The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Jardir suppressed a shudder.

  “Point is,” Arlen said, “there are a number of routes we can follow to the Core, but it’s a long, winding trail. Lots of forks, dead ends, pitfalls, and dangerous crossings. Not something we could ever do on our own. Need a guide.”

  “And you want that guide to be one of Alagai Ka’s princelings,” Jardir said. The Par’chin nodded. “How will we make it betray its own kind and guide us?”

  “Torture,” the Par’chin said. “Pain. Demons have no sense of loyalty, and rail against captivity. We can use that.”

  “You sound unsure,” Jardir said. “How can we trust a prince of lies in any event?”

  “It’s a weak point in the plan,” the Par’chin admitted. He shrugged. “Need to catch one, first.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?” Jardir asked. “I’ve killed two. One I took by surprise, and had help from Leesha Paper and my Jiwah Ka with the other. They are formidable, Par’chin. Given a moment to act, they can—”

  The Par’chin smiled. “What? Turn into mist? Draw wards in the air? Heal their wounds? We can do these things, too, Ahmann. We can set a trap even Alagai Ka could not escape.”

  “How can we even find one?” Jardir asked. “After I killed one the first night of Waning, its brothers fled the field. They kept their distance the following nights, moving quickly.”

  “They fear you,” the Par’chin said. “They remember Kaji, the mind hunter, and the many he killed with the crown and spear and cloak. They will never come within miles of you willingly.”

  “So you admit Kaji was the Deliverer, and I am his heir,” Jardir said.

  “I admit Kaji was a general the mind demons feared,” the Par’chin said, “and when you faced them with his spear and crown, they came to fear you, too. Doesn’t make you heir to anything. If Abban wore the crown and held the spear, they’d piss themselves and run from him, too.”

  Jardir scowled, but it was pointless to argue. Despite his doubtful words and the Par’chin’s disrespect, he felt hope kindling in his breast. The Par’chin was building to something. His plan was madness, but it was glorious madness. Madness worthy of Kaji himself. He embraced the barb and pressed on. “How can we know where to set wards to trap one?”

  The Par’chin winked at him. “That’s the thing. I know where they’re going on new moon. All of them.

  “They’re going to Anoch Sun.”

  Jardir felt his blood go cold. The lost city of Kaji, where the Par’chin’s theft of the spear had set everything in motion. “How can you know this?”

  “You’re not the only one who’s fought minds, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “While you struggled with one in your bedroom, I fought its brother north of the Hollow. Would’ve had me, if not for Renna.”

  Jardir nodded. “Your jiwah is formidable.”

  The Par’chin accepted the compliment with a nod, but sighed deeply. “Maybe if I’d listened to her, I wouldn’t have been caught with my bido down by three of them last month.” His eyes dropped to the floor, and his aura colored with shame. “Got inside my head, Ahmann. Couldn’t stop them. Rooted around my memories like a rummage trunk. Most of all, they wanted to know where I found the wards …”

  “Raise your eyes, son of Jeph,” Jardir said. “I have never met a man who fought the alagai harder than you. If you could not stop them, they could not be stopped.”

  Gratitude flushed in the Par’chin’s aura as he lifted his chin. “Wasn’t all bad. Even as they looked into my thoughts, I got a glimpse into theirs. They mean to return to the lost city and do what three thousand years of sandstorms could not. Dunno if it’s fear the city has secrets yet to divulge, or a wish to shit upon their ancient foes, but they will exhume the sarcophagi and raze the city.”

  “We must stop them at any cost,” Jardir said. “I will not have my ancestors profaned.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Arlen snapped. “Throw away all strategic advantage over a handful of dusty corpses?”

  “Those are heroes of the First War, you faithless chin,” Jardir snapped. “They carry the honor of mankind. I will not suffer them to be sullied by the alagai.”

  The Par’chin spat on the floor. “Kaji himself would command you leave them.”

  Jardir laughed. “Oh, you claim to speak for Kaji now, Par’chin?”

  “I’ve read his treatise on war, too, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “No thing is more precious than victory. Kaji’s words, not mine.”

  Jardir balled his fists. “You’re free with the holy scripture when it suits you, son of Jeph, and quick to dismiss it as fantasy when it does not.” His crown began to glow fiercely. “Kaji also commanded we honor the bones of those who have given their lives in alagai’sharak above all others, and let none profane them.”

  The Par’chin crossed his arms, the wards on his flesh flaring to match the crown. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you will give up our one chance to take the fight to the demons just to preserve the honor of empty shells whose spirits have long since gone down the lonely path.”

  Our cultures are a natural insult to each other, Par’chin, Jardir had once said. We must resist the urge to take offense, if we are to continue to learn from each other.

  The son of Jeph’s aura was plain. He believed he was in the right, but had no wish to fight over the matter.

  “You are not wrong,” Jardir admitted, “but you are a fool if you think I will stand idle and watch a demon shit upon the bones of Kaji.”

  The Par’chin nodded. “And I do not ask you to. I ask that if it comes to it, you watch them shit upon Isak. Maji. Mehnding. Even Jardir, should they find him.”

  “They will not,” Jardir said, relieved. “My holy ancestor is interred in the Desert Spear. We can move the body of Kaji there.” Still, the thought of letting the alagai desecrate the bodies of the great leaders of the Evejah horrified him. Even with all Ala at stake, he did not know if he could witness such a thing and not act to stop it.

  “And what advantage do we gain by this … sacrifice?” Jardir asked through bitter tones.

  “We do not steal Kaji away,” the son of Jeph said. “The first Shar’Dama Ka will serve his people once more, baiting the trap we will set upon his tomb. Anoch Sun is enormous. We cannot predict precisely where the mind demons will strike, save that one crypt, seen so clearly in my memory. They are coming there, Ahmann. They are coming in force. And we will be there to meet them, hidden in Cloaks of Unsight. When they enter the chamber, we will capture one, kill as many as we can while surprise holds, and flee.”

  Jardir crossed his arms, looking skeptical. “And how are we supposed to accomplish this?”

  “We use the crown,” the Par’chin said.

  Jardir raised a brow.

  “The Crown of Kaji’s warding field can repel any demon, even an army of them, up to half a mile,” the Par’chin said.

  “I am aware of this,” Jardir said. “It is my crown.”

  The Par’chin smiled. “Are you also aware that you can raise the field at a distance? Like a bubble, keeping demons out, or as in the Maze …”

  “… keeping them in,” Jardir realized. “If we get in close …”

  “… you can trap them in with us,” the Par’chin said.

  Jardir clenched a fist. “We can destroy Nie’s generals before the first sallies of Sharak Ka even begin.”

  The Par’chin nodded. “But it won’t do much good if their queen can lay more.”

  Jardir looked at him. “Alagai’ting Ka. The Mother of Demons.”

  “Just so,” the Par’chin said. “Kill her, and we’ve a shot at winning the war. If not, they’ll come back again, even if it takes another three thousand years. Eventually, they’ll wear us down.”

  “What if I do not agree to this plan, Par’chin?” Jardir asked. “Will you steal the crown and try alone?”

  “Half right,” Arlen said. “Minds are coming to Anoch Sun on new moon and I’ll be there with or without you. If you c
an’t see the value in that, then you’re not the man I thought you were. Take your crown, slink back to your ripping throne, and leave Sharak Ka to me.”

  Jardir grit his teeth. “And the spear?”

  “The spear is mine,” Arlen said. “But you swear by the sun to do this with me, I’ll give it to you free and clear and call it a bargain. If not, I’ll take it to the Core and put it through the demon queen’s heart myself.”

  Jardir stared at him a long time. “That will not be necessary, Par’chin. It grates me to be given what is already mine, but what kind of ajin’pal would I be if I let you walk such a road alone? You may think Everam a lie, Par’chin, but truly He must love you, to grant you such courage.”

  The Par’chin smiled. “My da always said I had more sack than sense.”

  Arlen bustled about the kitchen, his hands a blur as he worked. He had never been a great cook, but years spent alone on the road had made him efficient enough at boiling potatoes and pan-frying meat and vegetables. He used no fire; heat wards etched into the pots and pans did the work, powered by his touch.

  “May I assist?” Jardir asked.

  “You?” Arlen asked. “Has the self-proclaimed king of the world ever even touched unprepared food?”

  “You know me well, Par’chin,” Jardir said, “but not as well as you think. Was I not nie’Sharum once? There is no menial task I have not bent my back to.”

  “Then bend your back to setting the table.” The banter was familiar, something Arlen hadn’t realized he had missed all these years. It was easy to fall into their old patterns, brothers in all but name. Jardir had stood with Arlen on his first night in the Maze, and in Krasia, that was as great a bond as blood. Greater.

  But Jardir had been willing to kill him for power. He had not done it with malice, but he had done it all the same, and even now, Arlen had to wonder if he would do it all over again if he had the chance … or if the chance came again in the future. He searched Jardir’s aura for a clue, but he could discern little without Drawing magic through him and Knowing him fully—an intrusion Jardir would no doubt sense, and have every right to take offense to.

  “Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said.

  “Ay?” Arlen asked, surprised.

  “I can see the question that gnaws at your spirit,” Jardir said. “Ask, and let us have it done.”

  Arlen nodded. “Soon enough. Some things are best done on a full stomach.”

  He finished preparing the meal, waiting patiently as Jardir said a prayer over the food before they set to eating. A single serving was enough for Arlen, but Jardir had suffered serious wounds in their battle on the cliff, and while magic could heal them in an instant, it couldn’t make flesh and blood from nothing. He emptied three bowls and still reached for the fruit plate while Arlen cleared the table.

  When he returned he sat quietly, watching Jardir gnaw the bowl down to stem, seed, and core.

  “Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said again.

  “Did you decide to kill me in the heat of the moment that night in the Maze,” Arlen asked, “or was our friendship a lie from the start?”

  He watched Jardir’s aura carefully, taking some small pleasure as hurt and shame colored it for an instant. Jardir mastered himself quickly and looked up, meeting Arlen’s eyes as he let out a long exhale, nostrils flaring.

  “Both,” he said. “And neither. After she threw the bones for you that first night, Inevera told me to embrace you like a brother and keep you close, for I would one day need to kill you if I was to take power.”

  Something tightened in Arlen, and unbidden, the ambient magic in the room rushed to him, making the wards on his flesh glow.

  “That don’t sound like both,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or neither.”

  Jardir could not have missed the glow of his wards, but he gave no indication, keeping his eyes fixed on Arlen’s. “I knew nothing of you then, Par’chin, save that the Sharum and dama nearly came to blows over your request to fight in the Maze. You seemed a man of honor, but when your rock demon broke the wall, I did not know what to think.”

  “You talk like One Arm was a piece of livestock I tried to sneak past the gate,” Arlen said.

  Jardir ignored the comment. “But then, as the alagai poured through the breach and despair took hold in the hearts of the bravest men, you stood fast and bled at my side, willing to give your life to capture the rock demon and put things right.

  “I did not lie when I called you brother, Par’chin. I would have given my life for you.”

  Arlen nodded. “Nearly did more’n once that night, and Creator only knows how many times since. But it was all a show, ay? You knew you’d live to betray me one day.”

  Jardir shrugged. “Who can say, Par’chin? The very act of foretelling gives us chance to change what is seen. They are glimpses of what might be, not what will. What would be the point, otherwise? If I thought myself immortal and began to take foolish risks I would otherwise have avoided …”

  Arlen wanted to argue, but there was little he could say. It was a fair point.

  “Inevera’s prophecies are vague, and often not what they seem,” Jardir went on. “I spent years pondering her words. Kill, she had said, but the symbol on her die had other meanings. Death, rebirth, conversion. I tried to convert you to the Evejah, or find you a bride and tie you to Krasia, in hope that if you ceased to be a chin and were reborn as an Evejan, it would fulfill the prophecy and allow me to spare you.”

  Almost every man Arlen knew in Krasia tried to find him a bride at some point, but none so hard as Jardir. He never would have guessed it was to save his life, but there was no lie in Jardir’s aura.

  “Reckon it came true after a fashion,” Arlen said. “Part of me died that night, and was reborn out on the dunes. Sure as the sun rises.”

  “When you first presented the spear, I knew it for what it was,” Jardir said. “I sensed its power and had to force down my desire to take it from you then and there.”

  Arlen’s lip curled, showing a hint of teeth. “But you were too much a coward. Instead you conspired and lured me into a trap, letting your men and a demon pit do the dirty work for you.”

  Jardir’s aura flared, a mix of guilt and anger. “Inevera too told me to kill you and take the spear. She offered to poison your tea if I did not wish to sully my hands. She would have denied you a warrior’s death.”

  Arlen spat. “As if I give a demon’s piss. Betrayal’s betrayal, Ahmann.”

  “You do,” Jardir said. “You may think Heaven a lie, but if you were given to choose your death, you would face it with a spear in your hand.”

  “Didn’t have a spear when death came for me, Ahmann. You took it. All I had were needles and ink.”

  “I fought for you,” Jardir said, not rising to the bait. “Inevera’s dice have ruled my life since I was twelve years old. Never before or since have I so defied them, or her. Not even over Leesha Paper. Had Inevera not proven so … formidable, I would have hurt her when my arguments failed. I left for the Maze determined. I would not kill my brother. I would not rob him.”

  Arlen tried to read the emotions in Jardir’s aura, but they were too complex, even for him. This was something Jardir had wrestled with for years, and still not come to terms with. It did little to ease his sense of betrayal, but there was more, and Arlen wanted to hear it.

  “What changed?” he said.

  “I remembered your words,” Jardir said. “I watched from the wall as you led the Sharum to clear the Maze, the Spear of Kaji shining bright as the sun in your hands. They shouted your name, and I knew then they would follow you. The warriors would make you Shar’Dama Ka, and charge Nie’s abyss if you asked it.”

  “Afraid I’d take your job?” Arlen asked. “Never wanted it.”

  Jardir shook his head. “I did not care about my job, Par’chin. I cared about my people. And yours. Every man, woman, and child on Ala. For they would all follow you once they saw the alagai bleed. I saw it in my mind�
��s eye, and it was glorious.”

  “Then what, Ahmann?” Arlen asked, losing patience. “What in the Core happened?”

  “I told you, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “I remembered your words. There is no Heaven, you said. And I thought to myself, Without hope of Heaven, what reason would you have to remain righteous when all the world bowed to you? Without being humble before the Creator, what man could be trusted with such power? Nie corrupts what She cannot destroy, and it is only in our submission to Everam that we can resist Her whispers and lies.”

  Arlen gaped at him. The truth of the words was written on Jardir’s aura, but his mind boggled at the thought. “I embody everything you hold dear, willing to fight and die in the First War, but you’d betray me because I do it for humanity, and not some figment in the sky?”

  Jardir clenched a fist. “I warn you, Par’chin …”

  “Corespawn your warnings!” Arlen brought his fist down, the limb still thrumming with power. The table exploded with the blow, collapsing in a spray of splinters. Jardir leapt back from the broken boards and shrapnel, coming down in a sharusahk stance.

  Arlen knew better than to attempt to grapple. Jardir was more than his match at hand-fighting. He’d fought dama before, and been lucky to escape with his life. Jardir had studied for years with the clerics, learning their secrets. Even now, when Arlen was faster and stronger than anyone alive, Jardir could take him like a boy to the woodshed. Much as Arlen wanted to meet Jardir on even terms, there was nothing to be gained, and everything to lose.

  Jardir’s superior sharusahk skill was irrelevant in any event. His understanding and control over his magic was rudimentary at best, self-taught and unpracticed. It would be some time before he was in full control of his abilities, and even then he could not match with hora relics what Arlen, who had made magic a part of him, could do. If he wanted to kill Jardir, he could.