The Shattered Crown (The Legends of Ansu Book 2)

by J. W. Webb

  “We must speak, daughter.” The duke looked tired. He hardly ever sleeps these days, the worry eating into him. Shallan frets for his health.

  She nodded and he entered, taking a chair across from where she still gazed winsome out the window.

  “You’ll catch chill, child,” Tomais told her, and Shallan shrugged indifference. He rubbed his troubled eyes and fidgeted.

  “You are leaving Vangaris, Shallan, tomorrow at first light.”

  “No.”

  “You must!” The duke’s left hand thudded into his right palm, and Shallan almost cried at the pain so evident in his face. “I will not be challenged in this, girl.”

  “I’m not leaving you, father, not with the wolves gathering hungry outside.”

  “And what can you do to assay the storm, child? Your heart is strong, as was your mother’s, but you are young yet and naïve.”

  “I’ve seen twenty-seven winters, father,” Shallan answered, the determination setting her mouth. “Most noblewoman are long wed at my age, with several bairns at their feet. And those poor common folk, well, they are often old and bent by toil and strain when they reach my years. Young, no father, I am not young.”

  Shallan knew she was beautiful, had seen it in men’s eyes for years. For most of her adult life, she had endured the trite poetry of vain suitors and smiled politely whilst receiving shallow flattery from stupid, idle troubadours. There were no real men left in Morwella these days, not since her brothers had departed.

  Shallan of Morwella, lady of the flowing chestnut locks and blue-grey gaze. Tall, graceful, and serene. That perfect oval face with skin of flawless ivory. She of the full red lips and winsome smile. That was how they saw her, those fools at the feasting hall. She might look serene, but inside Shallan, a fire raged. How she hated this world!

  “Stop dreaming!” The duke slammed his palm again. “I’ll brook no argument, daughter. You will leave on tomorrow’s tide, bound for Wynais, where your cousin, the Queen, will doubtless be happy to receive you.”

  “Ariane?” That little bitch. Father, you have no idea.

  “Of course Ariane.” The duke was becoming annoyed. “I will leave you to your morning peruse, beloved. Don’t catch a chill, you need be fit for the journey.”

  “I’m not going, father.”

  He didn’t hear her, had already left the room. Shallan shrugged, turned back to witness late-autumn sunlight waken the city streets below. Her dreamy gaze followed the river north, and it was there, at its wide marshy mouth, that she saw them.

  A fleet of ships.

  Five score at least, baroque and savage in design. Raiders or invaders for sure! Shallan watched the distant vessels emerge into the morning. She gazed down with morbid fascination as the following wind guided them down like so many gaudy, swaying towers toward Vangaris’s docks.

  Shallan smiled a bitter smile then. She’d got her wish and wouldn’t be leaving tomorrow. She wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

  Chapter 19: The Gift

  The room in the tower fell deathly cold. A tangible silence emanated from the walls. The air shimmered then congealed. The fire spluttered once, then went out. His lone candle did the same. The forgotten girl wailed by the door. She turned, tried to flee into the corridor beyond.

  “Stay!” the tiny part of him that noticed her ordered. Caswallon’s face remained fixed on the smoky essence, creeping like canker from the shrunken fire. She froze, the girl, caught like a lamped rabbit, her pale skin glistening with icy sweat.

  A peel of smoke lingered in the hearth. That smoke took form, became a face, a horrible face scaled and blistered by ancient burns, the skin like wintry leaves. Two yellow eyes gazed out like frozen lanterns above a long hairless snout terminating in wide nostrils, flaring and moist with odor.

  The girl screamed, but no one heard her. Caswallon controlled his urge to run. This was always the hard part. He stared back at the face hovering above the mantle.

  Those yellow eyes saw the girl and raked her naked flesh. She crumpled, her prone, lifeless form blocking the doorway. The Dog Face turned away. Outside, dark cloud occluded the stars. Fear stole silent into every corner of the city.

  The Urgolais had come.

  “Lord Morak.” Caswallon bowed stiffly, trying to keep his dignity and not show any fear of this creature, who fed so hungrily on that emotion. “Forgive my urgent summons. I believe our enemies have help from some unknown quarter. There is doubt in my mind on how best to proceed. What must I do? I seek only to serve, aid your cause, so I seek your help in this.”

  The eyes flickered once, then narrowed to feverish slivers. The voice, when it came, was remote yet resonant. It carried within it the stench of the gallows.

  “We are aware.” The voice slithered like invisible slime. “Our enemy seeks to block our return to power. It is to be expected. He will fail. He is nothing to what he once was, whereas we are many. He stands alone, for his brethren are scattered wide and far.

  The ravages of time have worked hard upon him. Like us, he must rely on the strength of petty mortals to do his work. Mortals that you will destroy, Caswallon.”

  “The rebels’ time is short, if they’re not dead already, then they soon will be.” Caswallon’s hands were shakin. “There are none dare challenge the Urgolais’ return to Ansu. I will personally deal with this upstart Queen.”

  “The Queen is of no consequence to us, fool.” The voice crackled like fire sticks in rain. “You may do with her what you wish.” A weird sound followed, like a dog laughing, were such a thing possible. “You are transparent, Caswallon. You seek the girl as a plaything. That does not concern us, but something else does.”

  The eyes blazed wide suddenly, making Caswallon start in his chair. He gripped its wooden arms and clung on.

  “One mortal does interest us. This one the Huntsman has chosen for his conduit. The Huntsman is our enemy. His puppet must be destroyed. We have tried twice, but he is protected, and without Golganak, our powers are too weak for us to manifest fully.”

  “Who is this man? I’ll send word have him brought here in chains.”

  “No need. His name is Corin an Fol. He accompanies your little Queen. Even now, they sail to Crenna after overcoming your useless snares. You wasted my Groil, Caswallon. Don’t waste anymore. It takes work fashioning such creatures in our form.”

  “They escaped the trap at Kashorn?”

  “Of course they did, fool. I know not what the Huntsman plans with this man. Maybe he intends to use him as a pawn against Old Night. The Huntsman is wily. He alone of the gods our master cannot read.”

  “I know nothing of the man that you speak of, lord,” replied Caswallon, embarrassed and annoyed that his lust for Queen Ariane had been so easily detected. “But I vow to you, this Corin an Fol will soon be dead, together with his companions, all save the Queen. I will send word by pigeon to the Assassin in Crenna so he can prepare for their arrival.”

  “There is no need; I have brought one that will serve you better than birds.” The dog laugh again—it put Caswallon’s teeth on edge.

  “More Groil will be arriving through the coming weeks. As my powers return I will fashion more still. Other beings will follow. Soon shall your army swell with griffins and trolls, ogres and shadow-stalkers. And then there is Vaarg. He may pay you a visit soon.

  “Vaarg?” Caswallon paled. “I thought the dragons all dead.”

  “The time for Old Night’s return draws nigh, mortal wizard. We must serve him in absolution or be foiled by our enemies again. Like our master, the Huntsman never sleeps!”

  Those yellow lamp eyes probed the room for a moment, and the snout sniffed at some hidden scent. Then Morak’s gaze tore upon the prone figure of the girl, much like a hawk espying a mouse whilst hunting high above.

  The maw opened, revealing grey broken fangs. A fleshy liverish tongue lapped between them, slavering pinkish phlegm on the floor. Caswallon gagged at the stench.

  “We sense
a challenge on the island of Crenna. Your Assassin has not been as wary as he thinks. Someone transpires against him. Someone familiar...” The serpent eyes wavered for a moment. “But that cannot be… he was lost.” The dog-snout snarled then, as if some hidden enemy had entered the room.

  “Send word to your servant in Crenna,” the Dog Lord told Caswallon. “These rebels must be caught and destroyed. You can keep your Queen for a while, but kill this Corin an Fol! And that fool Prince Tarin, he too must be slain.

  “It was most unwise of you to let him flee the city with the shards of the Tekara. Whilst they remain, our enemy still has a chance—and he is wily, Caswallon!

  “You have not served us well in this and must prove sharper henceforth, if you are to reap your reward. You have much to gain, mortal. Once reunited with Golganak, we Urgolais will make you our foremost lieutenant here in this region of Ansu.”

  “And now for my gift.”

  Morak’s sickly gaze shifted to far the corner where another dark shape was taking smoky form. Caswallon watched with wary eyes. Again he shielded his fear, though only just.

  “I have a new servant for you.” Those yellow eyes showed something that might be interpreted as humor as they fell on the steaming, stinking lump manifesting ugly beneath the table.

  “What in Yffarn is that thing, lord?” Caswallon gulped before daring another glance at the evolving pile of brown-grey flesh to his right.

  “This is Gribble,” Morak told him. “He is a Soilfin, an ancient creature newly awakened by our spell-craft. You will find him useful. Gribble can fly fast and hidden. He will act on your fargaze.”

  Caswallon recalled hearing somewhere that creatures known as Soilfins had been involved in the long struggle between the Urgolais and the Aralais. Like the dragons, he’d believed them extinct. After another brief glance at the bubbling mess on the floor, he wished they still were.

  “Do not fail us again, Caswallon. Your reward will be great when we reclaim our heritage, but fail and your soul will be sent to Yffarn. I depart and leave you this Soilfin. There were many of his kind once. Most died in the last War between our people and the golden ones.

  “Look after Gribble well. He will be of great use as a spy. Soilfin’s have large appetites and require regular man flesh for sustenance. See that he is well fed before you send him to Crenna!”

  When the Dog Lord stopped speaking, silence claimed the room, apart from a horrid scraping sound by the thing lurking under the table. Morak’s yellow eyes were fading, and his ravished face and blackened snout dwindled back to acrid smoke. That smoke trailed off and vanished up the chimney. Caswallon breathed a sigh of relief and then dared look under the table.

  That is disgusting…

  Beneath the table the gurgling nastiness was taking shape quickly. Caswallon watched in horrible fascination, his nose twitching. The emerging creature stank of age-old sweat and stale detritus.

  The Soilfin, Gribble. He saw the thing clearly now that the deeper dark of Morak’s essence had departed. The size of a large cat, its face resembled that of an ape with small blood-red eyes. The foul smell clung like resin to its hairless hide.

  The creature Gribble eyed him evilly, baring pointy, narrow teeth. Some were missing. The Soilfin’s skin was a wrinkled leathery brown. Sinewy arms led down to bony fingers, each tipped with a cruel filthy talon. Sprouting from its stunted back were two leathery wings. Bat-like and large, they cocooned the ugly body beneath.

  Gribble crawled out from under the table. The Soilfin hopped and flapped and winked up at Caswallon, who reached for his kerchief to quell the stench.

  The half-conscious girl stirred, looked up, saw the goblin thing, and screamed in utter horror. The creature called Gribble watched her with greedy eyes, mouth dribbling, until once again she sank to the floor in merciful oblivion.

  Caswallon regained his feet with a shudder. He felt wobbly and a little sick, if truth be told—the Soilfin’s stench not helping that. Caswallon paced to the window, levered it open, and got a blast of cold air.

  A voice spoke behind him, the creature Gribble.

  “I’m famished,” Gribble announced. The voice was a squeaky, creaky unpleasantness. It set Caswallon’s teeth on edge.

  “So! And you must be fed often it seems,” Caswallon answered, hiding his revulsion under duress. “Eat well. Then I’ve work for you, my new small friend,” he added.

  “I will serve you well, Mr. Caswallon,” responded Gribble, dribbling and depositing resinous pools of foulness on the floor, “so long as you keep feeding me.” Gribble’s ape gaze fell on the girl, and he dribbled again.

  “I am sure that you will.” Caswallon turned to the terrified girl.

  Not her…

  “Go below,” he told the girl, now awake, on her knees and sobbing. “Inform a servant send word to Lord Perani. I would speak with him at once. Oh, and get Flail or Two heads send a prisoner up here, no one of consequence. Gribble is hungry!” Caswallon laughed at the horror on the girl’s face as she fled, weeping.

  “Return to me soon!” he called after her fleeing form. “I too have an appetite for fresh meat.”

  ***

  Perani watched suspiciously as the palace servant hurried toward him out of the gloom. “My Lord Perani,” panted the man. “You are requested to join the Sorcerer Caswallon in his high tower immediately.”

  “I am coming,” replied Perani with a brief nod. He had anticipated this. He wondered what new atrocities he would be compelled to commit in the dark days ahead. His jaw was set with grim resignation; his lot was cast. There would be no turning back.

  So be it

  But as Perani turned to leave the battlements he paused, feeling cold eyes watching him from behind. Glancing over, the general noticed a raven had settled on the wall of the keep. The bird watched him in silence with those cold black eyes. There was something very unsettling about that stare.

  Perani shuddered and turned away. Just a bloody bird. Trouble was, nothing was as it seemed in Kella City these days. Perani didn’t like sorcery more than anyone else, but it was better to be on the side of he that controlled it.

  And now to the palace and the long climb up that draughty tower. Only the gods knew what new horrors lurked inside that building.

  Perani set his teeth together and squared his shoulders. Grim-faced, he made his way purposely toward the palace gates and his approaching doom. The raven swooped low and croaked insults over his head. It settled on a roof close by and again watched him with those canny eyes. Perani ignored the bird. He walked on but as he passed, the raven’s cries mocked him.

  Krani, krani, betrayer of the realm!

  ***

  Dawn lit the rimy fields of Kelthaine. Above them flew the Soilfin on his new master’s special orders. Freshly fed and invigorated, Gribble had swollen to the size of a large cow then shrunk again as he digested the dead High King’s former head gardener.

  Gribble needed food often, preferably humans, though cats and dogs were tolerable sufficing as a sandwich. He hated vegetables. Children were best. Very tasty. He could eat a dozen in one helping.

  It was a paradox, so small a creature eating so much. But food was fuel and Soilfins had always been hungry. It was part of the reason they became extinct. There was never enough to eat—back then.

  In good times, when he had served the Urgolais during the endless war, there had been plenty of food. The Urgolais were always torturing things and dismembering them, and the Soilfins always got the scraps.

  Then those pale-eyed foreign men came from overseas, his masters fled, and Gribble’s kin were left to forage for what flesh they could find. They had been hunted ruthlessly until only a score remained. One such was Gribble. For a thousand years he’d clung to life, festering in his underground freezing cot, waiting for his old boss, Dog Lord Morak, to summon him again and then feed and succor him.

  Gribble dribbled as he flew, thinking of juicy meat to come, winging high, an ungainly speck sta
ining an otherwise flawless chilly sky. His destination was Crenna, the Island of Thieves.

  First, though, he would wing north to the coast hard by Kashorn village. Mr. Caswallon wished to know his enemy’s whereabouts. Gribble studied the land below as he flew, marking hamlets and farms in case he needed sustenance on his way back.

  North of Kella the country rose in wooded hills, becoming increasingly rugged. He glimpsed the moonlit ribbon of road, followed its course until it met another by a deserted village at a crossroads, a bleak place showing no sign of life.

  He swooped low, saw the creaking gibbet of bones nearby. Not much meat there. Beyond the crossroads filed a dark forest. Gribble skirted wide, sensing danger within those shadowy groves. He reached the coast, swept down from the cliffs, and swung low over the roofs of the harbor town.

  How Gribble laughed when the weary drink-fuddled folk of Kashorn looked up in horror and swiftly took to their cups again.

  Yes, it’s me. I’m back!

  Far out to sea soared the Soilfin, seeking a vessel: a trader, a brigantine with two sturdy masts and fourteen sails.

  The Starlight Wanderer…

  Just before dawn Gribble spied the vessel, resplendent in her rigging. He winged low, circled three times, his keen goblin eyes scanning, making sure these were his new master’s quarries. They were dangerous terrorists, apparently, led by some Queen Mr. Caswallon wanted to poke. Bit of a shame that—Queens were usually rather tasty.

  Gribble wheeled low again, showed the ship his arse, and then satisfied, the Soilfin turned skyward up into the blue, hurrying, needing to reach Crenna before the sun rose full. Soilfins shunned the daylight hours mostly, and besides, he was becoming hungry again.

  Chapter 20: Into the West

  Cale watched the sun rise over waves as the great creaking ship pitched toward morning. He stood at the stern, Queen Ariane at his side. Cale loved the Queen. He’d not known her a full day but had fallen for her big-time, from the second he’d seen her defiant, lovely face, had witnessed bug-eyed the way she stood up so feisty to nasty Hagan and his men.