The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

  The kiss is warm and soft and just a little moist, our lips forming a seal that breaks with a soft pop when we finally pull apart. I start to say something, but Lanna isn’t interested, leaning in to kiss me back. It’s harder than mine, and she presses against me, opening her mouth just a little. I taste her breath and something awakens in me, something primal, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I feel a growl building in the back of my throat, and my whole body thrums with it. It gets louder, vibrating the air around us.

  I draw back and open my eyes, seeing Lanna leaning in, eyes still closed, lips puckered, waiting for more. I gulp a breath, but the growling continues, seeming to come from above us. I look up and see branches swaying, but there’s no breeze…

  Then I see it. Eyes black, armor the color of bark, the demon lets go its grip on the trunk and drops down, talons leading.

  7

  BROKEN TRUST

  “Look out!” I shove Lanna harder than intended. She gives a cry, crashing into the ground by the half-smothered torch, bolts flying from her quiver in a clatter.

  I’m dead, I think as the demon hits me, claws scrabbling. I should have listened to Mother. Should have listened to everyone…

  But the wards on my breastplate flare to life, and the coreling’s claws find no purchase. As its weight bears me to the ground I instinctively revert to Wonda’s training, using the demon’s momentum to redirect the takedown. We hit the dirt and I use the rebound to roll into a dominant position above the writhing mass of muscle and claws.

  The demon isn’t much larger than a shepherd’s hound, and its long limbs—perfect for leaping from tree to tree—aren’t jointed to strike at me while it’s prone, but it is not defenseless. Armor, thick and ridged like bark, covers the creature from head to toe.

  There are warded gauntlets hanging from my belt, but there’s no time to put them on. I ball a bare fist and punch the demon in the head.

  It’s like punching a tree. Rough scales skin my knuckles and the bones of my hand blaze with pain, but I feel the softer flesh beneath jolt as I strike the wood demon’s exoskeleton. I hit it again, and again after that, struggling to keep it pinned.

  I glance at Lanna, seeing her frozen with fear right where she struck the ground. “Run! Get help!”

  There’s no time to see if she complies. The demon twists and avoids my next punch, then snaps its jaws at my arm before I can retract. Rows of razor teeth close on my biceps, but the warded armlet from the Krasian market flares to life. It keeps the demon from biting the arm clean off, but it still gets hold of me in its powerful jaws.

  I scream and try to yank free, but it only makes the demon thrash and clamp down harder. I’m thrown from my position and my arm jolts so hard I fear it will be torn from its socket. The demon glares down at me and I know I’m about to die.

  Fire scorches my face in a shower of sparks. I look up to see Lanna draw my spear back like a club, hitting the demon again with the torch affixed to the weapon’s end. The coreling, unharmed but startled, loosens its grip. I pull my arm free and curl up, kicking the demon in the chest with both feet. It’s thrown back and I quickly roll to my feet, snatching the spear from Lanna.

  “Go!” I cry, wondering why she doesn’t listen, why help hasn’t come. It feels like we’ve been fighting for long minutes, but I realize it’s only been seconds. I hear shouting in the darkness, still distant.

  Lanna scrambles for her bow, but the bolt has fallen free. She searches blindly in the darkness for one from her emptied quiver. I put up my spear as the wood demon charges back in, but the coreling, faster than I would ever expect for so bulky a creature, pounces before I can bring the point to bear. Again I am knocked onto my back, the spear held horizontally between us.

  Like my breastplate, defensive wards that seemed decorative a moment ago blaze to life along the spear shaft. The wood demon fetches up short against it, sparks of magic scorching its armor black.

  But the coreling’s limbs are long. Its scrabbling hind talons dig into the gaps in the armor covering my thighs. I howl as they pierce flesh.

  The demon jerks, the bark across its breast splitting as a speartip, its wards blazing white-hot with magic, bursts from the coreling’s chest. Ichor sprays my face, oily and stinking. The creature is yanked away, and I expect to see Ella or even Selen standing over me.

  Instead I see a Krasian woman in a black silk robe and pantaloons, the lower half of her face wrapped in a veil of pure white silk. The spear she holds is six feet of clear glass, pointed on both ends. She kicks the demon off the blade, landing it on its back, and spins the weapon deftly before bringing the point down into the coreling’s eye. It gives a high-pitched yelp, thrashes as she twists the shaft, then goes limp.

  “Tsst!” the woman hisses. “Get up. Put your gauntlets on.”

  My face goes cold as I recognize the voice. “Micha?”

  She kicks me when I do not comply fast enough. “Get up! Apple Hill girl! To us! Now!”

  I roll to my feet, staring at the carcass of the wood demon. The ichor that struck my face must have activated the wards on my helmet. I no longer need the torch, seeing everything in perfect clarity despite the darkness. In wardsight all living things—Micha, Lanna, even the trees—give off the soft glow of the magic. It drifts along the ground like a luminescent fog, venting from the Core.

  The coreling shines so bright it stings my eyes at first, but as they adjust I see it dimming as ichor bleeds into the dirt.

  My mind reels, and not just from the rush of this new spectrum of vision. In the fight I was focused. I expected to lose, but I wasn’t afraid. Now, looking at Micha as she stands over the creature, everything that’s happened comes crashing in at once.

  “You killed it,” I say.

  “Tsst!” Micha hisses again. “It isn’t alone. Stop staring. Gauntlets on. Spear up. Stay alert.”

  “Micha, I’m sorry—”

  Micha lifts her veil and spits, cutting my words short. She turns to look at me, but her eyes are not those of the meek woman who brushes my hair and walks me to class. These eyes are cold, with predatory depth. Terrifying. Who is this person? Was she ever the woman I knew? “We will settle our differences with the dawn. In the night, we are sisters, always.”

  Lanna joins us, a fresh bolt loaded onto her bow. “Who are you?”

  Micha’s voice is flat. “I am Aman’s sister, and you will obey me if you wish to live.”

  Lanna nods dumbly, and Micha turns away. “We have to get back to the others.”

  Again I hear shouting in the distance, but no longer fighting for my life, I can make out more detail. They aren’t the cries of friends coming to help.

  Demons are attacking the camp.

  * * *

  —

  The camp is not far at a run, especially with the night lit up in wardsight, but Lanna remains in the dark, guided only by the light of my torch and the campfire in the distance. She stumbles and I take her arm to steady her.

  A booming roar shakes the ground beneath our feet, echoing through the hills. The sound is followed by screaming—in terror or pain I cannot tell.

  “Micha!” My cry is tinged with desperation. “Selen is in the camp!”

  “Tsst!” The glow of magic around Micha changes color. I can’t read auras like Mother, but even I know irritation when I see it. “Be silent!”

  We arrive at a scene of utter chaos. One of the great wardstones is shattered, and a ten-foot-tall rock demon stands at the center of the circle. Like the wood demon, the rock has an armored exoskeleton, but instead of rough bark, this one seems carved from the exposed rock face we hiked past earlier in the day, grayish stone sparkling with silicates. Its talons are as long as butcher knives, and its horns could spear a horse. Black eyes the size of my fists reflect the firelight and the pandemonium in the camp.

  Smaller co
relings race about, savaging the young tourists. Some have found their weapons and are fighting back, but there is blood everywhere, and a number of demons have paused around fallen bodies to feast. Their inhuman shrieks are triumphant as they throw back their heads to swallow great chunks of meat.

  Selen is easily spotted, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Oskar at the center of camp as they face down the rock demon. The beast rakes its huge talons at Selen, but Oskar is quick, throwing his shield up to deflect the blow in a burst of magic. Selen uses the cover to thrust, stabbing her spear at the demon’s midsection. Her aim is true and the warded spearhead sends glowing cracks spiderwebbing through a small section of the demon’s armored carapace, but she is forced to disengage as the demon swipes a backhand blow at her. It shrieks in pain, but seems more enraged than injured.

  Lanna raises her crank bow. Micha turns and throws out a hand to signal her to stop, but whether she was too late or Lanna too frightened to comply, I cannot tell. Lanna pulls the trigger, launching a bolt.

  The rock demon is too big to easily miss, but the hit is a glancing one, ricocheting off the demon’s thick armor instead of penetrating. The rock turns its great head, noticing us for the first time.

  “Fool girl,” Micha growls, but she does not hesitate. The element of surprise lost, she ducks her head and charges, faster than I can believe. She is glowing brightly now, cuffs on her wrists and ankles blazing with power.

  I know of these from my studies in the Chamber of Shadows. Micha wears hora jewelry, demonbones dipped in precious metal and warded, providing a limited well of power the user can draw upon. Such things were common during the demon war, but most have since become inert, unable to recharge without demonic power to Draw upon.

  Micha is a blur as she rushes in. The demon roars in challenge, turning a quick circuit to whip its heavy, barbed tail at her. The appendage is bigger than she is, swung with terrifying speed, but Micha never slows, dropping at the last instant to slide beneath it and bury her glass spear in the back of its knee.

  The rock demon’s roar of pain shakes the ground, knocking human and demon alike from their feet. Micha’s spear shines white with power, and I can see it running up her arms, brightening her aura like bellows to a flame. The coreling swipes at her, but Micha does not stay in range. With a twist she detaches half of the double-ended spear, leaving the other half buried in the demon’s knee, sending waves of agonizing magic through the beast.

  Micha rolls away from the blow, talons plowing the ground like a field for planting. The demon’s leg buckles and it falls to one knee.

  “Selen!” Micha cries. “Strike now!”

  Selen’s shocked expression goes slack. “Micha?!”

  “Nie’s black heart, girl!” Micha barks. “Strike!”

  Shaking off her shock, Selen sets her feet and charges in, spear leading. The kneeling demon has brought its chest within reach, and she aims her blow perfectly for the gap between its armored breastplates. The wards on her spear flare as it punches through the armor and into whatever passes for the demon’s heart.

  The demon shrieks, backhanding Selen. Her armor absorbs the blow, but she is knocked away. Like Micha’s, Selen’s spear remains embedded in the coreling, shocking it with killing magic. Distracted, the demon tries to claw it free and Oskar seizes his chance, thrusting his own spear up under the demon’s chin and into its brain.

  The demon jolts and collapses. Oskar leaps back to avoid being crushed by its bulk. He rushes immediately to Selen’s side, taking her in his arms like a lover. She’s shaking as she gets to her feet, but like Micha, her aura is bright with feedback magic from striking the demon, and she steadies quickly. She puts a boot against the demon’s chest and pulls her spear free.

  Micha retrieves her weapon as well. It shines with power as she holds it aloft. “To me!” she cries to the other tourists. “Rally to me!” With that, she turns and throws the blazing spear clear across the camp, skewering a hill demon about to ram its curled horns into Cayla as she kneels over Gyles, her dress spattered with his blood.

  Of the original twenty, perhaps ten tourists remain upright and able to fight. Micha strides through the group, quickly herding us into a defensive formation, then leads the way as we begin rescuing those survivors too injured or trapped to get to us.

  The corelings are on the defensive now, but they do not flee, perhaps sensing the fear and weakness in the group. Long-limbed wood demons with talons like jagged branches and curly-horned hill demons with sharp cloven hooves, black as obsidian. There is a shriek from above and four girls raise crank bows, firing at a circling wind demon. It’s impossible to tell which of them strikes true, but while three of the bolts miss, one brings the creature crashing down to the ground.

  A hill demon lowers its head and charges me, but this time I am ready, setting my feet and raising my spear. At the last moment I will drop to one knee and drive the point into its chest.

  But then a black mist rises from the ground between us, coalescing into Ella Cutter. She shines so bright in wardsight I need to squint to look at her.

  “Night!” She lifts a hand and draws a glowing ward in the air. The demon slams into it like a steel wall, then falls away, stunned.

  Ella is drawing more wards now, tracing them in silver fire with her fingers, then powering them from her aura like a child might blow a bubble through a ring of soap. The demons still threatening injured tourists are scattered, and then she sets about with killing magics.

  Heat wards set wood demons ablaze, and a cutting ward bisects a hill demon, dropping it in two nearly identical halves. Another charges her and Ella catches it by the horns, twisting so hard its neck snaps with an audible crack.

  Micha goes on the offensive now, retrieving the other half of her spear and reconnecting the ends. This she spins with terrifying speed and precision, lopping off the leg of a sleek field demon that swipes at her, and opening the throat of a hill demon.

  Another hill demon charges at the gathering of tourists at the center of the circle, but Selen, Oskar, and I meet it with a wall of spearpoints, harrying it back until Lanna puts a bolt into its chest. A moment later, Ella slaps it aside with an impact ward.

  The remaining demons break, attempting to flee through the gap in the wards, but Ella draws wards in the air, sealing them in with us.

  “What is she doing?!” Lanna demands.

  Warded Children cannot be trusted, Mother says in my head again. I didn’t believe her then. Didn’t want to. Now I see how wrong I was.

  A hill demon, trapped, puts its horns down and charges Ella. She remains planted, goading it to approach, then at the last moment she sidesteps, seizing it by the horns. I think she is going to break its neck like the other, but then she does something unthinkable.

  Hill demons have thick armor plates on their foreheads and snouts, but they are more vulnerable underneath. Ella yanks the creature’s head in close, sinking her teeth into its unarmored throat.

  She tears away scaled flesh in a spray of putrid ichor, but seems to glory in it, spitting out the tough outer layer and burying her face back into the wound, gnawing demon meat and drinking ichor like wine. Her aura dimmed with each ward she powered, but now it brightens again as she Draws power from the magic-rich repast.

  Micha appears at my side. Her spear is at the ready, but it’s Ella she is watching, not the demons scrabbling at the wards to escape.

  Ella sucks the demon like an orange, then casts the rind aside, pouncing on another coreling scrabbling to fit through a tiny gap in the wards. She takes hold of it from behind, and the wards tattooed on her arms and legs begin to pulse and throb, growing ever brighter. She doesn’t even need to bite this one to drain it of magic.

  The last coreling left alive in the circle is a wood demon, eight feet tall with long, powerful limbs. It leaps to the attack, but Ella draws a wood ward in the air al
most casually, pinning the creature against the outer forbidding of the camp. Magic arcs like lightning along the point of contact, and the demon shrieks in agony.

  A large knife appears in Ella’s hand and she buries it in the demon’s chest, prying apart the armor plates until she can work one hand in, then the other. With a great flex, she cracks open the demon exoskeleton and reaches inside, tearing free its black heart. As the demon falls lifeless to the ground, she holds the prize aloft like she’s giving a toast to the crowd.

  Then she brings it to her lips, sinking her teeth into the reeking black flesh.

  “Beware, sister,” Micha whispers. “I do not think she will harm any of us without cause, but remain here, and do nothing to provoke her in this state.”

  I blink in surprise, but Micha doesn’t hesitate, striding toward the Warded Child as she gorges on the demon’s heart. She keeps her spear ready as she draws close, feet in fighting stance. Her words sound unnaturally calm. “Well fought, sister.”

  Ella looks up from her meal in surprise, as if she had forgotten anyone was there. “See you’re finally acting yourself again, Micha.”

  I blink. They know each other? More, this insane, frightening woman seems to know my sister better than me.

  “I am always myself, Ella am’Cutter,” Micha says calmly.

  “You’re a lion,” Ella tells her, “that squandered fifteen summers pretending to be a mouse.”

  “Even a lion will sheathe her claws when the hunt is over,” Micha responds. “I never killed for the pleasure of it.”

  Ella scoffs. “Tell me you din’t miss this. That you ent thrumming with the rush of it.”

  “I am not,” Micha says.

  Ella picks a bit of meat from her teeth and spits black ichor on the ground between them. “Your aura says different.”

  I glance at Micha’s aura, but can make nothing from the colors running through it. Ella’s is too bright to make out any color save white. She has become a luminous being, but I feel no safer for it. My hand tightens on my spear as she tears another bite from the heart.