The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  “Cut the crap, Lust, the boss is here.” Doyle recognised the rangy archer’s voice.

  “You got him?” Someone new spoke with sharp authority. Both archer and big ugly answered, “Yes boss.”

  “Good. Bring him over by the fire so I can see him.” Doyle wriggled and cried out as Lusty hauled him to his feet and dragged him over to the fire as though he was made of feathers. This was not looking good.

  Lusty shoved Doyle to the ground. The boy rolled and glared up at a stranger who watched him calmly from a seat constructed of burlap and twisted wicker. A hard-faced, intelligent-looking man, long hair tied behind his back and dark sardonic eyes surveying Doyle as though he were the latest catch in Calprissa Harbour.

  “Who the fuck are you?” The man’s voice was rough, as though he smoked too much pipe weed.

  “D-Doyle, I’m a scout.”

  “Is that right?” The newcomer gazed coldly down on Doyle as his men chuckled behind. “I think you are a spy, D-Doodle. Some wretch in Caswallon’s pay, at large in the land creating mischief.“

  “Not so, I’m a loyal scout serving Queen Ariane!” Doyle yelled the queen’s name and wished his voice hadn’t sounded so squeaky. Even so, it gave him a modicum of courage. “You are in her country, so you had best be careful.”

  More laughter. “Don’t tell me there are more scouts of your dangerous nature and evident skills lurking about this countryside?” Hard face almost cracked a smile. Almost.

  Doyle blinked suspiciously. “Are you taking the piss?”

  “Yes, Doodle, I’m taking the piss. Now sit up and tell us why you are here and how you’ve managed to keep your head on your shoulders with Caswallon’s creeps patrolling the countryside.”

  Doyle blinked and struggled to his knees. He had no idea who these men were but obviously they were not friends of Caswallon. Things were suddenly looking better. And things improved further when Lusty appeared, ruffled Doyle’s worried head and shoved a plate of hot beans in his shaking hands.

  “Eat up, Doodle, you’re part of the team now.”

  After his meal, Doyle told the strangers everything he knew.

  ***

  Dazaleon crouched as water dripped on him from above. His head still throbbed from the beating he’d received two days earlier. They’d stormed Her temple—Perani’s men. He’d floored four with his staff, but the others had knocked him senseless—though not before Dazaleon saw what they did to Her effigy.

  He’d watched choking in pain as they had tossed ropes up and hauled down the stature of Elanion. He’d felt the mosaic floor shudder as Her graceful features tottered into the stone, exploding and splintering all around, spraying him with marble shards and rubble.

  Once the Goddess effigy had fallen they turned on the other gods with hammers and hooks, until each and every one was pulled down to ruin. It was at that point that Dazaleon lost consciousness.

  He’d woken in pain, discovering himself lashed to a chain hook, which kept him upright and prevented any further chance of sleep. But that was of small account to Dazaleon. Sleep brought dreams, and the only dreams he could expect would be filled with sorrow and condemnation. He had failed, and now his queen had lost her city.

  Perani’s men had told him Ariane was dead. “Buggered and butchered outside Calprissa’s walls,” were the words they chose. Dazaleon knew they were lying. But what chance did she stand now Wynais had fallen? A rebel queen chased from every corner of her country. Word was Calprissa had fallen as was to be expected, though before his capture Dazaleon did hear a rumour that the over-proud Derino was dead—something to be thankful for.

  Perani had paid visit during the last night, accompanied by guards bearing torches. The general had surveyed Dazaleon with cold silence.

  “You will pay a high price for this felony,” Dazaleon had told the general. Perani had smiled and motioned the guards set upon him again until his aching limbs and chest were bloody with belt welts and shallow cuts.

  “You, priest, are soft in the head like the rest of your people. For years Kelthaine has protected your silly little country. Caswallon would have continued to do so had not your immature queen acted so hostile toward him. Well, Ariane has deserted you and her city. It was one of her senior officers that came to his senses and let my soldiers inside your walls.”

  “A traitor.” Dazaleon mouthed the word like venom between his bleeding swollen lips.

  “An opportunist, and someone you know quite well, I believe.” Perani smiled ever so slightly.

  Dazaleon pulled his ravaged body erect until the ropes cut into his wrists. “Who?” he demanded.

  Perani’s smile broadened. “Yail Tolranna. The new Lord of Wynais; I am just smoothing the way for his transition.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Perani shrugged. “What care I for what you believe, high priest? You have failed; both your goddess and your queen have left you here to rot. A sad story, old man.”

  “The Goddess blast your bones, Perani of Kelthaine! Listen to me when I tell you that you are marked for violent death. And soon! You have committed the unthinkable, and there is no way back for your blighted soul.”

  “Maybe so.” Perani’s hard gaze narrowed. “But you, Dazaleon of Wynais, are a fool and will shortly be a dead fool. Come!” Perani signaled his men. “Leave him here to rot in his self-gloom. I’ve more important matters to attend.” Perani waved his men follow him back down the dripping, torch-lit passage of Wynais’s only oubliette.

  Since then Dazaleon had been left to his thoughts. Tolranna? A traitor? It beggared belief. But then Yail had been acting odd of late. Very edgy and prickly—though he’d never been easy company, unlike his younger brother Tamersane.

  Dazaleon had put that down to his new responsibilities as Captain of Guard. That and fretting about his queen, who Dazaleon knew Tolranna loved. So why betray the queen you love? What kind of madness had overcome Yail Tolranna? Despite his discomfort and pain, the sheer grief from Perani’s words wore Dazaleon down until exhausted, he slumped upon a deep, turgid sleep.

  ***

  While Dazaleon slept uneasy in the dungeon below, Yail Tolranna paced the walls of Queen Ariane’s spacious and deserted courtroom. Tolranna could find no rest. He was torn by guilt at what they’d done to Dazaleon. Perani had promised the old man would be treated with dignity. Instead they had set upon him and hurled him in the oubliette. Perani had just laughed when Yail protested.

  “Shut up, lest you join him,” the hard–eyed general had said. Since then Yail had watched on as Perani’s ex-Tigers swiftly and brutally curtailed any would-be rebellion. There were no killings that Tolranna had witnessed, but a deal of beatings and other nefarious behaviours. The Kelwynian defenders were promptly relieved of their weapons and explained who the new boss was. Like it or die—the only choice they got on the matter.

  “I thought I’d find you here.” Perani’s broad frame showed between the doors of the courtroom blocking the light from without. “Still moping, Tolranna? You should be pleased, since I’ve done all your dirty work.”

  Yail watched as Perani strode across the courtroom and took his seat in the empty throne. “I’ve often wondered what it’s like to be a ruler. Some men crave it. Not me, too many responsibilities. I already have enough of those.” Perani rubbed his palms along the arms of the throne. “Apparently, you are one such, yes?”

  “No, Perani, I’ll not let you twist my actions. I did what had to be done to save my people, since their queen deserted them.”

  “The queen that you love? I heard she’s dead. But if she’s alive she’ll want your head on a plate. And I don’t blame her. You’re a strange one, Tolranna. A coward methinks.”

  Yail turned and resumed his pacing to and fro. “Are you going to release Dazaleon?”

  “No,” Perani smiled. “You are.”

  Yail relaxed visibly hearing that. He slumped his shoulders and stopped his pacing, instead leaning out from the closest window ledg
e and watching the city below. Behind him, Perani jumped to his feet with a fluid grace that would shame a man half his age.

  “Do you know Caswallon sits on the Glass Throne, way up in Kella?” Perani’s voice was chillingly quiet.

  Tolranna turned, awarded the general a quizzical glance. “What of it?”

  Perani shrugged. “Just saying. Thrones are dangerous places to sit, Tolranna. I’d have a care if I were you.”

  “You were the one sitting just now. And I told you I acted out of need! I do not desire power, but someone has to rule Kelwyn. I appreciate how powerful Caswallon has become, unlike Ariane. I don’t want him as my enemy. It’s common sense!”

  “I don’t like thrones. And I don’t like kings either.” Perani joined Tolranna by the window and watched down on the city below. “And I don’t much like you Yail Tolranna. Turncoats are the worst of men.”

  Tolranna made to reply but froze seeing the dagger in Perani’s left hand. Before he could react the general spun the blade around his fingers and thrust it point deep into the wooden windowsill an inch from Tolranna’s index finger.

  “You will need this for your next task.” Perani bid Yail tug the knife free of its purchase in the wood.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I said you are to free Dazaleon. So… go and free him. Open his veins and let him escape his miserable existence.”

  “I…cannot…do that.”

  “Why not? You’ve betrayed your country and your queen. Why not your high priest too? It’s a pattern. Besides, Caswallon demands a show of loyalty from his preferred new ruler in Kelwyn.”

  Tolranna’s face had blanched to ivory. “I will not do this thing. I am a man of honour! Dazaleon is the wisest of men.”

  Perani’s hand snapped out with cobra’s speed, his stubby fingers deftly twisting the dagger from Yail’s grip and then sliding the blade to rest under the other man’s chin. “You will kill your high priest, Yail Tolranna, or else I will take your life instead. It’s your choice.” Perani pricked the soft flesh under Yail’s chin and a spot of blood showed on the window ledge. “You understand me?”

  Tolranna nodded.

  “Good. Once that job’s done you’re free to handle this city as you like. I have a rebellion to crush up in Kelthara. But I’ll leave a few lads to keep an eye on you. Caswallon will be keen to see how his new protégée in Kelwyn is doing.

  “Now, take the knife and do the deed, and we can all be about our business.” Perani let the dagger drop. It landed point down in a crack between stones. Seconds later, the general had left the room. Tolranna sank to his knees and wept. Once his tears ran dry, he retrieved the dagger and took urgent steps down to the oubliette below.

  ***

  Dazaleon watched Tolranna enter the dingy room where he stooped in chained pain. The High Priest saw the self-loathing in Tolranna’s face and knew what was coming. But like Perani he had small pity for this boy.

  “Perani got you to do his dirty work, didn’t he?” Dazaleon noted how Tolranna’s face was wet with tears. “Best get to it, boy. You don’t want to upset your new masters. They are not the forgiving type.”

  “Dazaleon…Lord, I respect you more than any other. I didn’t want any of this to happen. Ariane’s wildness has left me no choice.”

  “There is always choice.”

  “Not for me.” Dazaleon watched as Tolranna slipped the dagger from his belt and held it at his throat.

  “I weep for you soul, Yail Tolranna. Truly it is lost.”

  “I know,” Yail replied as he plunged the dagger point deep into Dazaleon’s neck and slid the edge across, allowing the high priest’s blood to jet forth, splashing walls and assailant until they glistened crimson in the torchlight.

  Chapter 5

  The Dead City

  Smoke veiled the southern skyline, darkening the leaden horizon to inky blue. Above her head, a skein of geese wended south beyond smoke and fallen city. Nobody spoke as they watched Fassof steer the skiff into the reeds and lash a swift stay to a knotty bush. Shallan stared with glazed eyes as her five companions vacated the boat amid shuffles and grunts—mainly from Taic and Sveyn. Zukei glanced back at Shallan, who still perched anxious on the wet bench.

  “You ready, Duchess?” Zukei’s voice was a frog croak through the reeds.

  “Yes.” Shallan’s reply was barely audible. Zukei nodded approval and turned. Within seconds the dark-skinned woman had vaulted from the skiff leaving Shallan there alone. She shrugged, struggled to her feet and with heavy heart and limb clambered ashore.

  They were three weeks out of Calprissa. Far away, Corin an Fol and Tamersane gazed out at the wide plains of Rorshai. West from there, Queen Ariane draw her plans against Perani in Wynais, and somewhere south of that the lost prince Tarin, his mentor Zallerak, and the archer Bleyne wandered the wilderness.

  Shallan knew nothing of these matters. Theirs had been a long cold voyage with seas worsening and gales buffeting the timbers. But they’d encountered no pirate craft, neither any trader or else fishing skiff. They had been alone on the ocean, this world’s troubled events happening elsewhere.

  Shallan had kept herself busy writing a journal, learning sheet and sail craft, and even aiding Ruagon in the galley—anything rather than dwell on the events back in Calprissa. There her father had died and a part of her soul died too. She didn’t think about the Assassin, still at large somewhere. Nor did Shallan dwell overlong on Corin an Fol, the man she loved. It was too painful—the thought that he might be lost too, despite cheerful Barin’s assurance otherwise.

  She had smiled once during that voyage when they raised the cliffs of Fol—Corin’s homeland. During that sunny afternoon, Barin had made her laugh recounting his first meeting with Corin in the Longswordsman’s town called Finnehalle. They’d rounded cape Fol that sunset and had steered east into the night, and as those cliffs darkened so did Shallan’s mood.

  After that the rains had come, washing timbers clean and driving her below decks. Slate skies had brooded low over the land in the distance. They’d passed the hills of Kelthaine surrounding Kashorn harbour, the village rain-obscured from view, though Barin told her what had occurred there too.

  After that, the high ridge of cliff known as the Strain had flanked their south, a grim cloud-wracked wall. Beyond that waited poor troubled Morwella, her fallen land. They’d sailed close to Irodo Island, where Shallan had spent long sunny summers as a child. She felt a memory like the island, passing as mist to the north as they sailed by.

  Then the Strain fell away and they veered south into Vangaris Bay. That had been yesterday afternoon. Barin had bid Fassof hide The Starlight Wanderer in a deep cove, hidden from without by pine and bluff. From there the land-bound party had sailed Barin’s skiff south for several hours until she lay to, close to the pale stones of silent Vangaris. It had been Shallan’s idea to come here despite Barin’s protestations.

  “I cannot pass the city without knowing if any of my people yet live, Barin.” Shallan’s cold expression left no room for argument. Barin was sympathetic but considered it an unnecessary risk to enter the city.

  “There might still be enemies within,” he’d warned.

  “Even so, I will do as I must. I am Duchess now, at least until I find out if my brothers still live. Zukei will protect me; you others have done enough already.”

  “Shallan, I—”

  “Please, you do not have to do this, Barin. Your home lies north away, and I know you must be missing those girls.”

  Barin had snorted derision through his nose. They’d been through this several times. “Me and these lads are coming, lass. Mrs Barin would flatten my earholes were she to discover I’d let you roam these parts alone, or with just Zukei helping you,” he’d added quickly, seeing the glint in the fiery woman’s eyes. Zukei had pledged her aid to Shallan after Calprissa. Though worlds apart, these women were fast friends.

  Zukei stood with Fassof now as the mate untied the line and vau
lted back on board the skiff. Shallan wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but it seemed that Zukei’s hand had brushed the mate’s arm before she turned away.

  “You take care, Fierce Eyes,” Fassof grinned at Zukei from the deck of the skiff. The young woman glared back at him.

  “What’s that to you skinny man?” Zukei’s lips parted to reveal the briefest hint of a feral grin.

  “Nothing really.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Zukei’s grin broadened and Shallan wondered if she’d been missing something these last weeks. Now Barin’s bulk closed the gap between her and the other two.

  “Give my love to all back home.” Barin waved the mate get going. “Tell Marigold I’ll be back by spring. In the meantime we’ve a castle to defend.” Fassof waved and guided the skiff back into deeper water.

  Barin awarded Shallan a thoughtful look. “Still want to put yourself through this Duchess? It’s not going to be pleasant.”

  “I know,” Shallan nodded tersely. “And thank you for tolerating my quirks. This isn’t your fight, Barin.”

  “It is now. Besides, Redhand will be out there somewhere. My cherished foe and I have a debt to call, and I suspect we’ll get a chance during the fight at Car Carranis. But one city at a time. We’ll wait till dusk, it won’t take long in this gloom.”

  Two hours later, Barin had led them through the reeds hugging the south side of Vangaris Bay, until three miles farther, and under the cover of moonless night, the city hinted shapes in the middle distance.

  At a word from Barin, Zukei flitted ahead. She was gone a half hour and Shallan was starting to fret when her lean face appeared inches away and made the duchess jump. Zukei’s expression was grim.

  “They are all dead,” the dark woman whispered. “Butchered like cattle at market. There are women…children. You do not need to do this, Shallan.”

  “Oh, but I do. They are my people, Zukei.”

  “Any barbarian scum still around?” Cogga’s hard face loomed out of the murk. The ship’s grumpy carpenter had insisted on accompanying his nephew Sveyn and Barin’s nephew Taic, whilst insisting someone had to keep an eye on that pair. Barin hadn’t objected. Cogga was a tough bastard and very useful with a knife.