Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  A glance at Shanvah saw the woman pressed as well. She was firing rapidly down the corridor leading to the tomb entrance, and Renna could hear the shrieks of the sand demons struggling to answer the mimic’s call.

  Arlen watched as Jardir and the mind demon writhed in the demon shit covering the tomb floor. Jardir had managed to get behind it, the Spear of Kaji held crosswise under its chin, pulling back its bulbous head as it hissed and gasped. Its flesh sizzled and smoked where the shaft of the spear touched it.

  Seeing that Jardir held it prone, Arlen paused a moment to Know his foe before attacking. While it remained distracted, he pulled a touch of magic through the coreling prince and tried to absorb it into himself, reading for weaknesses.

  But the mind was wise to the trick, and even amidst its struggle with Jardir, it caught the magic Arlen Drew and held it fast, revealing nothing.

  And then the mind began to swell, soft skin toughening and growing sharp, spiny ridges. The minds were not changelings like their bodyguards, but while they might consider physical conflict beneath them, they were not helpless.

  Nearly seven feet tall now, the mind demon struggled to its feet, lifting Jardir clear off the floor. It was unable to flee or call for help so long as Jardir maintained the field, but the other powers of the crown were denied him while he did, and he could not bring the point of the spear to bear lest he kill the foe and all this be for naught.

  Arlen came in fast before Jardir lost the advantage, punching the demon repeatedly in the ribs and face. It was like striking a wall. He felt the coreling’s bones crack under his warded fists, but even with his inhuman speed, he knew they were already knitting together before he could pull back for another blow.

  The demon leapt back, smashing Jardir against the wall and driving its sharp spines deeply into him. Jardir grunted but held on as it took a step forward, that it might smash backward again.

  Arlen gave it no chance, kicking hard at its knee and collapsing the limb. It dropped to one knee, trying to pull at the choking spear, but the wards kept its talons from gaining purchase. Again and again Arlen hammered at the bulbous head, giving the demon no chance to counterattack.

  But then suddenly the demon shrank, smaller even than it had been in the beginning. It slipped from the loosened hold and drew a quick ward that burst the stones at their feet, knocking Arlen and Jardir onto their backs.

  The Crown of Kaji slipped askew in the tumble, and in that instant, the demon dematerialized and attempted to flee.

  But Arlen had worked too long and hard for this moment, and had no intention of letting it go. Instantly he dissolved and gave chase. He had faced demons in the immaterial between-state before, and knew battle there was more a matter of will than power. Three minds had proven his undoing, but he was confident in his strength against one. With all humanity at stake, there was no way the demon’s will could match his.

  The tomb was warded, and the cut-stone blocks of the floor offered no paths to the Core. The demon raced for the entryway where Shanvah worked her bow, desperately trying to hold back an assault from demons fighting to answer the call of the mimic, vibrating in the air.

  Arlen caught it before it could cross the room, mingling his essence with its, locking on as he forced his will upon the creature.

  But this mind was like nothing he had ever faced. Even the three he fought at once had not breached his defenses as effortlessly as this one did, slipping into his mind as easily as a man might pull on an old pair of boots. As he had done instinctively in his first confrontation with a mind, Arlen let go his own defenses as lost, striking hard against the mind’s own thoughts, hoping to find a weakness, but he might as well have tried to run through the great wall of Fort Krasia. The mind’s thoughts were impenetrable even as it raked through his own memories—his very being—with ease.

  Had he a voice, Arlen would have screamed.

  It was Jardir who saved him. In the moment Arlen delayed the demon’s escape he had reestablished the barrier, and now he raised the Spear of Kaji, firing a lightning strike into the cloud of mist that was the struggling combatants. Whether he had sensed Arlen’s lost advantage and had chosen to risk killing them both—or he simply did not care—was unclear, but the surge of agony through them both broke the demon’s hold for an instant, and Arlen quickly solidified, dropping heavily to the floor, his mind wards back in place.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Not for the first time, his overconfidence had almost proven his undoing. He would be a fool to match wills with this one again. They would have to find another way.

  Jardir moved to his side, but did not offer a hand as Arlen struggled to his feet, never taking his eyes off the glowing mist of the mind demon, floating just out of reach at the edge of the barrier. In its immaterial state, the demon could not draw wards, or do anything to harm them. It drifted along the edge of the forbidding, seeking a gap it could exploit to escape. Across the room, Renna and Shanvah fought for their lives, but they dare not take their attention from the mind, even for a moment.

  “What do we do, Par’chin?” Jardir asked. “We cannot wait like this forever.”

  “No,” Arlen said, “but we can wait a lot longer than it can.” He moved to the wall, pulling aside the heavy stone that lead to their secret tunnel to the surface. “Drag it up with us. Sunrise’ll be soon enough.”

  But with those words, the demon solidified and attacked.

  Renna was hurled into the wall again, the breath blasted from her body. She pushed off hard, dropping back onto her hand even as the lid of Kaji’s sarcophagus, hundreds of pounds of stone, smashed against the wall where she had just been.

  In an instant she was back up, punching and kicking, striking with elbows and knees, hammering at the demon. She could see its magic drain slightly each time it healed, but it was no different for her. One of them would exhaust its supply first, but it was anyone’s guess who it would be.

  The mimic remained solid, gripping a large piece of the shattered lid in its talons, slashing with it like a blade. Renna dodged one blow, but it caught her on the recoil, breaking her jaw and shattering teeth.

  She rolled with the blow, ignoring the pain, knowing that to lose focus was to die. She was drawing heat and impact wards even as she hit the ground, and the remaining stone exploded in the demon’s face before it could strike her again.

  The drain dizzied her, but she Drew hard on the magic beneath her, flooding herself with more power. So much it burned her from the inside, drying her throat and sinuses. She put all of it into a mimic ward that threw the demon into the wall so hard it shattered a pillar and part of the ceiling collapsed atop it. Crushed, black ichor squirted from the debris, but it flowed with purpose, and Renna knew it would soon reform. She choked on dust, her dried eyes stinging. Night, was there no killing this creature?

  She glanced at Arlen and Jardir, still locked in battle with the mind, and Shanvah, battling with spear and shield to hold the door, and knew it was up to her to hold the line. The mimic could tip the balance if she let it, destroying all their hopes.

  She drew a magnetic ward, and her knife, lying amidst the rubble, flew to her hand. A tentacle formed from the mass of black slime pooling on the floor, and she caught it, cutting the limb free. It was melting even as she threw it aside, turning back into a lifeless black stain. It could heal, but it could not regrow flesh she cut away.

  If need be, she would take the demon apart a piece at a time.

  The demon knew it, too, and the puddle fled her, running up the wall to gather on the ceiling. Renna leapt high to stab at it, but there was nothing vital to target, nothing to cut off. The gelatinous lump flowed away from the blade, growing another tentacle that slapped her down from behind.

  It only took her a second to reorient, but the demon, fully formed once more, dropped down from above. Her blackstem wards were weak, her flesh coated in ancient dust, stuck to the oily blood and sweat that covered her in a sheen. It grabbed at her with two great cl
aws and she caught its wrists, but even as she strained to hold the creature back, its wrists stretched, talons closing about her throat, crushing.

  Renna kicked hard, but the demon had her now, and accepted the blows, its grip only tightening. Her face swelled, head throbbing as she desperately tried to draw breath that would not come. She watched as the demon’s great maw opened wider and wider, growing row after row of teeth. She twisted and put her heel into them, shattering a handful even as she tore open her foot. Unlike hers, the demon’s teeth grew back even as her vision began to go black.

  She had to get away. Had to escape. She pulled uselessly at the demon’s arms, but they were harder than steel. She tried to draw wards, but it grew tentacles to slap at her hands, preventing her from forming the precise symbols. She tried to shift its weight, but it had driven talons into the floor, holding fast.

  Her vision was gone when she felt its teeth sink into her, but she had no voice to scream.

  Jardir had not dropped his guard and had his spear at the ready when the demon solidified, but instead of dropping down into their midst, the alagai prince hovered in midair as if standing on solid ground. It extended a single talon, drawing complex wards in the air as easily as Jardir, who approved hundreds of documents a day, might sign his name.

  The effect was immediate. Jardir had the spear ready to absorb a blast of killing magic, but he was unprepared as the sandstone floor beneath him turned to mud and he slipped under with a wet sucking sound.

  Jardir stifled his gasp before he swallowed a lungful of muck, flailing to find purchase. The tip of his spear scraped stone, telling him it was only a local effect, but his attempts to reach the edge failed. Like most Krasians, Jardir had never learned to swim.

  There was no knowing what was happening above, but Jardir knew the Par’chin’s life, and that of all the Ala, depended on him maintaining the trap. He embraced his fear, concentrating on the crown’s forbidding, keeping the demon trapped.

  His lungs burned as his frantic movements only seemed to pull him farther down. At last he gave in, sweeping his arms to push himself under, stretching his toe downward until at last he touched bottom.

  He relaxed, folding his legs under him and using the spear to Draw magic into himself, strengthening his legs for a desperate leap to freedom.

  But then things went deathly cold, enough to make winter nights in Krasia seem a summer day. The mud around him froze hard, and he, too, was trapped.

  Arlen started to reach for Jardir as he slipped below the surface of the mud, but knew that was just what the demon wanted. Its spell did not have the range to take them both.

  He coiled his legs instead, leaping high to strike at the demon, but he passed through an illusion. The real demon had to be close—and solid, if it was drawing wards—but apparently it could cloak itself from sight as easily as Arlen.

  He bounced off the ceiling, coming down in a shower of stones and half landing in the muck that trapped Jardir. Before he could extricate himself, the mind drew more wards, freezing the muck solid, trapping his leg.

  Arlen grabbed the largest stone he could reach, throwing it into the air and drawing an impact ward. The sandstone exploded, and in the spray he saw the outline of the demon, raising its arms to shield itself. Arlen threw his warded knife at it as hard as he could, then planted his hands and tore his leg free of the frozen mud. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the spot, and they were deepened and multiplied a moment later as the rock bowed upward.

  Jardir was still fighting.

  The demon hit the ground hard, losing its cloak of distortion. It reached to pull the knife from its ribs, but its talons smoked as it tried to grip the handle, and Arlen smiled. He drew the same series of wards the mind had used a moment earlier, but the demon was wise to the trick, floating atop the mud as easily as solid ground. It dissipated and Arlen’s favorite knife fell free, sinking into the mud, lost.

  With the trap still in place, the mind could not go far, and in its ethereal state, it was unable to draw wards or absorb magic. Arlen sketched a quick series of wards to send a shock of magic through the cloud, forcing it to solidify.

  The floor shook again, and the Spear of Kaji broke the surface of the stone. Arlen used the moment of distraction, closing the distance in an instant. He caught the demon’s horns in his sizzling grasp, pulling hard as he slammed the impact ward tattooed on the top of his head right between its eyes.

  Arlen felt the ground shake again as Jardir worked to tear himself free of the trap, but he refused to be distracted, hammering the demon’s conical head over and over. The coreling prince had swollen again, as big as a wood demon and stronger by far. Arlen had to draw his own defensive wards in close in order to strike, giving the demon the ability to strike back. It shoved hard, and they hit the ground, grappling.

  “Even the creatures of Nie draw breath, Par’chin!” Jardir called. Arlen grit his teeth, accepting the claws and spiny ridges that cut at him as he worked his way into a choke hold.

  There was a sound, and he realized it was his own screams, but still he held on.

  Renna wanted to lose consciousness, but even as the demon began to eat her, she could not give in. She pulled at the magic of Anoch Sun, hoping, praying for some help, but she could not focus the power with wards, or use it to create air in her burning bloodstream.

  But then, as if from a great distance, she heard it.

  The call of the Core.

  Through the cracks of the shattered stone, deep in the Ala, a song resonated, just as Arlen had described it so long ago. Calling to her like a Jongleur to a reel, or her mother’s arms to a warm embrace. There would be no pain there. No more struggle. Nothing but the warm glow of the Creator’s power.

  She reached for it, and the pain fell away. The demon’s claws closed on empty air as she sank beneath the surface, racing to touch that infinite power, leaving behind all the pain of the surface. No more demons. No more people, as apt to hurt as help.

  No more sunrises, burning her as they took away the magic she absorbed in the night.

  No more Arlen, holding her and whispering his love.

  She pulled up short. How far had she gone? The Core was closer, its song a roaring now, the surface a distant thing. She strained her senses along the path behind her, and could still make out, just barely, the sounds of battle.

  Arlen, fighting alongside his greatest enemy for the sake of the human race. Shanvah, ignoring her father as he bled to death, holding back a demon horde. And her, fleeing for a warm embrace.

  She reversed course, flowing back out of the cracks in the floor. She saw the mimic hammering at the forbidding surrounding Arlen, Jardir, and the mind demon, but even as it kept the mind in, the barrier kept the demon out. At last it turned its attention to Shanvah, moving for her unprotected back.

  Renna reached out to stop it, but she had no limbs, her body still insubstantial. She willed herself back to solidity, but as Arlen had warned, it was not so easily done. She felt the cloud her body had become drawing back together, but it was slow to respond. She concentrated, remembering her limbs and willing them back into existence, but knew it would not happen in time. Claws leading, the mimic struck.

  KA-CHUNG!

  A crank bow bolt tore through the demon’s throat, exploding out the other side in a spray of ichor. The demon turned to Shanjat, even this grievous wound healing, as the warrior dropped the bow to hang from its strap as he charged in with his spear.

  “Nie take me, demon, before I let you touch my daughter!” Shanjat’s attack was uneven, the blow to his head and loss of blood taking much of his strength and balance, but his aim was true. The spear sank deep into the demon, and it howled as its magic was drained and turned against it as waves of killing power. Just a fraction of that energy flowed up the shaft as feedback, but Renna could see how it restored balance to Shanjat’s aura, bringing him fully into the fight once more.

  The demon melted away from the spear, reforming, but Renna, too, was
solid again, fully healed and feeling stronger than ever before. Her punch crumpled the demon’s face, knocking it across the chamber once more.

  “Hold the door!” she cried, and then crossed the tomb in an eyeblink, hammering at the demon, keeping it off balance and unable to focus. It burst into mist, but this time Renna joined it, remembering Arlen’s description of his battle with the mind on the path to the Core. She intermingled with its essence, latching onto it with her own, and touched its will.

  The demon was not intelligent by human standards. Perhaps as wise as a child, though that was far more than the mindless drones that dominated demonkind.

  Not intelligent, but its will was strong. It wanted only to protect its mind, would do anything to achieve that end. Renna stood in its way, and it struggled against her desperately.

  But while the demon’s will was focused on protecting its mind, for Renna, all humanity was at stake. All humanity, and Arlen most of all. If she did not stop it, everything would be lost, and she might as well have fled to the Core. Might as well have given in and let her father have his way, as Lainie had. What good was her entire worthless life, if she could not do this?

  She caught the mimic’s will in the vise of her own and crushed it, scattering its essence. It burst apart in a shower of magic, and was gone.

  Jardir drove the butt end of the Spear of Kaji into the frozen stone one last time, shattering the final piece that held him. The Par’chin was howling in agony as he wrestled the alagai prince, but his Sharum spirit remained undiminished. He held.

  A single throw of the spear, and he could end them both. His greatest rival and the most powerful alagai he had ever faced. He could end them, and return triumphant to Everam’s Bounty, setting right whatever chaos had arisen from his absence. Without the Par’chin to flock to, the greenlanders’ resistance would collapse, and in the abyss, Nie’s servants would shake with terror at the power of Everam’s warriors.