The Hollow Crown: A Novel of Crosspointe

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Before Nicholas could answer, Margaret turned an icy stare on the man. He wilted, his eyes dropping and his shoulders slumping. Nicholas watched in wonder. Had her father even known what she was capable of? Had anybody?

  When she answered the delat’s question, Margaret’s words rang out for all to hear. “Whatever may have been said in past disagreements, Nicholas and I stand shoulder to shoulder in complete unity now. Crosspointe is in danger and we must defend it. All of us together. There is no more room for petty squabbling and personal feuds. If we do not unite as one, if we do not fight together, then we will be scooped up by the Jutras to become their slaves.”

  It was as much a command and a call to arms as a declaration. It seemed to have the intended effect. In the silence, bodies straightened and shoulders firmed, even as expressions set with fear.

  Margaret continued. “You cannot hide here within the arms of the Mother goddess. You must prepare for war. You must pick up your knives, your swords, your boat hooks, your rolling pins, hoes, forks, and bricks—whatever weapons you can put to hand.” She paused, her jaw knotting. “The Jutras have come and they are among us.”

  That was met with an explosive gabble of voices. Nicholas held up his hand and let out a piercing whistle. It did little to cut through the noise, but those before him grabbed the arms of their fellows and slowly a jittery silence fell again, every eye fixed on Margaret and Nicholas.

  “The regent has been collaborating with the Jutras.” He said it baldly, and even as he did, he wondered if Margaret had meant to keep it a secret. It was the sort of thing that could stir the country into a panic. But then so could the majicar attacks. It was far too late to pretend. Secrecy would undermine Margaret’s fragile beginnings of control and people needed to understand the danger was immediate. They needed to be frightened into uniting into an army, as ragtag as that army might be.

  “The Jutras have poisoned our majicars and it has driven them mad,” Margaret said, picking up the story without pause. “It is possible to cure them, but they are not responsible for what they have done. It was the regent and the Jutras.”

  The aura of authority that she’d pull around herself made it hard to doubt her. She looked down at the delats before them. “We would speak to the Naladei and the Kalimei. They must hear the news that we bring.”

  They were the light and dark priestesses of Chayos and wielded a power entirely unlike that of majicars. Nicholas felt a sudden surge of hope. Perhaps the priestesses could help against the Jutras wizards. But the gray-haired delat who’d first spoken to them shook his head, his long face grave. “They have set us to stand guard and retreated to the heart of the Maida. No one may enter.”

  Just then an eerie cry wailed across the city. It raised gooseflesh all over Nicholas’s body and sent a jolt of fear through to the core of him. He clamped his legs tight as his bay reared and neighed. The sound continued almost unbearably, worming down deep and stirring up a whirl-wind of terror inside him. Nicholas wanted to cover his ears. He held his gelding under a tight rein as the animal spun and fought to bolt. Margaret’s gray threw up its head and bucked. Margaret went flying and Nicholas’s heart leaped into his throat. But somehow she flipped herself and landed on her feet. Her horse galloped away.

  The sound faded into a screech like the sound of tearing metal.

  “What in the black depths was that?” someone asked. Some people were on their knees, others huddled against each other. A few lay on the ground.

  Margaret’s face was white. She exchanged a look with Nicholas. Forcan—the hound of Uniat. It could be nothing else.

  She pushed the hair from her face and her hands shook. She dropped them quickly to her sides, firming her shoulders. She looked at the gray-haired delat.

  “Is it safe inside the barrier?” she asked, pointing at the green shield.

  His cheek twitched. “From majicar attacks.” His lips pressed tight for a moment and he swallowed hard. “That’s something else, isn’t it?”

  Margaret nodded, then looked at Nicholas. “It will come here. The majick of the Maida will draw it like a meaty bone.”

  He grimaced agreement, his heart still thundering with terror. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice breaking. He breathed slowly. He’d never in his life let fear get the best of him. He gathered it and pushed it off like a wet cloak. It fell away and he pulled himself together with cold resolve.

  By the time he had, Margaret had turned back to the delat. “Is one of you in charge?”

  The gray-haired delat’s twist of the lips might have been a smile. “At your service, Princess.”

  “What do I call you?”

  “Red will do.”

  “Red?”

  He touched his fingers to his gray hair. “Once it was quite appropriate, I assure you.”

  “Very well, Red. Several days ago, two Jutras wizard priests conducted a spell. It involved summoning a creature called Forcan, the hound of Uniat—the pet of one of the Jutras gods.”

  She spoke rapidly and low. His expression went first slack, then he gathered himself, his hand gripping his spear with white knuckles.

  “I believe that sound was this beast and I believe it is coming here. You need to get these people away from here quickly and prepare to fight.”

  Before he could answer, the howl came again. It was impossibly closer, as if the beast had crossed half the city in the space of a few grains. The sound coiled and curled through the gray afternoon. Nicholas’s horse reared and nearly toppled over backward. Nicholas threw himself forward against the animal’s neck and the gelding dropped to the ground and bolted. Nicholas yanked back hard, but the bay had the bit in his teeth. Bracing himself against the stirrups, he dropped the right rein and pulled on the left with both hands. He hauled the horse’s nose around until it nearly touched his shoulder. The bay turned, his speed dropping to a canter and then a trot as Nicholas heaved harder.

  At last the animal came to a standstill. His ribs bellowed and foam gathered around his mouth. His eyes were ringed white with fear and he shuffled and pranced, every muscle twitching with fright. The sound of the howl was fading, but as soon as Nicholas started to loosen the rein, the gelding started to leap away.

  Nicholas glanced back over his shoulder at the Maida. The horse wasn’t going back there. Still holding the animal tightly, Nicholas swung to the ground. Instantly the bay pulled back to the end of the rein, snorting. He gave a hard yank and pulled the rain-slicked strap from Nicholas’s hand. A moment later he was galloping away into the hills.

  Nicholas turned and broke into a run.

  Back at the Maida, he found everyone cowering against the ground. Some were puking and there was a strong smell of piss and shit. A few were clawing their way over their companions, trying to flee. Even some of the delats had fallen. Margaret still stood, her feet braced, a look of fury on her face. She glanced at Nicholas as he rejoined her. A flicker of surprise swept over her expression as if she hadn’t thought he would return.

  “They aren’t going to be able to run. That thing is using fear against them. Every time he howls, they fall apart.”

  Red was leaning heavily against his spear, his face gray, his lips compressed in a white line. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was panting like he’d been running.

  “Why aren’t you scared?” Nicholas asked. The fear had rolled up on him, but his battle with the gelding had distracted him enough to keep it from disabling him. All the same, his knees still trembled and a feral part of his mind was screaming at him to run.

  “What could it do to me that they didn’t already do?”

  “It could kill you,” Nicholas said, the thought chopping through his fear like a sword. He couldn’t lose her. She’s not yours to lose, a niggling voice in his head pointed out. His hands tightened into fists and his jaw knotted. But she was. He’d convince her somehow.

  She shrugged. “I can live with death,” she said and the corner of her mouth quirked up at the
irony. “Besides, I have no intention of letting that cracking dog chew me up again. What about you? You don’t seem quite as affected as they are.” She waved at the people inside the Maida’s green barrier.

  “They tell me I’m a coldhearted bastard,” he said. “It looks like they might be right.”

  She grinned and he saw in her eyes both fear—not inspired by the hound’s howl, but by what he might do if he wasn’t stopped. And he saw a wild recklessness. That, above anything else, scared him.

  “Keros and Ellyn aren’t going to get here in time to help,” she said softly, turning her back on the Maida and scanning the nearby buildings, searching for signs of the hound. “If they even survived.”

  Her words sent a shiver down his spine and he knew exactly what she planned to do. She was going to face down the hound alone. But from her description, that was suicide, even for someone with her skills. Her next actions confirmed his thoughts.

  “Got an extra one of those?” Margaret asked, turning back to Red. She pointed to his lance.

  The delat had gained some color back in his face and no longer clung desperately to his weapon to hold him up. He looked at Margaret narrowly. “These are sacred weapons of Chayos and only for her delats.”

  “That’s all very nice, but right now, that beast is driving you all to your knees and I don’t think this barrier is going to protect you when he gets here. I’m going to be the one standing between you and that thing and I’m fairly certain that you’d rather I wasn’t just waving my hands at him.”

  Just then another howl came. It was close. Too close. Nicholas’s heart spasmed and he felt his bladder and bowels starting to loosen. He held himself on a tight rein. Still the fear drove him to his knees. He clamped his hands over his ears, but the sound seemed to burrow through his flesh and bones to the deepest part of him. He fought it with all his strength, hardly aware of anything else.

  Once again it faded slowly. He found himself curled up on the ground, his heart beating like a woodpecker’s pounding beak. Margaret squatted down beside him, but she wasn’t looking at him. Red had dropped to the ground, his face twisted in a mask of horror and fear.

  “So can I borrow that?” Margaret asked. There was a slight shake to her voice. “I’ll give it back when I’m done. If Chayos doesn’t like it, I’m sure she’ll be the first to let me know.”

  With a jerky movement, Red pushed to his feet and thrust his lance toward her. “Careful,” he rasped. “The blade is of the goddess herself. Do not touch it.”

  Margaret took it and stood up. Nicholas rolled onto his stomach and clambered to his feet. His stomach lurched and he turned and splattered its contents on the ground. He faced back to her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Better get me one of those too,” he said, his voice scratchy and thin. “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

  Her brows rose in silent question, but she said nothing. She turned back to Red. “What about another?”

  He looked at his other delats. Many had fallen to their knees. But whether from deeply ingrained habit or something else, each had kept their blades pointed upright, even the sword-bearers. Red went and took the lance from a young woman who remained on her feet, her face gray, her eyes squeezed shut. As soon as he took it, she crumpled to the ground. He looked at her a moment, then handed the weapon to Nicholas.

  “Chayos bless you both,” he said. “What we can do to help, we will.”

  “Thank you,” Margaret said.

  Then they all heard the harsh rasp of hot panting and the crunch of stone and wood as if something large padded across a pile of rubble. The sound was loud, despite the rain.

  “It’s here,” Margaret said in a brittle voice.

  They both swiveled around to watch the monster approach. With him came a wave of fear that was almost tangible.

  The beast was larger than Nicholas’s bay gelding by three feet and it was four times as heavy at least. It padded along with heavy steps. Its coat was smooth and short and colored in a mix of grays and purples. Margaret had described him as being the color of twilight and she was right. Sunset-colored brindles ran down his bull-like shoulders over his back and haunches. His head was massive—broad and heavy with short ears and heavy jaws. His mouth hung open as he panted. His muzzle was long and bony, with long curving teeth. Between them lolled a long black tongue. His eyes were disks of old gold in his black face. They shone through the gray drizzle.

  He emerged from between two half-demolished buildings. He stopped and raised his head, sweeping it from side to side as he sniffed the air. Margaret nudged Nicholas’s arm, and jogged across the open plaza beside the Maida. It gave them both more room to swing their lances and fight the beast.

  Her touch broke the spell of fear that had rolled ahead of the god hound and buried Nicholas beneath a smothering tide of terror. He shuddered and then took a hard hold of himself, tightening his grip on the spear as if it were his lifeline in a turbulent sea. Behind him he heard moans and whimpers, but kept his attention fixed on Forcan.

  New fear ripped through him when he saw the creature’s gaze hone in on Margaret as if he’d been searching for her. The hound’s head dropped and his eyes narrowed to slits. Its black tongue swiped around its muzzle as if in hungry anticipation and it began to stalk forward. Suddenly Nicholas realized that the mother-dibbling bastard hadn’t come to attack the Maida at all.

  It had come for Margaret.

  Chapter 24

  Margaret held the lance steady in front of her as she trotted across the plaza. She felt it the moment the hound’s gaze locked on her. She’d expected to freeze when she saw it again, but instead fury roared up inside her like a forest fire. As it turned to follow her, her lips peeled back in a vicious grin and violent energy streamed through her muscles. The beast wanted her, did it? Good. Let the bastard come.

  She turned to face it, holding the lance out before her. It was well balanced and weighed less than she expected. She swung it from side to side, getting a feel for its heft. It was no heavier than a quarterstaff, though it was a good eleven feet in length. She raised it, holding it ready.

  The hound advanced on her with slow, deliberate steps. She watched it, rolling forward on the balls of her feet, waiting for it to charge.

  “Nicholas?” she asked in a low voice, not daring to look away. She half expected him not to answer. The waves of fear radiating from the beast were tangible. They buffeted against her, though she did not succumb. But then, after what Atreya and Saradapul had done to her, she didn’t think she would fear anything ever again.

  Except her nightmares.

  “Twenty feet on your left,” Nicholas answered, his voice rock steady.

  Margaret felt a rush of something akin to relief, except that it was far more rich and wonderful than that. She’d never in her life had a partner of any kind. She’d always worked alone. Her father had meant for her to never need to depend on anyone else. If she got into trouble, she’d always known that no one was going to come to her rescue. But twice Nicholas had come when she needed someone most. To hear him answer, to know that she was not alone in this fight—it gave her strength.

  “It’s come for you,” he said. “It’s not paying any attention to me. I’ll come at it from the side.”

  Margaret sidestepped to the right, pulling Forcan’s attention farther from Nicholas. But she wondered if it could be killed.

  It drew closer. It was now no more than fifty paces away. Its claws clicked on the cobblestones. Each one was as long as her forearm and wickedly hooked. It was the only sound the beast made. It no longer even panted; its muzzle was closed as it honed in on Margaret.

  She firmed her grip on the lance, her muscles tightening as she prepared for its pounce.

  It was fast. Faster than she imagined it could be. It bounded forward. Margaret leaped aside, swiping at its front leg. She missed. The long blade swiped through the air, wrenching her off balance. She heard the snap of teeth and Forca
n’s shoulder slammed against her. She hit the ground and rolled, never letting go of her weapon.

  She came to her feet and spun to face the hound again, and stared in shock. A stripe of brilliant gold creased its front left leg. She’d cut it. Her blade had passed right through it and she’d not felt a thing. Another crease of gold ran down its right ribs where Nicholas had struck it with his spear. Forcan lifted its head and let out a long keening sound. It knifed through the bones of Margaret’s head, sending streaks of fire down every nerve of her body. Her hands spasmed and her grip on the lance loosened as her legs trembled and sagged.

  Fiercely she clamped her hands tighter and firmed her legs. The pain she pushed aside easily—she’d borne worse. A mad idea struck her. It could work. Forcan was distracted and not paying attention to her. She didn’t take time to consider. She began running, holding her lance at an upward angle. She thought she heard Nicholas shout her name but Forcan’s keening made it impossible to tell.

  She felt like she was moving terribly slowly. The hound did not notice her. She could see now that Nicholas had not merely cut Forcan, but he’d driven his lance deep into the beast’s side. The wood shaft protruded at an angle. There was no blood, but the wound gaped, the gold light of the hound’s insides swirling and bubbling like molten glass.

  Did she drive her spear into the same spot? But no. She had no idea if the creature had a heart. And its pained howling had given her a better target—and a far more dangerous one.

  She slid her forward hand back along the shaft so she held only the last foot of it in her hands. If Forcan snapped at her, she’d be in no position to defend herself. She lifted the point of the lance, aiming for the beast’s unprotected throat. If she was lucky—if she was tall enough and had enough strength—she could drive the point all the way up into its skull.

  Chayos help me, she whispered, then vaulted up onto Forcan’s heavy paw, thrusting the lance up through its throat and shoving it as hard as she could.

  For a single grain there was still silence. Then came a sound that shattered the world. The paw she stood on flung itself upward. She felt herself flying through the air. Grains later she smashed against the ground and she knew nothing more.