Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Jardir sent a pulse of power through the crown, knocking the alagai back in a tumble as if from the press of a shield wall. They shook themselves off, growling and beginning to circle once more.

  “Come,” Jardir beckoned, making a show of setting his feet “Plant your feet and let us begin the lesson.”

  The Par’chin melted into mist, reappearing right at his side, feet set in a perfect imitation of Jardir’s stance. Jardir grunted his approval. “You will fight without misting. Sharusahk is the eternal struggle for life, Par’chin. You cannot master it if you do not fear for yours.”

  The Par’chin met his gaze, and nodded. “Fair’s fair.”

  As the demons came back at them, Jardir gave the Par’chin a mocking wink. “But do not think I am teaching you all my tricks.”

  Jardir watched the sun strike the bodies of the alagai they had used as sharusahk practice dummies. Demons more powerful than field and wind had arrived as the night wore on, drawn to the sound of battle. In the end he and the Par’chin had been forced to drop their easy pretense and fight hard to take them with gaisahk alone.

  But now their foes lay broken at their feet, and he and the Par’chin stood to show them the sun.

  If Jardir lived to be a thousand, he would never tire of the sight. The demons’ skin began to char instantly, glowing like hot coals before bursting into bright fire, casting a flush of heat over his face. It was a daily reminder that, no matter how dark the night, Everam would always return in strength. It was the one moment of every day when hope overpowered the burden of his task to free his people of the alagai. It was the moment when he felt as one with Everam and Kaji.

  He looked to the Par’chin, wondering what his faithless ajin’pal saw in the flames. His crownsight was fading as shadows fled, but there was still a hint of his ajin’pal’s aura, and the hope and strength of purpose that filled it in that moment.

  “Ah, Par’chin,” he said, drawing the man’s gaze. “It is so easy to remember our differences, I sometimes forget the similarities.”

  The Par’chin nodded sadly. “Honest word.”

  “How did you find the lost city, Par’chin?” Jardir asked.

  Arlen could not read Jardir’s aura in the daylight, but the sharp, probing look in his eyes told him this was no random question. Jardir had been holding it, biding his time, waiting until Arlen was relaxed and unsuspecting.

  And it had worked. Arlen knew his face in that instant told Jardir much he would have preferred to keep secret. His thoughts offered up a dozen lies, but he shook them away. If they were to walk this road together, it must be as brothers, honest and with trust, or their task was doomed to failure before it even began.

  “Had a map,” he said, knowing it would not end there.

  “And where did you get this map?” Jardir pressed. “You could not have found it out in the sands. Such a fragile thing would have long since crumbled away.”

  Arlen took a deep breath, straightening his back, and met Jardir’s eyes. “Stole it from Sharik Hora.” Jardir’s nod was calm, the act of a disappointed parent who already knows what his child has done.

  But despite his posture, Arlen could smell his mounting anger. Anger no wise person would ignore. He readied himself, wondering if he could defeat Jardir in the light of day if it came to blows.

  Just need to get the crown off him, he thought, knowing it sounded far simpler than it was. He’d rather climb a mountain without a rope.

  “How did you accomplish this?” Jardir asked with that same tired tone. “You could not have penetrated Sharik Hora alone.”

  Arlen nodded. “Had help.”

  “Who?” Jardir pressed, but Arlen simply inclined his head.

  “Ah,” Jardir said. “Abban. He’s been caught bribing dama many times, but I did not think even he could be so bold, or that he could have lied to me for so long without being discovered.”

  “He ent stupid, Ahmann,” Arlen said. “You’d have killed him, or worse, done some barbaric shit like cutting out his tongue. Don’t you deny it. Wasn’t his fault, anyway. He owed me a blood debt, and I wanted the map in payment.”

  “That makes him no less accountable,” Jardir said.

  Arlen shrugged. “What’s done is done, and he did the world a favor.”

  “Did he?” Jardir asked. His calm façade dropped as he glared at Arlen, striding in till they were nose-to-nose. “What if the spear was not meant to be found yet, Par’chin? Perhaps we were not ready for it, and you denied inevera by bringing it back before its time? What if we lose Sharak Ka over your and Abban’s arrogance, Par’chin? What then?”

  His voice grew in power as he went on, and for a moment Arlen felt himself wilt under it. Stealing the scroll had never seemed right, but even now, he would do it again.

  “Ay, maybe,” he agreed. “And it’s on me and Abban if it’s so.”

  He straightened, leaning back in and meeting Jardir’s glare with one of his own. “But maybe our best chance to win Sharak Ka was three hundred years ago, when humanity numbered millions, and your ripping dama kept the fighting wards from us by locking those maps up in a tower of superstition. Who bears the weight of arrogance then? What if that was what denied Everam’s ripping plan?”

  Jardir paused, losing a touch of his aggressive posture as he considered the question. Arlen knew the sign and stepped back quickly. He stood arms akimbo, offering neither aggression nor submission. “If Everam’s got a plan, he ent shared it with us.”

  “The dice—” Jardir began.

  “—are magic, and no denying,” Arlen cut him off. “That don’t make them divine. And they never told Inevera to have you stop me going to Anoch Sun. They just told you to use me when I got back.”

  The anger further left Jardir’s scent as he considered this new possibility. His old friend could be a fool over his faith, but he was an honest fool. He truly believed, leaving him forever hamstrung as he tried to reconcile the hypocrisies of the Evejah.

  Arlen spread his hands. “Got two choices here, Ahmann. Either we stand around arguing abstractions, or we fight Sharak Ka the best we can with what we’ve got and sort out who’s right after we win.”

  Jardir nodded. “Then there is only one choice, son of Jeph.”

  The days passed, and their tentative accord held. Jardir felt more in control of his magic than ever before, stunned at the breadth of power at his fingertips, and his previous narrow vision of it.

  But for all their progress, Waning drew closer by the hour. He and the Par’chin could run at great speed when the magic filled them, but even so, Anoch Sun was not close, and they still had to lay their traps.

  “When will we leave for the lost city?” he asked one morning, as they waited to show the night’s kill the sun.

  “Tonight,” the Par’chin said. “Lesson time’s done.”

  With those words, he melted away into mist. Jardir watched closely with his crownsight as he slipped down into one of the many paths that vented magic onto the surface of Ala. Everam’s power of life, corrupted by Nie.

  He was gone for but an instant, but when he rose back out of the path, the current of magic that came with him told Jardir he had traveled a long way, indeed.

  In his hands, he carried two items: a cloak and a spear.

  Jardir was reaching for the spear before the Par’chin had fully solidified. His hand passed through it at first grasp, but he snatched again, and took hold at last, pulling it from the Par’chin’s hands.

  He held the spear before him, feeling the thrum of its power, and knew it was the genuine Spear of Kaji. Without it, he had felt empty. A shell of himself. Now it was returned, and at last his heart eased.

  We shall not be parted again, he promised.

  “You’ll be needing this, too.” Jardir looked up just as the Par’chin tossed Leesha Paper’s Cloak of Unsight to him. His arm darted out to catch it before the edge touched the ground.

  He eyed the Par’chin in annoyance. “You insult Mistress Lees
ha by treating her wondrous cloak so disrespectfully.”

  Leesha’s gift did not have the hold over his fate the spear did, but he could not deny that the feel of the fine cloth, and the invisibility it gave him against even the most powerful alagai, made him feel their mad plan might have a chance.

  “How will you hide, when the alagai come to Kaji’s tomb?” he asked when the Par’chin gave no reply. “Have you a cloak as well?”

  “Don’t need one,” the Par’chin said. “I could trace the wards of unsight in the air, but even that’s too much trouble.”

  He held out his arms, wrists turned outward. There, on his forearms, were tattooed the wards of unsight.

  The wards began to glow, even as the others on the Par’chin’s skin remained dark. They became so bright Jardir lost sight of the individual symbols as the son of Jeph faded, much as when he became insubstantial—translucent and blurry. Jardir felt dizzied at the sight of him. Something urged him to look away, but he knew in his heart that if he did, he would not be able to find the Par’chin when he looked back, even if the man did not move.

  A moment later, he returned to focus. The glow faded from the wards, and they became readable once more. Jardir’s eyes danced over them, and his heart caught in his throat. Warding was like handwriting, and these were traced in the distinct looping script of Leesha Paper, embroidered in detail all over his cloak.

  Normally it made his heart sing to see the art of his beloved’s warding, but not here.

  “Did Mistress Leesha ward your flesh?” He did not mean the question to come out as a growl, but it did. The idea of his intended touching the Par’chin’s bare skin was unbearable.

  To Jardir’s relief, the Par’chin shook his head. “Warded them myself, but they’re her design, so I copied her style.” He stroked the symbols almost lovingly. “Keeps a part of her with me.”

  He wasn’t telling all. His aura practically sang with it. Jardir probed deeper with his crownsight, and caught an image that burned his mind’s eye. Leesha and the Par’chin naked in the mud, thrusting at each other like animals.

  Jardir felt his heart thudding in his chest, pounding in his ears. Leesha and the Par’chin? Was it possible, or just some unfulfilled fantasy?

  “You took her to the pillows,” he accused, watching the Par’chin’s aura closely to read the response.

  But the Par’chin’s aura dimmed, the power Drawn beneath the surface. Jardir tried to probe, but his crownsight struck an invisible wall before it got to his ajin’pal.

  “Just ’cause I let you read my surface aura now and then don’t give you the right to break into my head,” the Par’chin said. “Let’s see how you like it.”

  Jardir could feel the pull as the Par’chin Drew magic through him and absorbed it, Knowing him as intimately as a lover. He tried to stop the pull, the Par’chin caught him unaware, and by the time he could raise his defenses, it was done.

  Jardir pointed the spear at him. “I have killed men for less insult, Par’chin.”

  “Then you’re lucky I’m more civilized,” the Par’chin said, “’cause the first insult was yours.”

  Jardir tightened his lips, but he let it go. “If you have been with my intended, I have a right to know.”

  “She ent your intended, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Heard her tell it to your face on the cliff. She’ll be corespawned before she becomes your fifteenth wife, or even your First.”

  The Par’chin was mocking him. “If you heard those private words, Par’chin, then you know she carries my child. If you think for a moment you have a claim to her …”

  The Par’chin shrugged. “Ay, she’s a fine woman and I shined on her a bit. Kissed her a couple times, and once, something more.”

  Jardir’s grip tightened on the spear.

  “But she ent mine,” the Par’chin said. “Never was. And she ent yours, either, Ahmann. Baby or no. If you can’t get that, you’ll never have a chance.”

  “So you no longer desire her?” Jardir asked incredulously. “Impossible. She shines like the sun.”

  There was a sound of galloping hooves, and the Par’chin smiled, turning to watch his Jiwah Ka riding hard in the predawn light. She rode bareback on an enormous mare, leading four similarly huge horses. Their hooves, bright with magic, ate the distance at more than twice the speed of a Krasian racer.

  “Got my own sun, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Two is asking to be burned.”

  He pointed to Jardir as he strode out to meet his wife. “You already got enough sun to turn the green lands into another desert. Think on that.”

  Renna flew from the saddle, and Arlen caught her in his arms, returning her kiss. He concentrated, activating the wards of silence on his shoulders. Jardir would see the magic and know they were masking their words, but Arlen didn’t think he would say anything. A man was entitled to private words with his wife.

  “All well in the Hollow?” he asked.

  Renna saw the magic, too, and kept her face buried in his chest as she spoke to hide the movement of her lips. “Well as can be expected. Hope you’re right about this being a light moon. They ent ready for much more, especially without us.”

  “Trust me, Ren,” Arlen said.

  Renna thrust her chin at Arlen, but he could tell she was gesturing past him, at Jardir. “You tell him yet?”

  Arlen shook his head. “Was waiting for you to come back. Tell him soon as the sun comes up.”

  “Might regret giving him the spear back first,” Renna said.

  Arlen shrugged and gave her a smile. “This ent Domin Sharum with a bunch of rules on fighting fair. Got Renna Bales at my back if things go sour, don’t I?”

  Renna kissed him. “Always.”

  Jardir averted his eyes, giving the Par’chin and his jiwah privacy in their greeting. Her arrival with the horses meant their trip to face the alagai princes was nigh, and Jardir was eager for the test, but there was disappointment, as well. Alone, he and the Par’chin had begun to find accord at last. The addition of his unpredictable Jiwah Ka could upset that precarious balance.

  The sun crested the horizon at last, and Jardir breathed deeply, falling into his morning meditation as the bodies of the alagai began to smoke and burn. Everam always returned things to balance. He must keep faith in inevera.

  When the flames had died down, they took the horses to the stable beside the hidden tower. Up close, the animals were enormous, the size of camels. The wild mustang that roamed the green lands had grown powerful in their nightly struggle with the alagai. His Sharum had captured and managed to train hundreds of them, but these were magnificent specimens, even so.

  The black stallion that nuzzled the Par’chin’s hand, its body covered in warded armor and its head adorned with a pair of metal horns that could punch through a rock demon, could only be his famed horse Twilight Dancer. His jiwah’s piebald mare was almost of a size with it, wards painted on its spots and cut into its hooves. A simple leather girth wrapped its belly to help her keep her seat.

  There were two other stallions and a mare, all of them with warded saddles and hooves. Powerful beasts—it was surprising even Twilight Dancer could keep them all in line. They stamped and pranced, but followed the lead into the stalls.

  “Why are there five horses, if there are only three of us?” he demanded. “Who else have you taken upon yourself to invite to undertake this sacred journey, Par’chin? You claim to need my help, but you keep me blind to your plans.”

  “Plan was for it to be the three of us, Ahmann, but it hit a snag. Hoping you’ll help me get it unstuck.”

  Jardir looked at him curiously. The Par’chin sighed and nodded to the back of the stable. “Come with me.”

  He lifted an old rug out of the way, shaking off a camouflage of dust and hay. Underneath was a pull-ring to a trapdoor. He lifted the trap and descended into the darkness below. Jardir followed warily, aware that the Par’chin’s jiwah followed behind. Jardir did not fear her, but the strength
of her aura told him she was powerful. Enough to give the Par’chin a telling advantage should they come to blows.

  His crownsight returned as they slipped back into darkness, but the Par’chin’s wards began to glow anyway, sending the shadows fleeing as he led them to a heavy door, banded with steel and etched with powerful wards.

  The Par’chin opened the door, casting light on the man and woman, clad only in their bidos, imprisoned within.

  Shanjat and Shanvah looked up from their embrace, squinting in the sudden light.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE TRUE WARRIOR

  333 AR AUTUMN

  “Deliverer!” Shanjat and Shanvah leapt to their feet, moving to stand apart. Without veil or robe, there was nothing to hide the blush of their skin or the guilty looks on their faces.

  Indeed, their auras matched the look, shame and embarrassment palpable. Jardir assessed the situation, and his eyes darkened. Even if Shanvah had lain with him willingly, she was Shanjat’s daughter, and Jardir’s niece. Whether his spirit was penitent or not, Jardir would have no choice but to sentence his old friend to death.

  He considered the thought grimly. Shanjat had served him loyally since the two of them were children in sharaj, and proven a good husband for his sister Hoshvah. More, Jardir needed Shanjat and the Sharum he commanded at his side when the First War began in full. Perhaps he could commute the sentence until after Sharak Ka. Give his loyal servant a chance to die on alagai talons and bring that his honor with him on the lonely path before he stood before Everam to be judged.

  “Forgive us, Deliverer, we have failed you!” Shanjat cried before Jardir could utter a word. He and Shanvah fell to their knees, pressing hands and foreheads to the dirt floor. “I swear by Everam we tried every method in our power to escape and continue our search for you, but the Par’chin—”

  “—is using hora magic to strengthen the our cell,” Shanvah cut in. Her fingernails were raw and dirty. In wardsight, Jardir could see the scratches where she and her father had tested every inch of their prison.