The Skull Throne (36 page)

She saw its muscles relax as the trance began and pounced on its back, hooking an arm and her legs around the demon’s midsection as she rolled onto her back. The demon flailed and kicked helplessly as she drove her knife into its chest and pulled down sharply, laying its insides open.

Light began to peek over the horizon, the coreflesh beginning to smoke and sizzle. Desperate, Renna thrust her hands into the open wound, clawing free whatever meat she could find and cramming it into her mouth before the sun could burn it away.

There were several intense moments of messy mastication, and then a spark, as the ichor running down her chin caught fire. She cried out in surprise.

There was a sudden slash, a shining spearpoint cleaving the grass like a scythe. Shanvah stood there, spear raised to attack. But then she started, seeing the demon corpse.

Immediately she leapt back, bowing deeply. “Apologies for not heeding your request, sister, but I was concerned. When you cried out, I thought …”

She looked up. “But of course not. You are Renna vah Harl, and no demon can stand against …”

Her aura was lost in the rising sun, but Shanvah’s eyes told Renna enough. She knew.

“Shanvah, wait …” she began, but the woman turned and raced away.

Everyone was back in the yard by the time Renna made it back, standing in the shadow of the tower. Shanvah was on her knees, head on the ground. Shanjat was holding his spear.

Arlen and Jardir looked ready to fight again, this time once and for all.

All eyes turned to her as she approached. Shanvah leapt to her feet, spear pointed Renna’s way. “She is a servant of Nie!”

“Impossible,” Jardir said. “She stood with us against Alagai Ka himself.”

“She has been corrupted,” Shanvah said. “Before Everam, on my honor and hope of Heaven, I swear, Deliverer. With my own eyes I saw her feasting on the foul meat of the
alagai.
”

“Impossible,” Jardir said again, pointing to the rising sun. He and the others were still in semidarkness, but Renna stood fully in the light. “How could any servant of Nie stand in Everam radiance if …”

But then he turned sharply, looking at Arlen. He closed the distance between them in a second, grabbing Arlen’s hands as he probed deeper into his aura.

“It’s true,” Jardir whispered. “Everam preserve us, I trusted you, and all along, you served Nie.”

“Corespawn it, stop acting the ripping fool!” Arlen shouted.

“Why else would you profane your body with … !”

Arlen growled, shoving Jardir away so hard Shanjat had to leap out of the way to avoid being hit. Everyone tensed for battle, but Arlen held his ground, making no effort to continue the fight. “You have the stones to ask
why
?! Night, you think I
wanted
this?”

He pointed an angry finger at Jardir. “This is
your
doing, same as the ripping ink.”

“Now it is you being the fool, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “I did not force demon meat down your throat.”

“No, you and Shanjat and the others left me for dead in the corespawned desert,” Arlen snapped, “after beating me, robbing me, and trying to throw me to the demons for having the audacity to
win
the first night’s
alagai’sharak
in three thousand years.”

Shanvah looked to Shanjat, eyes wide. “Father, this cannot be true.”

The tip of Shanjat’s ready spear dipped as he turned to her. “It is true, daughter. We dishonored ourselves with what we had to do that night, but the Par’chin had stolen the Spear of Kaji, and could not be allowed to keep it.”

“You parse words worse than any
khaffit
in the bazaar,” Arlen spat. “No one had seen the spear in over three thousand years. Its power belongs to all humanity, and I brought it to Jardir honorably, to share with you.”

“The
Sharum
will be silent!” Jardir snapped, his gaze never leaving Arlen. “You parse words, too, Par’chin. None of this explains why you have eaten of this foul meat.”

“Don’t it?” Arlen said. “Said yourself there was no food in Anoch Sun. It was why your people violated that place worse than the mind demons when you came through. Didn’t have time to be respectful. You just wanted to loot the place.”

“I warn you, Par’chin …” Jardir began.

“Don’t deny it,” Arlen said. “Being Shar’Dama Ka means making the big decisions, ay? Then take responsibility for them.”

“I do,” Jardir said evenly.

“Me, too,” Arlen said. “I wanted the secrets of Anoch Sun as much as you did. When I stumbled back to the Oasis of Dawn and warded my flesh, I had enough food to escape the desert …”

“Or return to Anoch Sun,” Jardir finished.

Arlen nodded. “Spent a long time there, studying. Demons were the only thing to eat. Had to survive, I was to pass on what I learned.”

He raised a finger. “But I left the place just like I found it. Bet your people didn’t even notice I’d been there. So which of us is honoring Everam and battling Nie better?”

Jardir sneered. “Speak not of Everam and Nie, Par’chin. You believe in neither.”

“And still better at your religion than you!” Arlen said, crossing his arms.

“You ate
alagai
meat,” Jardir said. “Do you honestly think you can keep from being corrupted by it?”

Arlen laughed. “You’re such a ripping hypocrite! Your entire life, your rise to power, your conquest, all of it was dictated by
alagai hora,
and you talk to me of corruption? How in your twisted logic does the voice of Everam come from demon bones?”

Jardir pursed his lips. “I have often wondered that, myself, but their power cannot be denied.”

“Of course not,” Arlen said. “You can see the ripping magic.” He pointed to the spear. “The Spear of Kaji has a demon bone core. So does the crown.

“Magic ent evil, and corelings ent foot soldiers in some eternal space war,” Arlen continued. “Just animals, like us. Animals that spent millions of years living deep in Ala, bathed in the power of the Core. Evolved to absorb and hold some of that power, and we’ve learned to turn it against them. That’s all.”

He held up a warded fist. “Tattoos give me power, but no more than your scars. Real power comes from eating the meat. That’s why I can dissipate and draw wards in the air. Do things you need your spear and crown for, or can’t do at all. Got my own demon bone core now.”

“If they are just animals as you say,” Jardir said, “you risk becoming one of them yourself, if you continue on this course.”

“Know that,” Arlen said. “Ent eaten demon in years, but the power seems here to stay.”

“But you allow your
jiwah
to risk it, too,” Jardir said.

Arlen laughed again, but it was not a condescending sound this time. His mirth was genuine. “Allow? Have you met Renna Bales? There’s no allowing her.”

“Corespawned right,” Renna said, taking his hand.

Arlen looked at her, love in his eyes, but kept taking to Jardir. “Asked her not to, but she knows what’s at stake, and has been trying to catch up. Thinks I’ll mist down to the Core and try to take on the
alagai
without her, she doesn’t.”

“Don’t say it like it’s some crazy notion,” Renna said. “Told me yourself it calls to you. Hear it too, now that I’m skating. But that ent a fight we can win alone.”

She expected Jardir to be aghast at the thought of the Core calling them, but he only nodded. “Nie’s call is strong, but indeed, you must resist. All Ala depends upon us. Put your faith in Everam and He will keep you strong.”

Arlen shook his head. “Never been much good at putting faith anywhere but in me and mine.”

Jardir reached out gently, touching Arlen’s chest. “Everam
is
inside you, my friend. Whether we created Him, or He created us, is irrelevant. He is the Light inside you when all else is dark. He is the Voice that whispers right from wrong. He is the Strength you drew upon in your desert trials. He is the Hope that you carry in this mad scheme.” He smiled. “He is the Stubborn inside you that refuses to admit the truth I bring.”

Arlen smiled. “Grant you that last, at least.”

“Now that the cat’s out, might be we don’t need the prisoner.” Renna said. “There’s a shortcut to down below for all of us.”

Arlen shook his head. “Don’t trust anyone, even myself, to dissipate too close to the Core. Be like dumping a bucket into a river and expecting it to stay upstream.”

Jardir crossed his arms. “Hypocrisy or not, my warriors I will not profane our bodies with
alagai
meat.”

There were enthusiastic nods from Shanvah and Shanjat, and Renna could see the relief in their eyes.

“So we do it the hard way,” Arlen agreed. “But for that, we need a way to get that ripping demon to talk.”

CHAPTER 14

THE PRISONER

333 AR AUTUMN

The Consort huddled at the center of the warding, presenting as little flesh as possible to the cursed day star.

His captors had been thorough. The chain and locks were carefully crafted from a true metal, and their warding was strong. They burned against his skin, keeping him corporeal.

His cell was circular and bereft of furnishing. Colored stones lined the floor, cemented into a mosaic of warding that would keep him trapped even if he escaped the chain. The warding pulled at his magic with such strength the Consort needed to keep his power buried deep, lest it be drained.

There would be no restoring lost energy, for the demon prince’s cell was high above the surface, with no vents to Draw from. The Consort powered his own prison, and was determined to give it as little as possible. He sipped at the store carefully.

There were wards outside the walls, as well. Wards to keep his prison hidden from prying eyes, both human and the drones that no doubt combed the surface, seeking sign of him. The Consort had tried to reach out to them, but the forbiddance was too strong. For the first time, his mind was cut off from both the base impulses of his drones and the beautiful complexity of his brethren’s thoughts. The silence was maddening.

But worse than even that indignity was the day star. Thick curtains had been pulled over the windows of the cell, overlapping and lashed tight. The darkness was so complete the surface stock were blind, but to the demon prince, even the barest light filtering in through the weaves was agony, sapping his strength and burning his skin. It was all the demon could do to squeeze his lidless eyes tight and curl on the floor until darkness returned.

At last, the star set, and the demon made a few quick, efficient motions to sit himself upright despite the unevenly wrapped lengths of chain that bound him. Slowly, the Consort Drew a bit of power, healing the flesh beneath an ever-thickening armor of burned and dead flesh.

Again he Drew, a spark for sustenance. His captors wisely did not get close enough to feed him.

Last, he shifted, pulling a particular lock against his flesh as he focused a last bit of power into it, slowly eroding the metal. Too much, and the chain would pull the power away, but just a touch could wear it like water dripping on stone.

The demon had studied his chains for half a cycle now, and knew them intimately. Shatter three locks at the shackle, and much of his mobility would be restored. Break two more links, and he could slip the chain.

Once free of the chain, he would need to disable the mosaic to dissipate out of the prison. That would go more quickly, but the patterns suggested he would not progress far enough before one of his captors noticed the attempt. Even the weakest of them could pull the curtain with a flick of the wrist, and sunrise mark his end.

The Consort could afford to be patient. It would be many cycles before he was ready to shatter the chain, and much could change in that time. The human minds wanted him alive, and it was a good opportunity to study and probe their weaknesses.

It was a delightful irony that the very shackles they used to keep him corporeal prevented the Consort from reshaping his throat and mouth to allow him to replicate the crude grunting that passed for speech among the surface stock. He could understand their questions, but not answer them.

This frustrated the minds, deepening the rifts between them. Unifiers they might be, but like any human, they were stupid. Emotional. Barely more intelligent that mimics.

Most of all, they were mortal. The time would come when their vigilance failed, and he would be free.

CHAPTER 15

THE WARDED CHILDREN

333 AR WINTER

“Corespawned if I’m letting you put your oily desert hands on my little girl!”

Leesha looked up, her hands full of a man’s intestine, to see a thick-armed Laktonian man and his teenage son looming with balled fists over tiny Amanvah. The apprentices assisting her were all frozen with fear. Jizell, too, had paused in her surgery, but she could no more stop and involve herself than Leesha.

Amanvah did not seem perturbed. “If I do not, she will die.”

“Ay, whose ripping fault is that?” the boy cried. “You desert rats killed Mum and ran us out into the night!”

“Do not blame me for your cowardice and inability to protect your sister,” Amanvah said. “Stand aside.”

“Core I will,” the man said, grabbing her arm. Sikvah took a step forward, but the man’s son sidestepped to block her path.

Amanvah looked down as if he had rubbed shit on her white robe, pristine despite the hours she had spent in the surgery with Leesha. Then her hand shot up, snaking around the man’s giant biceps and into his armpit. She stepped back in a half turn, bringing the man’s arm out straight until the elbow locked. She twisted slightly, and the man roared with pain.

Amanvah used the locked arm to guide the man like a puppet, swinging him away from the operating table and right into his son. A well-placed kick set the boy stumbling toward the doors, and Amanvah walked the screaming man straight back after him, sweeping both men out of the room as easily as dust into a pan.

She let the man’s arm go as the doors swung open, delivering a mule-kick into his solar plexus that sent both flying through the air, one landing heavily atop the other. Dozens of women working triage looked up in shock.

Leesha turned to Roni. “Get out there and find the biggest Cutters you can. Post them at the surgery door and tell them I will bite their ripping heads off if anyone other than patients and Gatherers is allowed in.”

“Someone’s got to carry the wounded in,” Roni said. “Most of the Cutters are out in the night.”

“I’ll find a few hands when I finish here,” Leesha said. “Go.”

Roni nodded and vanished. Amanvah was already at work on the girl, badly bitten by field demons. These were not the first Laktonians to lose control at the sight of Amanvah’s robes and dark skin, but folk would need to swallow it—along with a few teeth, if necessary.

Even with almost every Gatherer in the Hollow at hand, their resources were taxed. The apprentices could set a bone and stitch a gash, but there were few with the knowledge to cut into a patient, much less fix what they found. Amanvah was the best combat surgeon Leesha had ever seen. She could not afford to send the woman away.

There was a lull as they waited the next wave. Leesha finished her work, leaving Kadie to stitch. She stretched her back as she made her way out of the surgery. The extra weight she was carrying did not make hours bent over the operating table any easier.

The hospit’s main room was chaotic. It was more than a week since the refugees began to arrive but still wounded poured in as Cutter and Wooden Soldier patrols gathered groups on the road and guided them into the Hollow. Fleeing for days on end, many suffered from exhaustion and exposure; others had been wounded in the invasion, or by demons on the road.

But after the waves of refugees from Rizon and the losses at new moon, the Hollowers had gotten used to bringing order from chaos.

Off to the side, the two Laktonian men slumped on a bunch, arms on their knees as they stared at the floor. She was in desperate need of a rest, but it was a stark reminder that others had it far worse.

Leesha understood the rage the refugees directed toward Amanvah. She felt it herself. Their strike on Docktown was too precise to have been a sudden inspiration. Ahmann had been planning it all along, even as he seduced her.

Part of her, angry and wounded, hoped Arlen had indeed killed him.

She made her way over to them. The father didn’t even look up until she put her feet right in their field of vision. The son continued to stare.

“Your daughter will be all right,” she said. “All of you will.”

“’Preciate the thought, Gatherer,” the father said, “but I don’t things will ever be all right again. We’ve lost … everything. If Cadie dies, I don’t know what I’ll …” He choked off with a sob.

Leesha laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know it feels that way, but I’ve been right where you are. More than once. All the Hollowers have.”

“Gets better.” Stela Inn had appeared with the water cart. She ladled a pair of cups and produced a rough blanket. “Weather’s gettin’ chill. There’ll be heat wards in the campsite, but they only work at night. Did they give you a site number?”

“Ah …” the man said. “Boy out front said something …”

“Seven,” the son said, his eyes still on the floor. “We’re in site seven.”

Stela nodded. “Pollock’s field. What are your names?”

“Marsin Peat.” The man nodded to his son. “Jak.”

Stela made a note on her pad. “When’s the last time you ate?”

The man looked at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head. “Search my pockets.”

Stela smiled. “I’ll ask Callen to come by with the bread cart while you wait for word.”

“Creator bless you, girl,” the man said.

“See?” Leesha said. “Getting better already.”

“Ay,” the boy said. “Mum’s gone, house is ashes, and Cadie’s gonna die of demon fever. But we’ve got a blanket, so everything’s sunny!”

“Ay, be grateful!” Marsin snapped, swatting his son on the back of his head.

“There will be more than just blankets and bread,” Leesha said. “A pair of strong backs like your can be put right to work cutting trees and building homes on one of the new greatwards.”

“Paid work,” Stela noted. “Food credits at first, but then you’ll start at five klats a day each.”

Leesha had scoffed, but the new coin was just what folk needed, dispersing among the refugees faster than they could be printed.

Marsin shook his head. “Thought it was over for us tonight, when the demons got through our camp wards. But I gotta believe … Deliverer wouldn’t’ve saved us if there wern’t no reason.”

Leesha and Stella looked up sharply at that. “You saw the Deliverer?” Stela asked.

The man nodded. “Ay. And I wasn’t the only one.”

“It was just a flash of wardlight,” Jak said.

“Ay,” Marsin agreed. “But brighter than anything my hasty wards could make. Hurt to look at. And I saw an arm.”

“Could’ve been anythin’,” Jak said.

“Anythin’ didn’t freeze the flame demon that bit Cadie solid,” Marsin said. “Or set that woodie on fire so we could reach the Cutters on the road.”

Leesha shook her head. This wasn’t the first tale of Renna’s exploits she’d heard, but as yet none had seen more than a flitting shadow or a glimpse of warded flesh.

How is she doing it?
Leesha wondered. Drawing wards in the air and dissipating like smoke, traveling miles in the time it took to draw a deep breath. It was more than blackstem wards could explain. Wonda had grown powerful at night, but nothing like that, and her abilities always faded back to mortal levels when the sun rose.

“Swear by the sun,” Marsin was saying. “Deliverer saved me and mine.”

“Course he did,” Stela said. “Deliverer’s out there, watching over all of us.”

Leesha led the girl out of earshot of the men. “Don’t go making promises like that. You know as well as any even Arlen Bales can’t be everywhere at once. Folk need to concentrate on saving themselves.”

Stela gave a curtsy. “Ay, mistress, that’s sunny and good when you’re a Cutter with arms like tree trunks, or a Krasian princess who can throw men across the room like dolls. What’s a Hollow girl like me to do?”

What indeed?
Leesha wondered. Stela was healthy enough, but small and thin-limbed. The girl was helping as best she could, but she was right. She wasn’t built for fighting.

“Would you fight if you could?” Leesha asked.

“Ay, mistress,” Stela said. “But even if Grandda would let me, I can’t so much as wind a crank bow.”

“We’ll see about that,” Leesha said.

“Mistress?” Stela asked.

“Focus on your work,” Leesha said. “We’ll speak of this again soon.”

There was a boom as the front door to the hospit was kicked open. Wonda Cutter strode in, with two grown men slung over her shoulder and another carried in the crook of one arm. Her sleeves were rolled up, the blackstem wards glowing softly.

All around the room, folk pointed and whispered. Wonda caught Leesha’s eye and shrugged apologetically.

“Din’t have no choice, mistress,” Wonda said when they were alone. “I was all out of arrows and the demon was going right for ’em. What was I supposed to do? Let ’em die?”

“Of course not, dear,” Leesha said. “You did the right thing.”

“Whole town’s talkin’ about it by now,” Wonda said. “Calling me your Warded Child.”

“What’s done is done,” Leesha said. “Pay it no mind. We couldn’t hide it forever, and I’ve learned enough to begin expanding our experiment.”

“Ay?” Wonda asked.

Leesha nodded to the wards on Wonda’s arms, still glowing softly. “The glow should die down when your adrenaline does. Do your breathing until it fades, then go ask around for volunteers. Remember what I told you to look for.”

“Ay, mistress.” Wonda was already breathing in slow rhythm.

“And Wonda?” Leesha nodded her head across the room. “Start with Stela Inn.”

The sun came up, and Wonda waited for the light to reach the yard, then stepped from the porch to begin slowly stretching through her daily
sharukin.
It was a chill morning, but she wore only a slight shift, exposing as much of her warded skin as possible to the sunlight.

“How do you feel, today?” Leesha asked.

“Wards itch when the sun first hits them in the morning,” Wonda said.

“Itch?” Leesha asked.

“Sting,” Wonda said. “Like being whipped with nettle branches.” Wonda let out a slow breath as she eased into her next position. “But don’t worry none, mistress. Feeling only lasts a minute or two. I can handle it.”

“Ay,” Leesha said. “I never would have known to look at you.”

“Ent gonna waste your time with every ache and pain, mistress,” Wonda said. “Don’t see you complaining, and you’ve had it worse than any of us.”

“You have to tell me these things, Wonda,” Leesha said. “Now more than ever, you need to tell me everything. The magic is affecting you, and we need to make sure it’s safe, for all their sakes.”

And for mine,
she thought.
And my baby.

“You haven’t slept in over a week,” Leesha said. Few of the Cutters had. Wherever demon fighting was thickest for refugees on the road, Wonda and Gared were there with the original Cutters, those who had stood with Arlen at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. By night, the wards cut into their horses’ hooves ate the miles as they tracked packs of demons hunting the refugees, destroying them before they could strike. By day they helped guide the fleeing Laktonians to the warded campsites being built along the road.

“Neither have you, mistress,” Wonda pointed out. “Don’t think because I wan’t here I din’t have eyes on you. Girls tell me you ent caught more’n a few minutes since all this began. Magic’s affecting you, too.”

It was true enough.

“It is.” Leesha hardened her voice just a touch. “I’ve used more
hora
magic in the last week than in the months before. I’m not getting half the feedback you are since the blackstem, but enough to get a sense of what you’re going through. I feel …”

“Like you could march on the Core itself, and put your toe up the Mother of Demons’ ass.”

Leesha laughed. “More colorful than I would have put it, but ay. The magic flows through you and washes fatigue away.”

Wonda nodded. “By sunrise, feels like you’ve had a full night’s sleep and a pot of coffee. Better. Like a bowstring, ready to loose.”

“Do you keep your bow drawn all the time?” Leesha asked.

“Course not.” Wonda paused in her workout to look at Leesha. “Ruin a good bow like that.”

“It’s unnatural to go so long without sleep,” Leesha said. “Maybe we’re not tired, but I feel something draining away. Without dreams to escape to—”

“—whole world’s starting to feel like one,” Wonda finished for her. “Ay.”

“I’m going to brew you a dash of tampweed and skyflower,” Leesha said. “Should put you out for eight hours.”

“What about you?” Wonda said.

“I’ll sleep tonight, when you take them out,” Leesha promised. “Honest word.”

Wonda grunted, going back her stretching. Leesha wondered what it was like for Arlen, or even Renna. Had they had a decent sleep in months? When did they last dream?

She was afraid of the answer.
Probably why they’re both crazy as cats.

Wonda finished her exercises and they went inside. Wonda took her wooden armor off its rack, readying her polishing tools. The armor was a gift from Thamos’ mother, Duchess Araine, and Wonda prized it nearly as much as the bow and arrows Arlen had given her. Each morning she polished the weapons and armor as lovingly as a mother bathing an infant.