The Glass Throne (Legends of Ansu Book 4)

by JW Webb

  “I am Death,” the stranger said before dancing lithely inside the soldier’s guard and opening his throat with a single sharp slice from his dagger. Then the killer turned to gaze at the second soldier, still sobbing as he clutched his spewing wrist.

  He kicked the man again and then stamped hard on his neck snapping the bone. The second soldier twitched and then lay still. The soldier’s killer reached over and poured himself a glass of port from the decanter supplied for the soldiers. He took a long swig and then smiled at Hagan.

  “Took your time getting here,” Rael Hakkenon said. He winced at the blood-drenched floor. “Bit of a mess here. May happen we should retire someplace quieter.”

  “May happen,” nodded Hagan, and followed the Assassin out of the door. Minutes later, the innkeep crept back into the room. He’d heard who was in town and had taken no chances when he saw the hooded stranger arrive.

  Rael knew Port Wind well from his raiding days. He led his companion through a tangle of streets until they reached a scruffy looking inn at the water’s edge. “Care for a brandy?” the assassin asked Hagan.

  Hagan nodded, and the two ventured inside to split a flask. After a long moment studying the deserted room, the Assassin turned toward his companion and awarded him his special look. “So. You have something to tell me.”

  “I do.” Only now did Hagan notice the index finger was missing from Rael’s left hand. His face was badly scarred too, and his nose —like Hagan’s—had been recently broken. No small accomplishment to inflict such damage on the most feared man in western Ansu. “I have news of a certain party’s movement.”

  “Why not impart that to Caswallon or his goblin?”

  “I’m not in their good books. Besides I’m sick of that fucking goblin.”

  Rael nodded slightly. “That’s understandable.”

  “I’ll not work for Caswallon again. Not directly.”

  “Yes, I heard how you fucked up in the desert.” Rael smiled at his brandy. “And now the Tekara is whole again and Caswallon hopping furious with this new wizard kicking up stink.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “Just saying.” Rael sipped whilst his cool green gaze mocked Hagan. “So, tell me what you know, and I’ll do all I can to get you reinstated with the big man in Kella City.”

  “Fuck Caswallon.” Hagan slammed his brandy on the table. “I want revenge, Assassin—as do you!”

  “For what?”

  “For this!” Hagan fingered his badly broken nose. “That and more besides. I want that bastard Longshanks, Corin an Fol, split open from toe to tuft.”

  Rael’s cat eyes narrowed dangerously. “Tell me of this Corin an Fol. I heard you two were acquainted in the past.”

  “Aye, we were. Down in Permio during the wars. Corin and me shared some stiff times, back then.”

  “Back when you were friends.”

  “We were never friends.” Hagan gulped at his brandy and belched. “We were allies in a bloody, stinking, fly-infested dangerous place. As northerners it made sense to stick together. And Corin does have certain skills with that five-foot meat cleaver he drags about.

  “But this latest business with the crown,” Hagan shook his head. “I’ve seen things—unnatural things. Something is going on here that is way bigger than any of us. The wizard is an Aralais, one of the golden people. I never believed in such folk and yet I’ve seen him and the other lot. They are all planning something very nasty in my opinion. And in some crazy way it seems to centre on Corin. Don’t ask me how I know this—I just do.”

  Rael snorted into his brandy. “You’ve spent too long in that desert. I will terminate Longshanks and you can get me the lady. That way this partnership will work out for both of us.”

  “She sailed north with Barin of Valkador, making for Vangaris.”

  “I heard that city is no more.”

  “I heard that too. My country Morwella is overrun. Doubtless she will make for Car Carranis. As will Corin an Fol, I have good reason to believe.”

  “Then you had better pack your bags for a long journey.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll go see Caswallon, get the latest, then return to Crenna. Once there, I’ll round up some heavies to join us at Car Carranis. And Hagan…”

  “What?”

  “Don’t kill hurt Corin until I get there. Locate him and the lady Shallan. I want them both and I want them alive.”

  “And I want gold as well as vengeance—that way you and I will get on just fine.”

  “In the short term.” Rael awarded Hagan his beautiful smile. He reached into a hidden pocket up his sleeve and produced a small pouch. “Thirty crannels—should keep you going for a while.”

  Hagan grinned and reached for the pouch.

  Rael’s good hand snatched it up before Hagan could retrieve it. “Don’t for one minute, Hagan Delmorier, consider yourself in my league.” Rael drained the brandy flask and stood up. “I bid you goodnight.” He tossed the pouch on the table.

  Hagan masked his shudder well and retained his blithe expression “My best wishes to Caswallon and the goblin!” Rael nodded and left him to his thoughts.

  Hagan smiled. He didn’t trust the Assassin for one blink, but they had a lot in common. On his own, he was a rogue wolf; sooner or later his luck, which hadn’t been great lately, would run out completely and he’d be gutted in some alleyway. But with Rael alongside, and a new crew funded by him, plus the Assassin’s men—things would be sorted at last. One small matter troubled Hagan.

  Car Carranis was rumoured surrounded by a horde of barbarians. How to convince them he was an ally without having his throat slit? That was something to work on as he made his way across the winter hills of Kelthaine. But now for another flask of brandy.

  Chapter 14

  Night Raid

  “A cold night, my lord.” Ralian leaned forward and scanned the campfires winking in the fields below. By his side, Starkhold stood motionless and unyielding as the granite walls surrounding him. Ralian kept a calm demeanour, but inside he fretted. It was two hours before midnight and he needed his general to retire so he could get the gates open. “Going to get colder too,” Ralian muttered.

  “You know what I value most in this life?” Starkhold’s grim bark cut through the evening as his grey eyes locked on his captain. “Loyalty.” Starkhold smiled briefly and returned his peruse to the distant fires. “It has to be loyalty, Captain. Without trust we tumble into an ocean of lies.”

  “Indeed so, sir.” Ralian rubbed his mittens and banged fresh snow free from his boots. “The men are steadfast; they will not break.” He felt uncomfortable standing there in the bitter chill, blinking as fresh snow whirled in from the night.

  “But others might.” Starkhold turned and rested an iron-gloved hand on his second’s armoured shoulder. “I need you to be strong, Ralian. These newcomers will cause trouble—I feel it. They mean well but know not the situation. I expect you to keep a keen eye on both Barin of Valkador and the Morwellan lady.”

  “You mean the duchess?” Ralian’s eyes glinted at the snow.

  “She is just a girl, and therefore liable to do something rash. Barin too—with his arch-foe so close by.” Starkhold stroked his beard and shook snow from his cloak. “I take my leave, Ralian. As ever, alert me at once should anything occur. And Ralian…”

  “My lord?”

  “I want those Northmen watched. They are as unpredictable as their cousins outside these walls. Redhand and Barin are related—never forget that!”

  Starkhold awarded Ralian a bleak look and then nodded. “I bid you goodnight.” Within minutes, he’d vanished into the gloom below. Ralian waited a good half hour until his aide joined him puffing on the battlements.

  “You followed him?”

  “Yes, Captain, the general has retired to his chamber. He looked weary—I doubt we’ll see him ere morning.”

  “I pray that you are right, Farien. I do not like having to do t
his.”

  “The guard are with you, Captain. They await word on the gates.”

  “What of Lady Shallan and the others?”

  “They are shivering in the north barbican, awaiting your signal.”

  “Then it is time we gave it! Alert the sentries, open the left gate just enough for them to slip out unnoticed.”

  “Your wish, Captain.” Farien turned on his heels and climbed swiftly down from the battlements. After a worried moment hesitating, Ralian followed and watched as his aide entered the north barbican. Moments later, he heard the creak of gate and the soft thud of boots on snow. The die was cast. It was too late to go back now.

  ***

  In the end, Sveyn had stayed with Barin. That boy’s temper once roused could prove disastrous in the Leeth camp, plus Barin needed one of his men to seek out Fassof and his ship, should all else fall down. But neither Barin or Sveyn was happy about the decision. Both watched glum and silent as Shallan and Zukei and Taic and Cogga trudged away from the walls and were soon swallowed by night.

  “Elanion watch over that lass,” Barin mumbled stumbling over the words. “She is like a daughter to me.” Barin blinked a tear from his left eye and cursed the fact he was getting old and soft.

  Sveyn flashed him a savage grin. “She’ll be all right. That Zukei will keep her from harm. She’s a hella—worth a hundred of those bastards out there!”

  “You are right, but I am not used to inaction. This waiting in the cold dark will wear me thin.”

  “What do you suggest we do to kill the time?”

  “Get drunk.”

  “Is that wise?” Farien the aide loomed out of the doorway where he’d been lurking with open ears. “You are aware of Starkhold’s ale restriction.”

  “Let it be, Farien.” The aide shrugged indifference as Captain Ralian entered the barbican hall where Barin and Taic and a few guards lurked together with Farien. “I too feel the need for something strong this night, for the outcome—whether good or bad—will most likes change this war. So be a good fellow and go get the brandy.” Farien nodded and departed without further word.

  “Well, my friends, let us warm our weary bones as we conduct this dark vigil.” Ralian raised his tankard of ale in one hand and the brandy flask in another. “Here’s to the duchess and her brothers!”

  ***

  They stole like thieves from the city walls, their boots crunching snow the only noise. The cold gnawed at Shallan’s fingers and her feet felt like icy lead. But her heart was hot and beating fast, as fear, excitement, and anticipation pulled her every which way.

  It wasn’t long before the first hint of pointed tents blurred into view. Around their heads snowflakes danced and whirled, and Shallan pulled her cloak hood low over her face, lest they impair what vision she had.

  Zukei prowled like a questing panther, leading the way forward whilst threading through the chaotic cluster of tent and guttering campfire. Taic followed with axe and sword in hands and wild-eyed stare.

  Shallan kept close to Taic’s bulk. She gripped her horn at her waist with one hand whilst holding the bow with the other. She had a long curved knife in her belt—a parting gift from Captain Ralian. Last up, Cogga hoisted a double-headed axe and glared into the gloom; at his waist seven throwing knives glittered whenever they drew close to the fires.

  Those fires were everywhere, winking at them like dull red eyes. Shallan dared not dwell on how many men lay sleeping close by and beyond. They saw no guards; mercifully the Leethmen were so confident they hadn’t bothered posting any. For good reason, Shallan thought wryly. Only a crazy person would attempt something like this. But as she stalked with her companions deeper into the enemy camp, Shallan felt a wild freedom she’d never encountered before.

  I am the huntress—let the hunt commence!

  Zukei led them up and on through the maze of snow-clustered tents. She was confident and precise and knew when at last they drew near to their destination. Ralian’s brave scouts had ascertained the location of King Haal’s personal guard, over two hundred prized warriors who kept their tents close to the king and his sons.

  These were on the higher ground rising north from the Gap of Leeth. Zukei halted on seeing a limp banner on a pole loom at them from just ahead. She flashed her teeth at it. “We’re here,” Zukei whispered.

  They had reached King Haal’s feasting tent. Zukei squatted low and bid her companions hustle close. Ahead, Shallan could just make out a circle of much larger tents surrounding a huge marquee. Ahead of that were raised three tall poles, each topped by a horse’s skull. She shivered—no going back now.

  “That is the feasting hall for Haal’s chosen warriors,” Zukei hissed in her ear. “That is where your brothers will be. Are you ready for this, Duchess?”

  Shallan nodded, “I am.” She glanced at Taic and Cogga, who nodded too. Taic winked at her, and she felt a wash of gratitude to these brave friends willing to die at her side.

  “Let’s do it!” Shallan hissed, and Zukei nodded. The dark woman sprang to her toes and motioned; they followed her in silence toward the looming canvas. They entered the feasting hall and froze in the entryway.

  The first thing that hit Shallan was the smell: a pungent combination of red smoking faggots, spilt ale, stale farts, and wet dog. Shallan blinked back tears brought on by the stench. To her right, Taic held back a sneeze, whilst behind him Cogga fastidiously wrapped a kerchief around his nose. Zukei ignored the aromatic blends as she took stock. Eventually, Shallan’s eyes accustomed to the heavy atmosphere and moist gloom. She looked around.

  There were a few lanterns hanging from canvas and pole. These cast winking shadows on shaggy prostrate figures. Some lolled from benches with dripping tankards still in hand. Others snored supine on tables, whilst most lay strewn about the floor, many of these with their brawny arms wrapped around a half-naked sleeping wench.

  Hounds lolled and blinked, as lazy as the rest. Taic unravelled the small package he’d carried under his cloak. He grinned and tossed the sausages at the hounds, which blinked, stood with wobbly legs, and then went to investigate. Zukei signalled them to follow her deeper into the hall.

  Shallan shuddered as she tripped over the legs of a prostrate warrior. She froze as the man stirred, blinked, and then rolled over and commenced snoring again. She moved on, stealing cat-lithe through the muggy atmosphere of the great tent.

  Ahead were more lanterns set from transoms lashed to two large beams. Behind these on a chair slept a great chieftain, his greying beard long and filthy and his hair a tangled mess.

  A horned kettle helm shadowed his face, but Taic whispered in her ear that this was none other than Corvalian Cutthroat himself, King Haal’s second son and feared more than any other except perhaps his older brother, Daan Redhand.

  But Shallan’s gaze rested not on the sleeping barbarian prince. Rather her eyes were on the three unconscious figures hanging limp from the transoms, with cruel ropes lashed around their bleeding wrists. Shallan almost gasped out loud when she recognised her brothers, but covered her mouth and suppressed any sound. They were long-bearded, filthy, and wretched to behold. Shallan mouthed a silent prayer.

  There they hung unconscious, like pigs trussed at market: Vorreti, Danail, and the oldest, Tolemon. Shallan felt sick with rage and worry. Lived they yet? She watched in dread silence as Zukei stole close and glanced expertly at each prisoner. At last satisfied she turned to Shallan and nodded. They are alive, that nod told her. Shallan almost collapsed with relief.

  Elanion be praised - now let us away to safety and warmth!

  Within minutes, Zukei and Cogga’s knives had freed the captive brothers and dragged them to the ground where they lay stone-still in exhausted slumber. The nearest opened an eye, saw Zukei, and made to yell, but the black woman covered his mouth with a calloused palm. Shallan steered close and knelt beside her waking brother.

  “Vorreti. It’s me, Shallan. Can you understand me?”

  Vorreti’s ey
es widened in disbelief, but eventually he nodded, and Shallan bade Zukei free his mouth. “This is Zukei… these others are Taic and Cogga. They are my friends aiding in your rescue. Do you understand?”

  “Shallan…?” Vorreti’s voice was half croak, half whisper. “How came you here?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” replied Shallan, whilst Zukei enquired if he was strong enough to walk. Vorreti nodded that he was.

  “Time we weren’t here.” The dark woman flashed her eyes at Shallan. And then in relief Shallan noticed her other brothers stirring too. She approached them in hushed whispers and after a moment they too announced they could stand.

  “Yes, let’s get moving,” Shallan nodded at Zukei, then froze as one of the dogs broke out in a fit of howly barks.

  “What the—?” Taic glanced to where a large hound had finished its sausage and now stood glowering and slavering at them.

  “Silence that fucker!” hissed Zukei, and Cogga reached for a knife. But it was already too late, for now the other hounds had joined in, and soon the racket woke everyone in the entire marquee.

  Zukei didn’t hesitate. She growled at Taic and Cogga to assist Tolemon and Danail in fleeing the tent. Vorreti had grabbed a sword from a nearby drunk and announced coolly that he was fit to fight. Time froze as the tent’s occupants stirred into dozy motion. On his seat the big prince blinked and yawned.

  “What the fuck is happening?” Corvalian Cutthroat said, his voice crow-rough and angry. Then the fighting started.

  “Get them outside!” Zukei yelled at Taic who blinked and nodded in return. A warrior loomed large and angry in front of Taic. Taic ducked beneath a wild swipe from the Leethman’s blade and butted his head into the warrior’s nose, cracking it like an eggshell and sending the man sprawling on his back.

  Zukei spat like a lynx, her Karyia a blur in her left hand and the throwing axe chopping and hacking in her right. Already a half dozen sleepy warriors lay groaning and gurgling with severed throats and sliced ears.

  A warrior roared at Shallan, two big greedy hands reaching out for her. Vorreti’s stolen sword ran him through, but another grabbed her wrist, whilst a third struck Vorreti from behind with a shield. Vorreti rolled and kicked up as his adversary dived on top of him. Together they rolled and grappled on the tent floor.