The Vacant Throne

by Joshua Palmatier

  The pain was excruciating.

  The third carriage carried William and Borund, both dressed in their formal merchant jackets.

  “—and remember to give Master Tanser the contract for the casks of salted fish. You’ll want to keep on his good side; he runs half of the silk trade to the southeast.”

  William rolled his eyes. “I know, Master Borund, I’ve dealt with him before.”

  “But not as a Master yourself. Make him deal with you respectfully, or he’ll take advantage of you. Keep in mind, you’re a representative of Amenkor, of its merchants’ guild. Make them all treat you with respect.”

  William suppressed a heavy sigh. His gaze swept the docks, locked onto me for a lingering moment before glancing away, a troubled frown crossing his face.

  Borund noticed. He settled an arm over William’s shoulder and led him forward, leaning in close to mutter something in his ear. William shot me another furtive glance, mouth pressed tight, and then Borund slapped him on the back. “Safe voyage. And beware of Master Handleford! He’ll try to get you to wed one of his daughters!”

  William ignored him, moving off down the dock without a backward glance to me or Borund, although I could see the tenseness in his shoulders.

  Borund turned toward me. “And you,” he said, voice dark.

  “What?”

  He placed his hands on my shoulders, his serious expression breaking into a soft grin. “Don’t let his mood keep you away. He cares for you more than he’s willing to admit.”

  When I frowned, he laughed and drew me in for a quick hug. I could feel him chuckling as he held me tight, then pushed me back. “I’ll rebuild Amenkor’s fleet, just you watch. It won’t happen overnight, but I’ll do the best I can.”

  We hadn’t had much chance to talk since I’d stormed into his manse and commanded him to build Amenkor more ships, but I found I was no longer angry with him. Not over his inability to fight on the docks when the Chorl attacked, and not over what that had done to William.

  And then orders were being bellowed all along the wharf, the four docks steadily emptying as the last of the crates were loaded, the last of the guardsmen extricating themselves from their wife’s or children’s clutches, picking up their bundled clothes and possessions, giving one last lingering kiss, and then hurrying down the dock and up the planks onto the ships.

  “Well,” I said, about to turn toward the Defiant, noticing that Catrell had sent one of the carriages away, had come up to my side, waiting patiently beside Keven. The other two carriages waited to take Eryn back to the palace and Borund to his manse. Catrell would be on the Spoils of War, Darryn taking his place as captain of the guard in Amenkor.

  Before I could say good-bye to Eryn, someone shouted, “Wait! Mistress, wait!”

  I frowned, everyone turning toward the distant shout. A woman, hair a light brown and eyes a startling green, waved from the edge of the cordon of guardsmen. She was vaguely familiar. A young boy was clutched to her side, his arms wrapped around her leg. The boy had the same hair as the mother—

  But he had Westen’s eyes.

  “Let her through,” I said, and when Eryn turned toward me in question, I shook my head.

  The woman rushed forward as soon as the guards let her pass, the boy letting go of her leg and grabbing on to her hand. She knelt before me, head bowed, and I thought she would have sketched the Skewed Throne symbol across her chest if she hadn’t held something tightly in the other hand.

  “Mistress,” she said breathlessly, but before she could continue, I touched her gently on the head and motioned her to rise. The boy latched back onto her leg.

  “What do you need?” I asked.

  “Could you give this to him?”

  She held out the object in her hand—a braid of hair, twined with ribbon and a sprig of honeysuckle.

  I shot her a sharp look, wondering how she knew of Westen’s scent. I could see where she’d cut the locks of hair from her head.

  “Of course,” I said, taking the braid from her.

  She smiled, her face radiant.

  I glanced down at the boy, who tightened his grip on her leg and swung himself backward, hiding behind his mother’s form. “And who’s this?”

  Westen’s wife rustled the boy’s hair. “We named him Ash,” she said, and I winced. My name, the name I’d forsaken on the Dredge to become Varis. But she didn’t seem to notice, continuing with, “And I’m Nadeen.”

  At my back, I felt Keven shift forward. “Mistress, the ships are ready.”

  I caught Nadeen’s eyes, saw the muted question she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “He’s fine,” I said. “And I’ll make certain he gets this. I’ll give it to him myself.”

  She didn’t seem to know what to say, the fear and worry she’d kept suppressed so far beginning to break free. Taking Ash by the hand, she finally said, “Keep him safe,” and then she backed off, drew Ash up into her arms, and slid back into the crowd.

  “I had no idea,” Eryn said after a long moment.

  “He’s kept it hidden well.”

  “Mistress,” Keven said again.

  “I know,” I said, somewhat curtly. All along the docks, ties were being undone, one of the Chorl ships already edging away from the wharf toward the open harbor. “Let’s go.”

  Catrell barked an order, the last of the guardsmen splitting into two groups, Catrell heading toward the Spoils of War, Keven waiting impatiently at my back. Farther down, I saw Tristan motioning the last of his men onto the Reliant, Brandan at his side sending dark glares at Tristan’s back.

  “Safe journey,” Eryn said, when I turned back.

  And then Keven and the escort led me down the dock and on board the Defiant.

  A half hour later, I sailed out between the watchtowers of the harbor.

  And out of Amenkor.

  Part II:

  At Sea

  Chapter 7

  "It’s becoming harder to target the Chorl’s Servants,” Liviann said. “They’ve altered their strategy, have begun actively attempting to kill our own Servants in the field, as well as us.” Here, she threw a heated glance toward me, toward my leg, held stiff and straight out before me with splints, elevated onto a stool. It still throbbed fiercely, even weeks after having been crushed under my dying horse. Some days more painfully than others.

  Like today.

  We were seated in the wide round room known as the Council of Seven. Made entirely of black stone, the floor polished to a high obsidian gloss, the chamber stretched over fifty paces in diameter, seven pillars rising from the floor to the edges of the domed ceiling high above, rounded alcoves between the supports. Light glimmered in each of the alcoves—an ethereal light, pure white in nature, the work of Garus and Seth—and at the moment there appeared to be no entrance or exit from the room. It had been sealed off from the outside world.

  In the center of the room, seven seats sat facing each other in a wide circle. Each seat was different, representing the personality of one of the Seven—a solid oak chair with arms for myself; a rounded cushioned ottoman, no arms, no back, for Silicia, so she could stretch out; a simple seat for Garus, no arms, but with a low back.

  Liviann sat in a rigid chair made of ash, with a tall back and no arms. Almost like a throne. She’d arranged her dress so that the folds fell just so.

  “Rymerun was a trap,” I said. “An ambush. They caught us off guard. They won’t do so again.”

  Liviann waved aside my comment angrily. “You should not have charged off on your own. The Seven are too important for the survival of the Frigean coast, especially now, with the Chorl.”

  “Enough,” Garus spat. He rose from his own seat and began pacing behind it. “We’ve heard the argument a hundred times, Liviann, I don’t care to hear it again.”

  “Yes,” Alleryn interjected. “It’s become tiresome.”

  “Tiresome!”

  For a moment, it seemed that Liviann would launch into a tirade an
d I sighed, adjusting the position of my leg with a wince and a silent curse. But instead, Liviann abruptly calmed.

  I frowned. She was more dangerous when she was calm.

  “Do you deny that at the moment, with the threat of the Chorl hanging over the coast, that we—the Seven, and through us the Servants—are the only ones holding the Chorl back?”

  “The armies of Venitte have been able to push the Chorl out of the city,” Atreus said.

  “But only because we and the Servants have been able to neutralize the Chorl Servants. Without their Servants, the Chorl are just men, just guardsmen. Every battle fought without us, without a Servant or Servants as part of our ranks to counter their Servants, has been lost.”

  Grudging silence.

  Liviann leaned back into her seat. “At the moment, we walk a thin line. We’ve pushed the Chorl out of the city and the surrounding lands, and that took us over two years. With the help of Amenkor and Marlett, we’ve kept them out of all of the major cities, all of the major ports. But the Chorl have become entrenched now. We haven’t gained any significant ground on them in months.”

  “Not for want of trying,” Garus interjected with a low murmur.

  Liviann ignored him. “The problem is the Servants, both theirs and ours.”

  “How so?”

  Liviann turned toward Silicia, lips pursed. “We’ve come to an impasse. They know of us and we know of them, of their capabilities. We were only effective against each other when everyone was an unknown. Since then, we’ve decimated their ranks by targeting them in battle when they weren’t expecting such magical resistance. Their advantage in numbers has been destroyed. But they’ve changed their tactics, and now we can’t simply charge in—” another swift glance toward me; a slight hardening of her voice, “—without the threat of an ambush. They’ve begun to defend themselves and we’ve lost our advantage. While they can’t defend against the power of the Council members in particular, there are only Seven of us, not enough to effectively counter all of the Chorl Servants that remain. And our own Servants are vulnerable because they don’t have use of all of the Five Magics; in effect, our Servants and the Chorl’s are evenly matched.”

  “What are you saying, Liviann?” I said, irritated, suddenly tired of the discussion. The throb in my leg had become a steady pulse, worse in the hip. I wanted out of this chamber, wanted to retire to my room so I could soak my leg in hot water.

  Reaching down, I began massaging my hip.

  “I’m saying that the Seven have become indispensable. Venitte—the entire Frigean coast—can’t afford to lose any of us or the balance that we’ve sustained so far will crumble. At the same time, I think something needs to change. We need to do something to upset the balance in our favor.”

  “But what?” Garus growled.

  “If we can’t risk ourselves,” Seth interjected, “then we’ll have to rely on the other Servants.”

  Alleryn scowled. “Yes, but as you say, Liviann, our Servants are at most evenly matched with the Chorl Servants. We’d be risking them with no guarantee of the outcome shifting in our favor. Linking them decreases their ability to protect our own armies, because we then don’t have enough Servants to spread out over all of the units.”

  “And our Servants are indispensable,” Liviann added. “We’ve all commented on the fact that there seem to be fewer and fewer Servants discovered on the coast every year.”

  “And of those found,” Silicia said, “they have less and less power. We have not found a true Adept since Atreus and myself, and that was almost a hundred years ago.”

  Garus halted his pacing, his face thoughtful as he rested his hands on the back of his chair and scanned the Seven. “We need something that will shift the balance of power into the Servants’ hands, something that will strengthen them, give them an edge over the Chorl.”

  “Yes,” Liviann said. “And more. We need a way to preserve the knowledge that we possess, in case one of us is lost. Something that will allow us to pass our knowledge on to future Servants and Adepts. Something that they can use to protect the city against the Chorl, against any invader that threatens the coast.”

  I felt the weight of Liviann’s words press down on me and with a sinking sensation in my gut realized all of the other Seven had turned toward me.

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked warily.

  Liviann stood, stepped toward me, but halted a pace away. “You are the Builder here, Cerrin. And you are the one most balanced in all Five Magics. Build something that will give our Servants an edge in battle. Build something that will preserve our knowledge, that will preserve us.”

  I hesitated.

  She must have seen the skepticism in my face, for she stepped forward, placed her hands on the arms of my chair, and leaned in so close our noses almost touched. I could smell the perfume she’d used to cloak her sweat: lavender and mint, so pungent it made my nose twitch.

  In a voice pitched so softly that I doubted any of the other Seven heard, she said, “Build something that will destroy the Chorl. For Venitte. For the coast. And for your wife and daughters.”

  Something deep inside my chest hardened and for a moment the pain in my leg vanished, forgotten. I saw Olivia’s face, her dark skin, her silky hair, smelled her vibrant scent—a sea scent, salty and sunny, overriding even Liviann’s perfume—as I held her, rested my chin on the top of her head while she nestled back into my arms, feeling her warmth through my shirt. Like an echo, I heard Pallin’s laughter, heard Jaer shriek with delight, and the bright, happy sounds twisted painfully in my chest.

  Always the same memory: all of us on the veranda of the estate on the cliffs above the channel, a moment before the Chorl appeared, before they attacked.

  The last memory of us all together.

  I drew back, focused on Liviann’s face, close enough I could feel her breath against my skin. She’d used my wife, my daughters, to manipulate me, and I felt an urge to deny her because of that.

  But my mind had already begun to plan, to build.

  And Liviann knew it. I didn’t even need to answer her. A smile touched her lips, there and gone, and she pushed back from my chair.

  “In the meantime,” she said, moving toward her own seat, “I think we need to be a little more aggressive with the Servants themselves.”

  “How so?” Garus asked in a low rumble.

  Liviann sat down in her chair—in her throne—and arranged the folds of her dress around her.

  “We need to send them into the Chorl camps and attack the Chorl there, not just on the battlefield. We need to make them assassins.”

  I woke with a cry as the ship lurched and the hammock I slept in swung wildly. I flailed around, disoriented. The sensation of falling closed off my throat and sent waves of tingling panic through my arms and fingers.

  Then someone grabbed me, hissed, “Mistress,” and when I recognized Marielle’s voice, I ceased struggling.

  “What’s happening?” I barked.

  In the darkness of the cabin that had been given over to me, Marielle, and Trielle, I felt Marielle shift away. “I don’t know. I sent Trielle up to the deck to find out. It started picking up about fifteen minutes ago.”

  Even as she spoke, the ship rolled beneath us. The hammock swung with the motion, and I gripped the edges as a wave of sea-sickness washed over me. I’d been violently ill the first few days after we’d sailed, but I thought I’d finally gotten my “sea legs,” as the crew of the Defiant said, usually through grins. Swallowing against the taste of bile, I tried to right myself in the hammock, managing to slip from it gracelessly just as a flame sparked and light filled the cabin.

  The ship lurched again, and I heard water slapping against wood, the boards beneath us creaking. Marielle frowned as she hung the lantern she’d lit on a hook beneath one of the massive squared timbers low overhead. So low that most of the guardsmen and Servants had to duck.

  Marielle looked pale, almost gray.

  Befo
re I could offer any reassurances, Trielle returned.

  “Captain Bullick says that we’re skirting the edge of a storm,” she said, succinct and businesslike, but with a trace of excitement. “He doesn’t think it will get much worse than this. He thinks we’ll outrun it.”

  “I’d like to go up on deck,” I said, and I saw Trielle’s eyes light up.

  Marielle almost moaned.

  A half hour later, hammock stowed away and dressed in my usual white shirt and brown breeches, I climbed up the ladder with Trielle onto the deck into post-dawn light, having left Marielle behind in the cabin. Salt spray struck my face and I grinned, suffused with a strange energy. I stood a moment on the heaving deck, felt its rocking motion beneath me, my legs now adjusting to compensate for the sudden shifts, and let the wind gust over me.

  Ahead, at the railing, Captain Bullick saw me and motioned me over.

  “Mistress,” he said in greeting. He held a long tube up to his eye, but after a moment he dropped it to his side, the tube sliding together into a more compact form. He wore the standard captain’s uniform, a colored jacket like the merchants used, embroidered at the edges, because the captains were so closely affiliated with the merchants’ guild. Bullick’s jacket was gray, with blue embroidery.

  He stared at me with a slight frown. “I can’t suggest you remain on deck, Mistress, not in such dangerous waters.”

  Not quite a command, I chose to ignore it.

  “Trielle mentioned a storm.”

  Bullick grunted and motioned out across the water. “See for yourself.”

  On the horizon to the right—to starboard, I thought, chiding myself—black clouds billowed skyward, the ocean black beneath them, a roiling darkness illuminated only briefly by jagged blue lightning. I realized I could taste the lightning on the river, bitter and metallic. Putting a hand to the railing to steady myself, the wood shuddering beneath my fingers, I raised the other to shield my eyes from the wind.

  “You can see where it’s raining,” Trielle said at my side.

  “Where?”