The Skull Throne (51 page)

The count stood. “I need some air.”

“Going to practice your shooting, brother?” Rhinebeck called, drawing roars of laughter from Mickael and Pether. “Best be careful, or I’ll have to appoint the Wooden Soldiers a new lord commander.”

Thamos grimaced, and Rojer knew the duke had taken it too far. The count was slow to true courage, but he could be reckless when pushed past caring.

“Since your aim is so great, brother, I thought we might dispense with simple game like rockbirds and hunt something worthier.” Thamos looked around the table, catching the eyes of the other men. “That is, if there are any here man enough to test themselves against real prey.”

There were nervous looks at that, but Rhinebeck had not yet caught on. “The man who can barely work his bow doubts us? By all means, what shall we hunt? Bear? Nightwolf?”

Thamos crossed his arms. “On your feet, then. We’re going to hunt a rock demon.”

“This is madness,” Rhinebeck said, as they stalked the hills near the hunting fort. It was slow going, for while Rojer, Gared, and Thamos could see perfectly well in wardsight, the others had to rely on lanterns carried by three of the half dozen Wooden Soldiers in their escort. The men carried warded weapons, but they were raw wood, as it was said in the Hollow. Untested against the night.

“You’re welcome to go back and cower under the skirts of your favorite whore, brother,” Thamos said, drawing a glare from the duke.

Keerin had done just that, staying behind despite his boasts of bravery. Thamos’ brothers no doubt wished they could do the same, but pride would not let them show weakness before their youngest sibling.

Lord Sament had come as well, with two of his Mountain Spears. Like the other Royals, he carried a crank bow and warded quarrels, but unlike the Angierians, Sament had an eager grin on his face.

The group was just small enough for Rojer to cover them with his music.

“Do not drive the demons away,” Thamos told him as they left the safety of the fort’s wardwalls. “Let these men see what we face each night in the Hollow.”

Rojer complied, casting only a thin camouflage over the group, not dissimilar to Leesha’s Cloaks of Unsight. The demons could still smell them, hear them, even glimpse the lanterns from the corner of their eyes, but they could not find the source. They prowled at the edge of Rojer’s magic, sniffing, searching, but unable to pinpoint their prey.

A flame demon spat in frustration, and Prince Mickael jumped, his deep voice raising to a shriek. The demon caught the sound, head swiveling their way. Wooden Soldiers moved in front of the prince, shields locked and spears ready, but they, too, were shaking in fear.

Thamos glanced back. “Gared.”

“On it,” the burly Cutter said. He left his massive axe and machete in their harnesses on his back, balling gauntleted fists. Leesha had warded the gauntlets and infused them with demon bone. He wore only a leather vest and his warded helmet for protection, but Gared strode forward unconcerned.

The demon caught sight of him as he left the protection of the music. It spat fire, but Gared batted at the blast with one hand and it dissipated as it struck the wards. He was upon the creature then, grabbing one of its legs as it tried to scramble out of reach.

The demon might have been fifty pounds, but Gared swung it like a cat with one hand, a smooth arc that brought it over his head and then smashed it back down into the ground. With the breath knocked from it, Gared shifted grip to its throat, pinning it as his gauntleted fist rose and fell, flares of magic flashing in harmony with the spattering sounds and flying ichor.

A pair of stubby stone demons trundled his way, but Gared threw them the flame demon’s broken body, and they paused to devour it. By the time they looked up, he had stepped back into Rojer’s protective field.

Rhinebeck eyed the stone demons in horror. They were less than five feet tall, but broad, with armor like a conglomerate rock face. He shook like a jelly after someone kicked the table.

Mickael, looking angry at having shrieked in front of the others, spat and raised his crank bow. “There are our rock demons. Let’s shoot them and have done.”

“Pfagh!” Thamos waved a dismissive hand at the stone demons. “Those are just stone demons. Hardly worthy prey. Rojer?”

Rojer knit his brows, maintaining the music that kept them concealed, but layering in a suggestion to the stone demons that grew increasingly insistent.

In a moment, it came to a boil. One of the stone demons struck the other, literally breaking its face as the armor shattered.

The demon reeled, then caught itself and struck back in kind as the first one pressed its attack. They crashed to the ground, rolling back and forth as they pounded each other with great stone fists. At last one lay still. The other attempted to rise, but its leg was shattered, and it fell back, unmoving.

“Is it dead?” Sament asked.

Thamos shook his head. “Demons heal quickly. They’re recover from anything that doesn’t kill them outright.”

Sament grunted, raising his crank bow and putting a bolt into the demon’s eye. There was a flare of magic as it blasted through the other side of the demon’s skull, but in the wardlight they saw other demons approaching.

“We’re attracting them,” Pether noted. His tone was flat, but Rojer could sense the hint of panic beneath.

“Of course,” Thamos said. “And we’ll need to do even more if we mean to draw a full-sized rock demon to us.”

“Are we hunters, or bait?” Rhinebeck demanded. “Because it sounds more and more like you’re risking all our lives just to salve your injured pride.”

“Rojer, drive them back.” Thamos pointed to one of the Wooden Soldiers. “Bring the lantern.” In its light, he pointed to a rock demon print in the dirt, as long as a man’s arm. “We’ve been tracking this demon for the last half hour. It rose two miles back, where a mudslide uncovered a slice of bedrock.”

“Night,” Lord Sament said, putting his own booted foot in the print and marveling at the difference. “It must be fifteen feet tall.”

“Twenty, at least,” Gared cut in, grinning. He so loved to make the raw wood squirm. He held a hand flat above his seven-foot frame. “Horns taller’n me.”

Rhinebeck let out a slight whine, the crank bow shaking so noticeably in his hands that those in his immediate vicinity took a step back, watching it warily.

The others weren’t much better. Mickael was squeezing his crank bow so hard Rojer thought the wood might crack, and Pether appeared to be uttering the first sincere prayer of his life. Even the soldiers in their escort looked ready to soil their fine wooden armor, clutching their spears tight.

Lord Sament looked at them in disgust. “Is this the courage Angiers wants Miln to ally with? If we send men to fight the Krasians, will you fight shoulder-to-shoulder with them, or cower at their backsides?”

It was an unexpected slap from the previously mild lord, but the naked night had a way of bringing out the truth in a man. The words startled the elder brothers and men-at-arms back to the present.

Thamos pointed to where a pair of ridges formed a narrow pass, gently outlined in the clear light of the gibbous moon. A handful of stunted trees grew high on the steep slopes, naked of leaves in the late season.

“Those trees are too sparse to have drawn any wood demons,” Thamos said. “Sament, take your Mountain Spears to the northern slope. Brothers, you take the southern.”

“And where will you be, brother?” Rhinebeck’s tone made clear there would be a reckoning if they made it home. Rojer feared Thamos had pushed too far.

But if Thamos understood the damage he had done, he showed no sign. His blood was up, and every Hollower knew what that meant.

“Behind those rocks,” Thamos pointed, “until Rojer lures the demon into the pass. He will take position at the far end, while we move in to the rear with a spear wall to prevent it from escaping the pass while you shoot.”

“Don’t spare the quarrels,” Gared noted. “This is a twenty-foot rock, not some stone demon you can put down with a bolt or two. Even if every shot’s perfect, your first volley’s just going to piss it off. You’ll need to empty your quivers and turn its head into a ripping pincushion.”

“I think I’m going to slosh,” one of the Wooden Soldiers said. Everyone looked as he slapped a hand to his mouth, heaving.

“Sergeant … Mese, isn’t it?” Thamos asked. The man nodded, eyes wide and cheeks distended with bile.

“Spit it out or swallow, Sergeant,” Thamos said. “No one’s dying tonight if they keep their heads and do as they’re told.”

The man nodded, and Rojer had to suppress a heave himself as Mese scrunched his face and swallowed his half-digested dinner back down.

Gared, Thamos, and the Wooden Soldiers moved behind the rocks while the others climbed into position along the ridges. Even with his wardsight Rojer could not make out the men hidden in the trees, which meant the demon would not see them, either. They flashed their lanterns and Rojer raised his fiddle, lifting his chin to let the magic of the instrument send his call far into the night.

It was answered immediately. As Thamos had intended, the sounds of battle had attracted its attention, and the rock was already headed their way. It was a simple matter to lure it along the chosen path.

Minutes later, the demon moved into view, brushing trees aside like houseplants. Its legs were like columns of black marble, and Rojer could feel the ground shake with each footfall.

Rojer adjusted his melody, entrancing the creature as he backed toward the narrow pass. When he was confident the coreling was mesmerized, he turned and moved deeper into the pass, trusting it to follow.

Thamos had chosen the ground well. It would be difficult for the Royals to miss at such range, and the kill would give them all much-needed confidence.

When he was safely out of the line of fire, Rojer altered his melody again, pushing back at the demon instead of drawing it on. As the great beast stood dazed, Thamos set off a flare that lit the night, illuminating the demon clearly.

There was a thrumming from the north, and Rojer’s warded eyes saw the Milnese quarrels streak magic through the air and sizzle into the demon’s head and neck. It shrieked in pain, and Rojer lost all control of it. He lowered his fiddle and wrapped his Cloak of Unsight about himself to wait.

Another round of bolts flew from the Milnese. Rojer could hear their excited shouts as the quarrels struck home.

But nothing yet from the duke and his brothers. What were they waiting for? Were they too spoiled to work the cranks on their own bows?

As Gared had predicted, the first bolts only angered the great demon. Mad with pain, it rushed Rojer’s way in a desperate bid to escape the trap. Rojer brought up his fiddle, loud and discordant, driving it back.

Blocked, the demon ran the other way as the Milnese continued to fire. What were the Royals waiting for?

The count gave a great cry, he and Gared anchoring the shield wall as the rock demon charged their position. They drove into the demon, attempting to send it stumbling back into the killing ground.

But having taken only half the fire, the demon was stronger than anticipated, the pain of its wounds giving it a savage strength. The warded shields knocked it back a step, but the demon kept its balance and smashed a giant fist down on the hard ground, shaking two of the Wooden Soldiers from their feet. A lash of its tail into the breach broke one man’s leg, and scattered the others.

With the battle joined, the bowmen could not fire without chancing to hit the men. Only Gared and Thamos kept control. The count rushed to put himself between the rock demon and the injured man, driving it back with measured thrusts of his spear.

Mese moved to stand beside Thamos. The rock fought wildly, but not so much that it gave openings the warriors could exploit.

While the attention was on them, Gared circled around, bashing the demon in the back of one knee with his axe. Its leg collapsed and it fell, catching itself with a clawed arm. The great horned head dipped within reach of Thamos’ charging spear.

But then another shriek, this one from above as a wind demon swept in, taking a screaming Mese in its hind talons. The lacquered wooden plates of his warded armor glowed fiercely, keeping the claws from puncturing, but they did not protect him from the squeeze as it gripped tighter and spread its wings with a great flap. In an instant, it would take to the sky and Mese would be gone.

Thamos changed course without missing a beat, sacrificing the killing blow to save the soldier. He seemed to bounce as he twisted to face the new threat, launching his spear just as the wings caught air and the coreling began to rise.

The count had allotted for the ascent, punching his powerfully warded spear through the demon’s chest when it was a dozen feet in the air. It went limp, crashing back to the ridge with Mese shouting but very much alive.

The distraction cost Thamos as the recovered rock demon swiped at him, catching the edge of his shield and launching him through the air to land heavily on his back. The demon gave a roar, launching itself at him.

It would have had the count, but Gared roared and brought his axe down, severing the spiked end of its tail. Spewing ichor, the tail cracked like a whip, knocking Gared from his feet.

Their sights momentarily clear, the Milnese risked another volley, stinging the demon and giving time for Thamos to snatch the spear Mese had dropped. Rojer looked to the south ridge, but there was no sign the Angierians were even there.

Thamos bellowed a challenge to draw the demon’s attention from Gared. It hesitated, then struck at him, a measured blow Thamos caught on his shield as he continued to advance.

He had the demon’s full attention now, and it was unprepared as the other Wooden Soldiers, led by Sergeant Mese himself, found their hearts and charged in.

Bright with magic, Gared was healing even before he rolled to his feet. He moved in with the angry stride Rojer knew meant the fight had become personal.

He almost pitied the demon.

As Thamos and the others harried the demon back, Gared swung his axe two-handed, the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow chopping wedges from the demon’s knee like it was a goldwood tree. In moments he severed the joint entirely, and the demon fell with a boom that shook the entire hill.