The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  There! the man suddenly spat, turning toward me, the vague essence of an arm pointing to the left corner of the barrier. Look! She’s penetrated the shield there!

  I hissed and frowned, but scanned the area he’d indicated, crying out as Eryn struck again, the energy from the thrust seeping through the wall and hitting my shoulder with bruising force.

  And then I saw it: a thin hole in the shield. As if someone had poked through with the tip of their knife. A thin ribbon curled out from the hole back to Eryn.

  The cold presence of the man stepped closer, close enough so I could see the color of his eyes. Tawny brown, flecked with yellow. She’s stealing your strength, Varis, he hissed. Stop her.

  I shot the man a hateful glare, spat through clenched teeth, “How?”

  His eyes narrowed in confusion, then cleared with sudden understanding. Shoulders straightening, he turned abruptly and said, Like this.

  Something slid through me, shivering up through my body—

  And then part of the shield let go, the threads parting like wisps.

  On the river, Eryn’s shoulders straightened with pure satisfaction and the eddies around her gathered for another blow. She released the hammer blow. It contained enough force to shatter the rest of the shield, to knock me flat, and it descended with horrible, hideous grace.

  A moment before it struck, the threads of the unraveled section of the shield coalesced into a small ball of dense force and shot through the needlelike hole, down the ribbon, and hit Eryn.

  At the same time, the shivering presence inside me vanished.

  Crying out, hearing an echoing cry of pain and surprise from Eryn on the far side of the garden, I seized control of the fraying barrier and threw it up in front of Eryn’s final blow.

  It landed. The barrier held for an instant, for a single in-drawn gasp, shunted part of the force aside . . . and then it shattered.

  I was crushed to the ground with bruising force, stone cutting into my hands, into my side and my face. I lay gasping, stunned, vaguely aware of cries from the other Servants, of shouts from the ever present guardsmen who’d been watching and waiting outside the garden, unable to believe that Eryn would put that much energy into destroying my shield. Anger punched through the daze, and I shoved myself up into a seated position before suddenly remembering the voice from the throne.

  I thrust myself deep, heading for the barrier of Fire. I built up a new barrier as I went, weaving the threads in a slightly different pattern, one that Eryn had taught me for use against the personalities in the throne. I held it before me like a net as I came upon the Fire, the mesh tight and not as flexible as for defense. I couldn’t believe that the Fire had weakened so much that one of the personalities had escaped, had been freed enough that he could create a semi-tangible form on the river, enough that he could seize control of the river itself through me. Whoever the man was, he’d used me, taken control of the shield I’d held long enough to rip a hole in it, to shape that power into a stone to strike out at Eryn.

  A frisson of fear for Eryn flashed through me, but I thrust it aside as I scanned the blazing white flames that contained the voices, listening to the raging cacophony on the far side. They seemed to be shrieking with laughter, the strongest close to the edge of the firewall, taunting me, belittling me. I stoked the Fire enough to send flames reaching toward them, scattered them like leaves before a wind, but they returned, the mocking laughter increasing.

  I growled in frustration, keeping the net ready, and began a methodical scrutiny of the Fire, circling it, searching for weaknesses, for areas where the wall of the Fire had thinned.

  But there was nothing. Nothing I could see anyway.

  Something Erick had said while training me on the Dredge echoed up from memory: No defense is perfect. There is always a flaw. You just have to be patient enough to find it.

  I’d used the advice on the Dredge and while guarding Borund in order to survive. But I’d always been the one searching for the flaw in someone else’s defenses.

  Now the blade was reversed.

  I found I didn’t like the feeling.

  Frowning, I concentrated and traced the scent of pungent incense on the eddies, found it residing inside the sphere of Fire, as expected. Inside, even though somehow the man had penetrated the barrier enough to take control. I could feel him watching me, could sense that there were others around him, also watching, not taunting me or screaming or howling like those voices beating against the edge of the Fire. One of those with him was the woman who smelled of oak and wine.

  Who are you? I asked, curt and demanding.

  My name is Cerrin, he said, not reacting to my anger. Then he added, Not all of the voices in the throne are your enemies, Varis.

  I glared at the seething wall in consternation, let the chaos of the voices inside roll over me, then spun and retreated. The net I’d formed unraveled around me as I went.

  “Mistress!”

  I surfaced from the river with a shudder, blinked up into the winter sunlight and the blurry faces of Marielle, another Servant, and a concerned guardsman until my eyes adjusted, then dragged myself to my knees and stood, glancing around, a pair of guardsmen reaching out to help steady me.

  “Mistress,” Marielle gasped again, eyes white with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I spat, fuming. “Where’s Eryn?”

  Marielle, the Servants, and the guardsmen stepped back.

  Any anger I’d felt for Eryn evaporated when I saw her crumpled form on the far side of the dead garden, two other guardsmen leaning over her, Laurren and another Servant kneeling at her side. Laurren rolled her onto her back as I watched and Eryn moaned.

  “What did he do to you?” I murmured to myself and I pushed through the concerned Servants and guardsmen and knelt down beside Laurren. I couldn’t see any marks on Eryn, couldn’t see any damage.

  “What did you do to her?” Laurren spat, both fear and awe in her voice.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Eryn moaned again, and her eyelids fluttered open, wincing at the sunlight. She brought one arm up to shade her eyes. “What happened?” she asked, but then she seemed to remember, her eyes focusing sharply on me. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  My stomach knotted. I didn’t want to admit to her that it had been one of the voices. Didn’t want to admit to myself what that might mean.

  So I let the anger surface, let it color my voice. “I didn’t learn to do anything. I did what I had to in order to survive, as I’ve always done.” I sat back, giving her room to sit up, waving the uncertain Servants and guardsmen back. She reached out one arm for support. I caught it before Laurren could, helped her steady herself. “I was winning,” I said, “but then you cheated.”

  “Cheated!”

  “You started draining away my strength!”

  “That’s not cheating,” Eryn huffed. She struggled up from where she sat on the stones, brushed the dust and dirt off her white dress. “In a true battle, do you think your opponents are going to show you all their tricks before they attack? Of course not! They’re going to do whatever it takes to win.”

  I scowled, but there wasn’t much force behind it. There had never been any rules on the Dredge, I didn’t know why I expected rules here in the palace. “You almost killed me with that last blast.”

  Eryn’s face suddenly paled. “Oh, gods! I never meant for the blow to fall, at least not with that much force behind it. I meant for it to frighten you, but at the last moment I was going to pull it back, hit you with enough to knock you off-balance. But then that . . . that dart of power punched me in the gut along my own conduit and I lost control.” She paused, the corners of her eyes tightening in what I’d come to recognize as a sign she was using her Sight.

  After scanning me thoroughly, she relaxed.

  “I don�
�t see any permanent damage. But I’m surprised you survived it so unscathed.” She frowned, then added in a considering voice, “You must be much stronger than I initially suspected.”

  I grunted, trying to hide the satisfied grin that tugged at the corners of my mouth. “What did I do?” I asked.

  Eryn didn’t answer, seemed suddenly to become aware of the Servants and guardsmen watching and listening closely. She scowled. “Break up into pairs as usual,” she barked, motioning toward the Servants. “Marielle and Laurren, walk among them and help out where necessary.”

  After a pause, the Servants began to drift away, animated conversations instantly breaking out in lowered voices, glances shooting toward me. Marielle gave me a tentative smile, then caught Laurren’s arm. But Laurren refused to budge.

  “I’m fine, Laurren,” Eryn said. “Go help the others.”

  Grudgingly, Laurren allowed Marielle to pull her away.

  I nodded to the attending guardsmen, who drifted back to their posts on the outskirts of the garden.

  Eryn moved toward a stone bench in one corner, wincing as she went, one hand going to her side. I followed, sitting down heavily. I was hot and sweaty and covered with dirt. And I felt bruised from head to toe.

  We watched the Servants as they practiced for a moment, Laurren barking out orders to strengthen an edge, to tighten those flows, Marielle pointing out weaknesses in a soft voice, smiling and nodding encouragement.

  “So was it Cerrin? Or Atreus?”

  Eryn turned when I stiffened in shock.

  “I don’t believe you just ‘happened’ to suddenly discover how to send that dart through my conduit. I’m surprised you found the conduit at all. Someone from the throne must have helped you. So who was it?”

  My eyes narrowed defiantly, but Eryn’s gaze never faltered. I could see her exhaustion in her face, her weariness, but she still had a core of stubborn strength remaining.

  I forced myself to back down, took a deep, steadying breath. “It was Cerrin.” When Eryn only nodded, I asked, “Who is he?”

  “One of the Seven. They are the ones that created the Skewed Throne nearly fifteen hundred years ago. They are the heart of the throne, the force that binds it and holds it together. To some extent, they can control the other voices of the throne as well.”

  I thought about the group of voices I’d sensed surrounding Cerrin in the throne. The calm voices in the maelstrom. And I suddenly recalled, with horrid clarity, the creation of the throne. I’d been forced to relive it when Eryn had thrust me onto the throne months before, had felt one of the Seven’s pain as they watched the others die as the two thrones consumed them.

  I shuddered.

  “Have you felt them before today? Have they . . . influenced you in any way?”

  When I opened my eyes, I found Eryn watching me closely.

  “No,” I said, but then caught myself, thought back to that first meeting with Avrell, Nathem, Ireen, and the captains of the guards. I’d felt something then, as if I’d stepped back . . . or been pushed aside. And then there was the woman who smelled of oak and wine. “Yes. It’s happened before. But not like today. A woman tried to seize control while I was meeting with the merchants. But she simply tried to convince me to let her have control. Cerrin slipped free even while I was trying to hold him back. He’s the one who manipulated the river and sent the stone through the conduit.”

  Eryn’s eyes grew grim. “The woman was most likely Liviann, another of the Seven. As long as the other Seven are with her, she’s not a threat. But if she’s alone . . .” She shook her head. “I’m more concerned about Cerrin being able to slip past the Fire enough to seize that much control of the river. Not to mention the protective net I showed you.”

  “Can I alter the net somehow to keep him contained?” I thought back to the transparent image of the man who’d taken control, recalled the faint outlines of the clothes he wore. A long, tapered coat, the cut archaic; a yellow silk shirt with a strange neckline; breeches of the same material as the coat. And boots, the leather sides high and flared wide, folded down in a style I’d never seen before. His voice had been accented as well, the words somehow clipped, the flow of the sentences not quite right.

  “I don’t know. I’ve shown you the strongest net I know of for containing the voices.” A note of weariness had crept into her voice. She stood, began to make her way toward the open double doors to the garden, pausing only to allow the still practicing Servants to pass. “We’ll have to experiment,” Eryn continued. “Try to strengthen it somehow. Perhaps tomorrow.”

  “No,” I said, too sharply.

  Eryn glanced toward me, eyebrow raised.

  I sighed, then grimaced. My muscles were already beginning to protest. “Avrell wants to show me the construction on the new warehouse district, and the setup of the kitchen and warehouse on the Dredge.”

  Eryn nodded, forced a smile through her exhaustion, her shoulders sagging slightly. “That’s just as well,” she said. “I think I’m going to be bruised after today. A day to recover would be welcome.”

  She halted as we entered the shaded interior of the palace, then grinned. “It appears that you’re going to need the rest more than me, however.”

  Frowning, my eyes still adjusting to the shadows, I turned—

  And groaned aloud when I saw Westen leaning patiently against the far wall.

  “Ready to play?” he asked with a grin.

  * * *

  I leaned down to pick up a stray mud-brick but halted halfway, jerking upright with a gasp and a blistering curse.

  “Mistress?” Avrell asked, real concern in his voice. He’d halted a few steps ahead of me in his careful progress down the street on the edge of what used to be the warehouse district. The street was littered with stacked stone, lumber, loose rope, and mud-brick, and was coated with thick dust.

  “I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, silently sending Eryn and Westen to the deepest of hells while massaging the muscle screaming in protest in my lower back. But it wasn’t just them. Avrell had gotten tired of walking everywhere within the city and forced Marielle to start giving me riding lessons. The first lesson had been excruciating, worse than one of Westen’s training sessions. I’d hurt in places I hadn’t even known existed.

  And all of it was beginning to wear on my body.

  Avrell hesitated, but moved on. Beside me, Erick scooped up the mud-brick I’d reached for and replaced it on the nearest heap.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, pitched low so that none of the accompanying guards could hear.

  I bit off another curse and nodded. “Fine. Just a little . . . weary.”

  Erick nodded as if that explained everything, face serious. But I could feel him silently laughing underneath.

  Ahead, Avrell halted on the edge of a wide break in the buildings and streets. As we pulled up even with him, both Erick and I raised a hand to shade our eyes from the sunlight.

  “Impressive,” Erick said after a moment.

  I had to agree.

  Where the warehouse district had been reduced to charred support beams and soot-stained, crumbled stone in the fire two months before, Avrell and his labor crews had cleared a wide swath of flat land. Men, skin drenched with sweat, clothed only in breeches, were loading up carts with debris on all sides, keeping only what stone could still be used in the new construction. Everything else was being carted away, to the edges of the city, near the uninhabited northern jut of land that enclosed the harbor. I’d seen the work from my balcony and the roof of the tower over the last few weeks, but that had been from a distance, the sheer scope of the work being done somehow reduced. But here, where I could see the workers coated with char and dust from shifting the stones, hear the group leaders barking orders . . .

  “We’re just about finished sorting and clearing out the old stone, salvaging what w
e can from the lost buildings themselves,” Avrell said. “Once we’re done with that, we’ll shift the workers to laying down new foundations, or shoring up the old ones where possible.”

  “How long do you think it will take to rebuild everything completely?” I asked.

  Avrell scowled. “At this rate, all winter and most of the summer besides. But I expect that things will pick up shortly.”

  “Why’s that?”

  The First motioned toward the work crews loading up the carts. “Because we don’t have many workers right now. It’s early in the winter yet. Most people have put their own stores back and are using them now.”

  “So there’s no need to send anyone to the work lines to get the credit chips for food,” Erick said.

  “Correct. But once people’s personal stores begin to run dry . . .”

  I grunted.

  Captain Catrell had sent the city guardsmen out to warn people to ration, and that theft and hoarding of goods would be punished severely. Two houses had been raided in the first week after the announcement, the families arrested and confined, their food portioned and distributed among the warehouses being run by the merchants. At the same time, the guardsmen had announced the work policy. Men, women, and children could report to the warehouses for work details. In exchange for a day’s labor, they’d receive enough rations for a meal, which they could get in one of the kitchens the servants from the palace had established near each of the warehouses. Most women were sent to grind grist into flour, or to the communal ovens to bake the bread that would be distributed at the end of the day to the kitchens, or to repair the fishing nets for the fishing fleets, or any of a hundred other similar tasks. Some worked in the kitchens themselves, along with the children, under the supervision of the palace servants. Most of the men were sent to the warehouse district or the fishing boats, or into the forests east of the city to hunt for game or cut down timber for the reconstruction. Some joined the city guard, if they could show some skill with a sword, then were used to police the makeshift warehouses, the kitchens, and the supplies.