Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Asome stood out in front, unrepentant, with Asukaji at his side. Behind them stood his dama half brothers with the Damaji of their respective tribes. Most of the old men were livid with rage, auras crackling. They had been forced to take Ahmann’s sons as their heirs, but with the Deliverer gone and a crime to pin at their feet, many were praying fervently that this might be their chance to rid themselves of the boys and regain direct control of their tribes.

  Inevera had wanted to settle the matter in private, but Ashan, in an uncharacteristic show of will, had refused. He wanted the distance of the throne, fearing he might throttle the boys if they stood close in private.

  It was a feeling Inevera understood well. The balance of power in the city already shifted as if built on a foundation of sand. Ahmann’s dama heirs were only newly raised to the white, still too young and inexperienced to take and hold control of the tribes. The dice had told her of Jayan’s victory on the lake, and he would surely use the triumph to further his claim to the throne.

  Yet for Inevera the deepest cut was Ashia. Her sons were expected to wrestle for power. The spear sisters’ loyalty should have been absolute. Micha and Jarvah had not known—it was clear on their auras when they came to her—but Ashia had stood before her, knowing her husband’s plans, and put Asome’s honor above her duty to her mistress.

  But that was a problem for later. Inevera was pulled from her thoughts as Asome drew breath to speak. Unlike the tension and anger in the others, Asome’s aura was cool and even, convinced of the righteousness of his path, safe in the knowledge that Everam was on his side.

  “Holy Andrah,” Asome said, bowing deeply before Ashan, “it is said amongst the Sharum who accompanied you and my father to meet with the Hollow tribe that you, yourself, fought alagai’sharak with them. Is this not so?”

  There was a buzz through the room at that, dama gasping and whispering to one another.

  Ashan’s eyes narrowed. “The Shar’Dama Ka commanded I follow him into battle and I obeyed, defending myself by tripping and throwing alagai into the path of Sharum spears. I did not take up warded weapons and kill.”

  “And yet your honor was boundless,” Asome said. “I did not take up weapons, either. The first alagai I killed were by sharusahk alone, with no magic to aid me. It was only when Nie set her kai against us that I fought as my father did, turning their own power against them.”

  Another buzz through the crowd.

  “And yet it was that very thing your father forbade,” Ashan reminded him. “Here, in open court, he forbade you to fight at Waning.”

  “My father made that decree to punish my arrogance,” Asome said, drawing looks of surprise. Indeed, all Ahmann’s sons were arrogant, though none to Inevera’s knowledge had ever admitted it. “My wife had gone into the night, killing alagai at the Damajah’s command.” He looked up, meeting Inevera’s eyes. “With no warning to me beforehand. What husband would not rage at such a sight? What man not feel the sting? I spoke out in anger, attempting to deny her the spear.”

  Asome turned, taking in the assembled court. “But I was wrong! Wrong to deny the honor to any who wished to take arms against Nie and stand unified in Sharak Ka. For make no mistake, brothers and sisters, Sharak Ka is near! My mother has foretold that the Deliverer has gone to the edge of Nie’s abyss, and when he returns it will be with all Her forces at his heels! The armies of the Deliverer must stand ready when that day comes, strong at his back as he turns to face that fell horde and cleanse their taint from Ala once and for all!”

  He turned back to Ashan. “Why do dama spend lifetimes studying sharusahk? To bully Sharum and khaffit to our will? That is not Everam’s way. Not the way of Shar’Dama Ka. At every turn, my father added to his forces from unlikely places. Khaffit. Chin. Women. The creation of the shar’dama was inevitable, Holy Andrah. My father denied me honor to teach me this, but I have learned. I have grown. And now, with my father facing trials far from here, it is the duty of all dama to lead his people in his absence.”

  Again his eyes swept the crowd. “And so on the second night of Waning, I call upon all dama to take up the fight, staining their white robes with demon ichor and sending a message to Nie’s generals that we of Krasia are not weak in the night. That we will stand not only when the Deliverer is with us, but when he needs us most to stand on our own. Every Sharum unit has a dama advisor. Go with them into the night and see firsthand the great work they do, the sacrifice they make. Join in alagai’sharak, and become what you were meant to be since the first time you stood in the bowels of Sharik Hora and began the sharukin!”

  There was a roar at that, some dama and Damaji screaming in protest, but many more crying out in support, eager for the honor Asome offered.

  “You must support him,” Inevera whispered into Ashan’s earring. She had said it before, but now there was no other choice. When Ahmann had first brought back the fighting wards and offered true battle against Nie, the Andrah and Damaji had resisted, fearing the loss of power. Sharum had defected in droves, flocking to the Maze and Ahmann’s call. If they resisted, it would only be a matter of time before Asome did the same.

  Ashan was angry at his sons, but he was no fool and saw it, too. “There is wisdom in your words, my son. The blood of my brother Ahmann, Shar’Dama Ka, runs strong in you—all of you. You honor Everam with your words.” He rose from the Skull Throne. “And so I, too, will fight this night, and stain my robes.”

  “As will I.” Ancient, one-armed Aleverak stepped forward. “Too long have the dama cowered like women in the Undercity while Sharum shed blood in the night.”

  Others stepped forward, some in passion, and others, their auras told, out of fear of being seen as cowards. The wind blew, and none could resist it.

  “Shar’dama! And my brother is first among them! They chant it in the streets while I sit here in the cold doing nothing!”

  Jayan threw the letter into the fireplace, followed by his couzi bottle. The ensuing fireball consumed the paper instantly, and everyone took a step back. Thankfully, the blaze did not spread.

  Bring the Sharum Ka a fresh cup, Abban’s fingers told Earless, but leave the bottle on the tray.

  The mute kha’Sharum did as he was bidden, eyes firmly on the floor. Even stooped he was the tallest man in the room, but Earless’ silent subservience was as good as a Cloak of Unsight. Jayan took the cup without so much as glancing his way.

  “You will not find the path to glory at the bottom of a couzi cup, Sharum Ka,” Khevat said.

  Jayan made a show of throwing back the cup, wiping his mouth with his white veil. Khevat rankled, but said nothing as Jayan stormed up to him. “Then where will I find it, Dama? You were sent here to advise me, were you not? How long will your son keep the Skull Throne if my brother’s power continues to grow?”

  “My son never should have had the throne in the first place,” Khevat said. “That was the Damajah’s doing.”

  “And what would you have done instead?” Jayan asked.

  “The law is clear,” Khevat said. “The throne should have passed to you. You are the eldest son. Your holy father gave you command of alagai’sharak, and you are the one in foreign lands, fighting Sharak Sun for the glory of Everam. Your brother has only killed a handful of alagai.”

  “And started a movement that will tear the clergy asunder, much as your father did,” Abban said.

  Khevat glared at him. “Your opinion was not asked for, khaffit.”

  Abban bowed as Jayan looked his way. “As the Sharum Ka says, honored Dama, we are here to advise.”

  “You are the one putting couzi in the Sharum Ka’s hands,” Khevat said. “How can you hope to advise a path to glory?”

  “How indeed?” Jayan asked, but there was none of his usual derision. “I would hear the khaffit’s advice.”

  Abban smiled. “The Sharum Ka already knows what he will do.”

  Jayan crossed his arms, but he was smirking. “Do enlighten us.”

  Abban bow
ed again. “The Sharum Ka could have returned to the capital for the winter. The city on the lake is all but taken, and cold will keep the siege better than warriors. The chin rebellion in Everam’s Bounty is crushed. Why remain here at the head of his armies, with little to do until the thaw?”

  “What course is left to me?” Jayan asked. “With the lake frozen and the Hollow tribe outnumbering us to the north?”

  “East, to see for yourself the destruction your warriors have wrought upon the heathen monastery that launched the attack upon us,” Abban said. “Your siege engines will gather snow if left so close to the lake, but the Old Hill Road to the north is yet clear.”

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting the Sharum Ka attack Angiers,” Khevat said, but Jayan was smiling widely now. “We do not have enough men to hold such a prize.”

  “Hold?” Abban asked. “What hold? Sack. The Northern walls are nothing. Kick in their gate and you can flood the merchant district with ten thousand warriors. Empty the warehouses, take anything else of value, and be back in Everam’s Reservoir before winter sets in full.”

  Jayan looked disappointed. “You want me to take thousands of dal’Sharum north simply to steal a few wells?”

  “Burn the palace down if you wish,” Abban shrugged. “Take hostages, post the duke’s head on the wall. Whatever you like, so long as you do it quickly and be gone before their neighbors can move against you.

  “After that, you will have the largest, most seasoned army in the world, mobile and well supplied, and wealth to surpass even your father’s. What matter then, who sits the Skull Throne? Kaji himself spent more years in the saddle than he ever did upon a throne.”

  Jayan looked at Khevat, who seemed mollified. “It is a bold plan, Sharum Ka. If the Watchers of the Hollow tribe should spy your movements—”

  “They will not,” Jayan cut him off. “My Watchers have spied on the Hollow tribe for some time now. Their patrols do not yet range to the far side of the great wood.”

  Khevat looked to Asavi. “Perhaps we should consult …”

  “I have already cast the dice at the Sharum Ka’s request,” the dama’ting said. “The Deliverer’s son will shatter the gate and pour thousands of dal’Sharum into the city before the first day is out.”

  Jayan moved to a tapestry map of Thesa on the wall, pointing with his spear. “How many warriors remain in Everam’s Reservoir?”

  He did not look to Abban, but as few of the others could count so high, the khaffit was quick to answer. “Thirty-five thousand Sharum remain in the wetlands. One hundred twenty kai’Sharum, six thousand, four hundred and six dal, nine thousand, two hundred thirty-four kha, and nineteen thousand, eight hundred and seventy-six chi.”

  “I will take twenty thousand Sharum east.” Jayan turned to Khevat. “Dama, you will accompany me to the monastery and remain there with a thousand men to refortify it to receive the spoils from Angiers, away from prying eyes.”

  Khevat bowed. “Yes, Sharum Ka.”

  “Captain Qeran will take command of the siege of Lakton under my brother Sharu, who will command our land forces.”

  Qeran and Sharu bowed. “Your will, Sharum Ka.”

  “Jurim. My father’s pact with the Hollow tribe does not forbid us to steal a few wells. Here and here.” Jayan pointed to villages along the southern border of Hollow County’s influence. Technically Laktonian, the hamlets were too far from Docktown to be of strategic value, and the Hollow tribe had annexed the land. “Take three hundred men. Do not stay in one place longer than it takes to loot and burn or strike in a predictable pattern. Let them think there may be many times your true number.”

  Jurim bowed, looking gleeful at the prospect.

  “It will not be enough to bring their warriors into our lands, but it will draw their attention and patrols to the south.” Jayan’s finger skirted the map east from Docktown through the wetlands until it met a thin line heading north. “While I take my men north along the Old Hill Road. We will skirt the Hollow entirely and take the Angierians unaware.”

  He smiled. “And they will be ill prepared, once Dama Gorja delivers his message.”

  CHAPTER 29

  DAMA GORJA

  334 AR WINTER

  The note was written in Darsy Cutter’s blocky print. Like the woman herself, her missives wasted little time getting to the point. Instead of one long letter as some might write, Darsy’s correspondence was a stack of small notes, each its own problem.

  Mistress Leesha,

  Warded Children have ceased to mind. Don’t report for inspection. Started painting themselves with more than just blackstem. Stefny Inn caught Stela with permanent tattoos under her dress. Yon Gray tried to bring them in line, and Callen Cutter broke his arm.

  They live in the woods now, like they say the Deliverer did. Those that sleep at all do it during the day, out of the sun. Gared’s been letting it go because they take a heavy toll on the corelings, but even he’s losing patience.

  Said you had a plan in case something like this happened. If you’ve got a trick up your sleeve, now’s the time for it.

  —Darsy

  “Corespawn it,” Leesha said.

  Wonda looked up from polishing her bow. “Corespawn what?”

  “Things are falling apart in the Hollow,” Leesha said. She rubbed her heavy belly. “And if I stay much longer, I won’t be fit to travel until the child comes.”

  “How can we leave without Rojer?” Wonda asked.

  “We can’t,” Leesha said. “But I’m losing patience with Janson’s endless delays. I don’t give a coreling’s piss if Jasin was his nephew. He tried to kill Rojer twice, and it’s his own fault what came of it.”

  “Doubt that’s gonna sway anyone,” Wonda said.

  “They’ll be swayed if Gared has to show up with a few thousand Cutters to collect us and escort us home,” Leesha said.

  Wonda looked at her a moment, then went back to polishing her bow. “Think it’ll come to that?”

  Leesha rubbed her temple. “Perhaps. I don’t know. I hope not.”

  “Be bloody, it does,” Wonda said. “Them two might lock horns sometimes, but Gar thinks of Rojer like a little brother.”

  “We all do,” Leesha agreed. “But the duke and his brothers are stubborn. If Gared shows up with an army, they might let us go, but the Hollow will be on its own.”

  Wonda shrugged. “Like the count well enough, an’ the Duchess Mum, but the Hollow’d do just fine without ’em. Need us more’n we need them.”

  “Perhaps,” Leesha said again, but she wasn’t so certain.

  There was a knock at the door. Wonda answered it, finding one of Duchess Melny’s handmaidens.

  “It’s a good sign,” Leesha told Melny, “but too early to get excited.”

  “Demonshit,” Araine said. “Girl bleeds every fourth Seconday, dependable as sunrise. Now it’s Fifthday, and not a drop. Don’t need a Gatherer’s apron to know what that means.”

  “Means I’ve got a babe in me,” Melny said.

  “Ay, I’m not denying it,” Leesha said, and Melny’s face lit up. “But I wouldn’t go shouting it from the balcony. This early in a first pregnancy, the odds are even on it coming to term.”

  “It will!” Melny insisted. “I can feel the Creator’s hand in it, giving us the child when we need it most.”

  “Even so, it can’t hurt to wait a bit before telling anyone else,” Leesha said. “There’s still time.”

  “Not as much as you think,” Araine said.

  Leesha had to hurry to keep pace as Araine led the way through the women’s wing of the palace. She was so used to the Duchess Mum’s doddering invalid act, this seemed another woman entirely.

  Something is very wrong, Leesha realized, for her to have dropped the performance out in the open hall.

  She smelled him the moment she entered the chambers. Araine had opened the windows and filled the room with fresh flowers, but the stench was unmistakable, even in the outer room. Sh
e felt a twinge behind her left eye, and knew it had just triggered a headache that would have her whimpering in bed by day’s end.

  Briar waited in the receiving room, looking—and smelling—even filthier than last time. There was blood on his clothes, still wet from slogging through melted snow. What she could see of his flesh was covered in scrapes and bruises.

  Leesha went to him, swallowing a gag. Pain blossomed behind her eye, and she swallowed that, too, searching him for injuries.

  The boy was haggard, as if he hadn’t slept in a week. His feet were bloody and blistered, but there was no infection. The rest of his injuries looked painful, but superficial.

  “What happened?” she asked him.

  Briar’s eyes flicked to Araine, and it was she who answered as Leesha continued to tend the boy.

  “Thamos led an attack to retake Docktown,” Araine said. “A joint effort with Lakton and the Rizonan resistance.”

  “Why wasn’t I told of this?” Leesha demanded.

  “Because I don’t trust you where the Krasians are concerned,” Araine said, bluntly. “You would have opposed the attack.”

  Leesha folded her arms. “And what has Your Grace’s brilliant military strategy accomplished?”

  “We lost,” Briar said quietly, and began to weep.

  Leesha reached for him instinctively, breathing through her mouth and holding the boy as he cried, tears leaving streaks in the mud and hogroot resin staining his cheeks. A thousand questions swirled about her, but at the moment only one mattered.

  “Where is Thamos?” she asked.

  Still weeping, Briar shook his head. He reached into his robe, pulling out a folded bit of paper, stained and filthy. “Told me to give you this.”

  “Eh?” Araine asked. Briar had obviously left this out of his initial report.

  Leesha took the paper in shaking hands. The words, written in haste, were smeared, but in Thamos’ unmistakable hand.

  The message was short:

  My Darling Leesha,