Three slashes—one horizontal, two slanted vertically down and outward from that.
The Skewed Throne. The symbol of Amenkor.
Westen tensed, his gaze falling instantly to the figure on horseback in the lead.
The group was distant, but neither Westen nor I could mistake the man who led them.
“It can’t be,” Tomus said, his voice incredulous.
Westen grew grim. “It’s Baill.”
Inside the Fire, I felt rage envelop me.
Captain Baill, the man who had backed the consortium of merchants that had almost torn Amenkor apart, the traitor who had helped Alendor steal supplies from Amenkor during the past winter, handing the food over to the Chorl. He’d escaped the circular plaza in the eastern part of the city, escaped the trap we’d set for him, and he hadn’t been heard from since.
I almost reached forward, almost seized control of Westen and ran after him, ready to make him account for all of his actions, had already grasped the river, had begun to twist it, when Tomus said, “But that doesn’t make any sense. Why is he attacking the Chorl? Why is he helping Temall?”
“And why is he doing it all under the name of the Skewed Throne?” Westen said. He turned to Tomus.
The blond Seeker, blood matting his hair, looked stunned.
Behind them, the last of Temall’s people entered the gates and a force of armed guardsmen streamed out after them, the man on horseback at the forefront heading straight for the Amenkor party’s position. Westen stepped forward, still reeling inside over Baill’s sudden appearance. The rest of the group ranged themselves wearily behind him.
The men from Temall halted ten paces away, the man on horseback—gray-brown hair and trimmed beard, brown eyes, and a stern expression on his face—eyeing Westen first, then the others.
“Who are you and where do you come from?” he asked, tone wary. His voice rumbled from his chest, grating like stone on stone.
“I’m Captain Karl Westen,” Westen said, wincing slightly. The adrenaline was fading, the bruises he’d sustained during the fight beginning to throb. “We come from Amenkor, to warn you of the approaching Chorl.”
The man snorted. “We know of the Chorl. Are you part of the Band?” He pointed with his chin toward where Baill and his group had vanished over the hillside.
Westen frowned. “No. We were sent by the Mistress. The Chorl have attacked Amenkor, and we believe the Chorl are on their way back. We have no idea who . . . or what . . . this Band is, even though they fly the Skewed Throne.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. For a long moment, silence reigned, broken only by the creak of armor and the clank of metal as the two forces fidgeted.
Then, the man raised his head, glancing over Westen’s group.
“Well, Captain Karl Westen, I am Justaen Pyre, Lord of Temall. I thank you for your help with the Chorl attack, but your warning was unnecessary. We know of the Chorl, of their seizure of Bosun’s Bay, and we’ve suffered under their raids for the last few months. But I can assure you that the Chorl have no interest in Amenkor.” He paused, leaned forward in his saddle.
“They’re heading south, toward Venitte.”
Chapter 6
"VENITTE?” DARRYN SAID. He thought about this for a moment, then turned to the rest of those seated around the council table. “Then I guess we don’t have to worry. Amenkor should be safe.”
Avrell snorted in derision, Darryn shooting him a dark glare, but it was Captain Catrell who spoke first.
“Safe for now. But for how long? The problem was never where the Chorl were headed, it’s the Chorl themselves. We’re in as much danger with them conquering Venitte as we are with them coming straight for Amenkor. In fact, we’re in greater danger.”
More than Catrell even knew. I exchanged a glance with Avrell and Eryn. Both of them had reacted the same way once I told them what Westen had learned from Lord Pyre of the Chorl’s movements, but for different reasons. Because of the second throne. If it was in Venitte, and if the Chorl gained control of it with the Skewed Throne destroyed . . .
“What do you mean?” Darryn bristled. “Why should we help defend Venitte against the Chorl when we’ve barely survived an attack by them already? We’re still recovering. We can’t afford to help them.”
Everyone at the table grew taut with affronted anger.
Everyone except me. I understood what Darryn was saying. We’d learned the same instinct in the slums: survive at all costs. Which meant preserve yourself, don’t worry about those you’ve left behind. If the threat has focused its attention elsewhere, slink off to hide and nurse your own wounds, forget about the next victim, thank the Mistress that you’d survived, and focus on making yourself stronger for the next confrontation.
But even in the slums I’d never been able to do that. Not after meeting Erick.
Catrell glanced toward me, waited for a nod before continuing. Shifting forward in his seat, he said, “From a strategical standpoint, if the Chorl seize Venitte, they will have a base of operations that allows them access to virtually every resource they may need— food, lumber, stone—while at the same time putting them in easy reach of almost all of the sea trading routes. Right now, they have the Boreaite Isles and Bosun’s Bay. The Isles allow them to raid the trading routes, but there’s a wide swath of ocean between them and the mainland. They can’t patrol that lane and expect to catch all of the trading vessels that sail through it.”
“However, almost all trading routes pass through Venitte,” Avrell interjected. “It’s a major port, more so than Amenkor when it comes to the shipping lanes. Amenkor is significant as a port, yes, but mostly as a stopping point for those tradesmen heading farther north by both land and sea and as a crossroads, with the pass to the eastern Kandish Empire. Even if lately the Empire has fallen unsettlingly quiet.”
“They could use Venitte as a launching point,” Eryn added. “It would give them the ability to stage an attack anywhere along the Frigean coast. So even though they aren’t attacking Amenkor directly now, they would be able to launch an attack from Venitte in the future . . . and from a much stronger position.”
Darryn leaned back in his chair. “I see.”
But it was a grudging acceptance. I could still see the urge to lick wounds and thank the gods in his eyes, leaving Venitte to fend for itself.
Eryn must have seen it as well. “There are other reasons why the Chorl turning their attentions to Venitte is a problem,” she said.
Avrell nodded. “Amenkor has a treaty with Venitte, an agreement that both sides have honored for hundreds of years. We’re allied, which means that in the event of war, Amenkor must come to Venitte’s defense, and they will come to our defense in return. If we’d had forewarning of the Chorl’s intent to attack Amenkor on the first day of spring, Venitte might have been able to help us defend the city.”
“But Venitte and Amenkor have fought each other before,” Darryn countered. “The Carter’s War, and the Ten Year’s War.”
“Those disputes were between the two cities themselves,” Avrell said. “This threat is from outside. It’s not a trade dispute, or a misunderstanding between the Mistress and the Lord of Venitte. This is an assault by a force that’s invading the coastal region, the same force that prompted the alliance between the two cities in the first place.”
“And there’s a more significant reason we can’t ignore the Chorl attacking Venitte,” I said.
All but Eryn turned toward me. I could feel their eyes on me. Everything that Catrell and Avrell had said—all the reasons they’d given for going to the defense of Venitte—they were all true. But there was only one reason to keep the Chorl out of Venitte. A reason impressed upon me by the Seven when the Chorl were attacking Amenkor.
The second throne.
“When the Skewed Throne was created, there was another throne made, one just like the Skewed Throne, called the Stone Throne. I think that throne is still in Venitte. I think that’s one of the reasons the Chor
l are concentrating their attention there, rather than here in Amenkor. I don’t know how they came to know the second throne is there, but I do know they came to Amenkor to seize this throne, the Skewed Throne. They came here specifically because of that. And now that it’s been destroyed . . .”
I let my gaze fall on Darryn and Catrell, watched them stir beneath it. I thought of the priest who had tortured Erick on the Ochean’s ship, thought of Haqtl, the priest who seemed to lead the Chorl priests themselves. I recalled the fervor in Haqtl’s eyes when he realized there was a piece of the Fire of Heaven inside of Erick on the deck of the doomed ship The Maiden. It had been that fervor the Ochean used to get the Chorl to attack Amenkor, that had led Haqtl to the Skewed Throne. He’d only ordered a retreat when the throne had cracked. If he’d somehow learned there was another throne, another source of power . . .
And if Eryn was right, and the second throne was a male version of the Skewed Throne . . .
The Chorl seemed to be divided into three segments: the Ochean and her Servants; Haqtl and the priests; and Atlatik and the Chorl warriors. The Ochean had been destroyed, her power structure lost. Which left only Haqtl and Atlatik. And from what I’d witnessed through the Ochean’s eyes before she’d died, the Chorl warriors followed the priests’ advice.
Haqtl’s advice.
“We cannot let the Chorl take the second throne,” I said. “We’re going to Venitte.”
Everyone remained silent for a moment, and then Catrell nodded. “We will need to begin planning.”
“Draw up a list of what you will need,” Avrell said. “Nathem and I will handle it.” At Catrell’s nod, both captains of the guard rising and filing out, the First turned toward me. “You will have to speak to Captain Tristan and Brandan Vard about this. As representatives of Venitte, they need to know of the Chorl’s intent, and our . . . offer to aid them.”
I frowned, hearing the warning in his voice.
“You are planning on sending a military force—an army—into a foreign port,” Eryn said. “You can’t do that unannounced unless you intend to attack them. You need to ask for Tristan’s sanction. He needs to accept your offer of help on Lord March’s behalf.”
“You may have to convince him,” Avrell added.
I stared at them both, then sighed and turned to Keven. “Send someone for Captain Tristan and Brandan Vard.”
“You wished to speak with me, Mistress?”
I motioned Captain Tristan to one of the seats in the outer rooms of the Mistress’ chambers. He frowned, glanced toward Avrell seated to one side, and then settled himself while Marielle poured him a glass of wine.
“Where is Brandan Vard?”
“Occupied at the moment.”
I nodded. “I have news of the Chorl that concerns both of you.”
Tristan stiffened. The slight smile that had touched his lips faded. “I will pass on whatever information you have to Brandan Vard as soon as possible. What have you heard?”
I thought about Tristan leading Brandan away at the docks and wondered if Tristan would inform Brandan, but pushed the concern to the side. “As you may have learned, Amenkor sent a scouting party to Temall to determine the extent of the Chorl forces, their location and resources. I’ve had word from the party. It seems they have not yet taken Temall, that in fact they haven’t begun to march toward Amenkor. It seems they have a different goal.
“They intend to march on Venitte.”
Tristan became absolutely still, face a rigid mask.
But beneath the river, the currents roiled.
Tristan’s eyes locked with mine. “I haven’t seen any ships return, haven’t seen or heard of any group of guardsmen returning from the south. How have you learned this information?”
I’d drawn breath to tell him of the Fire within Westen, but Avrell leaned forward.
“You are speaking to the Mistress of Amenkor,” the First of the Mistress said. “Suffice it to say that she is indeed in contact with the scouting party.”
“Even with the Skewed Throne destroyed?” Tristan snapped.
“Even so,” Avrell said coldly.
Tristan’s gaze had never left mine, and in their depths I could see him reassessing me. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tightened, and his lips thinned. “Lord March must be warned. Immediately. ” He stood abruptly, bowed low. “Forgive me, Mistress. I must ready my ship for departure, leave on the next tide.”
“Amenkor would like to extend an offer of help,” I said. “Captain Catrell has already begun to assemble a force. We can escort you and your ship to Venitte.”
“I’m . . . not certain that is necessary.”
I shifted forward. “You are Lord March’s representative. And it’s my understanding that Amenkor and Venitte are allied, that Amenkor will come to Venitte’s aid in case of an attack.”
“But Venitte did not aid Amenkor this past winter when the Chorl attacked you.”
“Because we had no advance warning,” Avrell said. “If we’d known, we could have asked for aid. And, given our current relationship with Venitte, I’m certain that Lord March would have helped.”
“We have experience with the Chorl, Captain Tristan. We’ve fought them once already, and won. It’s in our own interests to keep them out of Venitte. Are you willing to turn down our aid?”
Tristan remained silent long enough I thought perhaps he would, but then he smiled tightly. “No. No, it would be foolhardy to refuse such a generous offer. On behalf of Lord March, the Council of Eight, and all of Venitte, I accept. Any aid you can offer would be greatly appreciated.”
“Then I will have Captain Catrell coordinate our preparations with yours.”
“Very well.”
Bowing again, toward me and Avrell, he left the outer chambers, Keven closing the door behind him.
“He seemed somewhat reluctant,” Keven said.
“No,” I said, frowning. “He was hesitant. He wanted our help, he just isn’t certain he can trust it.”
“You are an unknown to him, Mistress. And he just agreed to allow Amenkor’s forces inside of Venitte’s walls.”
I shook my head. “It’s more than that. But I don’t know what.”
“Can you get all of that ready before the ships are set to sail?” I asked, handing over the list that Avrell had prepared.
“Of course,” Regin said, glancing over it again with a frown. We were walking briskly down the wharf, gulls shrieking overhead, wheeling in the wind. “Trade caravans have started arriving from the north. Most of the supplies on the list we already have or can get from them. Which ships are you intending to take?”
I motioned out toward the harbor, where one of Borund’s trading ships, the Defiant, was anchored, two of the smaller Chorl ships nearby. All three had been refurbished and repaired, were simply waiting to be stocked and given orders. “The Defiant will be the main ship, escorted by the Spoils of War and,” I winced, “the Booty.”
Regin laughed. “I see a trend in the naming of the captured Chorl ships. Prize, Spoils of War, Booty . . .”
“Avrell was horrified with the last one,” I said. “He tried to get them to change it—the Treasure or even just Salvage—but it had already stuck. Someone even painted Booty on the hull overnight.”
Regin glanced down the length of the docks, turning serious. “That doesn’t leave Amenkor many ships.”
We paused. Two other traders were tied to the wharf, along with Tristan’s ship; the last two Chorl ships were swarming with repair crews, having just been pulled in to berth. In the other direction, three docks had been given over to Borund and the construction of the new ships. Some type of scaffolding had been erected, carpenters working in a frenzy of activity.
“Borund is working as fast as he can,” I said.
“But what about the defense of Amenkor while you’re gone? What if the Chorl do return?”
Eyebrows raised, somewhat surprised at the concern in Regin’s voice, I said, “Ships didn’t
seem to slow the Chorl down much last time. And William and the other new merchants have begun work on a new outer wall.”
“True. But having no ships doesn’t make me—or any of the other guilds for that matter—feel any more confident. And the wall will not be built overnight; it will take years to complete. You and Avrell are taking a significant portion of the army with you. No ships, an army composed mostly of recently trained militia . . . no, Mistress—it doesn’t make me or anyone else comfortable.”
“You’ll have Eryn. She’s staying here, along with a few of the Servants.”
“It wasn’t Eryn who saved us from the Chorl,” Regin countered, eyebrows raised.
I frowned. “I can’t stay behind, Master Regin. I can’t just sit here in Amenkor knowing that the Chorl are going to attack Venitte.” The words came out more vehemently than I’d intended, and something hardened in my chest, beneath my breastbone. Something hot and visceral. I needed to be active, needed to move. I couldn’t simply sit in Amenkor and pass judgments on petty disputes while the Chorl destroyed the coast.
“A few months ago, you wouldn’t have had a choice,” Regin said. “The Skewed Throne would have kept you here.”
I turned toward him, eyes wide. Because that was exactly it. A few months ago, I’d felt trapped in Amenkor, imprisoned by the throne. I’d resented it, especially since I’d just come to realize that there was more to the world than the streets of Amenkor, had only been able to withstand it because of the desperation of the city and then the attack by the Chorl.
But now the throne was dead. I was free, could travel beyond Amenkor and its boundaries. And I wanted to, the urge to explore like an itch beneath the skin, one that until now I couldn’t scratch. That’s why I’d tried to leave on the scouting ship with Westen, why I’d resented everyone arguing that I had to remain behind.
This time, I didn’t have to stay behind. In fact, Avrell was insisting that I go. No Mistress of Amenkor had traveled to Venitte, to any of the coastal cities, because of the throne. Diplomatically, he said I had to go, as a show of good faith, and to emphasize the seriousness of the Chorl threat and Amenkor’s allegiance to the treaty. And with me being inexperienced in the ways of true diplomacy, he felt he had to accompany me, to explain the intricacies of the politics involved in Venitte, to guide me.
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