The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Oh, I will,” Cat said. A whistle blew. “Time to go, I think.”

  Emily scrambled onto her horse as the army slowly lurched back into life, advancing down the road. Dust rose into the air, threatening to choke her; she muttered a spell to keep it out of her throat, then extended it to cover the small collection of carts. The minutes started to blur together as the march went on and on, her mind slowly losing track of time. It was a surprise when they finally reached the campsite, set up a small collection of tents and erected wards to keep out vermin. And, the following morning, they started the march again.

  War is ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent absolute terror, she thought, trying to remember who’d said it. Sergeant Harkin had said something like it, but the original saying came from Earth. Bradley? Montgomery? Grant? They should have said something about how marching down the highway to glory means breathing in dust and pissing by the side of the road.

  The landscape changed as the army marched on, passing through a handful of towns and villages. It looked more urbanized than Emily had expected, a small collection of large fields instead of hundreds of smaller patches of land. There was no sign of the civilian population, not even a sense that they were being watched by unseen eyes. The locals had probably fled the moment they saw the army coming. Emily didn’t blame them. They had no reason to believe that the Levellers would be any kinder to the civilian population than the aristocrats.

  But we would be, unless we needed their supplies for ourselves, Emily thought. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but it was sure. A starving army was an army that would take what it needed and to hell with the civilian population. I wonder if this is how so many socialists and communists started to justify requisitioning things from the civilian populations...?

  She sighed, inwardly. The Levellers meant well, but they could easily turn into fanatics like the Jacobins or the Bolsheviks. Anything could be justified in the name of the greater good, even mass enslavement and outright genocide. She could see the Levellers turning on the aristocrats, instead of slowly supplementing them; she could see red flags flying over burning mansions and castles shattering under heavy bombardment. She could see...

  Her eyes narrowed as she saw smoke rising in the distance. They were marching to Cool Waters... were the lead elements already engaged? Or had the enemy commander decided there was no point in trying to keep the town and set fire to it instead? She reached out with her senses, trying to tell if anyone was casting spells, but there was nothing save for the faint background hum of ambient magic.

  The army seemed to shudder, forward elements being directed into position while the rear elements were ordered to hold back and wait. Sergeants directed the supply carts into places by a hillside where they could easily be emptied – or make a run back down the road, if the enemy won the day. Too many armies had lost their campaigns, Emily had been told, because their supplies had been captured or destroyed. Her ears pricked up as she heard the sound of gunshots in the distance. Cat’s lead elements were definitely engaged.

  She hesitated, unsure as to what she should do. Cat had told her to stay with the other magicians – and she knew they needed someone who’d been in combat before. But, at the same time, she wanted to go forward and see what was happening. The sounds echoing off the hills suggested an intense gunfight, but she didn’t know. What if Cat was in trouble? What if he needed help?

  The sounds grew louder. She could see the rear elements slowly being called forward and assigned places in the assault ranks. The town couldn’t be too heavily defended, she reasoned. Cat wouldn’t thrust his inexperienced troops into a death-or-glory attack if there were any other options, while the mercenaries would refuse to carry out orders that would leave most of them dead. No, if the town couldn’t be taken quickly, Cat would lay siege to it instead. She knew it.

  Alden stumbled over to her. “My Lady... what do we do?”

  “We wait,” Emily said. She rather liked Alden. The young man – he couldn’t be much older than eighteen – was a definite nerd, the sort of person she had rarely encountered in the Nameless World. Pudgy, short-sighted... he would have come to nothing, if he hadn’t had just enough of a magical gift to be taken on as an apprentice. “They’ll call us forward if we’re needed.”

  She smiled at the younger boy and watched him blush. Caleb would like Alden, she was sure. They were cut from the same cloth, although Caleb had the advantage of more raw power and schooling. And a better set of parents too. Perhaps she could recommend Alden for the Heart’s Eye University. He would make a good student...

  “My Lady,” Alden gasped. “They’re here!”

  Emily spun around, gazing up at the hill...

  ... And the small cluster of enemy horsemen looming on the top.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “GET THE OTHERS OUT OF THEUE carts,” Emily snapped, as the enemy horsemen lowered their lances and began to charge down the hill. “Hurry!”

  She cursed their rotten luck under her breath as she reached for her magic. The hillside was a perfect place to base a supply camp... and the enemy, damn their eyes, had realized that it was also the perfect place for an ambush. Their pickets seen the army coming, of course. They’d had plenty of time to set up a trap. And no one had seen it coming.

  The enemy cavalry wouldn’t stick around. The infantrymen who were supposed to be screening the supply carts were already on their way. No, they’d just charge through the carts, destroying everything they could before fleeing. They were in for a nasty surprise if they started hurling explosive potions or fireballs into the carts, and they wouldn’t survive to understand what they’d done, but it would probably force Cat and the remainder of his force to withdraw before the ammunition ran out. Emily cursed, again, as she cast the first fireball. She would have to take the risk of fighting too close to the gunpowder for anyone’s peace of mind.

  She gritted her teeth as the fireball struck the lead cavalryman and exploded harmlessly against his armor. Charmed armor, of course. Randor wouldn’t want his noble horsemen to be exposed to sorcerous attack. Their aristocratic lives would be at risk. Emily swallowed, then directed a stream of hexes and curses against the horses and the ground under their feet. The cavalry charge broke up in disorder as the horses staggered, some turning to flee while others collapsed under the impact. Emily had a fleeting impression of a man in armor being thrown through the air, flying over the carts and crashing to the ground on the far side. The force of the impact alone would be enough to kill him.

  A horseman charged at her, brave or desperate. Emily hit his horse with a fireball, then jumped to one side as the howling beast crashed to the ground. The horseman stumbled, but somehow kept coming. Emily threw a stream of spells at him, overloading and shattering his armor. He glared at her, even after she stunned him. Emily wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or horrified. The cavalry were taught to charge right into the teeth of enemy positions, but now – with magic and guns – it was suicide. She could have done a great deal worse if she hadn’t been so worried about the carts.

  She sucked in her breath as silence fell, broken only by the moaning of the wounded. The cavalry attack had failed, barely. They’d probably assumed that most of the sorcerers would be at the front, where normal military doctrine put them. Emily’s lips twitched at the thought. Cat had broken the rules, probably at least partly because of what he’d seen at Farrakhan, and it had paid off for him. Emily hated to think of what would have happened if she hadn’t been there. The liberation would have failed completely.

  Something moved behind her. Emily turned just in time to see an armored figure take a swing at her with a mace. She tried to jump back, but it was already too late. The blow slammed into her wards, knocking her to the ground even though the wards absorbed most of the blow. The breath flew out of her as she hit the dirt, the figure raising his mace for another blow. She tried to muster her magic, to fight back or teleport away, but she had the feeling it was already too lat
e. She’d been caught by surprise and...

  The armored man let out an annoyed grunt, then tumbled forward. A knife was sticking out of his back. Emily blinked in surprise, then looked up. Alden stood there, looking sick. He’d buried his charmed knife in the knight’s back, killing him. It was hardly honorable – Emily was sure there would be some assholes who would give him grief over stabbing a knight in the back – but it had worked.

  There is no such thing as honor in war, she thought, as she forced herself to stand. And besides, they’ll be too many idiots willing to give him grief over killing a knight – even an enemy knight – for the method to matter.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking down at the dead man. His armor was complex, but clearly damaged. It took her a moment to realize that he must have been the man who’d been thrown off his horse. The charms woven into his armor had saved his life. “He caught me by surprise.”

  Alden sank to his knees. “I killed... I killed him. I...”

  Emily knelt beside him, unsure what to say. She’d had qualms about killing – she’d spent years trying to deny the fact that she’d killed – but she hadn’t heard anyone on the Nameless World express the same qualms. They saw nothing wrong with killing their enemies, taking comfort in the simple fact that dead men would never return to torment them again. Even Caleb had never expressed any doubts about killing his enemies. If someone started a fight – and lost – they deserved everything they got.

  “You saved my life,” she said, putting an arm around him. “And he would have killed you next.”

  Alden vomited. Emily winced, wondering what Sergeant Miles would do. Kick Alden up the backside and tell him to man up? Or hint that, perhaps, soldiering was not a good career choice? Alden wasn’t a soldier, damn it. He was a untried magician who’d put his life on the line to help his city and... and saved Emily’s life. She owed him a favor.

  “I killed him,” Alden said. “I froze and then he threatened you and then I killed him...”

  “Yes, you did,” Emily said. She stood, pulling him up with her. “And you saved many lives.”

  She led him over to the carts and motioned for him to climb inside and sit down for a little bit. It might not be the best choice, but she had no idea what else to do. She’d had the shakes after it had sunk in that she really had killed Shadye, yet she’d been all too aware that Shadye had been on the verge of doing something far worse than merely killing her and destroying Whitehall. Later... she mourned everyone she killed, but it had started to seem... unimportant. No, not unimportant. Just... distant, as if it had happened to someone else.

  A mercenary sergeant saluted her. “Lady Emily? What are your orders?”

  Emily hid her surprise at such courtesy from a mercenary. “Put a guard on that hill, then protect the supply carts,” she ordered. “Collect the armor and weapons from the cavalry troopers and add it to the common pool, then keep whatever’s left for yourselves. I don’t need it.”

  The sergeant saluted, then hurried off. Emily watched him go, feeling cold. The mercenaries would take any money they found, but she didn’t care. She would be more interested in any livery they might be wearing – it was better than a driver’s licence, to the right set of eyes – but the cavalrymen were dead. There was no point in trying to collect a ransom, although she supposed their families might pay to have the bodies returned. The mercenaries would see to that, if the bodies were recognizable. They could be trusted to have one eye open for potential profit.

  We came far too close to disaster, she thought, as the sound of shooting echoed through the air. We could have lost everything in a split second.

  She frowned as a messenger hurried up to her.

  “Lady Emily?” the messenger said. “Lord Cat and Lord Tobias request your presence.”

  “I see,” Emily said, amused. The messenger wasn’t a trained messenger, merely a young boy pressed into service. She found it rather refreshing. “I’m on my way.”

  The land around Cool Waters had been torn up badly, she noted, as she walked down the road to the town. There had been a wall, once upon a time, but it had been torn down and then hastily replaced by a wooden stockade. It didn’t look as if it had slowed Cat and his men down for more than a second or two, judging by the small piles of splintered wood on the ground. A handful of industrious soldiers were gathering them up for firewood while, beyond the makeshift barricade, others were collecting the dead bodies and lining them up for burial. There was no time to try to send those bodies back to their families. The dead had to be buried before they started to rot and spread disease.

  Cool Waters itself looked as though it had seen better days. It was larger than Emily had expected, but the two successive onslaughts had reduced some of the outer buildings to little more than piles of rubble and damaged a number of others. There was no sign of the civilian population, despite the presence of Leveller troops on the streets. The Levellers looked a little put out by the lack of welcome, although Emily wasn’t surprised. Sergeant Miles had made it clear that the first few hours after an invasion and occupation were always the most dangerous. Jumpy troops – or men intent on collecting the spoils of war – could do a great deal of harm.

  At least they haven’t started looting, she thought, relieved. She’d seen units looting abandoned towns near Farrakhan, even though the necromantic armies hadn’t been too far away. Cool Waters has enough problems without being looted too.

  The centre of the town was surprisingly intact, save for the manor itself. Someone had burnt it to the ground, weeks ago. It was nothing more than a pile of blackened rubble. A line of gallows stood outside, rotting bodies dangling from ropes. Emily winced at the stench, feeling her skin crawl. The bodies would have to be cut down and buried – or incinerated – before they spread diseases any further.

  Cat had set up his HQ in what looked like a rich merchant’s house, although it was hard to be sure. Emily stepped through a ward – it ghosted over her, checking her identity – and into the sitting room. Cat had made a statement, right from the start. The expensive chairs had been pushed against the wall, while he and his officers sat on simple wooden stools set around a table. A handful of maps had already been unfurled and pinned to the wood.

  “Lady Emily,” Cat said, formally. “What happened?”

  “The enemy set a trap,” Emily said, flatly. “They had cavalry emplaced to take advantage of our movements. Thankfully, they weren’t expecting me.”

  “An experienced officer would have spotted the danger at once.” Gars sneered. “We could have lost the campaign in a single blow.”

  “I don’t recall you pointing it out,” Gus snapped. “You were there when the plan was discussed.”

  “You made it clear that you didn’t want my advice,” Gars snapped back. “I believe you put your faith in the determination of free people to rise up against their oppressors and create a whole new world of peace, freedom and a few less fat bastards eating all the pie.”

  Cat slapped the table. “Mistakes happen in wartime, as everyone around this table can attest,” he said. “We made a mistake, but we were lucky enough to be able to recover from it without serious losses. It was a screw-up, yet it was not a complete disaster. We survived.”

  “Through dumb luck,” Gars muttered.

  “Quite,” Cat agreed. “Now, we will bring the remaining elements within the city and return security to the streets. Does anyone have any objection?”

  “The locals will not cooperate if they see mercenaries on the streets,” Gus pointed out. “Gars and his men will have to remain outside the city.”

  “My men fought as hard as anyone,” Gars said, sharply.

  “You didn’t take point when we stormed the barricade, did you?” Gus glared. “Don’t you have the common sense to realize that you should stay out of sight?”

  “Try attacking a castle,” Gars said, ignoring the second question. “You’ll gain a new perspective on bravery.”

  “Quite,” Cat said,
again. “Gus, I want you to have your men patrol the main streets in groups of five to ten, as planned. If the locals come out, warn your men to be polite and friendly and invite them to assist us. Make absolutely certain the men behave themselves. One little incident and this town will trust us as much as we trust the aristocrats.”

  “Except the princess,” Tobias said, sounding oily. “We trust her, do we not?”

  Cat ignored him. “Gars, I want you and your men to set up a network of pickets around the town. Lord Burrows will already know about our army. I want to know when he dispatches his own army in response. Depending on its size, we will either stand and fight or fall back to Eagle’s Rest.”

  Gars thumped his fist against his chest. “I will put my best men on the job.”

  And hope you can trust them to report accurately, Emily thought. The last thing we need is a vague report of billions of men coming right at us.

  “We’ll do what we can to help any injured locals,” he added. “Emily, bring your magicians into the town. We can try to heal the wounded.”

  Emily nodded, although she had her doubts. They didn’t have a trained healer. The hedge witch was the closest thing they had to a healer and she was really nothing more than a half-trained chirurgeon with a little magic. It was unlikely they’d be able to perform any miracle cures. Emily knew a handful of healing spells, but fine-tuning them to deal with anything more serious than a broken bone was difficult.

  The meeting broke up shortly afterwards. Emily had hoped to have a quick word with Cat, but he was speaking to a town representative and clearly didn’t have time for her. She sighed, walked back to the supply camp and rounded up her magicians. Alden had had too much time to brood, she decided. A little hard work would do him good.