The Skull Throne (80 page)

Now, she had dice carved from a mind demon’s bones, and coated in electrum. She closed her fingers about the seven dice, Drawing hard on their power for one last burst of strength and speed.

Melan and Asavi had not expected the move, but neither were they caught unaware. As Inevera came back, they moved in perfect sync, Asavi to block, and Melan to counter.

Faster than asps a moment ago, the women now seemed to move like plodding camels. Inevera’s kick connected with Asavi’s chest before her hands were in place to block, knocking her back with plenty of time to pivot and catch Melan’s attack, pulling her into a throw that sent her clear across the room.

At a safe distance, both women reached for their
hora
pouches once more, but Inevera was faster, raising the fist that clutched her dice and pointing a finger, her sharp nail tracing a cold ward in the air.

Asavi literally froze, a thin rime of white coating her skin. Inevera had not intended to kill her—yet—but she had not anticipated the raw power of the dice. The woman’s aura snuffed like a candle.

Melan shrieked, letting loose a blast of lightning, but Inevera turned, sketching a quick Drawing in the air. Her hand tingled as the energy was absorbed back into the dice.

Gaping, Melan fumbled with her
hora
pouch, pulling free another fistful of wind demon teeth. Propulsion wards activated as she threw, but Inevera traced the ward in reverse, and the teeth ripped back through the thrower.

Melan gave a sharp cry and fell back, groaning and laboring for breath, riddled with holes. Inevera kept her dice in hand, ready to ward, but the woman’s aura gave no sign that she might continue the battle.

“Killed … Asavi …” Melan said through clenched teeth.

“The same fate she wanted for me,” Inevera noted. “But you don’t fear cold, do you, Melan?” She drew quick wards in the air, and a bright flame hovered above her hand. “Fire has ever been your bane.”

Melan flinched, crying in pain as she curled reflexively, clutching her scarred hand close. “I will tell you nothing!”

Inevera laughed. “I have my dice, little sister. I need nothing you can tell me. Any value you might still hold vanished the moment you mentioned my mother.”

“Forgive our failure, Damajah,” Micha begged when Inevera revived her. Jarvah was only just stirring from the healing magic when one of Inevera’s earrings began to vibrate, signaling that someone had entered one of the secret passages the spear sisters used.

Be silent,
Inevera’s hands signaled. She flicked her fingers, and Micha helped get Jarvah out of sight as Inevera raised her
hora
wand.

The hidden door opened silently, but it was no attacker. Instead she found Ashia, with Kajivah slung over her shoulder and a bundle strapped to her chest. The spear sister’s robes were torn and wet with blood, her white veil splotched red. She left bloody footprints behind her.

“Succor, I beg, Damajah.” Ashia laid Kajivah down and uncovered the bundle, revealing her infant son.

“What has happened?” Inevera demanded, moving to inspect the woman’s wounds. There were bruises and superficial cuts, but a spear had pierced her abdomen and come clear through. She was pale, her aura dim. She would need
hora
magic if she was to survive.

“Jayan is dead,” Ashia said, “his forces shattered.”

Inevera nodded. “I know.”

“The
shar’dama
killed their
Damaji
and took control of the tribes in response,” Ashia said. “All save Maji, who was defeated.”

This was news, and dire. It had been Inevera’s intention all along that Ahmann’s
dama
sons take control of the tribes, but at a time of her own choosing. The idiots risked everything, and she realized just how far her control of them had slipped.

“And Ashan?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

“My father is dead,” Ashia said. “Asome sits the Skull Throne.”

Worse, still. She had already lost Jayan. It would be devastating if she were forced to kill Asome, as well.

“I turned to Asukaji when the slaughter began,” Ashia said, “just in time to catch a chain around my throat as he tried to kill me.”

“Then your brother, too, is dead,” Inevera guessed.

Ashia nodded, coughing blood, then, and swayed on her knees. Inevera signaled and Micha and Jarvah were there in an instant. “Take the child.”

Jarvah reached out, but Ashia tightened her grasp reflexively and Kaji began to cry. Ashia squinted as if she did not recognize her spear sister, confusion and fear in her aura.

That more than anything frightened Inevera. When had she ever seen fear in Ashia’s aura? Not even when the
alagai
built greatwards around the city.

“By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I swear I will not harm him, sister,” Jarvah said. “Please. The Damajah must see to your injuries.”

Ashia shook her head, and some of the confusion left her aura. “I have walked the abyss to protect my son tonight, sister. I will not be parted from him.”

“You will not be parted,” Inevera said. “You have my word. But you may clutch too tightly when the magic takes you. Let your spear sister hold Kaji. They will not leave your side.”

Ashia nodded, relaxing her grip. Jarvah took Kaji, holding the thrashing infant beneath the armpits at arm’s length. She looked like she would prefer fighting a rock demon. The
Sharum’ting
, denied their own childhoods, had none of a mother’s instincts.

Inevera snatched the child from her, bundling his limbs tightly in the blanket. She took the neat bundle and pushed it into the crook of Jarvah’s elbow. “Micha, take the Holy Mother down to the vault. We will meet you there shortly. Go quickly and tell no one.”

“Yes, Damajah.” Micha bowed and vanished.

Inevera swept into the throne room at dawn, her
Damaji’ting
sister-wives at her heel. The room was already filled with
dama
and
Sharum,
causing a great din at the news. Before them, their second sons lined the path to the throne, save for Belina, who glared hatred at Damaji Aleveran. Aleverak’s eldest son, Aleveran had taken the place of his father to lead the Majah—at least for now.

None of the
Damaji’ting
approved of their sons’ coup, but ties of blood ran deeply in them all. Inevera felt it herself, looking up the steps to Asome, his face grim, eyes still puffed from tears no doubt shed over Asukaji.

There is always a price to power, my son,
she thought. Even now, sympathy for the boy mingled with the pain of Jayan’s loss. Some might claim the younger killed the elder, but the truth of the dice was harsher. Asome had goaded his brother, but it was Jayan who defeated himself.

“It is good to see you well, Mother. I feared for you last night.” Asome had wisely uncovered the windows of the throne room, filling it with light that bounced around the room on dozens of new mirrors, but Inevera did not need to read his aura to know the lie.

“I fear for all of us,” Inevera said, continuing on as her sister-wives took their place left of the throne, opposite the new
Damaji.
“So much that I have taken Kajivah and my grandson into my custody. For their own protection, of course.”

“Of course.” Asome grit his teeth as she began to ascend the steps. She knew he wanted to stop her—every man in the room did—but while it was one thing to have your mother quietly killed, it was another to attack the Damajah in the light of day before the entire court.

“And Ashia?” Asome asked. “My traitorous wife must face justice for killing her brother and my palace guards.”

Inevera resisted the urge to laugh at the irony. “I am afraid your
Jiwah Ka
was mortally wounded in the battle, my son.”

Asome pursed his lips, clearly doubting. “They must be returned, now that the danger is past. I would see the body of my wife, Kaji must lead his tribe, and my holy grandmother …”

Inevera topped the steps and met his eyes, and he did not dare finish the sentence. As Shar’Dama Ka, Asome’s power exceeded her own, but it was untested, and they both knew Inevera could have both of the hostages killed long before he found them.

“The danger is not past!” Inevera said loudly, her voice echoing through the room. “I have consulted the
alagai hora,
and the dice foretell doom, should they leave my protection.”

She did not bow, striding as an equal to her bed of pillows beside the throne.

CHAPTER 33

A VOICE IN THE DARK

334 AR SPRING

Six cycles passed, cold months come and gone as the demon worked, shaving the metal of his shackles away atom by atom. The first lock was ready to shatter, and the others grew weaker. Soon he would be ready to escape, but still his captors remained vigilant.

The prison began to heat, light seeping in through the curtain weave. Soon the day star would rise in full.

He was about to curl back down when a sound came from below. His gaolers, coming again to bark at him.

There were five of them, the same that had struck in the Enemy’s tomb. For reasons unknown, they had foolishly cut themselves off from their drones. Their minds were warded, but they had not learned to mask their auras well, and the glow about them showed the Consort much.

First came the drones. The male was magically and mentally dim, but loyal as a rock drone. He circled the ward mosaic, taking position behind the Consort.

The female drone was brighter than her sire, but this was not surprising. Demon females always dominated their sires—something the Consort knew well. The Hive Queen was his progeny, after all.

With the lesser drones behind him, the Unifiers entered. First came the Heir, who carried the weapons of the Enemy, powered by the bones and horns of the Consort’s ancestors, including his own grandsire.

The Consort swallowed a hiss. The Heir had gone to great lengths to protect the body of his own ancestor, yet he flaunted his enemies’ bones arrogantly. It was an insult the Consort would repay a thousandfold when he was free.

But the Heir’s surface aura was one of barely contained action. His every instinct screamed for him to kill the Consort and have done. He would not act unprovoked, but he would take any excuse to strike.

The Consort was careful to give none. His posture did not threaten, but he met the Heir’s eyes, watching.

Next to enter was the Explorer, who found the Enemy’s tomb and brought back the fighting wards the Consort and his brethren had worked so hard to suppress. Immediately following was his mate the Hunter, who feared nothing when the kill was scented. Both had covered their flesh in powerful wardings, powered from within by stolen Core magic.

Heir. Explorer. Hunter. Each was bright with power, but even now, all three could not match the power the Consort held in reserve, if he were free to use it.

“Mornin’,” the Explorer said. “Hope the accommodations are to your liking. Sorry we can’t be better hosts.”

The Consort watched him with bemusement. The Explorer always opened with some insincere platitude. They played the game over and over, but never learned the rules.

The Heir’s aura chafed at the Explorer’s lead. Older and more experienced, he was accustomed to dominance, but the Explorer’s magic was brighter, and in the end, magic always led.

It was a small rift in their alliance, but like the links of his chain, the Consort could worry it in time.

“How do we know it even understands us?” the Hunter asked. The female lacked patience, quick to anger. Another crevice to widen.

“Maybe its mouth ent suited to our speech,” the Explorer said, “but it’s getting every word.”

He moved along the wall, eyes on the Consort. There was something new in his aura. Impatient. “Only, I’m thinking it
can
talk. I think maybe it just doesn’t
want
to.”

“Can’t imagine why,” the Hunter said.

“Because it is a creature of Nie,” the Heir said.

“Thing is, demon, you ent much good to us if you can’t talk.” The Explorer took one of the curtains in hand, pulling it aside.

The Consort shrieked, throwing up arms to shield its eyes as the cell was filled with blinding brightness. Like molten stone, it burned his skin.

The Explorer let the curtain drop, and the Consort immediately Drew on his reserve, healing the damage. The pupils of the humans had not even dilated, but it was more light than the Consort could bear for long. He would be drained of power even before the day star rose to burn him into oblivion.

“Got anything to say?” the Explorer asked, still clutching the cloth.

It was a ploy. The Unifiers had kept him too long to kill him now. But the Consort’s eyes still burned, and the auras around him were unreadable. He could not risk it.

The Consort Drew hard, rolling to the side and strengthening a claw to shatter the lock he had eroded. A twist of the chain freed one of his legs, and he reached out, snatching the broken pieces of lock in his talons.

A short burst of power sent metal flying through the room. Neither the Consort nor his magic could leave the circle at the center of the mosaic, but once in motion, the projectiles flew uninhibited.

The Heir batted one piece aside with a wave of his weapon. The Explorer dissipated, letting it pass harmlessly through him. The Hunter was struck, but her aura brightened, healing the damage instantly. The female drone angled her shield and diverted the missile harmlessly.

The male drone was dim, but quick and alert. He stepped precisely as the Consort anticipated, and the twisted bit of metal missed him to strike the wall behind at precisely the right angle to rebound into the back of his head, knocking the warded wrappings he wore askew.

Dazed, the drone stumbled onto the mosaic and collapsed, one limb falling forward, the barest fingertip crossing the circle.

But even that breach was enough for the Consort to slip into his mind, crushing the drone’s will like an insect.

The others rushed to him, but they pulled up short when the drone got to his feet and placed himself in front of the Consort, his spear and shield held at the ready.

“Shanjat, stand aside,” the Heir said.

“Your drone no longer controls this shell,” the Consort replied, using the warrior’s mouth to form the clumsy, inefficient vibrations of their speech.

The Heir pointed the hated weapon at him. “Shanjat is ready for Heaven, demon. We will not release you for him.”

“Of course not,” the Consort agreed. “He is only a drone. He does not expect you to save him. He begs your forgiveness for his failure.”

“There is no dishonor in being defeated by a superior foe,” the Heir said, emotion coloring his aura and clouding his judgment. How easily they were manipulated!

“Indeed,” the Consort agreed. “You were correct that I cannot form your words, but this drone will serve hence as my voice.”

The female drone made a low sound, her aura coloring with a delicious blend of pain and anger. The Explorer reached again for the curtain. “Just for now, Shanvah. You’ll get your da back.”

She would not, of course. The Consort had already severed the drone’s will and replaced it with his own. He could access the drone’s thoughts, feelings, and memories, but without the Consort’s will to animate it, the body would wither and die. “What price for my freedom?”

“The path to the Core,” the Explorer said.

“They are all about, for one such as you, Explorer,” the Consort said.

The Explorer shook his head. “A real one. Kind you use to march your prisoners down to demon town.”

“A dangerous path, and winding,” the Consort said. “Countless twists and turns. Too much for this primitive drone to impart, but I can guide you.”

“We cannot simply trust this servant of Nie,” the Heir said.

“No one trusts anyone,” the Explorer said. “Just talking, is all.”

The Heir chafed at the Explorer’s dominant tone, and the Consort turned to him, both heads swiveling at once. “Your Nie and Everam are fictions. Soothing grunts to ease your fear of the dark.”

“More lies,” the Heir said.

The Consort shook the drone’s head. “You want to know why we have something, instead of nothing. Perhaps the worthiest question one of your primitive intellect can muster. The mind court has pondered this for millennia. There are many plausible answers, but none of them resembles the ridiculous fantasy the Mind Killer used to inspire his warriors.”

“Mind Killer?” the Heir parroted.

“The one you call Kaji,” the Consort said. “Though in truth it was pronounced
Kavri.
”

“How can you know this?” the Heir demanded.

“I knew him, in my fashion,” the Consort said. “All my kind did, in those cycles.”

“You were alive in the time of Kaji?” the Heir demanded. “Three thousand years ago? Impossible!”

The drone smiled. “Five thousand one hundred twelve. You’ve lost count many times, over the years.”

The female drone dared speak to her betters. “He lies.”

“He is the prince of liars,” the Heir said.

“Night, what is the matter with you?” the Hunter snapped. “Ent here to argue scripture!”

The Heir’s aura filled with anger at her tone, and she leaned in, fearless before the kill.

“Enough,” the Explorer said quietly, his submissive tone belying his dominance as their auras shamed and they stood down.

“Why would you take us there?” the Explorer asked.

“Because the journey is long, and you are mortal. The time will come when your guard grows lax, and then I will be free.” The Consort let out a false aura, granting sincerity to his words.

“Fair enough,” the Explorer said.

“And because the surface will soon be swept clean,” the Consort added.

“Eh?” the Explorer asked.

“You understand nothing of what your actions in the desert have brought upon your people,” the Consort said.

“There will be swarm.”