Django Wexler - The Shadow Throne

“Very good, Lieutenant,” Janus said, in a conversational tone. “Captain?”

Marcus relaxed his grip on Raesinia’s shoulders. Raesinia took a deep breath-it had been like being hugged by a bear-and got a lungful of smoke, mixed with the scent of his sweat. She coughed, and wiped her eyes.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

“Fine,” Raesinia said, automatically. She’d skinned an elbow in the fall, but the cuts were already closing.

“No injuries, sir,” Marcus said aloud.

“Nobody hit here, sir,” said another voice, in a harsh accent Raesinia didn’t recognize.

“Good shooting,” Janus said.

There was another shot, not so close, but still loud enough to make Raesinia flinch. Marcus rolled off her, climbed to his feet, and offered her his hand. She took it, feeling a little unsteady. Another couple of shots drifted over the Bower, like distant handclaps. The clearing was wreathed in floating wisps of gun smoke, but she could see men in red uniforms climbing over the wall, long weapons in hand. The Grays were all down, either dead or keeping silent. The red-clad soldiers began to move among them while one bearing a lieutenant’s bars hurried over, saluted Janus, then bowed deeply in Raesinia’s direction.

“Your Majesty,” Janus said, “may I present Lieutenant Medio bet Uhlan, of the First Mierantai Volunteers. His family has been in the service of the counts of Mieran for four generations.”

“It’s an honor, Your Majesty,” Uhlan said, in what Raesinia assumed was a Mierantai accent. It sounded as if he spent his days gargling rocks.

“I owe you my life, sir,” Raesinia said, a slight exaggeration for dramatic effect. “Thank you for your assistance.”

Another couple of shots made both Uhlan and Janus cock their heads, listening carefully.

“Still just ours,” Uhlan said, and Janus nodded.

“Quite a few Grays got shaken loose in the chase,” he said to Raesinia. “They ended up wandering around the Bower, and the rest of Lieutenant Uhlan’s men are rounding them up. We should give them a couple of minutes.” He sighed. “I hope a few of them decide to surrender.”

“We got the bulk of them at their barracks, when Orlanko’s orders arrived,” Uhlan said. “They were ready to fight their way out, but it turned out that some absolute bastard had soaked all the powder in the armory the night before.” His grin was concealed behind a thick woodsman’s beard, but his eyes twinkled.

Raesinia looked at Janus. “You knew?”

“Not for certain, but it’s always wise to plan for contingencies.” He frowned. “Though I must admit this seemed a fairly probable contingency. What our friend the duke does not understand is that a perfect record of treachery is just as predictable as one of impeccable loyalty. You simply must always expect to be stabbed in the back, and you’ll never be surprised. Keeping faith occasionally would make him much harder to anticipate.”

“Orlanko.” Raesinia’s hand twisted into the fabric of her dress, fingers tightening. “Do you have enough men to storm the Cobweb?”

“Not at the moment, I’m afraid,” Janus said. “We have it blockaded, but there are too many tunnels and bolt-holes to cut him off completely. It’s possible the duke has already fled.”

“He’ll hang for this, I swear.” Her breath caught. “What about Sothe? Have you found her?”

“Her Majesty’s maidservant,” Marcus supplied. “She helped hold off the Grays. Last I saw her, she was running for it with a Concordat agent in hot pursuit.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Janus said. “But affairs are very confused at the moment. And, unfortunately, we have larger problems.”

It was hard for Raesinia to tear her mind away from Sothe, but once she did she jumped to the obvious conclusion. “The deputies. Andreas-the Concordat agent who came to arrest us-said they were going to be taken in hand.”

“It would be a foolish play to take the palace, only to lose it to the mob,” Janus agreed. “And Orlanko is not entirely a fool. I suggest we proceed to the cathedral at once. Lieutenant?”

Uhlan was consulting with a pair of red-uniformed Mierantai who’d just entered the clearing. He looked up. “We’re clear, sir. Got about thirty prisoners. Carriages are waiting in the main drive, and the sergeant commanding the Armsmen says he’s with us.”

“He’d damned well better be,” Marcus growled.

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Janus said. “On days like this, it’s never easy to know which way to jump.” He and Marcus shared a look that spoke of some shared memory, and Marcus grunted. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”

Uhlan barked orders in his harsh, nearly unintelligible dialect, and the Mierantai formed up around them. Marcus drifted back as the column set off, until he was walking beside Raesinia.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I could have told you earlier that this might happen.” He nodded at Janus. “He insisted that I not say anything until Orlanko tipped his hand. I think he was worried you might panic. But if I’d said something, Sothe might”-he hesitated-“might not have gotten hurt. I can see she’s. . important to you.”

Raesinia nodded, walking for a moment in silence. “I can hardly blame you for following orders.”

“Still. I’m sorry.” Marcus squared his shoulders, as though facing something unpleasant. “Whatever Orlanko had planned for the deputies may have happened already. Giforte is there with as many Armsmen as I could spare, but. .”

“I know.” Raesinia was thinking of Maurisk, Cora, and Sarton. Danton, Jane, Cyte, and all the rest.

“I hope we get there in time to do some good.”

Raesinia nodded grimly. “So do I.”

WINTER

In the hundred and twenty years since the Sworn Church had first been expelled from Vordan, the Sworn Cathedral had never played host to a congregation large enough to fill its echoing, vaulted hall. For years, when praying in a Sworn Church had been tantamount to being a traitor to the Crown, it had stood empty. Later, more tolerant ages had seen the Sworn Priests return, chase out some of the bats and rats who had taken up residence, and offer services to those few foreigners and die-hards who wanted them.

The War of the Princes and Borelgai proselytizing had brought a few more into the fold, but Winter was certain the gloomy old building hadn’t seen a gathering like this in living memory. The Deputies-General packed the floor of the main hall-the moldy pews had been hauled outside to clear more space-and members of delegations searching for private space had invaded the warren of rooms, damp corridors, and drafty wooden stairways behind the altar that had once housed the massive administrative staff charged with overseeing the spiritual welfare of all of Vordan.

Giforte and a band of staff-wielding Armsmen were vainly attempting to keep order, but the most they could manage was to protect the floor of the main hall-which, it had been decided, constituted the actual chamber of the Deputies-General-from being invaded by crowds from outside. Eager to get a glimpse of what was going on, the spectators had found the stairs leading up to the old Widow’s Gallery, a wooden-floored balcony that described a broad horseshoe shape around the back of the main hall, about thirty feet off the ground. Getting up took a bit of daring, since the stairways were in bad shape and the balcony itself was riddled with rotten boards, but it provided an excellent vantage point. From here, the adventurous could get a good view of the proceedings and, in spite of the best efforts of the Armsmen, throw chunks of floorboard at speakers they didn’t care for.