long as you’re happy, then I am too,” Teret responded as they cantered into the west. They were making for Car Carranis with just the news the Crystal King needed to hear: another war coming his way.

  Chapter 40

  Finnehalle

  A lone rider crests a ridge and gazes from his saddle down on the wild white horses of foam breaking open far below and spilling upon the rugged bluff of Cape Fol.

  Close by, sheer granite cliffs spill wailing sea birds; below these, the grey shapes of seals lounge idle on glistening rocks. The rider smiles, feeling the salt air hammer into his face, driven by gale and returning tide. He had always loved the sea, even though it nearly drowned him as a child.

  To the right, a stony steep and badly worn track leads up a craggy side of cliff to a lone broken tower, a gaunt finger of stone recalling an age gone by and memories of a different time.

  A single window reveals pale light toward the top of the tower’s broken crown. This looks to be a deserted, lonely place, home only to fox and badger, and further up, its crumbling turret is crowned by tern and gull’s nests. A place of wind and rumour and ancient echoes of a time long past. They say a warlock dwelt here once.

  The rider recalls who lived here; he knows many things that the younger folk have forgotten. For he had lived that more umpredictable life when magic ruled this land, and the young have only seen this one and had to rely on the stories told by men such as he. He smiles at the irony. Time, the great leveler: years are spent chasing it and then it turns upon you.

  The rider, curious and thoughtful, guides his big horse carefully up the torn track toward a broken metal gate opening on the round stark construction within. He dismounts and ties the mount to a straggle of furze hugging the gatepost. The yellow flowers and thorns of the furze litter this bleak countryside awarding it the only colour, until the purple heather arrives later in the year.

  “There you go, Lightning lad,” the horseman tells his steed. “Your grandsire Thunderhoof would be proud of you. Remind me of him you do.” The horse called Lightning gave its rider a mournful look, and the man who was once called Corin an Fol tapped him on the neck and slid quietly inside the ruined tower.

  He took the long climb to the windy top slowly; he wasn’t as fit as he had been back then, so many years had passed. Good years in the main, though he’d lost many things he once loved. But such was the nature of a long life.

  He stands for a time looking out at sea and sky, thinking of all he has seen. Wonders and marvels, horrors, enemies and dear friends, now each and every one departed and lost to the chains of time. At last satisfied by his peruse he smiles and turns away.

  Are you out there somewhere? I still have questions for you.

  The wind alone responds to his silent question, lifting and ruffling the hood of his cloak. Then a noise scrapes stone behind him, and Corin turns to see a raven blinking up at him.

  “Nothing is ever forgotten,” Corin tells the bird as he turns away and stares down at the ocean. “If I believe anything then I believe that.” The bird croaks back at him and lifts up, allowing the stiff blow carry its sable feathers far from this lonely place.

  Corin leaves the desolate tower to its echoes and wind and, after re-joining Lightning, guides the horse back down the steep track to the rain-glistening ribbon of old coast road, its crooked line fading into the east until swallowed by lowering clouds.

  At dusk, he reaches a valley with a dark wood frowning down on him from the landward side. Corin reins to and gazes for a time deep into those trees.

  The road forks, and Corin takes the right path and urges Lightning follow it down toward the distant twinkle of lantern-light announcing a village down there on the shore. As he rides a gentle misty rain dampens his cloak and shoulders. He doesn’t notice it. Instead, on a whim he whistles an old tune he reme
mbers from his childhood days so long ago.

  Finnehalle by the sea, a fairer place could never be,

  Where ocean wave greets lowering sun, and seabirds call me home.

  Where cliff and stone hem harbour tight,

  Throughout bright day, and windswept night.

  A place to rest a weary head, else drown your sorrows ere seeking bed.

  Where lasses await their lover’s return

  from the dark cold water where coin they earn

  Finnehalle by the sea, come back, come back to me!

  Though I’ve roved far my home you’ll always be…

  “I am home,” the rider tells his horse. He gazes briefly back up at the dark woods, remembering that day so long ago when everything changed in his life. But nothing stirred in that forest, and the only sound was the soft ruffle of wind through the trees.

  “I grow old.” The king pats his horse’s back. “Three wars, two wives, and nine children put years on a man. Come, Lightning lad! Lets go see if The Last Ship’s still open for thirsty customers, and I’ll get you a warm dry cot whilst I reminisce and raise a toast to those I’ve loved and lost.”

  Corin guided Lightning through the lonely streets. It was very late, and the inn was closed when he arrived. He rapped the door and a bent old woman appeared, her face flushed and annoyed.

  “Hello, Holly. I said I’d come back one day.”

  ***

  The copper-haired woman watches from the far end of the harbour’s arm as her beloved vanishes inside the inn’s rain-washed door. Her face is sad, for she has no place here anymore. But as a shade she lingers through that night.

  Enjoy your time left, Corin an Fol. And know that I have always loved you, and still hold out to see you again. Farewell until then!

  Vervandi’s tall willowy form takes on the shape of an owl and without sound she glides west into the night. You are right Corin an Fol—Nothing is ever forgotten!