Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  DEMON CYCLE BOOKS BY PETER V. BRETT

  NOVELS

  The Warded Man

  The Desert Spear

  The Daylight War

  The Skull Throne

  NOVELLAS

  The Great Bazaar

  Brayan’s Gold

  Messenger’s Legacy

  The Skull Throne is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Peter V. Brett

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.

  Published in the United Kingdom by Harper Voyager, a division of HarperCollins Publishers U.K., London.

  The map by Andrew Ashton is reprinted here by permission of HarperCollins Publishers U.K., London.

  The Krasian Dictionary was originally published in the paperback edition of The Desert Spear by Peter V. Brett (New York: Del Rey, 2011), copyright © 2010, 2011 by Peter V. Brett

  ISBN 978-0-345-53148-3

  eBook ISBN 978-0-8041-7747-4

  Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

  www.delreybooks.com

  2 4 6 8 9 7 5 3 1

  First Edition

  For Lauren

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I may have written this book, but there are many people whose patience and hard work on the completed work of art that’s made its way to you—in whatever form you’re enjoying it—deserve credit.

  Cassie, my perfect daughter, whose care forced me to unplug regularly and live in the now, and who has helped me see the world in completely different ways. My mom, who does much of the copy editor’s and proofreader’s jobs without them ever knowing. My agent Joshua, the single most in-depth editor I have, and his amazing team at JABberwocky Literary, and their international affiliates.

  Myke Cole, who reads all the versions and understands all the trials. Jay and Amelia, who always make time to read.

  My assistant Meg, who does more than she realizes to keep me sane.

  Larry Rostant, whose ability to capture my characters makes me feel they’ve stepped right from my mind. Lauren K. Cannon, who designed the wards, and Karsten Moran who made me look respectable in my new author photo.

  My audio narrators, Pete Bradbury and Colin Mace, who make me feel like a kid listening to Grandpa reading me a story, and the cast and crew at GraphicAudio, whose productions bring it all to life.

  My publishers all around the world—editors who have always believed in me and a small army of design, editorial, production, and marketing people who work behind the scenes to make me look more awesome than I deserve, and especially my translators, whose work is Herculean.

  Coffee. You are my true friend.

  But above all, thank you to Lauren Greene, who has been there for every moment, giving comfort and invaluable advice—both personal and professional. More important, thank you for showing by example how to be awesome and successful at life.

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Demon Cycle Books by Peter V. Brett

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Map

  Prologue: No Victor

  CHAPTER 1: The Hunt

  CHAPTER 2: Vacuum

  CHAPTER 3: Ashia

  CHAPTER 4: Sharum Blood

  CHAPTER 5: Kajivah

  CHAPTER 6: A Man Is Nothing

  CHAPTER 7: More Sack Than Sense

  CHAPTER 8: The True Warrior

  CHAPTER 9: Anoch Sun

  CHAPTER 10: The Chin Rebellion

  CHAPTER 11: Docktown

  CHAPTER 12: Filling the Hollow

  CHAPTER 13: Foul Meat

  CHAPTER 14: The Prisoner

  CHAPTER 15: The Warded Children

  CHAPTER 16: Demon’s Heir

  CHAPTER 17: Goldentone

  CHAPTER 18: A Whisper of Night

  CHAPTER 19: Tea Politics

  CHAPTER 20: Sibling Rivalry

  CHAPTER 21: The Weed Gatherer

  CHAPTER 22: Bachelor’s Ball

  CHAPTER 23: Inquisition

  CHAPTER 24: Briar

  CHAPTER 25: The Spy

  CHAPTER 26: First Strike

  CHAPTER 27: Dama in the Dark

  CHAPTER 28: Shar’Dama

  CHAPTER 29: Dama Gorja

  CHAPTER 30: The Princess’ Guard

  CHAPTER 31: Whistler

  CHAPTER 32: The Night of Hora

  CHAPTER 33: A Voice in the Dark

  Krasian Dictionary

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  NO VICTOR

  333 AR AUTUMN

  “No!” Inevera reached out, clutching empty air as the Par’chin pitched himself and her husband over the cliff.

  Taking with them all the hope of the human race.

  On the opposite side of the circle of combat, Leesha Paper let out a similar cry. The strict ritual laws of Domin Sharum were forgotten as witnesses from both sides rushed to the precipice, crowding together to peer into the darkness that had swallowed the combatants.

  In Everam’s light, Inevera could see as clearly in darkness as brightest day, the world defined by magic’s glow. But magic was drawn to life, and there was little below save barren rock and dirt. The two men, glowing as fiercely as the sun a moment ago, had vanished into the dull gloom of ambient magic as it vented to the surface.

  Inevera twisted her earring, the hora stone within attuned to its mate on her husband’s ear, but she heard nothing. It could be out of range, or broken in the fall.

  Or there might be nothing to hear. She suppressed a shiver as a chill mountain wind blew over her.

  She glanced at the others clustered at the edge, reading their expressions, searching for a hint of betrayal, a sign one of them had known this was coming. She read the magic that emanated from them, as well. The circlet of warded electrum coins she wore did not let her read spirits as fluidly as her husband did with the Crown of Kaji, but she was getting more and more skilled at reading emotions. Shock was clear throughout the group. There were variations from one to another, but this was not the outcome any of them had expected.

  Even Abban, the smug liar, always hiding something, stood horrified. He and Inevera had been bitter rivals, each attempting to undo the other, but he loved Ahmann as much as an honorless khaffit could, and stood to lose more than any, should he prove dead.

  I should have poisoned the Par’chin’s tea, Inevera thought, remembering the guileless face of the Par’chin the night he appeared from the desert with the Spear of Kaji. Pricked him with a venom-dipped needle. Put an asp in his pillows as he dozed before alagai’sharak. Even claimed offense and killed him with my bare hands. Anything but leave it to Ahmann. His heart was too true for murder and betrayal, even with the fate of Ala in the balance.

  Was. Already she used the past tense, though he had been gone only seconds.

  “We must find them.” Jayan’s voice sounded miles away, though her eldest son stood right beside her.

  “Yes,” Inevera agreed, thoughts still spinning, “though it will be difficult in the darkness.” Already, the cries of wind demons echoed off the cliffs, along with the deep rumble of the mountain stone demons. “I will cast the hora to guide us.”

  “Core with waitin’ on that,” the Par’chin’s Jiwah Ka said, shoulder
ing Rojer and Gared aside as she dropped to her belly and swung her legs over the edge of the cliff.

  “Renna!” Leesha grabbed for her wrist, but Renna was too fast, dropping quickly out of reach. The young woman glowed brightly with magic. Not so brightly as the Par’chin, but brighter than any other she had ever seen. Her fingers and toes drove into the cliff face like a demon’s talons, cracking stone to create her holds.

  Inevera turned to Shanjat. “Follow her. Mark your trail.”

  To his credit, Shanjat showed none of the fear that ran through his aura as he looked at the cliff. “Yes, Damajah.” He punched a fist to his chest and slung his spear and shield over his back, dropping to his belly and swinging over the edge, picking his way carefully down.

  Inevera wondered if the task might be beyond him. Shanjat was as strong as any man, but he had killed no demons this night, and did not possess the inhuman strength that allowed Renna am’Bales to claw her own path.

  But the kai’Sharum surprised her, and perhaps himself, using many of the fissures the Par’chin’s wife made for his own holds. Soon he, too, vanished into the gloom.

  “If you’re going to throw your bones, do it now, so we can begin the search,” Leesha Paper said.

  Inevera looked at the greenland whore, suppressing the snarl that threatened her serene expression. Of course she wanted to see Inevera cast the dice. No doubt she was desperate to learn the wards of prophecy. As if she had not stolen enough from Inevera.

  None of the others knew, but the dice had told her Leesha carried Ahmann’s child in her belly, threatening everything Inevera had built. She fought the urge to draw her knife and cut the babe free now, ending the trouble before it began. They would not be able to stop her. The greenlanders were formidable, but no match for her sons and two Damaji sharusahk masters.

  She breathed, finding her center. Inevera wanted to heap all her anger and fear upon the woman, but it was not Leesha Paper’s fault that men were proud fools. No doubt she’d attempted to dissuade the Par’chin from his issuing his challenge, much as Inevera had tried to dissuade Ahmann from accepting it.

  Perhaps their battle had been inevitable. Perhaps Ala could not suffer two Deliverers. But now there was none, and that was worse by far.

  Without Ahmann, the Krasian alliance would crumble, the Damaji devolving into bickering warlords. They would kill Ahmann’s dama sons, then turn on one another, and to the abyss with Sharak Ka.

  Inevera looked to Damaji Aleverak of the Majah, who had proven the greatest obstacle to Ahmann’s ascension, and one of his most valuable advisors. His loyalty to Shar’Dama Ka was without question, but that would not stop him from killing Maji, Ahmann’s Majah son, that he never supplant the Aleverak’s son Aleveran.

  An heir could still unite the tribes, perhaps, but who? Neither of her sons was ready for the task, her dice said, but they would not see it that way, nor give up interim power once granted. Jayan and Asome had always been rivals, and powerful allies would flock to them both. If the Damaji did not tear her people apart, her sons might do it for them.

  Inevera moved wordlessly into the ring where the two would-be Deliverers had fought mere moments before. Both men had left blood on the ground, and she knelt, pressing her hands where it had fallen, wetting them as she took the dice in hand and shook. The Krasians formed a ring about her, keeping the greenlanders at bay.

  Carved from the bones of a demon prince and coated in electrum, Inevera’s dice were the most powerful set any dama’ting had carried since the time of the first Damajah. They throbbed with power, glowing fiercely in the darkness. She threw and the wards of foretelling flared, pulling the dice to a stop in that unnatural way they had, forming a pattern of symbols for her to read. It would have been meaningless to most. Even dama’ting argued over the interpretations of a throw, but Inevera could read them as easily as words on parchment. They had guided her through decades of tumult and upheaval, but as was often the case, the answer they gave was vague, and brought little relief.

  —There is no victor.—

  What did it mean? Had the fall killed them both? Did the battle still rage below? A thousand questions roiled within her and she threw again, but the resulting pattern was unchanged, as she had known it would be.

  “Well?” the Northern whore asked. “What do they say?”

  Inevera bit back a sharp retort, knowing her next words were crucial. In the end, she decided the truth—or most of it—was as good an answer as any to hold the plotting of the ambitious minds around her at bay.

  “There is no victor,” she said. “The battle continues below, and only Everam knows how it will end. We must find them, and quickly.”

  It took hours to descend the mountain. The darkness did not slow them—all of this elite group could see by magic’s glow—but rock and stone demons haunted the trail now, blending in perfectly with the mountainside. Wind demons shrieked in the sky, circling.

  Rojer took up his instrument, coaxing the mournful sounds of the Song of Waning from its strings, keeping the alagai at bay. Amanvah lifted her voice to accompany him, their music enhanced by hora magic to fill the night. Even amidst the despairing wind that threatened to bend the palm of her center to breaking, Inevera found pride in her daughter’s skills.

  Wrapped in the protections of the son of Jessum’s strange magic, they were safe from the alagai, but it was slow going. Inevera’s fingers itched to take the electrum wand from her belt, blasting demons from her path as she raced to her husband’s side, but she did not wish to reveal its power to the Northerners, and it would only attract more alagai in any event. Instead, she was forced to keep the steady pace Rojer set, even as Ahmann and the Par’chin likely bled to death in some forgotten valley.

  She shook the thought away. Ahmann was the chosen of Everam. She must trust that He granted His Shar’Dama Ka some miracle in his time of greatest need.

  He was alive. He had to be.

  Leesha rode in silence, and even Thamos was not fool enough to disturb her. The count might share her bed more oft than not, but she did not love him as she had Arlen … or Ahmann. Her heart had torn watching them fight.

  It seemed Arlen held every advantage going in, and if she’d had to choose, she would not have had it another way. But Arlen’s tormented soul had found a kind of peace in recent days, and she’d hoped he could force a submission from Ahmann and end the battle without death.

  She’d cried out when Ahmann stabbed Arlen with the Spear of Kaji—perhaps the only weapon in the world that could harm him. The battle had turned in that moment, and for the first time her anger at Ahmann had threatened to become hate.

  But when Arlen pitched them both over the cliff rather than lose, her stomach had wrenched as Ahmann dropped from sight. The child in her belly was less than eight weeks formed, but she could have sworn it kicked as its father fell into darkness.

  Arlen’s powers had been growing ever stronger in the year since she met him. Sometimes it seemed there was nothing he could not do, and even Leesha wondered if he might be the Deliverer. He could dissolve and protect himself from the impact. Ahmann could not.

  But even Arlen had his limits, and Ahmann had tested them in ways no one had expected. Leesha remembered vividly the fall, mere weeks past, that had left Arlen a broken spatter on the cobblestones of the Hollow, his skull cracked like a boiled egg struck against the table.

  If only Renna had not rushed after them. The woman knew something of Arlen’s plans. More than she was telling.

  They doubled back long before reaching the mountain’s base, avoiding the pass watched by scouts from both their armies. Perhaps war was inevitable, but neither side wished for it to begin tonight.

  The mountain paths wound and split. More than once, Inevera had to consult the dice to choose their path, kneeling on the ground to cast while the rest of them waited impatiently. Leesha longed to know what the woman saw in that jumble of symbols, but she knew enough not to doubt there was real power in the foretell
ings.

  It was nearing dawn when they found the first of Shanjat’s markers. Inevera picked up her pace and the others followed, racing along the trail as the horizon began to take on a purplish tinge.

  They had not been noticed by the Watchers stationed at the base of the mountain, but Inevera’s bodyguards Ashia and Shanvah had crept unseen up the slope and silently fell in with them. The greenland prince glanced at them but shook his head dismissively when he noticed they were women.

  At last they came upon Renna and Shanjat, the two watching each other warily as they waited. Shanjat moved quickly to stand before Inevera, punching his chest with a bow. “The trail ends here, Damajah.”

  They dismounted and followed the warrior to a spot not far off where a man-sized depression lay, dirt and shattered stone telling of a great impact. Blood spattered the ground, but there were footprints, as well—signs of continued struggle.

  “You’ve followed the trail?” Inevera asked.

  Shanjat nodded. “It vanishes not far from here. I thought it best to await further instruction before ranging too far.”

  “Renna?” Leesha asked.

  The Par’chin’s Jiwah Ka was staring at the bloody crater with a glazed look in her eyes, her powerful aura unreadable. She nodded numbly. “We’ve been circling the area for hours. It’s like they grew wings.”

  “Carried off by a wind demon?” Wonda ventured.

  Renna shrugged. “Reckon it’s possible, but hard to believe.”

  Inevera nodded. “No demon could ever touch my sacred husband, but that he willed it.”

  “What of the spear?” Jayan asked. Inevera looked at him sadly. It came as no great surprise that her eldest son cared more for the sacred weapon than his own father, but it saddened her nonetheless. Asome, at least, had the courtesy to keep such thoughts to himself.

  Shanjat shook his head. “There has been no sign of the holy weapon, Sharum Ka.”

  “There is fresh blood,” Inevera said, looking at the horizon. Dawn was minutes away, but she might manage one last foretelling. She reached into her hora pouch, gripping her dice so tightly the edges dug painfully into her hand as she went to kneel by the crater.