The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

“Creator, giver of light and life, I seek knowledge of Darin Bales, son of Arlen and Renna, of Tibbet’s Brook. What is the source of the attack on his life last new moon?”

  The dice glow increasingly bright as Aunt Leesha shakes, then flash like lightning as she casts them across the table. I hear seven tiny wumps! of air as they pull up unnaturally short.

  The duchess becomes a statue as she concentrates. Even her scent goes flat as she works to coax meaning from the dice the way I coax music from my pipes.

  There’s a sudden flare in her aura, but I can’t tell what it means. Auras are more complicated than scents. I’ve never been able to read auras like that.

  Mam can, though. “What? What did you see?”

  “Be silent.” Aunt Leesha raises a finger without so much as turning.

  Mam doesn’t like that. She mists across the room, materializing between the duchess and the table, inches from Aunt Leesha’s face. “Tell me again not to ask about my boy.”

  The duchess jumps back with a yelp, hand darting to her hora wand, but it’s a bad idea and she knows it. In all the years we’ve been coming to Hollow, this is the first time I’ve ever smelled Aunt Leesha frightened. She opens her mouth, but Mam cuts her off.

  “Been real patient tonight, Leesha, but ent got three hours to sit around while you walk Olive through a puzzle you’ve already solved. Something out there took a shot at my boy, and I want to know what. Tell. Me. What. You. Saw.”

  Anger slips into Aunt Leesha’s scent, now. I don’t expect she’s used to being bullied by anyone. She grips her wand tightly, and I can sense the massive charge of the item.

  Mam tucks her thumbs into the belt of her dress. There is nothing threatening in the move itself, but it draws the duchess’ eyes to the heavy knife that hangs there in easy reach. Aunt Leesha is still afraid, but the focus is back, and I half expect her to pull the wand from her belt and attempt to draw a ward before Mam can take it from her. I wouldn’t give it good odds.

  Aunt Leesha seems to come to the same conclusion. She straightens, face going serene as she lets go of the wand and deliberately moves her hand away. “I’m sorry, Renna. I was caught up in the dice and forgot who I was talking to.”

  “Don’t need an apology,” Mam says. “Just what you saw.”

  “I expected more about the mimic, or this hidden city in the eastern mountains,” Aunt Leesha says, “but it was something else entirely.”

  “You’re saying the attacks ent related?” Mam sounds doubtful.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Aunt Leesha says. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence any more than you. I just haven’t proved it.”

  “Still hedging,” Mam says, “tellin’ me what the dice don’t say, instead of what they do.” It ent often Mam needs to ask for something a third time, and when she does, it means the end of her patience.

  But Aunt Leesha is on firmer ground, now. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had another look to make sure, Renna Bales, and not a moment before. I won’t give out irresponsible answers because you’re too impatient to let me check the math.”

  Mam takes a deep breath. “Ay, fair.” She crosses her arms, but steps aside to grant access to the table.

  Aunt Leesha returns her attention to the dice, and after a few moments, her scent is flat, again. She stares for a long time before speaking. “The father waits below in darkness for his progeny to return.”

  My hand starts to shake, slipping from Olive’s. I clench my fist to keep the convulsion from spreading.

  “Da.”

  * * *

  —

  Arlen Bales, my da, died to save the world.

  I don’t believe everything the Tenders say about him, but I believe Mam, and she was there to see it.

  But Da didn’t die like other folks. He breathed out too far, like me when I go slippery, or Mam dissipating. The more you exhale, the harder it gets to suck back in and pull yourself together, until finally, you can’t. It’s killed more than a few Warded Children over the years, a constant reminder of the danger.

  It’s why I get so scared when Mam makes me dissipate with her. I can hear the call of the Core, feel its Draw. Breathe out too much and it will pull me in like smoke through a fan.

  Mam says it was a peaceful way to go. “A drop of rain becoming part of the bubbling brook.”

  That part, I don’t believe. Mam can’t know what it’s like to die. No one can. But I know one thing. The Core isn’t soothing and cool like a bubbling brook. It is heat and fire and we are only coals. If I was to guess, I’d say being sucked in is like being burned alive. I picture Da that way sometimes, frozen in time without a throat to scream his pain.

  “You think it’s my da?”

  “That sent demons up out of the Core to find you?” Mam spits on the floor. “Only thing your da ever did with demons was kill them.”

  “Except the one time he kept one alive and used it to lead the way into the hive,” the duchess notes. Mam glares at her, but Aunt Leesha only shrugs. Every Jongleur in Thesa sings about that story.

  “Da died on the same spot I was born.” My throat is suddenly dry. “In the darkness of the demon hive. What if he’s…trapped there? What if he’s callin’ me, and the demons just intercepted the message?”

  “If your da was trapped, I would’ve found him,” Mam says. “Don’t think I didn’t look.”

  I steel myself. “If Da—”

  “Your da is gone.” Mam’s voice is calm, but her aura is a vortex of emotions, too complex to read. “Ent no coming back from where he went. Creator willing, we’ll join him there when our time comes.”

  She means the words as comfort, but they are anything but. “What if it just took him some time to suck back in? What if he’s stuck, and needs us to come and rescue him?” My voice cracks and I barely manage to finish the thought before I start to cry.

  I hate crying. I hate it. I hate when others do it, and I hate it the most when I do. It’s like my body is betraying me.

  I don’t know if it is the words or the tears, but Mam’s scent fills with feelings of anguish and regret. I smell the tears even before they well in her eyes. “Promised your da I wouldn’t try to do that, Darin. Not while I’ve got you to look after.”

  I find my voice at the words. “And if you din’t?”

  “Then I would have gone with him,” Mam says without hesitation. “But don’t fool yourself. Just be another raindrop in the brook. Ent no rescue from that.”

  “But—” I press.

  “Alagai Ka,” Aunt Leesha cuts in, “is also known as the Father of Demons. That was his hive, and his circles of power were never found. Perhaps he has returned to his seat, and is calling the remaining demons back to rebuild. Perhaps Darin’s connection to the place makes him some kind of threat.”

  “Took a couple ‘perhapses’ to get there, Leesha,” Mam says. “But we’ll never know, because we ent goin’ anywhere near the place. His da gave his life so Darin and I could get out of there alive once. Won’t risk it again.”

  “Agreed,” the duchess says. “We don’t have enough information to act on this yet.”

  “So we follow Olive’s lead and see where they connect,” Mam says. “I can mist over to that mountain valley. If there’s a city there, it shouldn’t take me long to find it.”

  “Absolutely not,” Aunt Leesha says. “It’s too dangerous to go alone. Even for you.”

  “Ent one of your subjects, Leesha,” Mam notes. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

  Aunt Leesha’s jaw tightens. “Perhaps, but I can tell you not to be a fool. Even if it’s just a mimic, why face it alone?”

  That gets Mam’s back up. She doesn’t care for being called a fool.

  And I can’t stand it anymore.

  “Wasn’t done talking!” I shout.

  “Whazzat?”
Selen jerks upright on the couch.

  Everyone’s looking at me, now. I swallow and force myself to breathe. “Can’t just…do that!” I wave my hand, a meaningless gesture, but it feels right. “Can’t just tell me somethin’ like that and just turn and change the rippin’ subject!”

  Mam smells hurt, but she doesn’t care for being shouted at, either. “Talk about this later, Darin. Honest word. But right now your elders are talking.”

  There is a rush of anger in Olive’s scent, and she takes a protective step in front of me. “Our elders are acting like ripping children if they can’t spare a moment of bickering for someone in pain!”

  Both women are flabbergasted at the outburst, and while they stand frozen, Selen steps next to me, taking my arm. “Let’s go, Dar. Let the children bicker.”

  The words are sharp, and the princesses smell ready to fight, but Mam and the duchess don’t protest as they escort me away. Truer is, I can smell their relief.

  “Fine,” Mam tells Aunt Leesha. “I’ll take a few of the Children with me.”

  “And me,” Aunt Leesha says.

  Mam shakes her head. “Taking you means carriages and horses and wagons…”

  “Just as well,” Aunt Leesha says. “I will be bringing along a sizable force of Cutters and they will need to be fed and supplied.”

  “Adding weeks to something we can do in a day,” Mam says.

  “Renna.” Aunt Leesha lets the mask on her face fall away. “Something tried to kill our children. Better a thousand warriors too many, than one too few.”

  Then the library doors shut behind us, and the wards of silence sever us from the conversation.

  16

  GENERAL CUTTER

  The duchess’ servants are up hours before dawn, readying for the day as their employers continue their slumber, blissfully unaware.

  To me, it’s a racket to wake the dead. The clatter of silverware and porcelain are thunder in my skull. I can smell every rasher of bacon, boiled oat, and morning privy visit. Hear their coughs and quiet conversations. The endless splashing of water as basins and pitchers are filled and pots set over the fire.

  I’d be glad of the unnatural silence of the duchess’ library now, or even Grandda’s corespawned rooster crowing. Sunrise in Hollow is even worse than in Tibbet’s Brook.

  I flee to the still-quiet courtyard, comforted by the cloak of darkness, but I can feel the weight in the sky as dawn approaches. I flit through the yard unnoticed by the guards, just a shadow in the darkness. I find a familiar spot and scale the western watchtower.

  I’ve always been a good climber, but in darkness I can cheat a bit. Same way I get slippery, I can turn sticky when I want, misting just enough to slide the skin of my fingers and toes into cracks and fissures too small for most folk to see, then expanding to fill them.

  I climb like a spider above the guards’ post to a small archery nook with shuttered views of the road and yard, just large enough for a single shooter. From the inside, it can only be accessed by a narrow, winding stair. It’s the shadiest spot in the yard, and no one ever goes there. Used to come here all the time, when I was little.

  I nestle into the darkness, closing my eyes and focusing on the quiet conversation of the guards below to help tune out the keep’s rising bustle.

  “You ent heard where they’re headed?” one says. He’s older, and I can hear his stomach rumbling as the end of his shift approaches. He smells of alcohol, but he isn’t drunk. He chews sourleaf in an attempt to mask it on his breath.

  “No one knows,” his relief officer says. She’s younger, freshly fed, and clean. “Wherever they’re goin’, one thing’s for sure. Either the duchess expects to find a fight, or she’s lookin’ to start one.”

  I don’t have to wonder what they’re talking about. The preparations have been underway for a week.

  Soon enough, the yard comes to life as well. Animals are led out and hitched, and the wagons loaded the night before ready themselves to leave.

  I can smell the chemicals and acrid scent of the three carts of flamework, another dozen laden with supplies. Two carts from the Warders’ Guild, and another of Jongleurs. And that’s not to mention all the men and women to cook meals, wash laundry, and otherwise facilitate for the convoy. Inside the carts, cooks are already peeling potatoes and chopping vegetables for a lunch stop that is hours away. I can feel the onion fumes on my eyes.

  Five hundred mounted Hollow Lancers atop giant Angierian mustangs come up the road like a rockslide, so loud I need to stick fingers in my ears to blunt the worst of it. They muster at the gate in polished wooden armor, long spears upright like a forest in miniature. Even from atop the wall I can hear their words to one another, but the topic is the same. All they know is they are headed into the borderlands to hunt demons. Some are veterans from the demon war, but others came of age long after and have never faced corelings in battle. The elders have a lot of advice, but as I learned for myself, little of it is useful without the perspective only a charging demon can give.

  Mam’s been skating back and forth for a week, readying the Children to join Hollow’s forces at the edge of the borderlands.

  Aunt Leesha wasn’t exaggerating when she said she was taking no chances.

  “Spend a lot of time up here for a boy with two pretty princesses to keep him company.” Mam’s head appears in the window.

  I’m not surprised. Mam can’t dissipate with the sun up. She avoided the steps and climbed the wall quietly enough, but I could smell her coming.

  “Nice shady spot,” I say. “Got a view of everything. Ent quiet, but ent usually bothered here.”

  “That what I am to you?” Mam slips her legs over the sill and sits in the window, uncaring of the thirty-foot drop at her back. “Or can I set a bit? Keep you company?”

  “Worried I’ll stow away in one of the carriages?” I ask.

  “Should I be?” Mam replies.

  “No,” I say. “Ent interested in goin’ to pick a fight with a mimic demon.”

  Mam’s nose is as sharp as mine, even when she can’t see my aura. She knows I mean it. “Then what?”

  I shrug. “Just feel so helpless setting here, and I can’t help but wonder…”

  I trail off, but not quickly enough. “Already know what you mean, Darin,” Mam says. “Might as well just say it.”

  My voice hardens. “If you’re going in the wrong direction. Don’t want to go down to the old hive any more than you, but if there’s a chance Da is…stuck there—”

  “He ent,” Mam says. “He was, I’d already be down there, no matter what the rippin’ dice say. Your da was still alive,” she lifts her left hand, running a thumb over the wards of her wedding band, “I’d know.”

  I want to believe her. I know I should. I don’t doubt that Mam would do anything to bring back Da—short of putting me at risk—but there’s a place where the two overlap, and that makes it hard to trust.

  “Would you really have gone into the Core with him, if not for me?” I ask.

  “Would have gone anywhere to be with your da,” Mam says. “Loved Arlen Bales like crops love rain. Din’t think I could live without him.”

  She lays a hand on my shoulder. “But then I met you, and realized I had more to live for than I thought.”

  My throat tightens, but I force the words out, anyway. “What if he needs us?”

  Mam squeezes, trying to massage some of the tension away, but I’m wound like a clock spring. “Then he’ll need a better Messenger than a couple demon attacks and some old coreling bones.”

  She’s right. She’s got to be. I ent ready to live in a world where Mam could be wrong, and there’s no way for me to find my way down to that place without her. I nod, wiping a tear from my eye with the cuff of my shirt.

  “Ent gonna be gone long,” Mam says. “Really is just a mimi
c, Miss Prissy Perfect and I should be able to handle it without much fuss and be back in a few weeks.”

  “And if it’s more?” I ask.

  Mam shrugs. “Goin’ in heavy. There’s a fight, it won’t end well for the demons.”

  “I don’t want to stay here,” I say. “Can’t you skate me home to the Brook before you go?”

  “You’re askin’ to skate?” Mam’s eyes narrow. “Olive and Selen treating you so bad?”

  I shake my head. “They’re fine. Just don’t fit in, here.”

  “Ay, get that,” Mam says. “But demons got too close to your grandda’s farm for my liking. Until this business is settled, Hollow’s the safest place. Your uncle Gared will take good care of you, and maybe you and Selen will get a chance to sneak another kiss.”

  I look up at her, unable to hide my shock, and she throws me a wink. “Thought I didn’t know about that? You two behave.”

  I feel my face heat, and Mam laughs, hugging me tight and kissing the curly hair atop my head. “Love you, Darin Bales.”

  “Love you, Mam.”

  * * *

  —

  Selen and Olive find me atop the parapet wall as I watch the carts and horses recede in the distance from the shadows of my warded cloak’s hood. A week since the bet, Olive is painting her face again, but the smells of her various perfumes are preferable to the slowly fading stench of the convoy.

  “Ready to head over to Da’s manse?” Selen asks. “I can ask the porters to pack your one dirty shirt and overalls.”

  “Don’t bother,” Olive says. “The staff gave up trying to wash them and just set them aflame.”

  “I was wondering what that stink was!” Selen cries. Both girls squeal with laughter, and I wonder how long it would take me to get back to Tibbet’s Brook if I set off at a run. The trip takes a Messenger on horseback two weeks, but I reckon I could beat that.

  I don’t know if the servants burned my clothes, but the moment I stepped into a tub, they made off with them, leaving behind a robe and some underclothes to wear as the duchess’ tailors ambushed me. Ran their tapes so far up my leg I thought they were going to wipe my bottom.