Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  A man cleared his throat, breaking the tension between the women.

  “Allow me to present my escort, Lord Sament,” Lorain said, switching to Thesan as she indicated the last member of her party. The man wore his rich clothing comfortably, but he looked more bodyguard than escort, his eyes hard. He bowed.

  “We’ll leave you to mingle,” Lorain told Amanvah. “I just wanted to make your acquaintance. No doubt we will have time to get to know each other after dinner in the women’s wing.”

  With that, the Milnese swept off as quickly as they had come.

  “Escort?” Amanvah asked.

  “Chaperone, more like,” Rojer said. “Rhinebeck has been through several wives, but none has been able to give him a child. Lorain is the next hopeful.”

  “She will likely fare no better, if several have gone before her,” Amanvah said. “It sounds as if the problem is with him.”

  “I wouldn’t suggest it in polite company,” Rojer said. “Lorain has two sons to prove her fertility at least.”

  Amanvah looked at him. “The Duke of Miln sends his rival an aging bride who is not even a virgin? What happened to her sons’ father?”

  “Euchor divorced them, and sent her south,” Rojer said.

  Amanvah snorted. “A desperate attempt to form an alliance against my father.”

  “Can you blame them?” Rojer asked.

  “No,” Amanvah said, “but it will make no difference in the end.”

  It was pointless to debate the topic. Amanvah was wise about many things, but where her father was concerned, she saw only what she wanted to see. He was Shar’Dama Ka, and his rule was inevitable.

  “Little Rojer, now a married man,” a voice said, and Rojer turned to see the Duchess Mum approaching with Duchess Melny. “How old were you when I caught you climbing the shelves in the royal library?”

  Rojer swept into a low bow. “Five, Your Grace.” His backside ached as he recalled the incident. The Duchess Mum had only huffed, but it might as well have been a command, for Jessa had a strap in hand the moment she left.

  Amanvah ignored the young duchess, meeting the old woman’s eyes. Something passed between them, and Amanvah’s bow was deeper and longer than before. “It is an honor to meet the famed Duchess Mother.”

  Melny, technically outranking her mother-in-law, might have been offended at that, but she seemed to take it in stride. Araine had little real power in Angiers, but while Rhinebeck’s wives came and went, his mother was constant, and the vapid noblewomen at court all took their cues from her.

  “I trust you’ve refreshed yourself from your long journey?” Melny asked when the introductions were complete. “Your rooms are satisfactory?”

  Amanvah nodded, surprising Rojer. Amanvah never felt rooms satisfactory, but apparently that was something best communicated through servants. “Of course.”

  “I trust the princess from the North was able to mind her manners?” Araine asked.

  “It was most refreshing to learn my language is spoken at court,” Amanvah said in Krasian.

  Melny’s cheeks colored, and Rojer realized she had no idea what Amanvah had said. Amanvah picked up on it as well, and bowed.

  “Apologies, Duchess. I was given to understand by the Princess of Miln that all of royal blood learned to speak Krasian as part of their studies.”

  Melny’s blush spread, splashing her pale and prodigious bosom with pink. Her eyes found Lorain and her entourage working the room, watching with ill-disguised unease. “Yes, well …”

  Araine cleared her throat. “Baron!” she called, spotting Gared a few yards away. “Come, let’s have a look at you.” She soon had Gared turning like he was modeling the latest fashion, the giant’s blush as deep as the young duchess’.

  Araine gave a low whistle. “This won’t be difficult at all. The girls will be taking numbers, waiting for a turn to dance with you while their fathers whisper dowers in my ear.”

  “I, ah, ’preciate it, Y’Grace,” Gared said. “Hope I don’t step on any toes. Don’t know any dances for big rooms like this.” He waved a hand at the high-vaulted ceiling.

  “Wait until you see the ballroom,” Araine said with a chuckle. “As for the dancing, we’ll find something you can muddle through. Can’t have you looking ill at your own Bachelor’s Ball.”

  Rojer bowed. “If it please Your Grace, my quartet would be honored to handle the music. No doubt we can manage something to make the baron more comfortable.” He slapped Gared on the back, and some of the big man’s tension eased.

  “A delightful idea!” Araine said. “You’ll be the envy of every bachelor in the city, Baron. We’ll find you a bride in no time.”

  Gared looked ready to faint.

  “I thought …” Melny began. All eyes turned to her, and she wilted under the collective stare.

  “Yes, dear?” Araine asked.

  “Well, that is,” Melny squeaked, glancing to Amanvah, “it was my understanding that music and dancing were against …”

  “Evejan law?” Amanvah asked. “In my land, yes. But I am Hollow tribe now,” she chuckled, “and jiwah to a Jongleur. It has necessitated some … change of view.”

  She smiled. “The Baron of Cutter’s Hollow is a great kai’Sharum, and his seed is being wasted on the ground. The sooner he has a Jiwah Ka to give him sons, the better. It is an honor to be part of your Northern courting ritual. At my husband’s side, I may study it without impropriety.”

  Araine spotted Jasin Goldentone—doing his best to keep his distance—and beckoned him over with a crooked finger.

  “You’re off the hook for the Bachelor’s Ball, Jasin,” the Duchess Mum said when the herald scurried over. “Rojer and his wives will handle the music.”

  “But Your Grace,” Jasin sputtered, “surely I am more qualified.…”

  Araine laughed. “More qualified than Halfgrip, fiddle wizard of the Hollow? Be glad that’s the only job he’s taking from you.”

  Jasin’s eyes widened, but he knew better than to argue. Araine might be a dim old bat, but when it came to royal parties, her power was absolute.

  “I think it’s time we took our seats,” Araine said. “Come, Melny, help an old woman.” The duchess took her mother-in-law by the arm, and Araine leaned on her as they made their way to the table.

  Others took the cue and made for their seats, but Rojer could not resist twisting the knife. “Look on the sunny side,” he told Jasin, “at least they’ll stop calling you Secondsong in the guildhouse now.” He smiled. “Secondfiddle tumbles so smoothly from the tongue.”

  Jasin bared his teeth, but Rojer affected not to notice, tightening his arm around Amanvah’s and leading her to their seats.

  “Provoking your blood enemies is unwise, husband,” Amanvah said. “Better to let them think your hatred cooled before you strike.”

  “Nothing about vengeance is wise,” Rojer said. “But I don’t trust the afterlife to make Jasin pay for what he’s done to me. I want to see him suffer in this life, and that means destroying the thing he holds most dear.”

  “His pride,” Amanvah guessed.

  “His reputation,” Rojer said. “Nothing will cut Goldentone deeper than being known as second best.”

  Dinner was long and tedious, with endless speeches and false claims of friendship as the Milnese and Angierians glowered at each other, and all cast mistrustful eyes at Amanvah and Sikvah.

  But as always in Rhinebeck’s palace, the wine was free flowing, and Rojer had been seated next to the Duchess Melny, who laughed easily, her bosom jiggling so hypnotically Rojer almost forgot the punch lines.

  Amanvah dug nails into his leg, bringing his attention back to her as she leaned close to his ear. “If you are done amusing the harlot, husband, I have questions.”

  “That ‘harlot’ is Duchess of Angiers,” Rojer said.

  Amanvah gave Melny a dismissive glance. The duchess smiled back, oblivious. “I’ve seen this before. A man who cannot sire having his Jiwa
h Ka bring him younger and stupider brides year after year, more interested in the act than the result. The only difference here is that his mother,” she nodded to Araine, “acts as Jiwah Ka, and he shames his brides by divorcing them before taking new ones.”

  “That’s …” Rojer paused. “Actually quite apt. But not something you want to be heard saying aloud. We Northern ‘savages’ are not so blunt about these things.”

  Amanvah caressed his arm, but it felt condescending, like one would stroke a pet. “Then it will be our job to civilize you.”

  Rojer changed the subject. “What questions?”

  Amanvah nodded to the far end of the table. The dessert plates had been cleared, and servants were pouring after-dinner wine. A few courtiers not ranking enough to secure a seat at the table had been granted entrance to the dining hall. Coliv appeared, putting his back to the wall behind Amanvah. He had not been allowed to carry weapons openly at court, but Rojer knew that made him no less able to protect his mistress.

  At the end of the table, Jasin Goldentone had been joined by a group of sycophants, but he was now flanked by a large, familiar pair that put a heavy lump in Rojer’s throat.

  “Those two wear the motley, but they are bodyguards, yes?” Amanvah asked.

  Rojer nodded. “Abrum and Sali. Passably competent musicians at their best, Jasin has them sing his harmonies and break bones.”

  Amanvah showed no surprise. “And were any of my honored husband’s bones among those broken by this pair?”

  “You’ve seen my scars, Jiwah Ka,” Rojer said. “Not all come from alagai wounds.”

  A few minutes later, Araine stood, followed in short order by the rest of the table. Leesha and Melny supported her on either side, sweeping up all the women in their wake as they made their way toward the door.

  “What is this?” Amanvah asked.

  “The Duchess Mum will entertain the ladies for the rest of the evening,” Rojer said. “The men will take their wine into the duke’s drawing room and smoke.”

  Amanvah nodded, allowing Rojer to pull back her seat. “Take Coliv with you.”

  “Absolutely not,” Rojer said. “Creator love him, but the man will severely inhibit my ability to play the crowd, and these are powerful people, Jiwah Ka. They need to be played just right.”

  Amanvah looked doubtful, but Gared appeared a moment later, and Rojer was happy for the save. “Count says we’re gonna go smoke.”

  Gared waited expectantly for Rojer to join him. He’d been seated between hopeful young noblewomen all night, but Rojer had seen little apart from uncomfortable silence.

  “I’ll be with Gared Cutter,” he told Amanvah. “Only a fool will threaten me.”

  Satisfied, Amanvah moved to join the women, scooping up Sikvah and Kendall as she went.

  Gared let out a deep sigh.

  “That bad?” Rojer asked.

  “Kareen’s perfume gave me a headache,” Gared said. “Like she dumped a bucket of it over herself. And talks like a mouse. Had to keep leaning in to hear, catchin’ a noseful o’ stink.”

  “Probably whispering to let you lean in and ogle her neckline,” Rojer said.

  “And Dinny was worse,” Gared went on. “All she wanted to talk about was poetry. Poetry! Night, can’t even rippin’ read! What do I got to say to fancy ladies like them?”

  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
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  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!