The Broken Throne

by Christopher Nuttall

  He seems to have recovered some of his confidence, Emily thought, sourly. Hansel had barely looked at her, but otherwise... he seemed normal. And very chatty, for someone who was playing poker with neither cards nor stake. I wonder what he has in mind.

  Alassa nudged her. Emily felt a privacy ward settle into place. “Do you think I’m making the right decision?”

  Emily hesitated. Cold logic said yes. There was no guarantee of victory if the war raged on – and defeat, of course, would spell the end of everything. And yet, she couldn’t help thinking that it was a trap of some kind, perhaps nothing more than an attempt to buy time. Randor was cunning, dangerous and unwilling to share even a scrap of power. He wasn’t going to tamely accept even the slightest restrictions. Emily rather suspected that Randor wouldn’t have made the offer without a clear idea of how he intended to cheat.

  “I think we’re going to have to be very wary,” she said, finally. “You need to stay out of his hands.”

  She frowned. If Randor captured Alassa – or her child – everything would be turned upside down. Alassa wouldn’t be kept in the Tower of Alexis, not this time. She’d be stashed somewhere out in the countryside, somewhere she’d never be found. And who knew what would happen then? Without a rallying cry, without a figurehead, the commoner armies might simply break up. Randor would secure his grip on the country without a fight.

  “We can work as many precautions as possible into the agreement,” Alassa said. “But we would be making ourselves vulnerable.”

  She dispelled the privacy ward with a wave of her hand as Bradford approached, then chatted to him about security precautions. Emily finished her dinner and glanced at Cat. He was waiting for her, an expectant look on his face. Emily rolled her eyes at him and stood, heading to the flap before someone could intercept her. They’d all want her opinion of the proposed treaty.

  And I don’t know what to say, she thought, as she stepped through the flap. There are risks and opportunities everywhere.

  Outside, the temperature was falling rapidly. She took a long breath, tasting hints of tobacco in the air, then glanced across the field to where the king’s tents sat. The sound of merrymaking drifted through the air, a mocking reminder that the king didn’t consider himself beaten. She wondered, as her eyes picked out the guards at the edge of the tent compound, just how many of Alassa’s camp followers had sneaked over to visit the king. They’d certainly want to see what the king would offer.

  “It could be the end of the war,” Cat said, quietly. “What will you do then?”

  “Go to Void,” Emily said. She’d already put the apprenticeship off once. Void had made it clear that the offer wouldn’t remain open indefinitely. “And hope that nothing happens here requires my help.”

  She winced as she stepped into the tent. Void wouldn’t let her go, once she had sworn her apprenticeship oaths. He’d tell her that she had to stay with him and learn. And that meant her friends would face whatever happened in Zangaria on their own. She wouldn’t be able to help them. Alassa, Jade and Imaiqah – and Cat, perhaps – were competent magicians and she had every faith in them, but could they outdo Randor in treachery?

  “You worry too much,” Cat said. He started to rub her shoulders, gently. “You need to relax.”

  The following day dawned bright and clear, but Emily felt nervous as she donned another blue dress and stepped out of the tent. Hardly anyone was in view as they walked across to the Royal Tent, save for a couple of junior aristocrats and a single commoner who looked to have had too much to drink the previous night. Emily eyed them both darkly. No doubt they’d drunk the barrels of ale dry celebrating an agreement that hadn’t been signed and a peace that hadn’t even begun. Merely looking at them reminded her of her mother. The nasty part of her hoped they’d have a hangover that would last for a very long time.

  Not that that ever stopped my mother from drinking, she thought, feeling a bitter pang. Her mother had climbed into a bottle rather than take care of her daughter. I wonder if she’s still alive.

  She dismissed the thought as she stepped into the tent. Alassa was already there, being fussed over by Iodine and a pair of maids. Imaiqah stood behind them, looking relieved at not having to wear a fancy dress herself. A shiver ran down Emily’s spine as she looked at them, as if someone had walked over her grave. Something was wrong. She reached out with her magic, testing the tent’s protections... everything seemed normal. Alassa and Jade had woven a complex web of spells to protect themselves while they slept.

  “Father’s messenger said he will be meeting us in twenty minutes, as planned,” Alassa said, as the maids tended her hair. “Iodine has the draft agreement sketched out.”

  Iodine held up a sheaf of papers. Emily took the papers and read them quickly, noting – to her dismay – that Iodine didn’t seem to be capable of using one word when she could use ten or more. She made a mental note to ensure the final agreement was read by a scribe before it was signed. She wouldn’t put it past Randor to sneak something in that would cancel out most of the provisions. That would really put the cat among the pigeons.

  Thomas Becket tried that, she recalled, as she handed the papers back to Iodine. The archbishop had played games with words in hopes of outmanoeuvring the king. And that ended very badly for him.

  “Well,” Alassa said. “What do you think?”

  “It seems suitable, for a draft,” Emily said. “But your father will have to sign it.”

  “I know,” Alassa said. She looked at Jade. “Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” Jade said. “Your father is already on his way.”

  Alassa looked irked, just for a second, then her face became expressionless. Emily exchanged glances with Imaiqah, feeling the sense of unease grow stronger. She tested her protections carefully as she followed Alassa into the open air, noting where Cat and Alassa’s personal guardsmen were taking up position to act – fast – if the shit hit the fan. Cat winked at her as she passed, mischievously. Emily did her best to ignore him. Her stomach was starting to churn.

  She reached out with her senses as she stepped onto the field and began the walk towards the pavilion. King Randor and two of his advisors, men she didn’t recognize, were already standing by the pavilion, unwilling to sit until their counterparts arrived. They were wrapped in protections, layer upon layer of spells... Emily felt her unease grow deeper. Alassa was protected too – they were all protected – but something kept nagging at her mind. Something she’d forgotten...

  “Stout heart,” Alassa said. It took Emily a moment to realize she was talking to Iodine. The girl might look like Melissa, but she lacked Melissa’s supreme self-confidence. “No one is going to hurt you.”

  Emily had her doubts. Iodine’s father was a Leveller and Iodine herself had worked for Alassa. She was going to be on Randor’s list of people to execute, if he managed to circumvent the truce and regain his powers. Iodine had to know it, too. Emily kept that thought to herself as they reached the edge of the pavilion. The sense of unease was growing stronger and stronger.

  We shouldn’t be here, she thought. She opened her mouth to urge Alassa to turn back, even though she knew her friend wouldn’t listen. She didn’t dare show weakness in front of her father and her supporters. Something is wrong,

  “Father,” Alassa said.

  “Alassa,” Randor said, gravely. His voice sounded... off. “Shall we sit?”

  Emily tried to peer through his glamour without making it obvious. The glamour was weird, very weird. She had no trouble seeing that it was there, even though she couldn’t see through it. Her memory was filling in the holes and...

  ... She holds Imaiqah’s dead body in her hands, feeling tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. And then she looks up and sees Melissa. She’s crying too...

  “No,” Emily said, as the memory slammed into her mind. The prediction. The demon’s prediction. Everything was falling into place. Time seemed to slow down around her. She couldn’t move. “No...”


  Randor – no, not Randor – yanked a knife out of nowhere and threw it at Alassa, aiming right at her chest. Emily struggled to cast a spell, to do something – anything – but it felt as if her legs had been turned to stone. The knife was inching forward, as if time was still slowing down... she told herself, frantically, that it would hit Alassa’s protections – or the armor layer under her dress – and bounce. And then Imaiqah shoved Alassa to one side, as hard as she could. The knife stabbed into her chest...

  ... And she fell to the ground.

  Time seemed to lurch, then return to normal. Emily felt her magic blaze with fury as she lashed out at the fake Randor. He exploded into a shower of blood and gore. His friends drew their weapons, but it was already too late. Emily killed them both, then turned to Imaiqah. Alassa was kneeling beside her, one hand resting by the wound. The knife was glowing faintly, a sickly light that hurt Emily’s eyes. The blade had been cursed...

  ... And Imaiqah was almost certainly dead.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “HELP ME PUT HER INTO STASIS,” Alassa snapped. “Jade, get the troops up here!”

  Jade was already shouting, ordering the cavalry to advance. Emily barely heard him as she bent over Imaiqah’s body. She blinked away tears as she forced herself to study the spell on the knife. It was lethal, very lethal, but it didn’t look to have been primed for Imaiqah personally. Her blood ran cold as she realized it must have been prepared for Alassa. King Randor had tried to kill his daughter and grandchild in a single blow.

  She gritted her teeth, then reached for the blade. “Cast the spell as soon as I take out the blade,” she ordered. “Don’t give her a chance to bleed out.”

  “Understood,” Alassa said.

  Emily forced herself to remember Sergeant Miles’s lectures on battlefield medicine as she tore a strip from her dress, wrapped it around her hands and took hold of the blade. Imaiqah was bleeding slowly, which she thought was a good sign, but that would change the moment she removed the knife. Normally, it would be safer to leave the blade in the wound... she shook her head. The knife was cursed. She yanked it out in one smooth motion – the curse snapped and snarled at her – and hurled it across the field. Alassa put the stasis spell in place a second later. Imaiqah’s body went still.

  “She needs a healer,” Emily said. She knew a little healing, but not enough to trust herself to try to heal her friend. The curse might already have spread into Imaiqah’s body. “I...”

  Alassa’s face was streaked with tears. “That was my father. He...”

  “He’s leaving,” Jade said. He waved a hand towards the king’s tents. Emily looked up to see a cluster of horsemen galloping away at speed. One of them had to be the king. “I’ll take the horses...”

  “No, you stay here,” Alassa ordered. She met Emily’s eyes. “Get after him and stop him.”

  “Here,” Cat called. He was sitting on a large horse. “Emily, get up.”

  Emily cursed under her breath, unsure what to do. Randor only had a handful of escorts, as far as they knew. They could run him down and kill him before he could reach his army. But it would mean leaving Imaiqah. Her friend might die the instant the stasis spell was removed or... she might already be dead. She’d heard enough horror stories about cursed blades to know that it might already be too late. The only saving grace was that the curse had been primed for Alassa, not Imaiqah. It might just be possible to counter it.

  She clambered onto Cat’s horse, feeling her dress start to tear as she wrapped her arms around his chest. Her face flushed as she realized that the cavalrymen were going to see her bare legs, but – for once – she found it hard to care. It wasn’t important. They had to run Randor down before he reached his lines or Imaiqah would have died for nothing. She found herself considering the nastier spells she knew – or ways she could warp the spells she already had – as Cat dug his spurs into the horse. The beast let out a loud neigh and started to gallop across the field. Emily held on to Cat for dear life.

  “You’d better ride side-saddle,” Cat shouted, as they pounded through the king’s camp. His servants were running around, looking panicked. They’d be lucky if they weren’t killed on the spot when the infantrymen overran the king’s tents. “Your dress is going to come apart.”

  “Just keep riding,” Emily shouted back. “I’ll be fine.”

  Cat rode like a madman, the horse pounding underneath them. Emily wanted to close her eyes so she wouldn’t see just how close they came to disaster, time and time again, but she needed to see where they were going. Randor and his handful of escorts – she wondered, numbly, if Sir Roger was amongst them – were ahead of them, galloping down the road. It looked as if Randor genuinely had kept his troops away from the field, save for a handful of bodyguards. Emily couldn’t help wondering just what he’d really had in mind. Had he thought Alassa would surrender at once? Or had he always had assassination in mind?

  The demon tricked me, she thought, morbidly. The vision she’d seen – no, the vision she’d been shown – had featured a girl who looked like Melissa. And Emily had assumed it was Melissa. But Iodine could pass for Melissa, as long as her magic wasn’t tested. The demon had shown her the truth, but without context... she pushed the thought aside, telling herself to be positive. Imaiqah is not dead yet.

  She leaned forward as the horses picked up speed. Randor presumably knew where he was going, which meant... they were racing into a trap. But they had a chance to run him down before it was too late. She carefully put together a spell and cast it, hurling the magic towards the fleeing cavalry. But the spellwork came apart before it reached its targets. Randor had protected his men well.

  I should have made a third battery, Emily told herself, savagely. She could have blown through almost any protections, short of wards powered by a nexus point, with a single overpowered spell. If I’d taken the time to make one...

  “Randor is probably the guy in the lead,” Cat said. It was hard to hear him over the rushing wind. “Can you confirm that?”

  Emily had her doubts – Randor wouldn’t be fool enough to make himself the point man – but she reached out with her senses anyway. The probe splintered against Randor’s protections, making it impossible to tell which one was actually the king. She tried to determine if one of them was wearing gold armor, but it looked as if they were all wearing silver. It crossed her mind that Randor might have sneaked off while Cat and Emily chased his cavalry, yet there was no way to be sure. The king wouldn’t go skulking in the greenwood if it could be avoided. Quite apart from the dangers, he had his dignity to worry about.

  “No,” she said, putting her mouth next to his ear so he could hear. “I can’t tell which one of them is him.”

  Cat dug in his spurs. The horse galloped harder, trees and tiny villages blurring together as the chase went on. Emily glanced at the cavalrymen following them, hoping they could keep up the pace. They hadn’t expected a long chase, even though it was what they’d trained to do. Cavalry were often used to hunt fleeing fugitives. Emily had heard enough horror stories to last her a lifetime.

  But most of those stories came from the infantry, she recalled. The infantrymen she’d met at Farrakhan seemed to spend most of their time grumbling about the cavalrymen. They might have been embellished when I heard them.

  A distant figure waved a hand. A fireball appeared out of nowhere, racing towards the cavalry. Emily narrowed her eyes, then hastily cast a counterspell. The fireball exploded into nothingness. She could feel Cat’s sudden tension. If Randor – or one of his pet sorcerers – was using magic to slow them down, it was all too likely that the king would get away. It wasn’t as if they could stop...

  “Here,” Emily said, as another fireball whooshed over their heads. Thankfully, whoever was casting the spells didn’t have very good aim. She reminded herself, sharply, not to take that for granted. It wasn’t easy to aim and fire anything accurately from the back of a horse. “Let me try...”

  She
eyed a tree, then hastily cast a series of spells before they could gallop past it. The tree yanked itself out of the ground and flew towards the fleeing horsemen. Emily sensed the king’s sorcerer trying to cancel the spells, only to discover – too late – that she’d used spells to impart velocity, rather than carry the tree towards its target. He reacted quickly, though; the moment he realized his first set of spells were useless he cast another set, using a force punch to bat the tree away before it could come crashing down on someone’s head. Emily smiled grimly as the tree exploded into sawdust. It wasn’t as if she was short of ammunition.

  “Keep going,” Cat said. “They’re nearing safety!”

  Emily nodded and started to hurl more trees. The enemy sorcerer did what he could, but it was hard to keep battering the trees away. One of them came down on a horse, throwing the rider to the ground; Cat barked orders at his men, telling them to check if the thrown man was the king. Emily doubted it, but they had to make sure. They galloped past the fallen man, Emily already readying another set of spells. Whatever reluctance she might have had to hurl trees at the enemy cavalrymen had died when Imaiqah had been wounded.

  “That wasn’t Randor,” Cat said. “You didn’t get him.”

  “I know,” Emily said. The constantly shifting network of protections was still visible in her mind’s eye. It was impossible to tell who it was centered on, but she had no difficulty telling it was there. The fallen man had fallen out of the protections when he’d been left behind. It looked as if his comrades weren’t even going to try to save him. “But we will.”