The Skull Throne (73 page)

He could have taken the knife, Leesha knew, but Evejan clerics were forbidden to use bladed weapons. Gorja needed no weapon in any event. His aura flared brightly when he began his attack. There was magic at work.

In an eyeblink, the
dama
was on Rhinebeck, landing heavy blows. The duke’s aura had already winked out as the force of the leap tipped the great chair back. Gorja took no chances, continuing to punch as he rode it down atop the duke. By the time they hit the dais floor, Rhinebeck’s head looked like a melon cast from the South Tower.

Mickael leapt to his feet. The prince was fitter than Rhinebeck, larger than Gorja and with greater reach. He grabbed the
dama
roughly by his shoulders, attempting to pull him off his brother.

Gorja barely looked back, backhanding Mickael with a closed fist. There was little leverage to the blow, but the lower half of Mickael’s face exploded with a crack and burst of blood, teeth, bone, and flesh left hanging in a ruined mass.

The
dama
planted his foot, using the momentum of his rise to add force as he whipped around and sank his fist into Mickael’s chest. The sound of his ribs shattering echoed from the ceiling as the prince was thrown from the dais. He landed twenty feet away, aura snuffed like a candle.

Shepherd Pether attempted to flee, but the
dama
caught his robes and casually flung him back into his seat. “Stay, infidel, that we may further debate Everam’s sway.”

It happened so fast the duke and prince were dead even as Leesha was rising to her feet, but as Gorja gripped the front of the Shepherd’s robes and raised his fist, she lifted her
hora
wand and let loose a blast of magic that lifted the
dama
off his victim and threw him clear across the room. He struck the wall, cracking stone and leaving a great webbed crater as he fell to the floor.

Leesha felt the burst of magical feedback buck up her arm, filling her with strength. She felt giddy with it, until the baby kicked hard in response. She gasped, clutching her stomach.

The
Sharum
had killed the guards by now, though one had taken the thrust of a spear in the fighting, bleeding but not out of the fight. Other guards rushed forward, but they would not be in time to save Pether as the freshly armed
Sharum
rushed up the steps to finish the
dama’s
work and end Rhinebeck’s line.

“Corespawn you!” Leesha was terrified of what the magic might be doing to her child, but she could not stand by. Again she raised the wand, loosing two more blasts that picked off the assassins one by one.

The baby was beating the inside of her belly like a drum, as if it were trying to burst free months early—and might manage it. Leesha was weeping as she lowered the wand again, wrapping her arms around the lump of her stomach.

“Mistress, look out!” Wonda cried. Leesha raised her gaze, seeing Gorja, scorched and bloody but still bright with power, kill two guards and race her way.

An arrow streaked over Leesha’s shoulder, aimed right for the
dama’s
heart, but Gorja swatted it aside like an annoying horsefly.

“Corespawn it,” Wonda growled, dropping her bow and charging in front of Leesha, meeting the
dama
head-on.

Gorja thought to shove past her as he had the others trying to hinder him, but Wonda’s armor was infused with demon bone she could draw upon for strength and speed, just as the
dama
appeared to be doing. She caught his arm and twisted into a throw.

But Gorja never lost control, shifting to meet the new attack. He leapt ahead of the throw, kicking Wonda in the face and landing in position for a throw of his own.

“No you don’t!” Wonda said, throwing her weight against the move and keeping her feet. The
dama
adjusted as well, until Wonda surged back in, smashing his nose with her forehead.

At last the
dama
was off balance, and she put him on the ground hard, cracking the stone floor. The
dama
contorted on the rebound, hooking Wonda’s ankle and bringing her down as well.

The
dama
paid for the move, Wonda landing atop him and pumping short, powerful punches into his body. She bashed his head into the stone again.

But Gorja was squirming around even as she pummeled him, and kicked up suddenly, crossing his legs around her throat. Wonda was pulled back with a choked gasp, hitting the ground flailing as Gorja added torque to the hold.

Wonda could not reach the
dama
to attack, clutching helplessly at his legs as he strangled her to death.

The child still wild in her belly, Leesha dared not use the wand again, but neither could she let Wonda die. She looked frantically for a weapon, but Lorain had beaten her to it. The thickset woman had taken her chair by the back, and she struck hard with it.

Again the
dama
shifted, getting a forearm up in time to block the blow. The chair shattered against it, and Gorja grabbed the front of the princess’ dress, pulling her down as well. He put his arm across her throat, cutting off her air even as his legs continued to choke the life from Wonda.

Leesha was moving before she knew it, magic filling her limbs with an inhuman surge of strength. She forgot about the baby, about Thamos, about her Gatherer’s oath. Her whole world shrank to a single target. Dama Gorja’s head.

Her stomp drove it down into his chest. Leesha felt vertebrae pop as the impact whipped down his spine, and at last the
dama
collapsed.

The room fell silent, but for the three women gasping for breath. Wonda and Lorain were taking great lungfuls, but Leesha’s breathing was sharp and quick, like the beating of her heart. She stood there, knowing the fight was over, but struggling to control a mix of anger, adrenaline, and magic that threatened to overwhelm her. She wished there were more foes to fight, as if the power might tear her apart if she did not give it release. Night, was this what Wonda and the others felt when magic-drunk in battle? It was terrifying.

Around the room, everyone stared at the scene, dumbstruck. Even Araine had lifted her tear-filled eyes from the jar at her lap, staring openmouthed at Leesha. She could see fear of her in their auras, and could not blame them.

The darkening room was alive with magic, swirling angrily in the air, drawn to the violence. Leesha shut her eyes to block it out, forcing her breaths to deepen. The baby continued to kick and squirm violently.

Caught up in the magic, Leesha could feel the life within her like never before. It was strong. The magic had obviously not harmed it, but that did not mean the effect was good. Leesha had seen magic force children into their full growth before their time. Might the baby come early, too big to birth without dangerous surgery? Or would the power wreak some other change? Arlen had feared this when he refused to be with her, and now Leesha was left with the same problem without him.

She shook off the problem for later, opening her eyes and helping Lorain to her feet. Wonda was already on one knee, and held a hand out to forestall aid.

“Don’ worry about me, mistress.” She gulped another great breath. “Be fine in a minute.”

Leesha could see the magic coursing through the woman, drawn naturally to her injuries, and knew it for true. She let Wonda have her pride, turning to the corpse of Dama Gorja.

Even now, she felt nothing. She had incinerated two of his men, and crushed the
dama’s
spine. These were not demons, but human men. Still, there was none of the guilt she might have felt in a more introspective moment. These men would happily have murdered everyone in the room as easily as Leesha might pluck herbs from the dirt.

One of the
dama’s
fists remained tightly clenched, and she pried it open to find a crumbled bit of demon bone, its power expended. She blew softly, and it was swept away like dust.

At last, Janson shook himself, stumbling up the steps of the dais. He looked down at the body of Rhinebeck, shuddered, and reached into the gore for the lacquered wooden circlet the duke had worn.

“The duke is dead!” the first minister cried. He descended a step, reaching out to help Shepherd Pether to his feet. “Long live Duke Pether!”

Shepherd Pether looked at him, confusion and fear in his aura. “Eh?”

There wasn’t enough left of any of the royal brothers for a proper interment, and three royal funerals too much for even the ivy throne to bear. A week after the attack, the city still on lockdown, Thamos, Rhinebeck, and Mickael were given rites as at the great Cathedral of Angiers.

Pether himself presided over the service, seeing no conflict in keeping his position as Shepherd of the Tenders of the Creator even as the wooden crown was placed upon his brow. After the initial shock wore off, he assigned artisans to create new raiment and ceremonial armor to befit his dual status.

Leesha stood straight-backed and stone-faced on the receiving line after the service. She had wept for Thamos privately, but her grief was not something she was ready to share. She accepted the condolences of Angierian Royals whose names she did not know or care to know, smiling wanly and giving a brief, mechanical squeeze of her hand before dismissing them by turning her eyes to the next in line.

Still, the line seemed endless. She did her duty and endured it all, but she was hollow inside.

Back in her rooms, she collapsed on her bed, only to be roused a moment later by Wonda. “Sorry to disturb, Mistress Leesha, but Mum wants to see you.”

Leesha climbed wearily to her feet, checking her hair and arching her back before leaving her chambers again, not giving a hint of what she was feeling to the servants and guards in the hall. They were in mourning, too, and needed to see her strong.

Lorain was sitting before the Duchess Mum as Leesha entered the receiving room. The Milnese princess looked at Leesha and nodded, but her eyes said more. There was something between them, now. Not friendship, perhaps, but trust. And a mutual debt.

Lorain turned back to Araine, resuming their conversation as if Leesha were not there. “Will His Grace agree?”

“The crown’s ballooned the boy’s already swollen head, but it’s a head my son wants to keep. Pether may prefer sticking boys dressed as girls, but if it will get your father to send us a few thousand Mountain Spears …”

Lorain nodded. “I’m no more interested in his touch than he is in mine, but if it will pay those desert rats back for what they did to my husband, Pether can bring his bugger boys to bed with us for all I care.”

Araine grunted. “You will never take the throne. Not even as regent, should you produce a son not fully grown when Pether dies.”

Lorain nodded. “My father may want a claim to your throne, but I do not. I will never be denied access to the boy, though. And my children will be brought here and live in the palace with their full royal status.”

“Of course,” Araine agreed. “But their title will be honorary, with no Angierian lands or positions accorded to them beyond what they earn.”

“I will have my Mothers alter the contract accordingly,” Lorain said. “We’ll be ready to sign in the morning.”

“The sooner, the better,” Araine agreed. Lorain stood, squeezing Leesha’s shoulder as she left.

“Have you recovered, dear?” Araine asked, gesturing for Leesha to sit.

Leesha lowered herself to her seat. “Well enough, Your Grace.”

“Call me Araine in private,” the Duchess Mum said. “You’ve earned that, and more. I might have lost four sons that day, and not three.

“Pether will sign this in the morning, as well,” Araine continued, handing Leesha a royal decree. The papers made Leesha Countess of Hollow County and a member of the royal family, though she and Thamos had never married.

“It’s common sense,” Araine said as Leesha looked up from the parchment. “You’ve effectively held the role for months in any event, and I daresay your people will accept no one else. Gared’s a good boy, but better a baron than count, especially with that scandal-ridden new bride.”

“I expect he’ll be relieved to hear it,” Leesha said.

“You’ll return immediately,” Araine said. “And take Melny with you.”

“Eh?” Leesha asked.

“Everyone’s forgotten Melny for the moment, and I want to keep it that way,” Araine said. “Miln and Angiers must ally, and now. No one knows that girl’s carrying Rhinebeck’s baby, and if it gets out, the child will cause undue complications. The kind settled with spears.”

“Lorain would never kill an unborn child,” Leesha said.

“Never say never,” Araine said, “but I was thinking more about her father, or Easterly and Wardgood using it as a rallying point against Miln. Wouldn’t surprise me to find one of them kidnapped poor Sikvah as well.”

“That brings us to the matter of Rojer,” Leesha said. “He’s coming with me when I go, and the charges against him will be dropped.”

Araine raised an eyebrow at her tone, but she nodded. “Done.”

Leesha rose, returning to her rooms to begin preparations. They were ready to leave in two days, but by then, the Krasian army was at the walls, and the city in panic.

CHAPTER 30

THE PRINCESS’ GUARD

334 AR WINTER

Rojer looked out from the tiny window of his cell, the tower affording him an all-too-clear view of the Krasian forces massing at the South Gate.

After months in this cursed cell, this was supposed to have been his release day. Instead, the whole city was on alert, and he’d been forgotten.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” he muttered. “Gonna die in this cell.”

“Nonsense,” Sikvah said from the shadows above. “I will protect you, husband. If the walls are breached, we will be long gone before they reach the cathedral.”

Rojer did not look at her. He seldom even tried now. Sikvah was seen when she wished it, and no other time. His eyes stared in mounting horror as column after column of warriors assembled, wheeling great rock slingers into position.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Rojer asked.

“No, husband,” Sikvah said. “By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I did not. I was privy to many of the secrets of the Deliverer’s Palace before we were wed, but never did I hear of any plans to expand beyond the borders of Everam’s Bounty in the near future. Everam’s Bounty was a land of vast riches, and people to bring to Everam’s will. Wisdom dictated we stay there half a decade, at least.”

“And then resume conquest.” Rojer spat from the tower window.

“This is not news, husband,” Sikvah said. “My blessed uncle never hid his path from you. Sharak Sun must unite all peoples, for Sharak Ka to be won.”

“Demonshit,” Rojer said. “Why? Because some book says so?”

“The Evejah …” Sikvah began.

“Is a ripping book!” Rojer snapped. “I don’t know if there’s a Creator or not, but I know He didn’t come down from Heaven and write any books. Books are written by men, and men are weak, stupid, and corrupt.”

Sikvah did not respond immediately. He was challenging everything she believed, and he could sense her tension, her desire to argue, warring with her sacred vow to be a submissive wife.

“Regardless,” Sikvah said after a moment. “This must be Jayan’s doing. My cousin has the strongest blood claim to the Skull Throne, but no real glories to his name. No doubt he strives to prove himself to our people so they will accept him in my blessed uncle’s absence.”

“Your blessed uncle fell off a cliff months ago and hasn’t been heard from since,” Rojer said. “Do you still think he’s coming back?”

“There was no body,” Sikvah said, “and signs he was alive when they landed. I will not believe the Deliverer is dead. He will return when he is needed most. But what will his sons and
Damaji
wreak in his absence? Will our armies be stronger when Sharak Ka comes, or will my fool cousins spread them so thin they shatter?”

She dropped down silently beside him, looking out the window, careful even at this height not to be seen from without. “Everam’s blood. There are nearly fifteen thousand
Sharum
out there.”

“The fort’s home to sixty thousand, give or take,” Rojer said. “But I doubt there’s two thousand Wooden Soldiers left after Thamos went south.”

“Do you think it’s true, what they say?” Sikvah asked. “That he attacked my cousin’s forces on Waning? At night?”

Rojer shrugged. “My people don’t see the night, and Waning, like yours do, Sikvah. Twice now, Jasin tried to kill me in the night. And the duke and his brothers, when they turned on Thamos on the hunt.”

“Yes, but these were not men,” Sikvah said. “Goldentone, Rhinebeck, these were soulless
khaffit.
I saw Count Thamos fight. A fool, perhaps, but he had a
Sharum’s
heart, and the
alagai
quailed before him. I cannot imagine him acting so dishonorably.”

Rojer shrugged again. “Wasn’t there. Neither were you. But what does it matter, now that his head was sent to his mother in a jar?”

“No mother should witness such a thing,” Sikvah agreed. “My cousin has little high ground on which to stand.”

Columns of smoke rose to the east, where the Krasians had sacked the local hamlets. There were dozens of them within a day of the city walls.

“If they’ve come so far north,” Rojer asked, a lump forming in his throat, “does that mean the Hollow has fallen?”

Sikvah shook her head. “The Hollow is strong, and blessed by Everam. This many warriors might have conquered it, but it would have taken weeks, perhaps months. These men are fresh, with no wounded or damaged equipment.”

She looked to the east where the smoke rose. “They went east around the great wood, likely skirting the Hollow entirely.”

“There’s that, at least,” Rojer said. “Maybe Gared’s already on his way here with ten thousand Cutters.”

Please, Gar,
he begged silently.
I’m too young to die.

Duke Pether shifted nervously, lines of sweat streaking the powder on his face. No doubt the Shepherd was unaccustomed to standing before the altar instead of presiding over it. A third son given to the church, Pether had likely never expected to wear the wooden crown, much less get married with an invading army at the gates.

Princess Lorain, in contrast, stood straight and resolute, eyes on the Tender as he hurried through the vows that would seal their alliance and allow her to commit her soldiers to the fight. Not that her five hundred Mountain Spears were likely to make much difference against twenty thousand
Sharum.
Messengers had been dispatched the moment the enemy forces were spotted, but there was no way of knowing if they had gotten through.

It was morning, though dawn was still an hour away. The ceremony was blessedly quick, just oaths and an awkward kiss. Leesha didn’t envy either of them the wedding night, but the needs of their people outweighed their personal comfort. It seemed such a simple thing, creating a child, but Leesha knew as well as any how it could impact the world.

“Man and wife!” the Tender called, and the new duchess nodded to Bruz, the captain of her guard. The man sent a runner to muster the Mountain Spears, then fell in behind her as she and Pether stepped down from the altar. The attendees gave a ragged cheer, but most of the pews were empty, people manning the walls or barricading themselves in homes and shelters.

Araine was the first to bow to the new couple, but the others quickly followed. Leesha bent as far as she could manage in her current state. Even Amanvah bowed, a telling move. She was desperate to see Rojer freed.

“Enough,” Pether snapped, drawing everyone erect once more. “There will be plenty of time for bowing and scraping tomorrow, if we live to see it.” His shrill tone made clear his expectation on the matter.

Lorain’s face was stone as she looked at her new husband, but her aura was a mix of irritation and disgust. “Perhaps, husband, this is something best discussed in private?”

“Of course, of course,” Pether said, waving the royal entourage into the vestry beside the altar and down the hall to his private offices. Rhinebeck’s palace was his, now, but there had been no time to move, and the Shepherd was reluctant to leave the lavish office he had spent a decade arranging.

There in his place of power, surrounded by the symbols of his faith and reminders of his own greatness, the duke seemed to regain something of himself, straightening his back. “Janson, what is the status of our defenses?”

“Little different than it was twenty minutes ago, Your Grace,” Janson said. “The enemy is massing, but if nothing else, we learned this week they will not attack until dawn. We have archers on the wall, and men to repel attempts to scale, but the real danger is the South Gate. There are companies of men guarding the other gates, but the enemy has positioned their engines to strike there.”

“Will it hold?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged. “Unclear, Your Grace. The enemy did not haul boulders all this way, and they are unlikely to quickly find stone of sufficient size to break the gate. It should withstand most bombardment.”

“Most?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged again. “It has never been tested, Your Grace. If it falls, the courtyard will be the last hope of stopping the charge before the enemy can spread out into the city.”

“If it fails, we’re lost,” Pether said. “After the losses at Docktown, we don’t have enough Wooden Soldiers to man the wall and hold that yard if twenty thousand Krasians come pouring in. Men are streaming in from the levies, but we don’t even have weapons for them. They’re not going to hold back trained cavalry with carpentry tools.”

“Nothing is lost,” Lorain said, her voice hard. “Captain Bruz will take the Mountain Spears to the courtyard. There are only three avenues for enemy coming through the gate to take. Each a choke point we can hold with limited men.”

Pether turned to Leesha. “And the Hollow, mistress? Do you think we can expect help from the south?”

Leesha shook her head. “I gave Briar
hora
to speed his journey to the Hollow with news of Gorja’s attack, but even if Gared got right on his horse, it will be days yet before he can arrive with any sizable force.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible the Hollowers caught sign of the Krasians on the march and mustered sooner, but I wouldn’t place any wagers on it.”

“And your Warded Man?” Pether asked. “If ever he were the Deliverer, now would be the time to prove it.”

Lorain snorted, and again Leesha shook her head. “You’ve better odds with the Hollow, Your Grace. If the Warded Man is still alive, he’s off chasing demons and left politics behind.”

“What about you, mistress?” Pether asked. “You threw lighting at Gorja and his warriors.”

“And nearly miscarried as a result,” Leesha said. “I won’t be doing that again save as a last resort with a spear pointed at my belly. There is little I can do in open daylight in any event. I may be able to strengthen the gate, however.”

Everyone looked up at this. “How?” Pether asked.

“With wards, and
hora,
” Leesha said, “if we can shroud the gate in darkness.”

Pether looked to Janson. The minister’s eyes flicked to Araine, who appeared to do nothing more than shift her feet slightly.

Janson nodded immediately. “We can have every tailor in the city stitching bolts of cloth, Your Grace.”

“See to it.” Pether looked around. “Any other ideas? Anyone with a mad plan brewing, now’s the time to speak it.”

Silence hung in the air like a weight, and Leesha took a deep breath. “There is one thing …”

“Let me speak to him,” Amanvah said.

Pether shook his head. “Madness.”

“You asked for mad plans, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “For what it’s worth, I believe her.” She could not explain her wardsight, and the sincerity she saw in the woman’s aura. The Royals were more likely to think her mad than trust her words.

“Jayan is my brother,” Amanvah said. “Firstborn son and daughter of the Deliverer and Damajah. Send me out now while they wait for the sun, and he will speak to me. Perhaps I can turn him from this course. The Evejah forbids any, even the Sharum Ka, from harming or physically hindering a
dama’ting.
He cannot prevent me from returning, or attack the city with me in it.”

“And what guarantee do we have that you will return?” Lorain demanded. “More likely you will embrace your brother and bless him with knowledge of our defenses and command structure.”

“You have my husband,” Amanvah reminded her. “And my sister-wife, whom the dice tell me remains imprisoned somewhere in the city.”

“What better way to free them,” Pether asked, “than have your brother knock down the walls of their prisons?”

“If you care at all,” Lorain noted. “Perhaps you’ve tired of your
chin
husband, and plan to wipe the slate clean and return to your own kind.”

Amanvah’s eyes flared, and her aura shone with rage. “How dare you?! I offer to hostage myself for your stinking
chin
city, and you insult my honor and husband.”

She advanced on the duchess, and though Amanvah was shorter and half the thickly set woman’s weight, Lorain’s aura flashed with fear, no doubt remembering the casual way Dama Gorja had killed his way across the throne room.

“Guards!” Lorain shouted, and Bruz was in front of her in an instant, leveling his polearm at Amanvah. It had a wide, curving blade affixed to the end that would serve equally well to chop or stab. Leesha could see glittering wards etched into the steel.

Amanvah looked at the man as if he were a bug to squash, but she stopped, holding up her hands. “I offer no threat, Duchess. I am simply concerned for my husband’s safety. If you believe nothing else, believe that. The dice tell me he is in grave danger if he remains imprisoned.”

“We’re all in danger, with your brother at the walls,” Lorain said as six Wooden Soldiers burst into the room, surrounding Amanvah. “But if you are so concerned for your husband’s safety, you’re welcome to join him.” She signaled the guards to take Amanvah away.

“Have women search her before she goes to the tower,” Araine said. “We don’t want her smuggling in demon bones.”

One of the guards reached for her, but Amanvah breezed past him with a few well-placed taps that sent him stumbling from her path. She quickstepped over to Leesha, removing her
hora
pouch. She stripped off her jewelry, including her warded circlet and choker, slipping them into the pouch and pulling the drawstrings tight. She handed it to Leesha as the guards massed again, this time guiding her away at spearpoint.