The Skull Throne (49 page)

Rojer laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Those women were probably desperate to impress the Bachelor Baron of Hollow County. Say whatever you like. Brag about all the demons you’ve killed, or talk about your horse. It doesn’t matter. They’ll laugh and sigh all the same.”

“If it doesn’t matter what I say, what’s the point of talkin’ at all?” Gared asked.

“Passes the time,” Rojer said. “These people ent done a hard day’s work in their entire lives, Gar. Nothin’ but time on their hands for poetry and perfume.”

Gared spat. One of the servants gave him a look, but wisely kept silent. Gared had the decency to look embarrassed, at least.

“Don’t want a wife like that,” Gared said. “May not be smart or know my letters, but Creator my witness, I break my back all day and night. Don’t want to come home and have to listen to a bunch of ripping poems.”

“You want a woman who’s waiting with an ale,” Rojer guessed, “ready to lift her dress on a moment’s notice.”

Gared looked at him. “Don’t know me as well as you think, Rojer. Break my back for Cutter’s Hollow, and I need to know my woman’s done the same. I can get my own ripping ale.”

He dropped his eyes. “Like the sound of that last part, though.”

In Rhinebeck’s drawing rooms, men were smoking and drinking, debating politics and religion, and generally trying to impress one another. There were several Succor tables with men clustered about them, sipping brandy and acting not the least affected as more money than most Angierians saw in a lifetime changed hands with every throw of the dice.

Jasin was present, but the herald had claimed a corner and was surrounded by a knot of sycophants that made an unexpected encounter unlikely.

“Gared! Rojer!” Thamos called, waving them over to where he stood with his brothers and Lord Janson. “Join us!” Keerin, Duke Euchor’s herald, was there as well, but with the air of a man trying to join a conversation where he is not entirely welcome.

“Are you refreshed from the road, my sons?” Shepherd Pether asked. “Thamos was telling us how your caravan traveled at night as well as day, slaying corespawn as you went. A most impressive feat.”

Gared’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Same as any other night, I guess. Killin’ demons is sweaty work, but it’s not like choppin’ a tree. Arlen Bales warded my axe himself. Don’t get tired when I swing it at a demon. Feel stronger with every hit.”

The men all grunted and nodded knowingly, but Rojer could see through the façade. Odds were none of them had never even seen a demon up close, much less fought one.

“And you, Rojer?” Janson asked. “As I understand it, you gain no such advantage when you charm the corelings with your fiddle. Playing through the night must be taxing.”

“Calluses, my lord,” Rojer smiled, holding up his eight fingers. The men were too on guard to flinch, but he could see the shock in their eyes. His crippled hand was a harsh reminder of what lay beyond their wardwalls at night.

“As Gared says, we’re used to such things in the Hollow,” Rojer went on. “I think my fingers could limber a bit more with a spot of Succor …”

“Don’t bother,” Keerin said. “I’ve already tried. They all know better than to dice with a Jongleur.”

“The Duchess Mum raised no fools,” Janson said. Rhinebeck and his brothers looked his way and laughed, acting as if Keerin had not spoken at all.

The herald laughed along uncomfortably, desperate to find some bit of acceptance. In the moment of silence that followed, he pressed his suit. “I, too, have some experience with demons. Perhaps you’ve heard the tale of how I cut the arm from a rock demon?”

Something about that tickled Rojer’s memory, but that was all. The other men groaned.

“Not this ale story again,” Rhinebeck said.

“Must’ve been a little one,” Gared said. “Don’t look like you could reach the arm of a decent-sized rock. What’d you use? Axe? Pick mattock?”

Keerin smiled, seeming to come alive at the words. “Therein lies a great tale.” He swept a bow to Rhinebeck. “With Your Grace’s permission …”

The duke put his face in his hand. “Had to ask, ay Baron?” He swept the hand at Keerin. “Very well, Herald. Sing your song.” Keerin swept into the center of the room calling for attention while the duke signaled for more wine. He had a fine lute, and while he was unlikely to be counted among the great singers, neither was Rojer. Keerin’s voice was rich and clear, washing over the room as he cast his spell.

The night was dark

The ground was hard

Succor was leagues away

The cold wind stark

Cutting at our hearts

Only wards kept corelings at bay

“Help me!” we heard

A voice in need

The cry of a frightened child

“Run to us!” I called

“Our circle’s wide,

The only succor for miles!”

The boy cried out

“I can’t; I fell!”

His call echoed in the black

Catching his shout

I sought to help

But the Messenger held me back

“What good to die?”

He asked me, grim

“For death is all you’ll find

“No help you’ll provide

’Gainst coreling claws

Just more meat to grind”

I struck him hard

And grabbed his spear

Leaping across the wards

A frantic charge

Strength born of fear

Before the boy be cored

“Stay brave!” I cried

Running hard his way

“Keep your heart strong and true!

“If you can’t stride

To where it’s safe

I’ll bring the wards to you!”

I reached him quick

But not enough

Corelings gathered ’round

The demons thick

My work was rough

Scratching wards into the ground

A thunderous roar

Boomed in the night

A demon twenty feet tall

It towered fore

And ’gainst such might

My spear seemed puny and small

Horns like hard spears!

Claws like my arm!

A carapace hard and black!

An avalanche

Promising harm

The beast moved to the attack!

The boy screamed scared

And clutched my leg

Clawed as I drew the last ward!

The magic flared

Creator’s gift

The one force demons abhor!

Some will tell you

Only the sun

Can bring a rock demon harm

That night I learned

It could be done

As did the demon One Arm!

The last words struck Rojer, and suddenly he realized why the tale was so familiar. How many times had Arlen told of the one-armed rock demon that pursued him for years after he cut its arm off as a boy? What were the odds this tale happened twice on the road to Miln?

Keerin ended with a flourish, and there was applause throughout the drawing room, but the sound was noticeably absent from Jasin’s corner, and the duke’s circle.

Rojer’s claps were loud and slow, designed to echo off the room’s high-vaulted ceiling. They continued when the rest of the applause had died away, drawing all eyes to him.

“A fine tale,” Rojer congratulated loudly. “Though I knew a man who told it differently.”

“Oh?” Keerin asked imperiously, knowing a challenge when he heard it. “And who might that be?”

“Arlen Bales,” Rojer said, and there was chatter throughout the room at the name.

He looked at Keerin with mock incredulity as the color drained from the man’s face. “You realize, of course, that the boy in your song grew to be none other than the Warded Man, himself?”

“Don’t remember a Jongleur in that story,” Gared said, and there was more chatter at that. “You want to hear a true story?” He slapped Rojer on the back, knocking him forward a step. “Rojer, play
The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow
!”

Thamos put his face in his hand. Rojer turned, bowing to Rhinebeck as Keerin had. “Your Grace, I need not …”

“It’s already being played in every alehouse from here to Miln,” Rhinebeck said with a wave. “Might as well hear it from the source.”

Rojer swallowed, but he took out his fiddle and began to play.

Cutter’s Hollow lost its center

When the flux came to stay

Killed great Herb Gatherer Bruna

Her ’prentice far away

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

In Fort Angiers far to the north

Leesha got ill tiding

Her mentor dead, her father sick

Hollow a week’s riding

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

No guide she found through naked night

Just Jongleur travel wards

That could not hold the bandits back

As it did coreling hordes

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

Left for dead no horse or succor

Corelings roving in bands

They met a man with tattooed flesh

Killed demons with bare hands

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

The Hollow razed when they arrived

Not a ward left intact

And half the folk who called it home

Lay dead or on their backs

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

Warded Man spat on despair

Said follow me and fight

We’ll see the dawn if we all stand

Side by side in the night

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

All night they fought with axe and spear

Butcher’s knife and shield

While Leesha brought those too weak to

The Holy House to heal

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

Hollowers kept their loved ones safe

Though night was long and hard

There’s reason why the battlefield’s

Called the Corelings’ Graveyard

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

If someone asks why at sunset

Demons all get shivers

Hollowers say with honest word

It’s ’cuz we’re all Deliverers

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Warded Man came to the Hollow

Keerin seemed to shrink as the song went on. Gared roared the refrain along with Rojer, and others in the room took up the song. By the end, the Milnese herald’s haughty look was gone.

The applause was louder at the end of Rojer’s song, with Gared leading the crowd with piercing whistles and his booming claps and cheers. Thamos joined him, and even his brothers clapped politely, save for Shepherd Pether, who merely sipped his wine.

But from Jasin’s corner, there was silence until the rest died down, and then he, too, began a slow clap, walking toward the center of the room.

“Your Grace—” he began.

“Not now, Jasin,” Rhinebeck cut him off with a wave. “I think we’ve had enough of singing for one night.”

Jasin’s jaw dropped, and Rojer flashed him a smile. “Not even Thirdsong tonight, ay? Perhaps we’ll call you Jasin Nosong from now on.” Before the herald could react, Rojer turned his back and rejoined the duke’s entourage.

“And where is this
Warded Man
?” Pether’s mouth was a tight line. Not surprising, since Arlen Bales represented a direct challenge to his authority. Should Arlen be acknowledged openly as Deliverer, Pether’s position as the head of the church in Angiers would be effectively meaningless.

“Over a cliff with the demon of the desert, as I told you all in my letters,” Thamos said immediately. “I was there, and have not heard credible tale of any seeing him since.”

“He’ll be back,” Gared said, oblivious to the look Thamos shot him, or the way Pether’s lips soured. “Sure as the sun rises.”

“You believe he is the Deliverer, then?” Pether demanded.

All around them, other conversations died as everyone in the room waited on Gared’s response. Even Gared picked up on it, realizing that the entire relationship between Hollow County and Angiers might hinge on his response.

“Was for me and mine,” Gared said at last. “Can’t deny the world’s changing, and it started with him.” He looked up, meeting Pether’s eyes with an intensity that broke even the Shepherd’s glare. “But I know Arlen Bales. He dun’t want a throne. Dun’t want to tell folk how to live their lives. All Arlen Bales cares about is killing demons, and that’s something every one of us ought to be able to get behind.”

“Hear hear!” Thamos said loudly, raising his glass. His brothers all looked at him in surprise, but the count kept his eyes on Gared, avoiding their stare. The rest of the room responded instinctively at the motion, raising their glasses with a cheer.

Rhinebeck, Mickael, and Pether, sensing the mood, drank the toast with practiced smiles, but Rojer could sense the unease that lay beneath.

Leesha continued to be amazed at Araine’s masterful performance as a doddering old woman. She had one arm through Leesha’s and another through Melny’s, no act to the weight she put on them.