Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Rojer knew it was a mistake the moment he said it, but the way Goldentone paled made it worth the risk.

  Leesha kept shifted, trying to catch Thamos’ eye, but the count turned the other way striding off. Wooden Soldiers closed at his back, cutting him off from her. She stood frozen a moment, then turned and hurried back inside her carriage.

  Leesha stared into the darkness outside the carriage window, and this time Jizell was wise enough to leave her to her thoughts. Behind them, Rojer and Kendall stood on the roof of the motley coach, fiddles at play, while Amanvah and Sikvah sat on the driver’s bench, singing in harmony.

  With her warded spectacles, Leesha watched the corelings drifting at the edge of the barrier they created. They could see the caravan—it was too big for even Rojer’s music to hide—and followed its slow passage, but every time they drew too close, pain drove them back.

  Leesha could well understand. The sounds coming from the quartet were harsh, discordant things that sent jabs of pain into Leesha’s constant headache until she softened wax to plug her ears.

  But even with the world muffled, she could hear the shrieks and shouts as the Cutters and Wooden Soldiers cut a swath through any corelings foolish enough to set foot on the road.

  All were aided by Rojer’s quartet. Those needing respite could easily drift back into the safe zone of music, and those in the fight benefited from foes distracted by the painful sounds.

  Leesha looked sadly at the demon corpses piled by the roadside to wait for the sun. Moments ago, they were the enemy and it was kill or be killed. Now … now they were batteries, fuel for her spells. She wished she could spare Cutters to harvest the largesse and ship it back to the Hollow, but they needed every Hollower at hand once they reached Angiers. So much hora wasted.

  Hours after dark, they came upon the first of the caravan clearings the duke’s herald had mentioned. It was a huddled mass of refugees—Rizonan, by the look of them—cowering at the approach of the caravan. Their wardposts were haphazard, and those painted on the ragged carts were giant, clumsy things, hoping to make up in size what they lacked in skill. They wore ragged furs, fires extinguished lest they attract more demons than the shaky protective net could repel. Many were gathering belongings as if ready to flee into the naked night.

  But then Thamos’ great voice boomed. “Fear not, good folk! I am Count Thamos, Prince of Angiers and Lord of Hollow County. You are under my protection. Please remain behind your wards. No harm will come to you! We have food and blankets to spare, and will strengthen your wards before we pass. If you have wounded, bring them for our Gatherers to tend. All of you are welcome to shelter in the Hollow, should you wish it.”

  The folk started chattering at that. Some gave a ragged cheer, but others looked on with mistrust, no doubt recalling Jasin’s passage. Leesha could not blame them.

  As the caravan called halt, Leesha and the others Gatherers were out before the drovers could ready the steps. The sight of their pocketed aprons put folk at ease. Several of them, some with bandages, others with a limp or cough, came forward with a hopeful look in their eyes.

  “I’ll need to see to the warding,” Leesha said to Jizell.

  “Of course,” the woman replied. “My girls and I can handle a few scratches and sniffles.”

  But as they drew closer, more and more heads poked out from the cart beds, and under them. Men, women, and children of all ages. What appeared to be a small camp held close to a hundred people, more than the entire caravan.

  Leesha turned as Wonda appeared at her side. “I want you patrolling the perimeter with your bow until I’m satisfied with the wards.”

  “Beggin’ yur pardon, mistress, but I should stay with ya. Don’t know these folk, and said yurself the wards ent safe.”

  Leesha gave her a patient look. “I can take care of myself for a few minutes, dear. I still know a trick or two.”

  “Ay,” Wonda shifted, “but …”

  Leesha put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’ll be protecting me by protecting them.” She gestured to the refugees—ragged, hungry, afraid. “These people haven’t felt safe in months, Wonda. Give them that for me, please.”

  “Ay, mistress.” Wonda gave one of her awkward bows and moved off, loosening the cuffs of her blouse, rolling the sleeves to uncover her blackstem wards. Leesha knew from experience that nothing made folk feel safer than watching their protector pummel a demon to death with bare hands.

  Jasin was with Count Thamos as Leesha approached the head of the caravan. “What do you mean stay in the carriage? I am—”

  “On the very edge of my patience,” Thamos finished for him. “Your carriage is well warded, more than I can say for these folk. You’ve run them out once, and now I’ll thank you to keep back before you do even more damage to the reputation of the ivy throne.”

  The herald slunk back to his carriage, and for a brief moment, Thamos was alone. Leesha ached to go to him, but now was not the time. She didn’t even know what she would say if she did. She just wanted him to look at her again.

  But there was work to be done. Jizell and Vika had their apprentices triaging those in need, and Rojer was already tumbling and sending dyed wingseeds spinning in the flickering firelight as some of the folk cheered and clapped. He threw snap bangs at the feet of children who had likely not had cause to smile in months. They leapt back, shrieking with delight.

  The refugees looked at Amanvah and Sikvah in fear, but Kendall led the trio, smoothing the way for the Krasian princesses. Soon they had a group of women practicing a song of protection.

  Leesha walked the perimeter, examining the wardnet. It was as she feared. The Warders in this group were not entirely incompetent, but they were using wards for a circle on an ovoid camping ground. Wards for an oval needed to be shaped differently, a trick beyond most save master Warders. There were no outright holes in the net, but the magic would not distribute evenly, leaving weak points that a powerful demon—or a group of lesser corelings working in concert—might breach.

  She focused on the warding, and for a time the other worries left her mind. Some of the wardposts she simply adjusted, rotating a few degrees. She took her brush and paint to others, fixing wards or replacing them entirely. Like clearing debris from a stream, Leesha could see the change in the magic’s flow as she worked. Soon the entire net was glowing brightly to her warded eyes.

  Another bright glow caught her attention, this one far outside the camp. Leesha looked more closely, expecting a rock demon, but instead she saw Arlen Bales.

  Leesha blinked. She was tired, and blessedly alone for the first time she could remember. Had her thoughts wandered?

  But no, it was Arlen, waving from a stand of trees beyond the wardlight. “Leesha!” She could see the touch of magic he imparted on the words, carrying them to her alone.

  She glanced around. No one was paying attention to her. She stepped behind a cart by the perimeter, out of sight as she continued to stare into the night.

  “Leesha!” Arlen called again, beckoning.

  “About time you showed yourself.” Leesha pulled her Cloak of Unsight close and hurried into the night before any noticed her absence. “You’d best have some ripping good answers for me,” she snapped once she’d made it to the trees without being spotted by the camp or patrols.

  But Arlen wasn’t there.

  “Leesha!” She saw him farther back, where the trees were thicker. He turned and vanished into the shadows, waving for her to follow.

  Leesha frowned, stomping after him. “Are you that terrified of being seen?”

  Arlen gave no reply, and she hurried to catch up. He was right at the edge of her vision, his wardlight flickering as he passed through the trees.

  But then Leesha lost sight of him. She continued on for several moments, but there was no sign.

  “Leesha.” Off to the side now. Had she gotten confused in the trees? She hurried in that direction.

  “I’m fast losing patience, Arlen
Bales,” she hissed when he did not appear.

  “Leesha.” Behind her now. She spun, but there was no one there.

  “This isn’t ripping funny, Arlen,” Leesha snapped. “If you don’t appear in five seconds, I’m going back to camp.”

  If I remember which way it is, she thought. The trees around her all looked the same, and the boughs, still with yellow leaves of autumn, hid any clear look at the sky.

  “Leesha.” To the left. She turned, but there was only the dim glow of the trees in the darkness, the fog of magic drifting on the forest floor.

  “Leesha.” Behind her again. She began to understand, but it was too late. The calls were all around her.

  “Leeeeesha.” It didn’t sound like Arlen anymore. It didn’t even sound human.

  “Leesha Paper.” The addition of her surname sent a chill down her spine.

  “Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

  Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper Leesha Paper

  Leesha Paper”

  She turned a slow circle, seeing the movement in the trees. Corelings. It was impossible to know how many. Half a dozen at least, with a mimic leading them. She was invisible to them in her Cloak of Unsight, but they could tighten the noose until she was caught, or broke and ran. The cloak would be scant protection if she were forced to move at speed.

  Idiot, Leesha silently scolded herself as Renna’s words came back to her. Minds know who you are. Strike at you, they get the chance.

  It was a compliment of sorts that the minds wanted her dead. A compliment, and a nightmare. She had thought herself safe between Wanings, but apparently the mimics did not share their masters’ intolerance of moonlight.

  And they’re smarter than we gave them credit for, she admitted to herself. This one had played her for a fool, and she’d delivered herself right into its talons.

  There was a squirming in her belly, and Leesha remembered it wasn’t just her at risk. She’d delivered two, and it was up to her to return them safely to succor.

  She saw a small clearing and moved for it, unbuttoning a deep pocket in her dress. She reached within, clutching the long, thin bone she had taken from the mind demon’s arm, sharpening the tip and carving its length with wards before coating it in gold. Her hora wand.

  With her free hand, she reached into a pouch on her belt, scattering warded klats at her back.

  Come on then, corespawn, she thought, throwing open her cloak. You haven’t taken me yet.

  They came. Two wood demons swung out of the trees, moving with terrifying speed.

  But not faster than Leesha could draw a wood demon repulsion ward with her hora wand. The symbol hovered in midair, glowing in her wardsight, and when the demons struck it, their own magic was torn from them and used to fling them back into the trees. They shrieked and vanished with the sound of breaking branches.

  If that was not enough to summon aid, Leesha pointed the wand straight up, drawing a light ward. Like a flutist changing notes, she moved her fingers over the wards, imparting more power to the symbol. It flared brightly, turning night into day.

  A flame demon spat fire at her, but she drew a siphon in the air, and the power was absorbed. The wand warmed in her hand, and all that passed over her was the demon’s foul breath. She threw the power back as an impact ward, and the demon was crushed into the ground like a mouse under Gared’s boot.

  There was a shriek behind her as a wood demon stepped on one of her klats. The sound was cut short as the coreling stopped moving, a thin coating of rime forming on its barklike armor. There was a high-pitched whine as the demon tried to force its limbs to move, and then a crack across its chest, the sound of an icicle falling from a porch awning. Leesha took aim at the crack, drawing another impact ward.

  The demon shattered into countless pieces, but still others came on.

  A field demon pounced from the trees, but Leesha’s ward threw it back so hard it broke through a trunk a foot thick. A blaze of flame demons scrambled into the clearing, but a moment later their talons were steaming and skidding on a sheet of ice. A moment after that they were frozen solid, the orange light in their eyes and mouths winking into a cold blue.

  Leesha heard shouting as Cutters raced toward the flashes and sounds of combat, but it was distant, and still the mimic circled. Were they coming to her aid, or their own deaths? The mimic that tried to take Rojer had effortlessly clawed its way through Cutter and Sharum alike until Rojer, Amanvah, and Renna joined forces against it.

  Leesha could see it in the trees, a sleek amorphous thing, moving fast. She pointed her wand and sent a blast of magic, heedless of the destruction if it would put the creature down. Trees shattered and the ground heaved, but like a snake, the mimic slithered away unharmed.

  The distraction nearly proved her undoing. A copse of wood demons had surrounded her. One stepped on a ward klat and was immolated in flame as the heat ward activated. The others, four of them, found a clear path.

  One took a vial of dissolvent in the face, eyes smoking as the demon clawed blindly at them, only adding to the damage.

  She threw more klats, these with lectric wards that caught two of the demons, seizing up their muscles with jolts and shocks.

  But the last one was on her, too close for her to draw a ward. She fell back, fumbling at the knife on her belt.

  “Leesha!” Thamos roared, smashing into the demon’s side with his warded shield. The wards flared, and the coreling was thrown away. Thamos stood tall in his shining armor, and for an instant she felt safe again.

  But then a great tentacle wrapped around him, flinging the count across the clearing to crash heavily into a tree. He crumpled, and did not rise.

  Leesha sent another blast of magic at the mimic, but again it was too fast. She clipped it, knocking the creature sprawling, but the bulk of the power tore into the woods, reducing hundred-year-old trees to kindling.

  Her ears were ringing, but Leesha could hear fighting all around now, as the Hollowers sought to break through the ring of demons and get to her.

  She drew a mimic ward in the air over Thamos, then moved to begin a circle of them for her own protection.

  She should have started with herself. The mimic lashed out with a thin tentacle, wrapping it around her wrist and pulling her from her feet, unable to draw. She fumbled at the pockets of her apron as it reeled her in close, but she was running out of tricks.

  A warded arrow neatly severed the tentacle, and Leesha fell back on her bottom as the tension dropped. The tentacle began to twitch, glistening as it sweat a foul ichor. Leesha shook it off in horror.

  Three more arrows struck the mimic’s center mass, crackling and jolting the creature more each second they remained embedded. The demon screamed, flesh melting away from the missiles. They dropped to the ground, but in that moment of distraction Wonda closed the distance, leaping almost twenty feet to land a heavy blow of her warded fist atop its head.

  The demon was flattened, hitting the ground like a soft clay figure struck with a club. But the clay reformed as if under a skilled hand, rising more menacing than before, all spikes and sharp edges.

  Wonda was ready for it. Her warded hands and forearms batted its blows aside, and the impact wards on her knuckles struck it like a case of thundersticks. A dozen tentacles, ridged like blades, swiped at her. But Wonda was faster than Leesha would ever have believed, almost as fast as Renna Bales.

  And she fought like Arlen—twisting, tumbling, and leaping over tentacles like a fly avoiding the swatter. The demons’ head turned into that of a flame demon and it spat fire at her, but Wonda spread her fingers and the heat and magic were absorbed, giving added power to her blows.

  She got in close, arms blurring like hummingbird wings as she pulled arrows from her quiver and buried them in the demon with no need for her bow. The creature’s scream was a cacophony of pain, a thousand horrors crying out at once.

  A new tentacle thrust from its center mass, s
triking Wonda full-on and flowing around her to join with itself seamlessly. She was held tight, warded limbs pinned helplessly at her sides, but there was no grip to break.

  Leesha raised her wand, but the mimic was wise to the movement, putting Wonda in between the two of them.

  “Don’t you hold back, Mistress Leesha!” Wonda cried. “Kill it while you can!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Leesha said. She kept her wand raised and ready, mind racing. The sounds of combat were all around them, but the mimic must have brought many corelings to the trap, because no other assistance reached the clearing.

  “What do you want?” Leesha demanded of the creature, if only to buy a few seconds to think.

  The demon tilted its head curiously the way a scolded dog might, knowing it was being spoken to, but unable to understand the words.

  Too dumb to speak, Leesha thought, but still smart enough to learn my name and lure me to my doom.

  A screeching noise filled the air, and the demon threw its head back, shrieking. Even Leesha had to cover her ears. She turned to see Sikvah crouched, touching her choker and directing a scream that had the demon’s flesh rippling as if from a hurricane wind. How had Sikvah gotten through to the clearing when the others could not?

  Just then a speartip burst from the mimic’s chest, the blade glowing bright with magic. Thamos planted the butt on the ground and heaved, throwing the demon from its feet.

  But the mimic simply grew more limbs, catching itself before it struck the ground. The demon’s head reformed into something resembling a snake, with no ears to hear Sikvah’s scream.

  The last time it had taken the mimic several minutes to adapt to a sonic attack. This one did it in seconds.

  It was warned, Leesha realized. They’re learning our tricks.

  The mimic lashed out at Thamos again, but this time he caught the blow, deflecting it off his shield. Leesha drew a freezing ward in the air, and the tentacle holding Wonda snapped off and she landed on her back, struggling to get free of the binding ring of demonflesh.

  Finally with a clear target, Leesha raised her wand to blast the demon from existence, but the hora was drained, and mustered only a weak push.