The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “The Great Charter will be propagated throughout the land,” Alassa said. Her word was already being acted upon. The printers had worked through the night to churn out hundreds of pamphlets, each one carrying a complete copy of the Great Charter. “And, wherever I hold sway, it will become the law of the land.”

  Emily glanced at Lord Summer. He didn’t look happy. He’d suggested that the Great Charter should be extended to lands Alassa didn’t hold, and not given any power in territory she did hold, but Alassa had overruled him. The commoners would rise up against her if she tried to cheat them so blatantly. Besides, the Great Charter was nothing more than words – outside her territory – until she gained the power to impose it on the entire kingdom. The Emancipation Proclamation hadn’t freed the slaves in the Confederate States either.

  We still have to win the war, Emily thought, grimly. She’d listened to the plans, and endless arguments over the right way to take the war to their enemies, but talking would only get them so far. It wouldn’t be long before they actually went to war. And if we lose, the Great Charter will become nothing more than a memory.

  She forced herself to listen attentively as Alassa led the gathered crowd in prayer. It was a fairly simple prayer, one that could be offered to many gods. The Nameless World had never invented monotheism. A man could follow one god or many or none, if he wished. There was no sense that one religion was right and all the others were wrong; indeed, men often believed in all the gods without praying to them. And yet, it was considered rude to deny the gods completely.

  The crowd slowly dispersed once the prayer had come to an end, a number picking up copies of the Great Charter as they left the temple. Emily smiled, rather wanly. The vast majority of people in Swanhaven and Cockatrice could read, even if it was the phonic alphabet she’d taught them rather than Old Script. There would be no room for debate over the contents of the Charter, no opportunity for unscrupulous lords and ladies to covertly rewrite the provisions. Emily suspected that the letters and numbers she’d introduced would cause just as many changes as gunpowder and steam engines, in the long run. It would certainly be a great deal easier for people to tell if they were being scammed.

  Cat caught her arm. “She’s committed now, you know.”

  Emily glanced at him. She had no idea if he was deeply religious or not. Soldiers and combat sorcerers tended to pray to the gods of battle, proving – once again –there were no atheists in foxholes. Cat might well have taken the whole ceremony very seriously. She wondered, morbidly, if they should talk about religion. If they stayed together for years...

  “I know,” she said, dismissing the thought. Cat had made it clear that he wasn’t looking for a long-term relationship. “Do you think it was a good idea?”

  “She needed to do something dramatic,” Cat said. “But swearing an oath before the Crone in public...?”

  He looked towards the statue of the goddess and shuddered. Emily nodded in grim understanding. The Crone Goddess might have been female, but there was nothing feminine about her. She was the patron goddess of women everywhere, the binder of oaths and the avenger of wronged women. Emily was mildly surprised the religion hadn’t been driven underground long ago. But then, the Crone also punished women who fell from the straight and narrow.

  And the kings and princes are probably too cynical to believe in the gods, Emily thought, wryly. She’d never seen anything to suggest that theocrats genuinely believed in their religion. They may feel that tolerance is a small price to pay for peace and quiet.

  “It was very dramatic,” she said, banishing the thought. “And it will have been taken seriously.”

  She turned as she heard someone come up behind her. Bradford stood there, looking torn between embarrassment and nervousness. Technically, she was his feudal lady. He should have paid homage to her as soon as he entered Swanhaven. But he clearly hadn’t recognized her. Emily wondered, absently, who’d told him the truth. Behind him, the Melissa-lookalike appeared nervous. Emily guessed she was Bradford’s daughter or niece. Nepotism was alive and well in the Nameless World.

  “My Lady,” Bradford said. He bowed, stiffly. “I thank you for your support.”

  “You are welcome,” Emily said, ruefully. “But I think you will find that the princess chose to implement the charter herself.”

  Bradford didn’t look as though he believed her, although he was clearly unwilling to call her a liar to her face. Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. There were times it seemed that everything good in the kingdom was attributed to her, while everything bad was blamed on an endless series of scapegoats. She had written the original charter – that much was true – but it had been Alassa’s idea to swear a public oath. King Randor’s daughter had a much surer grasp of public relations than her father.

  She studied at Whitehall, Emily reminded herself. The students hadn’t been permitted to have servants. Some of them had taken it hard. Alassa’s title didn’t mean much there.

  “Regardless, we thank you,” Bradford said. He nodded to the girl, who inched back slightly. “This is Iodine, my daughter.”

  “My Lady,” Iodine said, dropping a curtsey.

  Emily nodded to her, formally. Up close, Iodine didn’t look that much like Melissa. She had long red hair flowing down her back and brushing against her bottom, but there was a hardness in her freckled face that spoke of a life spent scrabbling for scraps of wealth and power. Emily guessed that her family had only recently started to earn serious money, let alone establish themselves as a political force. Iodine wore her fine clothes as if she wasn’t used to wearing them.

  “A pleasure,” Emily said, finally.

  Bradford coughed. “Iodine is a very smart girl,” he told her. “She can read and write in both Old and New Script. She was in line to become an accountant when the guild collapsed.”

  Emily lifted her eyebrows. There had been no guarantee that Iodine would actually have become an accountant, but even getting in line was an impressive achievement. She couldn’t think of many other girls who could have done it, particularly as it was a job for life. They’d face a great deal of discrimination. There were too many men who thought women took jobs from men who needed to put food on the table. And if Iodine married...

  “That is impressive,” she said, wondering precisely what Bradford wanted. “Can we get to the point?”

  Bradford looked oddly relieved. “I would like you to offer her a place in your retinue.”

  Emily blinked. She had a retinue? Other noblewomen might be surrounded by their personal entourages, from maids and gossipmongers to butlers and bodyguards, but she had never felt the need. Having a personal servant, let alone a small army of personal servants, had always struck her as a little creepy. Besides, she had no idea what Void would say if she insisted on bringing a servant to her apprenticeship. She had a feeling the sorcerer wouldn’t allow her to do anything of the sort.

  We didn’t have servants at Whitehall, she thought. Alassa had had real trouble learning to cope. And I don’t need a servant now.

  She forced herself to think. She wasn’t blind to the underlying reasons behind the request. Bradford would profit if he was seen to have a relative in Emily’s retinue, even if Iodine did nothing more than brush Emily’s hair every morning. The mere hint of influence could be spun into a powerful patronage network, given time. Emily had no intention of allowing him to play political games with her name. And yet... turning down the offer would have consequences. Who knew what Bradford would do if he felt insulted?

  “I don’t have a retinue at the moment,” she said, finally. There was nothing that Iodine could do for her. “But I can recommend Iodine for a position in the princess’s household. Would that be sufficient?”

  “It would be quite sufficient,” Bradford said.

  “The final decision will not be made by me,” Emily said, with the private thought that Alassa might not be happy to have a Melissa-lookalike on her staff. Alassa and Melissa had been enemies for
years. “But I can put her name forward if you like.”

  “Please,” Bradford said. He bowed, again. “I thank you.”

  Emily watched Bradford and Iodine go, feeling torn between wry amusement and cold annoyance. She understood his problem – he lacked the power base he’d need to protect himself if someone with more wealth and power turned on him – but, at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling a little manipulated. Bradford wanted to make use of her for his own reasons. Emily wondered, absently, what Iodine wanted. A young woman with her qualifications could practically write her own ticket, back in Cockatrice. She wouldn’t have so much opportunity if she entered Alassa’s – or Emily’s – service.

  “Interesting,” Cat said. He sounded more amused than anything else. His lips curved into a wry smile. “Why didn’t you take her on?”

  “I don’t need a servant,” Emily said. She led the way out of the temple and onto the muddy street, muttering a spell to ensure they wouldn’t be recognized. “Can you imagine what Sergeant Miles would say?”

  “He wouldn’t be pleased,” Cat said. “How many aristocratic commanders turned up to the war with a small army of servants in tow?”

  Emily nodded. “Too many. And how much trouble did they cause?”

  She stepped to one side as a line of troops marched down the street, their weapons slung over their shoulders. They were singing a marching cadence that was strikingly obscene. The men looked professional enough, to the untrained eye, but Emily had seen enough real soldiers to tell the new recruits hadn’t had any real experience. They hadn’t yet seen the elephant. She wondered, grimly, just how many of them would survive their first battle. Or how enthusiastic they’d be after they saw their comrades blown to bits. No one really understood how gruesome war could be until they saw it with their own eyes.

  “Bunch of pansies,” Cat said. He spat into the gutter. “I bet you that half of them don’t even know how to fire a gun.”

  “You didn’t know how to fire a gun until Farrakhan,” Emily reminded him. She wasn’t surprised by his attitude. Cat had seen a real war. “They will learn.”

  “Hah,” Cat muttered.

  Emily gave him a sharp look. “Don’t you think they have a chance?”

  “They’re not ready for war,” Cat said, flatly. “Jade was right. It will be weeks before we’re ready to take the offensive.”

  Yeah, Emily thought. And will we have weeks?

  He said nothing else as they made their slow way through the muddy streets. Small groups of people were everywhere, holding copies of the Great Charter and discussing its contents in excited voices. A handful of broadsheet singers were waving newspapers about, demanding attention. Emily glanced at the front cover and rolled her eyes. Apparently, King Randor had had nine piglets by the royal sow. Alassa was not going to be pleased when she heard that.

  It could be worse, Emily thought. She hasn’t heard the worst of the rumors yet.

  She put the thought aside and watched the city prepare for war. Blacksmiths were forging weapons; swords, shields and guns. Cooks were preparing salt beef and other foodstuffs that would keep for months. Young women were sewing uniforms for the soldiers and, less pleasantly, preparing medical supplies. Emily shuddered as she saw the chirurgeons barking orders to their apprentices, readying them for duty with the army. Magical healers could fix anything that wasn’t immediately fatal, but chirurgeons were little more than butchers. She’d introduced some medical knowledge – it was astonishing how many lives had been saved simply by insisting on proper sanitation – yet it would be a long time before doctors on the Nameless World saved more patients than they killed. Most chirurgeons simply didn’t know what they were doing.

  They reached the castle and walked over the drawbridge. Someone – Jade, probably – had doubled the guard, turning the gatehouse into a minor fortress in its own right. Emily allowed the wards to wash over them, confirming their identity, as Cat spoke to the guard commander. A number of horses waited in the courtyard, their flanks covered with coats of arms. Alassa had visitors.

  A messenger appeared as they reached the door. “My Lady, My Lord, the Princess Regnant requests your urgent presence.”

  Emily looked down at her garb. The white dress was stained with mud. She wanted to change, but she knew Alassa wouldn’t summon her unless it was urgent. Her friend knew better.

  “We’ll be there in a moment,” she said, reassuringly. “I just need to splash some water on my face first.”

  “Yes, My Lady,” the messenger said.

  Chapter Six

  “LADY EMILY,” ALASSA SAID, AS EMILY and Cat entered the small conference room. “Thank you for coming.”

  “It is my pleasure,” Emily said, gravely.

  She took the seat Alassa indicated and looked around the room. Four men sat facing Alassa, their clothes marking them as noblemen. She thought she recognized one, perhaps from Alexis, but she couldn’t put a name to the face. The other three were complete strangers. She rested her hands on the table, waiting to hear what the newcomers had to say. They wouldn’t have risked the king’s anger – by traveling into Swanhaven – if they hadn’t been desperate.

  “Viscount Hansel has come with a proposition,” Alassa said. She cocked her head to one side. “I thought you might be interested in hearing it.”

  Emily kept her face impassive. Alassa was behaving... oddly. She was normally much more decisive. Did she want Emily to make a show of supporting her? Or talking her out of... of what? Viscount Hansel – the man she thought she recognized – was a stranger, as far as she was concerned. He’d never been formally introduced to her. She couldn’t even remember if they’d exchanged greetings during one of King Randor’s formal balls.

  Viscount Hansel was a tall man with a puffy face that looked as if it hadn’t decided what it wanted to be. And yet, he was clearly an adult. Emily suspected he was in his mid-thirties, if not older. His dark hair and darker eyes gave him a sharp appearance that worried her more than she cared to admit. It was hard not to dislike him on sight.

  “My Lady,” Viscount Hansel said. “I come with a proposition.”

  And presumably not an offer of marriage, Emily thought. What do you want?

  “My lands are in the western half of Winter Flower, centered on Eagle’s Rest,” Viscount Hansel said, after a moment. “And they are on the verge of revolt. Lord Burrows” – his face twisted, as if he wanted to spit – “has been bleeding us dry. It’s only a matter of time before something explodes.”

  Emily glanced at the map on the wall. Viscount Hansel might not have the vast landholdings of a baron, but he was hardly a landless aristocrat with nothing more than a name. Eagle’s Rest sat on the Swanhaven River, a few miles east of the castle Emily and Cat had captured, in prime position to take advantage of the trade routes running through the kingdom. Why had he come to Alassa? Did he hope Alassa would calm his revolting subjects? Or... or what? It was hard to see how Viscount Hansel benefited from contacting Alassa and her followers.

  “We – my brother and I – are prepared to pledge ourselves to your cause,” Viscount Hansel said, looking at Alassa. “With our help, you can weaken the entire western defense line around Alexis and open the way for a drive on the capital itself.”

  Alassa leaned forward. “And in exchange?”

  “We want our rights and prerogatives respected,” Viscount Hansel said. “Our titles to our lands should be confirmed.”

  “I see,” Alassa said. Her gaze moved to the other two men. “And do you feel the same way?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” one of the men said. “We will pledge ourselves to you if you swear to uphold our rights and prerogatives.”

  “Indeed.” Alassa smiled, humorlessly. “Wait. I will have an answer for you soon.”

  Emily expected the four aristocrats to protest as they were hurried out of the room, but they said nothing. They had to be desperate, then. And that meant... what? She wished she knew them better, even though she d
oubted they’d get along. She might at least have some idea what they really wanted.

  “An interesting development,” Alassa mused, once the door was closed. “What do you make of it?”

  “They’re on the verge of being overthrown,” Jade said. “Or simply losing their rights and prerogatives to the king and his servants. They are desperate.”

  “True,” Alassa agreed. “They wouldn’t have come here if they weren’t desperate.”

  “And Hansel is willing to pledge himself to you to avoid being overthrown,” Emily said. She took a long breath, contemplating the situation. “Alassa, he’s trying to place you in a particularly nasty position.”

  “Explain,” Alassa ordered.

  Emily looked back at her, evenly. “If you support him, Alassa, you might be backing him against his people. The Levellers will not be happy. On the other hand, if you don’t support him, you will be seen as a poor friend and worse ally.”

  “And his people might have good reason to want to revolt,” Jade said. “I’ve heard stories about Hansel. He is not a good lord.”

  Alassa let out a long sigh. “And I trust him about as far as I can throw him.”

  Cat snickered. “With magic, Your Highness, that is quite some distance.”

  “That said, Hansel is also taking a serious risk,” Alassa continued, ignoring Cat with a thoroughness Emily could only admire. “My father will not forgive him for traveling to Swanhaven, particularly as his brother accompanied him. They’ll be stripped of their lands when he finds out about it. They must feel they have no choice.”

  “They might be on the verge of losing their lands anyway,” Jade said, quietly. “Either to the king, who isn’t likely to be merciful, or to their own people.”

  “You can’t afford to back him,” Emily said. “It would make a mockery of the Great Charter.”

  “I know,” Alassa said. “And I have no doubt that Hansel will do everything in his power to cling to power. He’ll make whatever deals he has to make, then break them when he thinks he can get away with it. He’s a liability.”