The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “We need you here,” Cat said. “Gus and his fellows won’t listen to me.”

  Sergeant Rotherham cleared his throat. “There’s certainly been some muttering about taking over the city now, instead of later,” he said. “The reports that a mercenary tried to murder you, My Lady, have not helped. There’s even a suggestion that the mercenary was ordered to kill you by the viscount.”

  “He’d have to be out of his mind,” Cat said, flatly. “What would happen if he succeeded?”

  “I don’t think he’d take the risk,” Emily said, although she wasn’t so sure. She’d humiliated Hansel, privately and publicly. “Is there anything definite?”

  “Nothing,” Sergeant Rotherham said. “A lot of outrage, a lot of angry muttering, a lot of crazy rumors... nothing that can actually be proven.”

  Cat looked down at the table. “All we can do is wait,” he said. “Unless we bait a trap...”

  “Using me as bait,” Emily said. She didn’t like the idea, but it might be possible to turn it into a workable plan. “Or do you think he’ll be too careful to walk into a trap?”

  Sergeant Rotherham smiled. “Or there might be two assassins,” he said. “One who tried to kill you in Swanhaven and one who tried to kill you here.”

  “That’s possible,” Cat said. “If there’s anyone on this planet who the king wants dead, Emily, it’s you. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bounty on your head hasn’t reached the moon by now.”

  Emily nodded. Randor couldn’t offer the moon, but he could offer everything from wealth and power to the hand of an heiress in marriage. She knew men who would cut off their sword arms for the chance to marry someone who would elevate them to the highest ranks in the land – and who didn’t care in the slightest what the woman thought about it. They’d have little hesitation in trying to kill her, if the rewards were so great. What did the risk matter if the rewards were so high?

  “I think there’s only one assassin,” she said, although she could easily see hundreds of bounty hunters descending on her. But then, she was a powerful sorceress, one believed to be the daughter of a far more powerful sorcerer. Perhaps the bounty hunters thought it would be better to sit this one out. “The style of both attempts on my life was the same.”

  “Yeah,” Cat said. “And we don’t even have a clue who we’re looking for.”

  There was a clattering sound behind them. Emily turned her head to see a group of mercenaries entering the pub and striding over to the counter. They looked parched, but nervous. Their hands rested on their weapons. A low, angry muttering ran through the pub as the patrons faced the mercenaries. Several of them produced knives from their belts and held them at the ready.

  “We might want to move,” Cat said. “This place is about to get bloody.”

  “There’s a door at the rear,” Sergeant Rotherham told him. “We can move...”

  A handful of trainees, wearing Leveller armbands, walked into the pub. Emily’s heart sank as she realized they were carrying weapons too, their faces hard and cold. They’d seen the mercenaries go into the pub and then... and then decided to go after them. She shuddered as she realized that something more serious than a mere barroom brawl was about to break out.

  If they start fighting here, they’ll start fighting all over the city, she thought, numbly. And it will tear us apart.

  “We need to move,” Cat said, pushing her off the bench. “Emily...”

  “You killed her,” someone shouted. A jug of beer arced through the air and struck a mercenary, shattering against his armored helmet. He let out a yell of rage and drew his sword, murder flickering in his eyes. “You killed her!”

  Emily barely had a moment to realize what was happening before the entire room descended into violence. Fists were flying, swords were being drawn, mugs of beer and knives were flying through the air. The landlord was shouting something, but no one could hear him over the racket. It was only a matter of time before blood was shed.

  She gritted her teeth, then stood and summoned her magic. “Stop,” she shouted, pushing the spell out as hard as she could. She’d frozen an entire group of people two years ago, but her magic hadn’t been so badly drained then. Her head hurt from the sheer effort of keeping the spell in place. “I’m not dead!”

  Silence fell as the combatants froze. Emily heard the landlord gasp in shock as her glamour collapsed. She pulled her cap off, allowing her hair to fall freely down her back, as she took a step forward. Her heart was pounding. If they didn’t listen to her, if they started fighting when the spell collapsed...

  “I’m not dead,” she repeated. Her magic was starting to splutter, the spell threatening to come apart at any moment. “And the man who tried to kill me was under a spell. And you will tear us apart if you start fighting now. We will no longer be able to stop the king if we destroy ourselves first.”

  The spell collapsed. Emily watched as the fighters hit the floor, moaning in pain. She hadn’t had enough time to put the spell together properly, locking their muscles rather than freezing them in place. It was going to take a few minutes for them to recover. She glanced at Cat, who was hiding a smile, then checked for injuries. There were some bumps and bruises, and a handful of bloody noses, but nothing serious. A chirurgeon would be able to handle most of them without calling in a healer.

  A mercenary stood, unsteadily. “My Lady...”

  “You may take your men and leave,” Emily said, trying to channel Lady Barb. She could give a stream of orders and expect them to be obeyed without hesitation. Emily knew she wasn’t so lucky. “Everyone else will return to their seats and sit down.”

  She watched the mercenaries leave, then forced herself to remain upright as she turned and walked back to the table. She could feel eyes on her back; watching her, judging her. She didn’t dare show weakness in front of them. They thought of her as someone who was practically superhuman. Who knew how they’d react?

  “Nicely done,” Cat said, quietly. “That could have been very nasty.”

  “I know,” Emily said. She sat down, doing her best to ignore the people watching her. “But will it last?”

  “It should,” Sergeant Rotherham said. He sounded impressed, although it was hard to be sure. “They can’t claim you’re dead now.”

  “We’ll have to go back soon,” Emily told them. Her head was spinning. Her legs felt unsteady. The last thing she wanted was to have to be carried back to the manor. “We stay here long enough for everything to quieten down, then we go.”

  “Agreed,” Cat said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THERE WAS LITTLE TIME TO WORRY about the assassin over the next few days.

  Emily was kept busy, first by showing her face to everyone who questioned her survival and then explaining, time and time again, that a mercenary hadn’t tried to kill her. It was heart-warming, in a way, to know so many people were desperate to avenge her, but she didn’t dare let the city collapse into a miniature civil war. She moved from place to place, giving speeches, while Cat watched her back. But there was no sign of the assassin. It was almost a relief when a horseman cantered in from the east, begging for help.

  “Lord Burrows has finally made a move,” Cat said, as the city council gathered in the war room. Hansel had refused to allow them to turn the manor into a headquarters, now that the Levellers were part of the command structure, and so the HQ had been moved to the merchant guildhouse. “He’s moving troops westward, securing towns and villages as he moves. One of those towns is Cool Waters, here.”

  His finger traced a line on the map. “Cool Waters fell into Leveller hands without a fight, twenty days ago,” he continued, calmly. “For reasons unknown, the town’s aristocracy withdrew en masse, taking their personal guards with them. There was no one left to keep the Levellers from simply taking over. However, Lord Burrows reacted with astonishing speed and rushed a force to the town. It is now under his personal control.”

  Gus looked up, his face curiously blank. “We have to
help them.”

  “Quite,” Cat agreed. “Cool Waters is far enough from Winter Flower that Lord Burrows will have difficulty reinforcing it in a hurry, while close enough to Eagle’s Rest that it may pose a threat if it remains in enemy hands. I propose to liberate the town now, then raid further towards Winter Flower as the situation warrants.”

  Emily cocked her head. “Can we liberate the town?”

  “Our troops are not as trained as I would like,” Cat said. His voice was oddly formal, as if he was building a case. “But we should have superior weapons and the advantage of numbers. Getting there is a mere two-days march for us, so we can take the risk of sending a sizable body of troops. It would also give us a chance to evacuate the town before Lord Burrows sends reinforcements.”

  And reinforcements might already be on the way, Emily thought. She had her doubts, doubts she would have to discuss with Cat privately. Why had the town’s aristocrats simply fled? She could understand fleeing from angry rebels, but there hadn’t been a revolution. Was it a trick of some kind? Or... or what? We might be walking into anything.

  “I’ll take command of the first regiment,” Cat said. “Gus will command the second; Tobias and Gars can command the mercenaries attached to the army. I should warn you, now, that I will not tolerate unnecessary harm done to the civilian population. Anyone who loots, rapes or kills without good cause will spend the rest of his short and miserable life as a slug. Make that clear to your men.”

  “My troops know how to behave themselves,” Gars growled. “You should look to your own, sorcerer. How will they cope when under fire?”

  “Emily, I want you to lead the magicians,” Cat said, ignoring the question. “If there are no magicians amongst the occupation force, you and they can stay in reserve.”

  “Understood,” Emily said. “We’ll be ready.”

  Gars looked amused, as if he thought he’d scored a point. Emily feared he might be right.

  Cat glanced around the room. “Are there any concerns that should be raised?”

  “You’re taking half the mercenaries,” Hansel said. “Is that wise?”

  “They do have considerable experience,” Cat told him. “And they can show the new recruits how to handle a march.”

  And keep them from having a decisive advantage if it comes down to a fight in the city itself, Emily added, silently. It wouldn’t do to let you think you could take back complete control of your former hometown while we’re gone.

  The meeting broke up, with everyone rushing to get their men ready for battle. Emily and Cat followed at a slightly more sedate pace, watching as the men were issued with bags of preserved food and bottles of water. Some of the men would stuff themselves before they set out, preferring to take the risk of starving to carrying heavy rucksacks all over the country; others, more practical, would be looking for ways to spread the burden. Behind them, a small army of carts and horses were being prepared. They’d be carrying supplies behind the main body, ready to replenish the army after its first battle.

  “We don’t have many horsemen,” Cat said, “and so we’re only able to field a small cavalry unit.”

  Emily nodded, hearing the underlying concern in his voice. She might think that cavalry were useless, brightly-dressed show-offs who’d be slaughtered when they went up against firearms, but she knew others would disagree. The cavalry still had its uses, if only as scouts and pickets. Cat had to be worried about guarding their flanks. The loss of their supply train would be disastrous, even though they wouldn’t be that far from the city. They simply didn’t have enough gunpowder to be sanguine about losing the barrels in the carts.

  And if someone starts firing blazing arrows into the carts, she thought, they’ll inflict more damage than they could possibly expect.

  “We can put marchers on the outskirts,” she suggested, after a moment. “Or would that be pointless?”

  “I fear so,” Cat said. “A cavalry regiment could simply charge past them and reach its target well in advance of any possible warning. Or it would simply be missed completely.”

  “Unless we issue them with wardstones and chat parchments.” Emily smiled at the thought. “The warning would be instant.”

  “It’s something to consider,” Cat agreed. “But where would we find more than a handful of wardstones?”

  He met her eyes as they reached the small cluster of magicians. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” Emily said, flatly. She had no answer to his other question. “I’m ready to go.”

  It had taken far too long, she recalled, for General Pollack to get his army moving during the war. Cat, it seemed, was a little more efficient... although his army was smaller and far more united. And he’d started preparations as soon as the first reports arrived. It was merely an hour before the first unit – the cavalry – galloped out of the city gates, followed by a mixed brigade of mercenaries and infantrymen. Emily had wondered if Cat was smart or stupid to put them together, but she had to admit it had definitely had an effect. The mercenaries were determined to show what professional soldiers could do, while the infantry soldiers were equally determined to show what free men could do. Neither one would want to stop while the other showed signs of being able to continue.

  She clambered onto her horse – reluctantly – when the sergeants waved for her and the magicians to move forward, just in front of the first row of supply carts. The younger magicians looked relieved to be in the rear, although their relief wouldn’t have lasted if they’d known what was in the carts. Emily had done what she could to charm the gunpowder barrels against fire, but she knew it wouldn’t last long. The more magic she used, the greater the risk of alerting the enemy that there was something interesting stored within the carts. No one bothered to use wards to protect food and medical supplies.

  Although we probably should, Emily thought, contemplating the possibilities. There might be more interesting ways to use magic in warfare than merely hurling fireballs in all directions.

  Her mind raced. There were spells that blunted swords. With a little effort, she could improve the spells, ensuring the swords would become brittle – and break, when they were taken into combat. She could sneak past a supply cart and cast the spell, then fade away into the shadows with no one being any the wiser she’d ever been there. Even if someone realized what she’d done, they’d still be unable to use the swords. And she could use other spells to corrupt food and drink and...

  She shook her head. That was a box she had no intention of opening. Biological warfare on the Nameless World was no more complex than dropping dead animals into water supplies and hoping for the best – or the worst – and she had no desire to make it any more advanced. It was probably too late – she’d taught the locals about germs and how they spread – but there was no need to speed up the process. Better to think about more practical spells.

  Besides, the darker part of her mind whispered, it won’t be long before disease starts running through the camp anyway.

  Emily dismissed the thought and concentrated on possible spells, using them to distract her from the horse’s steady motion. The other magicians were sitting in a pair of carts, no doubt envious that she got a horse. They’d be surprised to know she’d be quite happy to swap, although it wasn’t really a possibility. She had to look like a lady of high birth even though she was nothing of the sort. She was midway through a particularly complex spell that seemed a little too impractical to be put to work on a battlefield when the army slowly ground to a halt.

  “Rest stop,” a sergeant shouted. His voice cracked through the air. “Rest stop!”

  Emily clambered off her horse and dropped to the ground, grateful that she wasn’t aching so badly this time. Her bladder wasn’t too full, but she knew better than to pass up the chance to relieve herself before it was too late. Dozens of soldiers were already running behind trees, despite shouted orders from their sergeants. Emily didn’t blame them, despite the risk of being attacked. The call of nature drowned
everything else out.

  She walked over to the nearest cart and scrambled onto the driver’s seat, peering into the gloom. The magicians were an unpromising lot, although she had to admit they were good at what little they could do. There had been no first-rank sorcerer living in Eagle’s Rest for years. Instead, they had a motley collection of fifth-rank charms masters, potion brewers, a couple of herbalists and a hedge witch. They had a surprising amount of skill, she’d conceded, but nowhere near enough power to receive a formal invitation to one of the magic schools. They’d done a great deal of learning on their own.

  “We’re going to be stopping for a few minutes,” she said, calmly. “I suggest you take the time to relieve yourselves. You won’t have another chance for a few hours.”

  She dropped back down, repeated the same message at the second cart, then found a tree herself. The sergeants were marching up and down the ranks, getting the soldiers back into formation after they’d answered the call of nature. Some of the men were drinking water, unsurprisingly. They’d been warned to keep themselves hydrated at all costs. Zangaria was nowhere near as hot as Farrakhan, but soldiers still needed a lot to drink.

  Cat walked up to her as she returned to her horse. “We’re making good progress,” he said, “and we should reach the campsite on time.”

  Emily nodded, feeling too tired to speak. Cat had probably been quite pessimistic about how far the army could travel in a day. Trained and experienced soldiers might be able to get quite some distance before they needed to stop, but their makeshift army had barely done any marching. Emily hadn’t forgotten how long it had taken her to get used to the idea of forced marches. She’d come far too close to dropping out of Martial Magic before she’d finally gotten over the hump.

  “A handful of youngsters dropped out of formation,” Cat added. He sounded unsurprised. “One had a health problem; he’s in the wagon. The others simply weren’t mentally prepared for the march.”

  “They’ll get better,” Emily said. Years ago, she hadn’t realized that the map wasn’t the terrain either, at least until she’d tried to cross it. Who would have thought that those lines on the parchment represented gradient? It had never crossed her mind until she’d discovered that a seemingly short march was a sharp climb up a mountain, a walk through a rocky pass and a deadly-dangerous descent down the other side. “Tell them... tell them to keep going.”