Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  “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.

  Leesha stole a moment to boil a kettle and take it to the bathing chamber. She nibbled on a biscuit and stripped for a quick rag bath before changing into a fresh dress.

  She took a deep breath. It would get easier soon. The flow of refugees continued, but the Hollow’s reach lengthened daily, now scooping folk still fresh on the road, with live animals and food on their backs. Several towns that had not yet broken were conducting organized evacuations under Cutter protection.

  The Hollow would still need to absorb them, but it was more easily done when people came as settlers, with supplies and possessions in hand, rather than the first waves of exhausted folk, carrying nothing but their wounded.

  Tonight, Leesha could afford to sleep. Perhaps. But already, young volunteers were gathering in her courtyard, being tested for strength and reflexes to serve as baselines and split into groups by her apprentices. The chatter of the assembled young Hollowers fell into an excited hush as Leesha and Wonda appeared at the door.

  The volunteers were all in their late teens or early twenties, Hollowers who had volunteered to join the Cutters only to be turned away for one reason or another. One had trouble breathing. Another needed lenses to see. Others simply because they weren’t large or strong enough to keep up.

  A growing class of khaffit, if we’re not careful, Leesha thought.

  “They’re staring at me,” Wonda said.

  “Ay,” Leesha said. “See how it feels, for once. You might as well be the Warded Man to these children.”

  “Don’t jest about the Deliverer,” Wonda said.

  “We’re all Deliverers,” Leesha said. “His words. It’s your job to inspire these children, same as he did for you. World needs all the Deliverers it can get.”

  “Why not ward the Cutters and Sharum, then?” Wonda asked. “Why only the rejects?”

  “We’re still testing,” Leesha said. “We need a small group. A group we can control, to test the process before we try it on men the size of goldwood trees.”

  There were three groups. Stela had made it into one. Her uncle Keet, only a couple of years her senior, another. None was the finest fruit the Hollow could provide in terms of warriors.

  The first dozen, including her friend Brianne’s son Callen Cutter, would be given specially designed spears Leesha had warded personally. They had short shafts and long warded blades, designed to maximize the magic leached from the corelings and fed back into the wielder.

  The second group would be given weapons that appeared identical to the first, but contained slivers of hora, coated in warded silver. The spears would hold some limited power in day as well as night, and recharge when spent.

  Finally, Stela’s group, the most coveted of the three, would have blackstem wards painted on their skin, and study sharusahk with Wonda.

  The testing would take months, but if Leesha’s hypotheses were right, they could have an army of Deliverers waiting in the Hollow the next time the demon princes came calling.

  Her Warded Children.

  “There, finished.” It was dark by the time Leesha painted the last ward on Stela’s skin. The others all waited with Wonda in the yard, marveling at warded weapons and skin. All knew that soon they would be going out into the night, a place many seasoned warriors had gone, never to return.

  Excitement was building in the air. A chance to die, yes, but also a chance to avenge, to show the Hollow that they were to be counted. None of them could keep still, shifting from foot to foot or pacing the yard, waiting for Stela, that they might begin.

  Leesha sent her off, watching the girl with her warded spectacles. The yard was awash with magic, only a fraction of it visible to the naked eye. Some wards were designed to glow, casting light in the yard, but others thrummed with power unseen by any without wardsight.

  She saw the power draft to Stela’s ankles as it already had begun to do with the others. It danced up the blackstem wards on her legs, pulled along by the interlinked wards, swirling around her torso and out to her limbs and head like a heart pumping magic instead of blood. Just standing in the yard, the Warded Children would be feeling a tingle. At first it would feel like a strong stimulant tea, then an adrenaline rush. Soon after, their senses would expand, confusing them with every faint scent, every whisper heard from a mile away. It would be overwhelming until their thoughts sped as well.

  Then they would begin to
feel invincible.

  “This here,” Wonda held up a long metal tube with braided steel rope extended in a loop at the end, “is a Krasian weapon called an alagai-catcher.” She whipped the loop over a hitching post in the yard, tightening it in an instant with a twist and pull. “Each of you go and take one. I set coreling traps in the Gatherers’ Wood. We’re going to use these to haul demons out so we can use ’em for practice.”

  “Ay, just like that?” Keet asked. “We ent gonna, dunno, practice in the yard a bit before going into the naked night?” Others murmured their agreement.

  Leesha kept the smile from her face. Naked night, indeed. Leesha had greatwards and warded paths throughout her land. The children might feel they were out with the demons, but in truth they would be in safe succor almost the entire time.

  But it was important they get in contact with demons as soon as possible, and the feeling of constant danger would keep them respectful. This was no game.

  It was like a dream, watching Wonda lead the children away. The world had become fuzzed at the edges. Her focus remained sharp, even after ten straight hours of warding. Pain in her temple throbbed and turned her stomach, but it was a near constant companion now, and she had learned to shut it out.

  But as the last of the children vanished into the darkness at the edge of her wardsight, she began to fill the vacuum with images. Callen Cutter screaming for his mother as he slowly bled out from talon wounds. Brianne would never speak to her again. Nor Smitt, if anything should happen to Stela or Keet. An image flashed across her mind of a wood demon biting Stela’s head clean off. Her heart would still beat a few times before it her body realized it was dead. The blood would jet high into the air.

  She shook herself out of the vision, rubbing her eyes. At last. At last she was free to sleep, lest she go insane. If Arlen, Ahmann, and Thamos all walked into her yard this instant and began fighting one another for her hand, she would still go to bed.

  Her stride was strong as she headed for her cottage door, but her mind was already in its nightgown, blowing out the candles. Her bed would be warm and soft.