The Secret Throne

by Peter F. Hamilton

  I haven’t got the wardveil right, Taggie thought to herself. I’ve blown it. They must know we’re here.

  When the Ethanu leader’s gaze reached the section of wall Taggie was crouched behind, it stopped. She sucked in her lower lip; the little symbols on the charmsward emitted the weakest maroon light as the wardveil tightened around her. ‘Please, please,’ she murmured.

  The Ethanu leader urged his horse forward and they began to move on.

  Taggie let out a long breath as quietly as she could. She wasn’t surprised to find herself shaking.

  ‘Now,’ Wenuthi Jones shouted.

  The rangers in both cottages sprang up, aiming their arrows at the Ethanu. Skyfolk descended out of the swirling snow, aiming more arrows.

  ‘Surrender,’ Wenuthi Jones demanded. ‘And you will be spared.’

  Taggie stood behind the ranger chief. A dazzling blaze of violet light slashed out from the Ethanu leader, burning through the air towards her. Taggie was ready for him. She calmly held out her arm, palm up; the bands on the charmsward spun so fast they blurred, and the death spell burst apart, drenching the walls of the ruined cottage in a drizzle of tiny lightning bolts.

  The rangers and skyfolk let loose their arrows. Scarlet and emerald flashes blossomed amid the Ethanu posse, but their enchantments shielded them, burning and breaking up the arrows before they reached their targets. More purple death spells flew out like miniature comets, and the rangers hurriedly brought up their shields. The enchanted metal protected them, but the blows against the mage-crafted shields were brutal, sending a couple of rangers staggering back.

  Then the six horses were charging away from each other in different directions. Piadrow and another skyman dived down towards the leader as he galloped down the main road through the village. They stretched a slim rope between them: the leader rode straight into it and the rope caught him across his chest, sending him spinning backwards to crash on to the ground in a cloud of snow. Three more skyfolk landed around him, the glowing tips of their arrows pushing into his leather coat. He made one attempt to rise, but fell back on to the compacted snow, too dazed to resist further.

  Two rangers brought down another Ethanu and a ferocious swordfight began. They had the advantage as he was unable to run, his stiff legs forcing him to stand his ground, though his sword arm moved with dangerous speed.

  Felix scampered along the cottage wall and made a tremendous leap on to the back of a passing Ethanu. He held his shimmering green sword against the creature’s neck. ‘Dismount or die,’ he said.

  Taggie saw the Ethanu at the back of the posse galloping towards the bridge. Arrows fell smouldering around him; then he cast a shade and became almost impossible to see in the cold snowy gloom. She knew that if he made it over the bridge they’d struggle to find him out in the empty countryside. She pointed her finger at the bridge, yelling: ‘Droiak!’ Her urgency powered the spell on its way. Pure white lightning flashed from her fingertip, and the middle of the bridge exploded. Even she was surprised at the power of the destruction spell. A huge fountain of bricks and stone and ice went hurtling high into the snowy night, causing the skyfolk chasing the Ethanu to scatter frantically. The Ethanu’s shadecast broke, exposing a terrified horse at the edge of the bridge, rearing up on its hind legs to send its rider tumbling on to the snow.

  Taggie was aware of Rutubi Gorden and Jakolb Smith gaping at her in astonishment. ‘What?’ she shrugged. ‘He would have got away.’

  ‘Few m-mages have your strength, Majesty,’ Rutubi Gorden stammered.

  ‘Oh?’ She watched as the two rangers glanced at each other.

  ‘No,’ Jakolb blurted. ‘None . . .’

  ‘You are the Queen-to-be,’ Wenuthi Jones said quickly as she strode over to them. ‘It is to be expected.’

  Rangers and skyfolk rounded up the vanquished Ethanu, bringing them to the cottage where Wenuthi Jones was waiting. Taggie watched the posse approaching with that slow steady walk of theirs, just as they had in London. This time she wasn’t in the least bit frightened – but she didn’t trust them, even though the rangers had bound their wrists with enchanted cords. Something would have to be done about that.

  Taggie let memories flutter through her mind, welcoming the warmer sunny ones of her grandmother, who had released a potent enchantment against the Rannalal knights on the only day they’d ever met. Five of the charmsward’s bands whirred smoothly, aligning the symbols she sought.

  For a brief moment the long-suffering village of Barrowden knew the touch of a summer sun and the scent of meadow flowers. As they entered the cottage, the apparition faded and the six Ethanu wilted into a deep dreamless sleep.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ Jemima complained as she pulled an Ethanu’s leather coat on over her athrodene mail. ‘It itches like mad. And it smells, too.’

  ‘How can it itch?’ Taggie demanded. ‘You’re wearing armour underneath it.’

  ‘It itches round my neck,’ Jemima replied primly.

  Taggie ignored her, and carried on buttoning up her own Ethanu coat. The effect of the wire-rimmed glasses was very odd: the world in front of her eyes had a purple and green tint. She used a draining enchantment, expelling the magic they contained until the lenses were just ordinary clear glass. With the trilby settled on her head, she checked herself out in the parlour mirror. Actually, the costume didn’t look too bad, she decided. Shame the coat was so big on her.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit short for an Ethanu?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I’ll be on a horse,’ Taggie answered defensively. ‘And I’ll cast a weak shading around myself – just enough to trick the eye. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Please be careful, Majesty,’ Mr Anatole said as he made a few adjustments to the way the coat hung. His hands trembled, and nothing he did seemed to make any difference. ‘Overconfidence has brought down many fine ideals.’

  ‘You can only be confident if you’re not nervous,’ Taggie told him quietly. ‘And trust me, I’m very nervous.’

  ‘Something we share, then, Majesty. But I am glad, for that will keep you alert.’

  She smiled up at his concerned red face. ‘Thank you, Mr Anatole. Without your support I doubt anyone would be helping me.’

  He inclined his head. ‘You are my Queen-to-be. Your wishes are all that matter.’

  ‘I wish you were coming with us.’

  ‘I would be a liability. These rangers are far more use in this endeavour than an old man of letters and law. But I will remain close, fear not.’

  They trooped out into the inn’s courtyard where the horses were waiting.

  ‘I prepared this for you, my Queen-to-be,’ Ronuld said anxiously as he thrust a package into her hands. ‘Some food for the road. It’s not much.’

  ‘You always say that, yet it is always more than enough,’ she told the kind innkeeper. ‘Thank you for letting us stay.’

  Taggie watched Mrs Veroomes help Jemima up on to one of the Ethanu’s horses. ‘Now remember,’ said the old seer. ‘The art is not something you can force. Be patient. Don’t lose your temper.’

  ‘I know,’ Jemima said. She tipped her head forward, and the trilby fell across her eyes.

  ‘Here,’ said Mrs Veroomes, and unwound one of the purple and scarlet scarfs round her neck. She scrunched the square of silk up into a ball and stuffed it into the trilby. ‘That should sit better.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jemima said with a strong tremor in her voice.

  ‘Be good. Stay safe.’

  ‘I will.’

  Sophie drifted over to Taggie as she was getting on her horse. ‘Same goes for you,’ she said. ‘Be careful.’

  ‘I’ll be all right, don’t worry,’ Taggie said.

  ‘I know.’ The skymaid grinned. ‘I saw the bridge explode.’

  Taggie shuffled round in the big saddle until she was moderately comfortable. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie said with a shrewd smile.

  Taggie wondered what the skymaid was u
p to, and was about to ask when Wenuthi Jones called them to order and led them out of the inn’s courtyard.

  The four disguised rangers, along with Taggie and Jemima, made up the six-strong posse; Felix, who was now half Jemima’s size, was riding with her and would hide under her coat once they approached the palace. Their ‘captive’ was Wenuthi Jones, whose horse was tethered to Jakolb Smith’s: he would provide them with a reason for going down into the dungeons, hopefully without being questioned.

  Four more Dolvoki Rangers and Mr Anatole were to ride with them for the first part of the short journey to the capital Lorothain, where they would venture into the city and try to make contact with the remnants of the palace guard.

  Overhead flew Piadrow and fifteen of his flock, who would quietly spiral high above the palace during the rescue attempt, ready to dive down and pull the little party away to safety at a moment’s notice.

  Now that she was on her way, and surrounded by so many good people, Taggie finally allowed herself to feel some hope. ‘We’re coming, Daddy,’ she whispered into the swirling snow. ‘We’re going to get you out of there.’

  INTO THE DUNGEONS

  Barrowden had been badly affected by the frost fungus, but Lorothain was in a much more advanced state of decay. Taggie could barely bring herself to look at it as they plodded steadily along the road beside the river Trambor, which circled the great city. She remembered the brief glimpse she’d enjoyed when they visited her grandmother’s palace; then it had been a capital of fabulous towers, handsome chateaus, and long tree-lined boulevards, with sunlight glinting off a thousand crystal windows.

  Now the spires were swamped by the saggy, dripping mushrooms. Several had already fallen under the weight, while more leaned precariously. The crystal was stained by putrid mats of grey and brown mould. Walls were encrusted with spiky growths of filthy icicles that seemed to be growing upwards out of the thick layer of snow smothering the avenues. An unhealthy cloud of smoke hung above the rooftops as people burned whatever they could to keep warm. And on top of it all, the snow continued to fall.

  ‘I hope they’ll be all right there,’ Jemima said as they watched Mr Anatole and the four rangers cross one of the bridges to the city wall.

  ‘Where?’ Felix’s muffled voice came from inside her coat. ‘I can’t see a thing. And this Ethanu coat is making my fur itch.’

  ‘They’re on the bridge,’ she whispered in annoyance. ‘And shush in there! You’ll get us caught.’

  ‘Caught? Are there soldiers?’

  ‘No! Not yet, anyway. We’re fine. Now be quiet.’

  The heavy bulge inside her coat shuffled round, then stopped.

  Jemima looked along the bridge, past the wide open gates at the far end. The only things she could see moving along the city streets beyond were dark shapes which didn’t look like any of the First Realm people they’d ever met. The eeriest thing was the lack of noise coming from the city, as if everyone was indoors asleep, or fearfully holding their breath.

  At the end of every bridge, guarding the gateways into the city, stood a group of Rannalal guards. The disguised rangers kept on going, but Jemima couldn’t help looking back just once to make sure Mr Anatole had got through. After a brief exchange with the guards, he disappeared under the archway and she let out a huge sigh of relief. He clearly hadn’t been recognized, and the rangers accompanying him wore cloaks over their distinctive tunics.

  It was another hour along the river road before they came to the wide greenway which led through the parkland to the palace. The oaks and cedars that lined it were smothered in bristly clumps of ice barbs. Tall metal posts rammed into the ground between each tree bore blazing torches, which cast a flickering orange light across the route. It revealed several squads of Rannalal and ordinary soldiers riding towards them. When Taggie looked round, she saw another Ethanu posse riding behind them. There was no backing out now.

  Above them, an ominous hurricane-swirl of swollen slate-grey clouds spun slowly, barely higher than the palace turrets. At least they provided perfect cover for Piadrow and his flock.

  Jakolb Smith urged his horse forward as they approached the huge outer gate in the palace wall. Thick stems of frost fungus had grown up the walls, looping round the arching gateway. Treacly liquids pulsed inside them, making them swing slowly from side to side.

  A dozen Rannalal guards in their blood-red armour stood outside, along with some evil-looking six-legged hounds that snuffled and grunted at the approaching patrol. A single brazier burned to one side of the gates.

  ‘Prisoner for questioning,’ Jakolb Smith said in a low grumble.

  ‘Where’d you find him?’ one of the Rannalal asked in a gruff voice.

  ‘Lurking in fields over by a village. He’s a Dolvoki Ranger by the clothes on him. Spying, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘They all do,’ the Rannalal said. ‘Treacherous scum.’

  A gigantic man stamped out of the gatehouse. ‘Take him to the Muraduku,’ he grunted. ‘That’ll loosen his tongue soon enough.’

  Jakolb Smith produced an unpleasant laugh. He tugged at the tether on Wenuthi Jones’s horse. ‘Come along, you filth. You heard what’s to happen to you.’

  Taggie didn’t dare look round, didn’t look down. She kept her back perfectly straight as they rode slowly under the gateway arch where the frost fungus dripped disgusting liquid on the icy ground. Every second she was expecting the shout to go up – a challenge that would bring a thousand armed creatures down upon them.

  But then they were through and crossing the first courtyard, where a few windows high above them glimmered orange. ‘Where now?’ she whispered to her sister.

  Jemima shook her hand then opened it, studying the little rune stones on her palm. ‘That way.’ She pointed at another big arching gateway.

  Jakolb Smith nodded softly, and nudged his horse towards it.

  Sophie had waited all of twenty minutes after the rescue party left before slipping out of the inn’s parlour, where two Dolvoki Rangers and a couple of skymen guarded the sleeping Ethanu prisoners. She pulled up the laces on the front of her grey tunic, tightening them against the frigid air, stuffed her floating hair under the cap, and checked her bow on its strap. Satisfied with her preparations, she stepped out into the courtyard, let her wings open wide, and took off into the clouds. Her little fists were held in front of her head, parting the big soft snowflakes as she flashed upward as fast as she could, leaving a thin, sparkling red contrail slowly fading away behind her.

  No way was she going to miss out on the daring raid against the palace, no matter what she’d promised her father. She knew she could fly higher than most of her flock; all she had to do was keep above them out of harm’s way. Her friends and family were putting themselves at tremendous risk for the First Realm, and it simply wasn’t in her nature to wait behind. Being there to help in whatever tiny way she could was worth enduring her father’s anger.

  After a minute of hurtling straight up, she burst out of the top of the snow clouds into clean air. Up here, the moonclouds wrapped tightly around the sun shone a feeble cold radiance across the First Realm. She hated seeing it like this, with most of the lands and seas choking below the thick winter clouds.

  Several miles away, a dense circle of spinning cloud rose up like a lone puffy mountain. She knew that it had to be squatting over Lorothain, casting the darkest shadow of all over the palace where Lord Jothran and his kind practised their terrible wizardry. Sophie altered course, curving round to line up on the very peak of the grisly mountain ahead.

  Taggie and the rescue party dismounted at the far end of the third courtyard. It was a small square with high walls; the only light came from torches burning in three of the archways.

  Ahead of them, at the foot of the wall, were steps leading down into the warren of vaults and cellars beneath the palace. Jakolb Smith led the way down into utter darkness.

  ‘Who’s there?’ a voice demanded from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Why are yo
u here?’

  ‘We bring a prisoner to the Muraduku,’ Jakolb Smith said.

  ‘This is not the Muradu—’

  The voice was silenced by the sound of a fist striking a face. There was a groan, then a thud of a body collapsing on to the ground.

  ‘Curse the angels, I can see nothing down here,’ Jakolb Smith complained.

  Taggie recalled very clearly a spell to cast light, but she was afraid to utter the invocation. If the rest of her magical ability was anything to go by, it would be like switching on a searchlight. She came halfway down the steps and fished her torch out of a pocket. Its weak yellow beam flickered on, revealing a door that was covered in grey-green frost-fungus toadstools. She could see Jakolb Smith was bending over the unconscious body of the guard, and then the beam died. No amount of smacking the torch in annoyance or winding the handle could bring it back.

  ‘Bad magic,’ Taggie muttered. She could smell it in the air, a sour presence that clung to the walls of the palace like static electricity.

  Felix squirmed out of Jemima’s coat, shaking his matted fur out. His head bobbed round, taking in the ominous courtyard. ‘I may be able to help.’ He scampered down the steps past Taggie, growing in size as he went. A tiny spark of gold glowed at the bottom beside the door. ‘Your grandmother’s gift.’ The squirrel was holding up his paw, and the gold light shone out of his ring.

  A moment later, the rescue party was inside the cellar, and shedding their Ethanu clothing. They were in a long corridor with a curving brick roof. Twenty yards away, the walls glowed with a sickly blue-green light.

  ‘Frost fungus,’ Wenuthi Jones announced in disgust as he inspected the long fur-like patches creeping up the walls. ‘But for once it’s helpful to us.’ He turned to Jemima. ‘Blossom Princess?’