The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  I sighed. “Burn them. Like the others. Like all of the dead from the attack.”

  As Catrell motioned the waiting guardsmen into the room and issued commands, I thought of Ottul.

  I wasn’t certain how she’d react, but I’d have to tell her. She was our only connection to the Chorl now.

  * * *

  “The left flank is beginning to fail!” Liviann screamed over the roar of a thousand clashing swords and bellowing men.

  I spun my horse from the back of the melee, my armor spattered with blood and gore, my sword held high. Liviann stood on top of a low rise, overseeing the battle on the outskirts of the town of Rymerun. She was surrounded by an escort of guardsmen, all watching the field intently, runners darting back and forth, flags being raised and lowered behind them. The huge banners of Venitte snapped in the wind coming from the west.

  “The left flank!” she screamed again, her voice amplified by the river so it could be heard, and then she pointed.

  I turned, felt the line behind me surge forward, then back, felt the entire battle like a living thing, pulsing in my blood—

  And then I saw the breach, saw the line of Venittian guards failing, struggling to hold.

  But they couldn’t. Because the Chorl were attacking with the help of their Servants. Servants who weren’t supposed to be here.

  I growled, kneed the horse sharply, felt the animal’s muscles tense and then surge forward and suddenly the wind was in my face, my eyes tearing, and I could feel the pound of the horse’s hooves vibrating up into my torso, could feel the spike of adrenaline scorch through my chest.

  “Cerrin! Wait!” Liviann yelled, true panic in her voice. “Gods curse you, wait!”

  I ignored her, thrust her words away with a disdainful shrug. I could see the shifting of the battle ahead, could feel the energy of the Threads wrapping around me as I charged, shivered beneath the White Fire as it scorched along my arms, could taste the Lifeblood on my tongue. I drew the Sight around me, pulled the Threads in tight, felt the Fire building inside me—

  And then I plowed into the faltering line with a hoarse, guttural, elemental roar, sword held high as I forced a path through the Venittian lines with the Threads, then descending onto the Chorl when I broke through to their forces.

  My first swing lopped the Chorl warrior’s arm off at the elbow. He screamed, a harsh, ululating cry, and then he was trampled beneath my horse’s hooves, the animal stamping down hard, snorting, eyes wild with the scent of blood. I swung again and again, felt the blade sink into flesh, blood arcing up and out from the edge of the blade with each swing, and with each connection of steel to flesh I grunted, lips drawn back from gritted teeth, putting all the pain, all the grief, into each thrust. Steel clashed, men bellowed.

  Then I felt the Threads shift, felt the Sight gather and release.

  Men screamed, fire flared, heat shimmered on the Threads and dissipated, and I spun left. Hate surged inside me, muting everything else.

  I wanted the Servants. I wanted their blood.

  In the moment of distraction, one of the Chorl cut down my horse.

  The animal shrieked, the sound piercing the thundering roar of the battle, and suddenly I was falling sideways. I spat a curse, felt the beast slam into the mass of men on my right, felt them stagger and give way, and then I was kicking free of the stirrups, still falling.

  We slammed into the ground, the impact jarring through my bones like a hammer, rattling in my teeth, two Chorl crushed beneath the writhing horse’s side, my leg free. . . .

  But not completely.

  Pain shattered upward as it was caught beneath the horse and the ground, white hot and seething. I roared, leaned up onto my elbow and pushed hard against the horse as it shrieked again, struggling, its weight rocking away. I dragged myself out from beneath its death throes through squelching mud, the ground already soaked with blood, my leg a dead weight. I realized I was sobbing, teeth gritted against the pain, the battle still roaring around me.

  A Chorl warrior staggered out of the general fray, blood streaming from a shoulder wound. He saw me and grinned wickedly.

  He managed one step forward before I released the fire.

  He burst into flame, stumbled backward, arms flailing, body twisting until he fell over the dead horse’s body and lay still.

  Using the sword for support, point dug into the ground, I pulled myself to my feet, leg dragging behind.

  More fire gathered through the Threads, this time from three different directions.

  And they were all targeted in my vicinity.

  I pulled up a shield at the last moment, gasped as the three fires hit, clutched tight to the sword as fire boiled around me, heat seeping through the shield, fresh sweat drenching me beneath my armor. I could feel the Servants shifting position, could feel them approaching as they narrowed their focus, searching for me.

  They only had an approximate location, but it wouldn’t take them long to find me.

  Gripping the hilt of the sword tight, I drew my weight fully onto my good leg, then jerked the sword free of the earth and thrust it into the ground a step away, hopping forward. My leg twisted at the movement, fresh pain shooting up my body, but I choked the pain down, shifted, lurched forward again.

  Another pulse and my shield hissed, a glancing blow, but the second shot was dead on, fire roaring up and over my head. Men in the battle around me bellowed as they were caught in the blaze.

  Then the fire cleared, the smoke blown away by the wind, and I found myself facing one of the Chorl Servants.

  I held her black eyes, saw her own protective shield drawn tight around her, so flimsy, so easy to circumvent with one of the other four Elements. Because these women were not Adepts at all, seemed only to be able to control the Sight, some of the Threads, but nothing more.

  The Chorl Servant smiled, and I spat on the ground before her in contempt.

  Her smile turned to rage. She raised one hand, the Sight gathering into a tight knot before it, and then her gaze shifted and her smile returned.

  Four other Servants stepped clear of the battle still raging on all sides, two with seven gold earrings in each ear, the others with no fewer than four.

  I straightened. I’d assumed there were three of them. Three, I could handle, even with shields to protect them, even if they all wore seven rings.

  But five . . . ?

  I began pulling Threads to me, began strengthening my shield. My leg throbbed like a bitch, and I tasted death. Like blood and smoke mixed together on my lips.

  Rymerun suddenly felt like a trap. The Servants had lured us here, the chance to take back the town too good for us to pass up, especially with the knowledge that there weren’t any Servants here to protect the Chorl warriors.

  But that wasn’t true. They’d remained out of the battle, hidden, until they were ready to lure me away from my position, away from Liviann.

  They’d changed their strategy; they were hunting us now, instead of the other way around.

  All five raised their hands and I felt the gathering force. Grimly, I pulled my shield tight, began weaving Threads to circumvent some of their own shields. My shield wouldn’t hold for long against the concerted effort of all five, but I could take a few of them with me.

  They released and I cried out, stumbling down to my knee, weight full upon the sword. I felt my shield beginning to crumble, clenched my jaw, thought of Olivia, of Jaer and Pallin, and sent a sheet of fire out along the Threads.

  The force raging against my shield faltered as two of the Servants screamed and their attacks cut off as they were incinerated, but the damage had been done. I couldn’t sustain my shield, felt it crumbling around me, felt the heat of the remaining three Servants creeping in, edging closer, closer.

  I bowed down over the sword planted in the ground, the thought of death . . . calming. As th
e Servants’ fires began to lick my skin, I smiled.

  And then suddenly the fire ended, the focus of the Servants shifting elsewhere. With barked commands, fire arched out from my position, angled toward the hill.

  Toward Liviann.

  I surged up onto my leg, saw Liviann leading a charge of reinforcements down the hill. She deflected one of the fireballs, threw a jagged lance of lightning that sizzled into one of the Servants, body juddering as it absorbed the current—

  And then the remaining two Servants bolted, vanishing into the ranks of the Chorl like smoke, lost among the seething men.

  The reinforcements hit the line of Chorl like a ram, thrusting them back, away from my position. Venittian men streamed around me, on foot and on horseback, and then Liviann stood before me, enraged.

  “You fool!” she spat. “You bloody fool! What’s wrong with you? What in hells did you think you were doing? You were almost killed. We can’t afford to lose any of the Seven. Not now.”

  “It was a trap,” I said, and then the weakness brought on by the pain, by the effort to defend myself from the Servants, hit hard and I collapsed.

  Liviann caught me, spat a curse. “We should never have come here. We should have remained back in Venitte, defending its walls.”

  Rage filled me. “No!”

  Liviann snorted, lowered me to the ground gently, eyes already scanning the leg. I could feel her reaching for the Rose, could feel its warmth enfold her, begin to enfold me as she directed its power.

  “No!” I repeated, and grabbed her upper arm, pulled her in tight, until I was certain I had her attention. “We had to leave Venitte, Liviann. We can’t cower behind its walls and expect the Chorl to just leave. We have to stop defending and attack. If we don’t, they’ll never leave.”

  Liviann met my intensity with a doubtful frown. “You may be right, Cerrin,” she said, voice hard. “But no one on the Frigean coast will survive without the help of the Seven. You’re too reckless. Olivia and your daughters are dead. You can’t throw your life away over them. Not when we need you.”

  Then she turned her attention back to my leg and reached forward with the Rose and its warmth embraced me—

  * * *

  I woke in my chambers in the palace. My leg throbbed, as if it had been crushed beneath the weight of a horse. I shuddered at the memory, at the horror of the carnage on the battlefield. I stared up at the cloth draped from the tops of the four posts of my bed, hanging down in supple folds, and let the raw emotions wash away from me.

  As they did so, Cerrin’s words sank in.

  “We can’t stay in Amenkor,” I said to the empty room, my voice quiet. “We have to attack.”

  Chapter 4

  “I agree. We’ll have to take the battle to the Chorl eventually. Otherwise, we’re simply a target to them. A vulnerable target.” Captain Catrell gazed down the table toward me. Between us, Avrell, Eryn, Westen, and Darryn shifted in their seats. Keven stood behind me. “I’ve been meaning to approach you about this,” Catrell continued, “but we’ve been so focused on repairing the wharfs and the gates that there hasn’t been much time, or manpower, for anything significant. We’re barely manning the walls as it is.”

  “So you’re saying we don’t have enough guardsmen?” I asked.

  Catrell pressed his lips tight, one hand on the table before him. His thumb circled the tip of his middle finger as he thought. “Not at the moment. Not for an all-out assault on the Chorl’s position.”

  “Then what?” Avrell asked. “We just sit here and wait for them to attack again? We need to cut them off, establish a boundary, something.”

  Catrell nodded. “But we can’t do that right now. Darryn and I are training men as fast as we can. Once the current group is finished, we’ll have doubled our numbers. And we’ve just started a new group of militia in training. We should have a formidable force in another month, an army that I wouldn’t feel guilty about sending into battle against the Chorl.” He caught Avrell’s eye, then mine, face stern. “Throwing these men against the Chorl right now would only get them killed. It would accomplish nothing.”

  Silence descended, Catrell and I squaring off. I wanted to meet the Chorl head on. I was tired of sitting in the dark, waiting for something to happen. I wanted to take the offensive. I felt frustrated, powerless—unable to help Erick, unable to have ships repaired instantly, or walls and gates built.

  The fact that I trusted Catrell, knew that he was right, didn’t help.

  “However,” Darryn said.

  The word hung in the air, caught everyone’s attention.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We don’t have enough men to send out an army . . . but we could spare enough for a scouting party. If we do intend to meet the Chorl somewhere along the way, to make a stand, then we need to know where they are. We need information. Have they taken Temall yet? Where are their forces? Where is their supply train? How do they intend to approach us—by land or sea?”

  Catrell was already nodding.

  “We could send a ship southward,” Westen said. “Land a party near Temall, see what the Chorl are up to. We know nothing about their forces—how many men, how many ships they have.”

  How many Servants, I thought grimly.

  “Do it,” I said. “Get a group together, as many as you can spare but not so large that the party will be easy to discover.” Catrell and Darryn nodded. I could see Catrell already planning, his face set, brow slightly creased. “How long will it take?”

  Catrell shrugged. “The men can be equipped and ready to go within a day. We can outfit one of the recovered Chorl ships in about the same time once the next one is ready to sail, probably another few days. But it will take about five days to reach Temall once they sail.”

  “Keven,” I said, heard him step forward, “gather an escort. Coordinate it with Catrell and Darryn.”

  “What for?”

  “Because, when the ship leaves for Temall, I want to be on it.”

  “Absolutely not!” Avrell barked, standing abruptly. Until now, he and Eryn had remained quiet. But now his face was suffused with a stubborn glare.

  The others at the table shifted.

  “What do you mean?”

  Avrell must have heard the dangerous tone in my voice, but he ignored it.

  “You can’t go on this ship. The thought is ludicrous! Not so recently after an attack on the city. Not when the people of Amenkor are drawing all of their strength, all of their perseverance, from you. In their minds, you are the only reason we survived this past winter. You are the reason we survived the attack by the Chorl. If you leave now, with the city barely in the first stages of recovery, with the throne cracked and useless, it will strike everyone in Amenkor as abandonment, no matter what you tell them. No.” He shook his head forcefully. “You can’t leave. Not now, and especially not for something as simple as a scouting party.”

  I bristled, ready to argue with him, but glanced around at the other faces and realized that everyone at the table agreed with him.

  But the need to do something, anything, burned in my arms and legs.

  “Varis,” Eryn said, and leaned forward, reached out to grip my forearm. “Avrell’s correct. Even without the throne, you are Amenkor. You became Amenkor this past winter, in the minds of its people. And you can still keep track of the scouting party using the Fire if Catrell is there.”

  I frowned, my gaze skimming over all of them one last time, looking for support, for an ally.

  I didn’t find one.

  Even without the throne, I was trapped in the city.

  “Fine,” I said, the word curt, and still dangerous.

  Keven sidled back into position behind me. An awkward silence followed, Darryn fidgeting restlessly.

  “Mistress,” Westen said, leaning forward. “Regarding the ship . . .”
<
br />   I shot him a baleful look. “What?”

  Westen’s lips twitched with a smile; he was impervious to all of my dagger-sharp looks, he’d seen them all during our practice sessions. “I believe that Catrell should stay here. He’s needed to train the guardsmen. However, I can be spared.”

  I stared at Westen a long moment. Seekers would make much better scouts than guardsmen, and could be used for other purposes once they were there.

  “Yes,” I said, and something in the tone of my voice must have changed because everyone suddenly relaxed, tension bleeding out of the room. “How many Seekers can we spare?”

  “Enough.”

  I nodded. “Catrell, work with Westen. Let me know as soon as the ship is ready to sail.”

  * * *

  “So you want us—all four of us—to help you build a wall around the entire city, is that it?”

  I felt my jaw clench at the thick derision in Illum Forestead’s voice, but forced the anger down. I remembered him from the ceremony on the wharf, when he’d been raised to full Master, remembered Borund holding out the bright yellow jacket with dark red embroidery that he now wore.

  But I didn’t remember this blatant arrogance.

  Settling back into my seat in the audience chamber, I suddenly wished I’d called all four of the new merchants into attendance in the throne room. Even cracked, the throne would have lent me more weight than simply having Avrell and Keven at my side. I could feel Avrell’s anger at Illum’s temerity, a throbbing pulse of darkness on the river. “That’s exactly what I want.”

  Illum snorted. “And what do we get out of it?”

  Jack Trevain almost gasped, his look of horror only slightly more open than Walter Davvens’ and William’s.

  “Protection,” I said, before anyone else could respond. “Your assets would be protected from any further attacks if we had a wall enclosing the city. The warehouses are already protected from a sea approach; however, they are outside of the current walls. They’re vulnerable to a land attack.”

  Illum frowned. “I can protect my resources myself, if necessary. What else can you give me?”