The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  All night Arlen and the others waited, silent and still, the deep, booming vibrations of the corelings’ assault their only company. But in the end, the demons never came anywhere near them.

  They were saving Kaji for last.

  Dawn came to find everyone tense and exhausted, massaging sore muscles as they looked questioningly at Arlen.

  “You promised they would come, Par’chin,” Jardir growled. “Here! To this very spot! You swore on your honor. Instead I insult Kaji by hiding in—”

  “They will!” Arlen insisted. “Didn’t you feel it? Tonight was just the opening act.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” Jardir growled.

  “City told me,” Arlen said.

  Jardir’s glower became uncertain. “The … city? Are you mad, Par’chin?”

  Arlen shrugged. “Reckon more’n a little, but not about this. There’s old magic here, Ahmann. Magic that’s been at the heart of this city since it was alive with your ancestors. Open yourself to it, and it will speak to you.”

  Jardir spread his feet and closed his eyes. Arlen could see the magic flowing to him, but a few moments later he shook his head, opening his eyes to look at Arlen. “There is power as you say, Par’chin, but Anoch Sun is silent to me.”

  Arlen looked to Renna, who had already closed her eyes and Drawn as Jardir had. After a minute she opened her eyes and shrugged.

  “It’s there,” he asserted, shoving aside the very real possibility he might indeed be mad. “Just need to practice listening.”

  “So what happened?” Renna asked.

  “They’ve made a ring around the city,” Arlen said, “with the tomb at the center. Burning their way inward. Reach us soon enough. Won’t leave a stone intact by the end of Waning.”

  “Think I might lose my mind spending another night on edge like that, much less two,” Renna said, moving for the doorway. “Goin’ up for some air.”

  Arlen moved to block her way. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. Can’t have the demons pickin’ up our scent.”

  “So what, we’re supposed to spend three days buried in a tomb?” Renna demanded.

  “If that is what’s required,” Jardir said. “We will die in here, if need be.”

  Arlen began to nod, but Jardir went on. “But I am not convinced that is what is required. I would see the devastation with my own eyes, to ensure the voice speaking to you is not your own madness. If the alagai are attacking with such abandon as to raze the entire city in a single Waning, then they are not snuffing about for scents.”

  He strode to the exit, slow enough to give Arlen a chance to try and stop him, but his aura made clear it would be foolish to do so. Arlen nodded.

  Carefully they removed the heavy warded stone fitted in the entryway and went up to the surface, where a grim sight awaited them.

  Jardir looked over the devastation of Anoch Sun with a heavy heart. The Par’chin had accused his people of destroying the place—not without cause—but the Krasians had barely scratched the surface compared to the wrath of the alagai princes.

  The minds had let their drones play, digging up buried sandstone only to grind and burn it back down to sand and glass. As the Par’chin had said, a ring of destruction miles wide circled the area like a moat. A deep crater was filled with the pulverized remains of what had once been a sprawling and vibrant city. There was no piece of rubble larger than Shanvah’s small fist.

  Save for the bodies.

  At the edge of the ring, the demons had laid the sarcophagi of Anoch Sun’s great leaders as each was stripped from its tomb. Jardir lifted the lid from one, then turned away in horror, dropping the lid to gag.

  Inside, the sarcophagus was filled to the rim with an oily back filth, the stench of which was overpowering. Jardir had to forcibly swallow back the remains of his last meal, putting his silk night veil up over his mouth and nose.

  It did little to help. His eyes stung and teared from the noxious fumes, but he forced himself to step close again, seeing bits of the cloth used to wrap his ancestor’s body floating in the muck. Khanjin, Kaji’s second cousin and one of the sacred twelve, lay within, desecrated.

  Renna stepped closer, then she, too, recoiled. “Night, what is that?”

  “Mind demon shit.” Even the Par’chin looked green. “They eat only brains, to make it extra disgusting. Gives it that slick, oily quality. Sticks to everything it touches.”

  “Will it burn?” Jardir asked.

  “Ay,” the Par’chin began, “but …”

  “I will not leave my ancestors like this, Par’chin,” Jardir said.

  “You will,” the Par’chin snapped. “Maybe you’re right and the corelings won’t scent us, but sure as the sun rises they’ll notice if we burn their little display. We go back. Now. Wait for them to come right to us, and then pay them back in person.”

  Jardir wanted to argue. Every fiber of his being screamed to alleviate the dishonor to his holy ancestors. But the Par’chin was right. The only way he could hope to balance the scales was to make the alagai pay dearly for the insult.

  Arlen kept feeling his chest constrict, and had to remind himself to breathe. He dared not touch the power of Anoch Sun to learn anything of the foe. It was the third night of Waning, and the sounds of destruction had grown ever closer, until it felt as if the whole chamber would collapse in on itself. Then abruptly the cacophony stopped, the only sound the dust still falling all about them.

  Even without reaching out his magic, Arlen could sense the minds’ approach. Not just one, but many. Too many, if they did not claim every surprise and every advantage. Even then, perhaps.

  Creator, he thought, feeling the fool even as he did, if you’re up there, now’s the time to throw in.

  There was no response, of course. Arlen had not expected one, but this was one time he would have been glad to have been wrong.

  Renna wiped the sweat from her palms on her tight-laced vest, flexing her fingers. Her hand kept drifting down to stroke the handle of her knife.

  Across the room, Shanjat shifted his feet, adjusting his grip on his spear. Only Shanvah showed no sign of unease. She had not moved in hours, her aura so flat and even Arlen might have thought her sleeping, if nor for her open eyes.

  There was a hissing outside, and the sound of scraping as the demons marred the wards barring their entry. Arlen looked at the wards of unsight he had set around the ambush pocket, wondering if they would be enough. He activated his own, and watched as Renna pulled her cloak in tight.

  There was a boom as the great stone exploded inward, spraying the room with shrapnel. Renna cried out in surprise, but off to the side of the entrance, she was safe from the worst of it. Others were not so lucky. Shanvah got her shield up in time, but was knocked from her feet. A large chunk of stone struck Shanjat on the head, and he collapsed. Shanvah caught him as he fell, keeping him within the safety of the concealing wards, but it was clear he was out of the fight.

  Dust was still falling when the mimic rolled into the room, shapeless, flowing over the floor like liquid. In normal light it would have looked like boiled tar, but in wardsight it was bright with core magic. Everyone tensed, watching, waiting to see if they were noticed.

  It always felt thus when shielded by the magic, wondering if this would be the time the corelings pierced the veil. Arlen’s chest grew tight, and he forced himself to breathe.

  But if the mimic sensed them, it gave no sign. It completed a circuit of the room, flowing around the great warded sarcophagus and returning to pool in the doorway. A lump grew in the center of that pool, and like a man climbing from a vat of molasses, the demon formed, rising until its shoulders nearly touched the low ceiling. It grew wide and squat, with short, powerful legs and long muscular arms ending in huge obsidian claws.

  A mind demon entered the chamber and Arlen smiled, holding up a hand to stay the others until the time was right. The coreling was small, like the minds he had encountered, with spindly limbs and delicate
claws. The horns on its huge, bulbous head were vestigial, and its gigantic eyes were inky, reflective pools.

  His smile faded slightly as another mind entered the chamber. And another after that. They kept coming until the room was crowded with them, six in all. They moved toward the sarcophagus, and its wards began to glow fiercely, holding them at bay. Arlen could see the forbidding, an impenetrable barrier surrounding the stone like a bubble. The demons could get close, but not enough to touch. Kaji’s wards were too powerful.

  The minds stood silently for a time, studying the wards, their knobbed craniums throbbing as they silently communicated with one another. Arlen could feel the vibrations in the air, but with his mind wards in place, it was a buzzing and nothing more.

  Then, as one, they turned their backs and bent their knees. The stubs of what might once have been tails lifted, and there was a horrid squelch as they released a spray of black, oily feces.

  The stench that filled the tiny room was overwhelming. Arlen’s eyes stung and teared, and his lungs burned with it. He envied the veils of the Krasians, though he doubted they helped much. There was a slight ripple in her camouflage as Renna put a hand to her mouth to keep from retching, but the corelings, intent on the sarcophagus, did not notice.

  The mind demons glowed bright with magic, far more than the mimic, which held more power than any other demon breed. But coreling princes controlled their power completely, and relinquished none of it as they eliminated. The spray was magic-dead, covering the wards and blocking their power. Their glow dimmed and faded to nothing as they were covered. Open to the air, the vile stool quickly dried, hardening to a layer like crete.

  Arlen readied himself. It was almost time. He forced his hand to keep from shaking as he prepared to give the sign. They would not have a second chance at this.

  But a crunch of talon on dirt in the hall outside stayed him. Suddenly the other minds straightened and stepped away from the sarcophagus, moving close to the walls and kneeling, talons on the floor and necks bared as another mind entered. One stood so close Renna could reach out and touch him if she wished. Another was in spear’s reach of where Shanvah crouched protectively over her father’s unconscious form.

  In physical appearance, this demon was little different from the others, small and frail with fine needle teeth and talons that seemed almost fragile, like an Angierian noblewoman’s painted nail.

  But the power this one demon held was staggering. More than Arlen had ever sensed in a single creature, as much as a Hollow greatward. It might not have been a match for all six of the other minds, but it was close. Arlen knew the coreling princes had a hierarchy of sorts based on age and power, but in his only other experience it had been more one of grudging respect and slight deference than outright submission. This one must be ancient and strong indeed to make the others hug the walls and bare their necks.

  Powerful enough to spot them despite the concealing wards? His muscles knotted, readying to attack at the slightest hint they were discovered. He felt the burning in his chest again, but did not dare to breathe as the demon passed him by, moving to stand before the sarcophagus.

  Its cranium throbbed and the mimic was moving instantly, reaching out to grasp the heavy stone lid in its talons, tossing it aside. The powerful mind sprang with surprising grace and strength, leaping lightly to stand spread-legged, balanced atop the narrow rim as it looked down at the mummified form of its kind’s greatest foe. It squatted, its vestigial tail lifting to bare its anus.

  And that was when Jardir, hidden in the coffin wrapped in his cloak of unsight, struck.

  Before the demon even knew he was there, Jardir had snapped the shaft of the Spear of Kaji up between its legs, lifting it clear off its clawed feet. At the same instant, his crown activated, trapping it in an impenetrable buddle of energy as he leapt up and struck again.

  “Now!” Arlen cried, leaping at the closest mind demon even as Renna and Shanvah struck. Renna cut the head clean off her target, her father’s great hunting knife passing through its scrawny neck like Hog’s cleaver through a chicken.

  Shanvah, too, went right for the kill, her speartip piercing a demon prince’s heart and twisting to tear the organ to shreds. The minds could heal most any injury with terrifying speed, but even they were not proof against a killing blow.

  The mind was just turning his way as Arlen grabbed its horns, adding the force of his leap to the twist that snapped its neck. Unwilling to leave it there, lest the creature heal even that terrible wound, he put a foot on its chest and kept twisting, turning the head until scaled skin and sinewy muscle began to tear. With a roar, he ripped it free of the body.

  The psychic death cries of the three minds exploded outward in a wave. Experience had shown the death of a mind would kill or drive mad every drone for a mile in every direction. Even Arlen, his mind warded, could hear it, like the air itself screamed. The remaining minds and mimic took it worse, putting claws to their heads and howling.

  Arlen gave them no time to recover, pulling hard at the old magic of Anoch Sun. The power responded instantly, as if eager to avenge the city’s destruction. He drew heat and impact wards, scattering the minds and keeping them confused. The stone shook from the explosion, cracks forming in the pillars that held the roof in place. He dare not call such power again. If their goal had been to simply kill the demons, Arlen would not have hesitated to give all their lives, but they were playing a different game.

  He charged one of the demons, spinning into a warded kick that would take it right in the throat. Shanvah and Renna were already moving to support him.

  But the mind demon met Arlen’s eyes just before the blow landed, and the creature collapsed into mist, quickly fleeing the room and finding a path to the Core. Arlen’s kick shattered one of the stones of the wall, and more dust fell from the weakened ceiling.

  The other minds did the same, fleeing without a thought. Arlen expected no less. The mind demons might show submission to one more powerful, but loyalty was an alien concept to them. They were more than happy to let others of their kind die and lose their chance to mate. Only the mind demon Jardir had trapped and its mimic bodyguard remained.

  Jardir had the coreling prince on the ground, wrestling, but the demon was stronger than it appeared, and while the crown kept it from summoning help or fleeing, Jardir could not access its other powers while he maintained the trap.

  The demon prince shrieked, and its mimic responded, moving to come to its aid. Arlen drew a cold ward in the air, freezing it solid, and Renna delivered a kick that snapped one of its legs right off. The limb struck the ground and shattered as she spun to deliver a killing blow.

  But before the blow could land, the mimic melted into a puddle, and she overbalanced as the kick struck only air. Instantly, tentacles formed, whipping out from the pool of goo. The wards on Renna’s flesh and Shanvah’s shield prevented the blows from making contact, but the rebound against the forbidding still knocked both women from their feet.

  But these were no novice fighters. Shanvah never lost control of her tumble, landing in a crouch and coming right back in. Renna was less graceful, but with her night strength she caught herself quickly and was ready before the demon could reform.

  The mimic demon was not to be underestimated. Brute bodyguards of the minds, they were also captains of the coreling forces, with intelligence beyond that of simple drones. Already, Arlen could sense it calling for reinforcements. All the drones close by were dead or insane, but soon the mimic’s call would carry to those beyond the reach of the minds’ psychic screams. They could not rise inside the warded tomb, but the tunnel outside would soon be thick with scale and claw.

  Arlen looked back to Jardir, locked in his struggle with the mind, and knew where his priority must lie.

  “Kill the mimic!” he shouted to Renna and Shanvah. “Ware reinforcements!”

  And with that, he turned from the women and launched himself into battle with the mind.

  Renna and
Shanvah struck as one, Renna’s knife stabbing into the reformed mimic’s chest even as Shanvah struck it in the back.

  Neither blow hit home. The demon’s flesh melted away from the warded weapons as wax from a flame. Shanvah’s speartip passed within inches of Renna’s face as her thrust overbalanced.

  “Guard the door!” Renna shouted. “I’ll deal with this!” The demon struck at her, but her mimic wards flared, and its huge talons only knocked her back instead of cutting her in half.

  Shanvah looked at her doubtfully, but nodded, running to the doorway and readying her bow.

  Renna drew a mimic ward in the air as Arlen had taught her, drawing hard on the magic of Anoch Sun to power the symbol. The demon was thrown into the far wall, and again the ceiling shook. She tried to draw others, trapping it, but the mimic’s claws sank into the wall, pulling free a great sandstone block and hurling it at her. Renna flung herself to the side, but she wasn’t fast enough and felt the stone clip her shoulder, spinning her to the ground. Her head struck the stone floor and she saw a flash of light.

  It took only seconds for her to recover, Drawing magic to heal the damage and clear her senses, but the demon had already pulled another stone free, heedless of the impending collapse of the tomb, and would have crushed her if not for Shanvah. Her first arrow took it in the arm, causing it to drop the stone. The second took it in the face, the wards sending streaks of killing magic through its body. The demon shrieked before melting away. The arrow hung in the air a moment before dropping to the ground even as the coreling reformed.

  It grabbed a third stone to hurl at Shanvah, but Renna threw her knife, skewing its aim. The stone exploded off the door frame, and Shanvah was able to throw up her shield in time. Before the mimic could recover, Renna was in close, punching and kicking with warded fists and feet. Some of the blows landed hard, and she felt a touch of the demon’s power leach into her, but others met only mist, and while the demon could not touch her skin, the impact of its return blows against her wards was not easily shrugged off.