The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  But that was not what took Arlen’s breath away. Atop the rise was a great csar, a walled Krasian fortress filled with stone buildings. In the desert, a csar might house a great family, or perhaps an entire village, protecting them from Sharum raiding parties.

  But this was no simple village. The pillared walls rose high, wards cut deep into the polished rock, still strong after all this time. Just peaking the walls Arlen could see the tips of the great minarets and domed ceiling of a Sharik Hora.

  And its walls…Arlen’s legs went weak, and he fell to his knees. The walls were a greatward, not unlike those he and Leesha had designed for the Hollow. But their warding was a crude thing compared with the elegant flow of the csar.

  The place sung with magic, a symphony of power that brought tears to his eyes.

  “Ahmann.” Arlen tried, and failed, to keep his voice from trembling. “I…think I just found the Spear of Ala.”

  CHAPTER 27

  BEDFELLOWS

  334 AR

  “They have arrived, mistress,” Arther said.

  Leesha fidgeted on Thamos’ throne in the receiving hall. She hated the monstrous thing, using it only when ceremony demanded. It made her feel like a girl sitting in her father’s chair.

  Angierians were on average the shortest people of the Free Cities, and their nobility had compensated in the size of their furniture. The solid piece of polished goldwood was so heavy even Gared could not move it without a grunt, expertly carved with the ivy pattern of the Rhinebeck family. A fortune in scrollwork, and not a ripping ward to be seen. The throne was designed for one thing—to loom.

  But Leesha could not deny it did that admirably, and tonight she was thankful for it. She put a benevolent smile on her face and set it in porcelain. “Send them in.”

  Wonda signaled the guards at the doors, and they opened to admit the Krasians. The delegation had arrived at midday, and it was well after dusk. She could delay them no longer.

  Making guests wait for an audience was another game of nobility Leesha didn’t care for, but she played it all the same, sending Gared to escort them into the Hollow. Krasians loved Gared. A warrior of renown—the kind of man they understood.

  As agreed in advance, they were escorted to the manse Amanvah built for Rojer. The servants were already Krasian and did not object as dal’Sharum warriors secured the walls and ran down the Jongleur’s fiddle crest. In its place they raised the Krasian flag—crossed spears over a setting sun—marking the soil as their own.

  The move made many of the Hollowers—refugees from Krasian conquests in the south—uneasy, but there was nothing for it. Leesha would no more let her own people bully her into breaking the bonds she had sacrificed so much to forge than she would let Euchor or the ivy throne.

  She allowed the Krasians a few hours to settle and explore, delaying the meeting until sunset. It was enough to show her power without causing offense. All men are brothers in the night was the Krasian mantra. To meet in darkness was a sign of truce, a reminder of the common foe.

  It also let the Krasians witness the Hollow’s greatwards as they rode in their palanquins to Leesha’s palace. Another show of power.

  There were five in the delegation, not counting the dal’Sharum. Three dama’ting, one kai’ting, and, most vexing, a dama. Leesha scrutinized their auras as Gared led them into the nearly empty chamber.

  Wonda and Darsy stood to the right of the throne, Jona and Hayes at the left. Arther hovered just behind the throne, near a ward circle on the floor. The words of any who stood in it would be for her ears alone.

  Auras on both sides were flint and tinder, ready to burst into flame at the slightest abrasion.

  In Krasian custom, the dominant male always spoke first in a group, but Leesha was surprised to see him hang back with the others while an ancient dama’ting took an additional step.

  The crone reminded Leesha of Bruna, withered by time into wiry, wrinkled flesh pulled tight over sharp bone. But her back was straight, her eyes piercing. Her aura was as old as any Leesha had ever seen, but it was strong. Age had taken none of this woman’s strength.

  “Greetings, Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow, Mistress of the Hollow Tribe.” The dama’ting’s bow was respectful but not deferential. The bow of a powerful woman in a lesser woman’s home. “I am Dama’ting Favah. The Damajah was a student of mine.”

  “You honor us with your venerable presence, Dama’ting Favah.” Leesha’s nod was deep enough to avoid insult, barely. She did not wish to antagonize the woman, but neither would she be looked down upon.

  “These are Dama’ting Shaselle and Jaia, and Kai’ting Micha.” Favah swept a hand in the direction of the women. “Sent as promised by Damaji’ting Amanvah to support your Gatherers and household.”

  The introduction was abrupt, even offhand, but Leesha could see how it grated at the dama’s aura. Not only was a woman speaking before him, she was introducing other women first!

  She smiled, breaking in before Favah could introduce him. “Your delegation is most welcome. It is my hope that a permanent embassy will help promote peace and cooperation between our…tribes.”

  His patience at an end, the dama stepped forward. His bow was barely a twitch. “I am Dama Halvan. I trained with Shar’Dama Ka in Sharik Hora.”

  “Ahmann never mentioned you,” Leesha said, “but I imagine he trained with many in his years there.”

  The dama blinked. Not only did the words steal the wind from his sails, but Leesha’s intimate use of Jardir’s first name was a reminder that she was no simple chin, and that his affiliation with Ahmann would not impress her.

  Follow the medicine with something sweet, Bruna used to say. “Please accept my condolences for the loss of the Andrah. Before ascending to the Skull Throne, Damaji Ashan fought beside my people against the alagai, and shared a blessing with Shepherd Jona,” Leesha swept a hand at Jona, “before breaking bread at my table. I was saddened to hear of his death.”

  “Indeed.” Halvan’s bow was more respectful now.

  “Dama Halvan is to minister to the Evejans in Hollow County,” Favah said. “He will also serve as translator and sharusahk instructor to exceptional dal’Sharum seeking the white veil.”

  “You are welcome, Dama.” Leesha could see Jona’s and Hayes’ auras seething in her peripheral vision, but she ignored them. “Most of the Sharum that came to the Hollow last year were killed on Waning, when the mimic demon set Drillmaster Kaval and Enkido on the lonely path.”

  Halvan drew wards in the air at the words, and all bowed their heads a moment.

  “The rest have been absorbed into the Cutters, under General Gared.” She nodded to the Baron. “Many of the widows and children have assimilated, as well. Some attend services by Shepherd Jona, our…Damaji, and his second, Inquisitor Hayes.” The men bowed in turn with the introductions.

  Dama Halvan’s nod to the other clerics was barely tolerant. “I will bring them back to Everam, if they have strayed.” His aura made clear he intended to give them little choice in the matter.

  “They are Hollow Tribe now, Dama,” Leesha said, putting a touch of steel into her voice. “Free folk. Their choice of worship will be respected.”

  “The only freedom is in submission to Everam’s will,” Halvan growled.

  “Not in the Hollow,” Leesha said. “We do not force faith on our people. If that does not agree with you, you are welcome to return to Everam’s Bounty.”

  Jona’s and Hayes’ auras were smug as Halvan’s mouth opened, searching for a response. She turned to the men. “As you, Tenders, will respect the choices of those Hollowers who have taken an interest in becoming Evejan.”

  It was the Tenders’ turn to gape as Halvan suppressed a smile. “I see you are constructing a new temple, Countess. I will need to consecrate the land and structure in order to hold services there.”

  Shepherd Jona took a step forward. “Now, just a corespawned minute! If you think…”

  Jona had bee
n Leesha’s childhood friend and confidant, but she whipped a hand up and he silenced instantly.

  Inquisitor Hayes was less well trained. “If our cathedral is not suitable for the heathen, let them return to their own.”

  Leesha turned her glare on him, and the Inquisitor met it with his own stony gaze. “Did you become count in the last few minutes without my knowledge, Tender?”

  “Of course not—” Hayes began.

  “The Creator is the Creator,” Leesha cut him off. “Whether he is called Everam or not. The cathedral of Hollow County will serve as Holy House to Krasian and Thesan alike.”

  She turned to Halvan. “The land was consecrated in Evejan fashion, with the blood of our people in the night. It is called the Corelings’ Graveyard for good reason. Ahmann himself declared it sacred ground. Is that enough to satisfy you?”

  Halvan bowed. “If the Shar’Dama Ka named ground holy, then it is so. The temple, however…”

  Leesha sighed. “What does your consecration require?”

  “Prayers,” Halvan began, “incense, and the bones of heroes.”

  “This, too, has been done,” Leesha said. “Damaji’ting Amanvah blessed the temple with the bones of her honored husband, Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow.”

  Halvan bowed. “That is a beginning, mistress, but it is not enough. A temple’s blessing increases with every hero’s bone.”

  “Barbaric!” Hayes growled. “To suggest we defile both the honored dead and our temple with some gruesome display—”

  “Dun’t sound so bad.” All eyes turned to Gared, who blushed at the attention.

  Hayes blinked. “Surely, Baron, you cannot mean that.”

  Gared shrugged. “Why not? We keep graveyards on Holy House grounds, an’ crypts beneath. I seen Sharik Hora when we went to Everam’s Bounty. Standin’ there, surrounded by the bones of folk like me, who fell fightin’ corelings, I felt part o’ somethin’ bigger’n myself. Ent that what it’s all about?”

  Leesha blinked. Gared Cutter had been a woodbrained boy, but Baron Cutter surprised her anew every day.

  “Bones have magic, Countess,” Favah advised. “Demon, and man. Did you think we built a temple of heroes’ bones for aesthetics alone? Hora Draw and bind magic to the beliefs of the departed souls they housed. If they died defending their people from demons…”

  “…the building will Draw magic and focus it to the same purpose,” Leesha finished, her mind racing at the prospect.

  She turned to Arther. “This is Lord Arther, my first minister. Dama Halvan and the Tenders will sit down with him and come to terms acceptable to both sides on the consecration of the ground and the sharing of the cathedral.”

  “Just how are we supposed to…!” Hayes growled.

  Leesha ignored him, turning to Jona. “Figure it out. I don’t care if you divide the hours, or argue scripture and find common ground for a service you can perform together. Just get it done. Next time I hear about it, every one of you had best be satisfied. Am I clear?”

  Jona bowed deeply. “Perfectly, Countess. Think no more on it.”

  Leesha breathed a sigh of relief, turning back to Favah. “May I interest the rest of you in some tea while the men argue?”

  Favah’s aura was hard to read, her face hidden behind her veil, but her bow was deeper now. “Thank you, Countess. That would be most acceptable.”

  —

  Leesha’s heart stuttered as she turned the corner to find Elona, heavy with child, waiting outside her office door. Just steps behind, Wonda and Darsy escorted the other women.

  “What are you doing here, Mother?” Leesha quickstepped to Elona’s side, her voice a harsh whisper.

  “Honest word?” Elona asked. “You really thought I was gonna sit in my room and miss this?”

  Leesha had begged her to do just that, had even posted guards and servants to deter it, but she should have known none would stop her mother. Folk were always more scared of Elona than she was of them.

  “Hurry now.” Elona winked. “Don’t want to cause a scene in front of the guests.”

  Leesha had little choice but to play along, nodding to the guards to open the door. The moment it closed behind them, she grabbed Elona by the arm, squeezing hard. “I swear to the Creator, Mother, if you undermine me in this meeting, you can go back to living beside Da’s paper mill.”

  Elona didn’t flinch. “Don’t you threaten me, girl. I’m one of the only ones you trust to change your baby’s nappy. You ent fool enough to send me out of your sight.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Leesha caught sight of Tarisa, gliding silently around the room after setting the service. Her aura was one of complete discretion, but there was no doubt she heard.

  Tarisa heard everything.

  A moment later Wonda entered the room, eyes scanning it like a battlefield, looking for threats. Her gaze lingered on Elona a moment, but she said nothing, moving to take up a position between Leesha’s favorite chair and the entrance to the nursery.

  Favah paused on entry, studying the wards around the nursery door. They glowed bright in wardsight, drawing both from the greatward and from powerful hora hidden around the room.

  “Impressive,” Favah allowed, “if clumsy. It pleases me to see Princess Olive so well guarded, but I would look upon her with my own eyes to ensure she is well.”

  “Perhaps,” Leesha said. “When I am satisfied.”

  Favah tilted her head. “And what will it take to satisfy you?”

  “Can start by showing our faces,” Elona cut in. “All women here, ent we?”

  Leesha grit her teeth. “Favah, this is my mother—”

  “Elona vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.” Favah’s bow was deeper than it had been for Leesha. “Your name is known throughout the palaces of Krasia.”

  “Is it now?” Elona put her hands on her hips, managing to appear humble even as her aura seethed with satisfaction. “Ent that a thing.”

  “Indeed, you are correct. If we are to trust one another, lowering our veils is a good place to begin.” Favah gave her scarf a precise tug, and her white silk veil collapsed like smoke to drape at the base of her throat. The crone’s face was all sinew and bone. “How else could we enjoy our tea?”

  The other women relaxed, lowering their veils as Leesha crossed the room, taking a seat first in Bruna’s ancient rocker. Still draped with the old woman’s frayed shawl, the chair was the one piece of furniture Leesha kept when she moved into the palace for good and gave Bruna’s cottage over to Darsy. It was a chair very much not in the Angierian fashion, the wood plain, smoothed more from use than polish. There was no cushion, and it creaked as Leesha rocked it.

  The sound comforted Leesha sometimes when she was alone, reminding her of her mentor. Of how she could turn that creak into a steady rhythm to relax—or unnerve—patient and petitioner alike. The creak could break a silence gone on too long, or interrupt speakers before they had a chance to build their oratory.

  “Welcome.” She spread her hands, beginning the dama’ting tea ritual, which was, in truth, not so different from the Angierian way. The order of seating meant everything. Leesha and Darsy had rehearsed it over and over. Darsy would sit next at her right, then Favah and her group to her left. It would make clear Darsy’s position in Leesha’s esteem, while still giving the Krasians a strong position by which they could claim no offense.

  But before Leesha could finish, Elona strode right in and sat herself at Leesha’s right. To the Krasians, it was an open declaration that she was the second most powerful woman in the room.

  Leesha hesitated, meeting Darsy’s eyes. Seating too many before her guests would be a grave insult. She gestured to her left. “Favah.”

  The ancient dama’ting took the offered seat beside Leesha, snapping her fingers at Shaselle and Jaia, who flocked to the couch beside Favah’s chair. The couch was big enough to seat three, but the two of them spread out to fill the space.

  Only Micha was left standing when
Darsy finally took the center of the couch beside Elona, the big woman filling much of it herself, looming over the dama’ting.

  Still Micha kept her feet, eyes down, the very model of humility, but her aura, calm and focused, told a different tale.

  Right now, Micha’s focus was on Wonda. Leesha could not tell if she was deferring to the woman, unwilling to sit before her, or eyeing her like a target. Wonda seemed to sense the attention, shifting her feet like she was readying for a fight.

  “Enough.” Leesha clapped her hands. “I won’t have a princess of the Kaji standing while the rest of us sit. Pull up a chair, girl. You, too, Wonda. If we’re going to get along, we’re going to have to take off more than one veil.”

  Leesha gave a slight gesture as Tarisa filled her teacup. It was all the lady’s maid needed to smoothly move to fill Favah’s next. A sound formed in Elona’s throat, but she was smart enough to swallow it. Tarisa served Elona and the Hollowers before getting to the other Krasians. She set milk and sugar out, but only the Hollowers reached for it. The Krasians watched Leesha. When she left her tea black, so did they.

  “We are strangers this night,” Leesha said. “But it is my fervent hope that by the time these cups are cleared, we will be as friends. Waning approaches.”

  Favah lifted her cup. “On that cursed night, friends will not be enough. We must be as sisters.”

  Leesha lifted her cup to precisely match the old woman’s. “Sisters.”

  The silence as they sipped went on a touch too long, and Leesha broke it with the chair’s creak. She caught Favah’s eye and looked deep into the old woman’s aura. “Are you or any of your party here to harm my child?”

  “That depends.” If Favah was surprised by the sudden, invasive question, she gave no sign, face and aura placid. “Do you plan to use your child’s lineage to make a claim on the Skull Throne and attempt to supplant the Damajah?”

  Leesha was horrified. “Of course not!”

  Favah squinted, and Leesha realized the old woman had been reading her aura right back. “Then your child has nothing to fear from the dama’ting.”