Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“Not going anywhere while they’ve got Rojer held up!” Gared, the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” Leesha whispered.

“Ya seen him,” Gared said. “He beat up bad?”

Leesha nodded. “But nothing I couldn’t heal with bone magic. He’ll need some new teeth, but he’s all right now.”

Gared clenched a fist. “Swear by the son, if that runt Jasin wan’t already dead …”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Gar,” Leesha said. “It’s all the more reason you should go.”

“How’s that?” Gared asked.

“You won’t help things here,” Leesha said. “And if you want Rosal to go with you, you’d best take her now, before one of the Royals gets it in mind to stop you.”

When he looked unconvinced, she put a hand on his arm. “And while you’re there, would you be so kind as to ready a few thousand Cutters to return here and escort us home? The roads are so full of bandits these days …”

Gared’s brows drew tight in confusion, then lifted suddenly. “Oh, ay. I get it. You want me to …”

“I want you ready to see the Hollow delegation safely home,” Leesha said. “All of us. Whatever the court decides.”

“Duke ent gonna like that,” Gared said.

“I don’t imagine he will,” Leesha said. “I know I have no right to ask it …”

“Core ya don’t,” Gared said. “Hollow owes you and Rojer everythin’, and ya belong safe at home with us. Duke and his Wooden Soldiers don’t wanna throw in with that …” He spat. “Ent no one chops wood like a Cutter.”

“It won’t go that far,” Leesha said. “Show them teeth, but don’t bite.”

“Won’t,” Gared said. “So long as Rojer keeps breathin’. I come back and find he ent …”

He left the thought hanging in the air and strode off.

Briar looked at the reins the stable hand thrust at him and shook his head. He liked horses well enough, but he didn’t trust them. “I’ll run.”

“That won’t be good enough, Briar,” Thamos said. “I mean to press hard for the Hollow.”

Briar shrugged.

“I need you to keep up,” Thamos said.

Briar nodded. “Ay.”

The count looked irritated, though Briar couldn’t understand why.

“You won’t be able to keep pace with my cavalry on foot,” Thamos said.

Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”

The count looked at him a long time, then shrugged. “Have it your way, boy. But if you lag behind, I’ll sling you from my saddle like a deer.”

Briar laughed, surprised the others did not join him. It was a good joke.

Thamos climbed into his own saddle, raising his spear as the city gates opened. “Forward!”

Briar took off at a run as the cavalrymen kicked their horses into a trot. They kept pace with him for a while, but there was traffic on the road this close to the city, and even those who immediately gave way choked the streets and slowed the count’s men. On foot, Briar was able to slip from the road and avoid the traffic and the inevitable stares and questions.

He quickly left them behind, gathering food where he could as he explored the terrain, making note of villages and paths. Mum said he would be coming to Angiers often, so it was best to know the ways. He took careful notice of the hogroot patches, and scattered seeds where there were none. The weed was aggressive, and thrived most anywhere.

Even taking the extra time, he had to backtrack north along the side of the road that evening to find the supper camp. Briar watched in envy from the scrub at the side of the road as the soldiers stood in patient lines to be given a bowl of thick soup and a loaf of bread.

The roots and nuts he’d found filled his belly well enough, but his mouth watered at the smell of the bread and soup. He knew they would give him some. All he needed to do was stand in the line.

But the soldiers all looked alike, in matching wooden armor and cloaks, tabards bearing the count’s arms. They belonged. Briar did not. They would stare at him. Call him Stinky or Mudboy, when they thought he could not hear. They would keep their distance, or worse, speak to him.

He wanted bread, but not that badly.

The men were quickly back in the saddle, readying arms as the sun set. They resumed march, killing cories as they went with practiced precision.

Already, the demons were learning to avoid the open road, pacing the procession in the trees, watching. Wood demons were patient when prey could outrun them or fight back. Briar saw one demon up ahead swing into a large tree whose limbs stretched out over the road. The demon climbed quickly, perching hidden in the branches as it waited.

The cory let the fighting cavalry pass, but the count and baron rode behind the first ranks at a more stately pace. The others gave the two men a wide berth. Both were lost in their own thoughts. To the woodie in the tree, they might as well have targets painted on their backs.

Briar ran for the tree. Another woodie hissed and tried to block his way, but Briar flapped his open coat at it, and the fresh hogroot stains drove it away, coughing. Dropping his spear and shield, Briar put his foot on a knob in the tree trunk, climbing as quickly as the demon had. He chose his handholds carefully, making not a rustle or sound until he stepped out onto the branch where the demon waited.

The cory looked up as Briar gave a cry and ran out onto the branch, pulling the warded knife from his belt. The demon shifted to spring at him, but Briar was ready, coiling under the sweeping talons. He sprang, grabbing the woodie with one arm as his other thrust the knife into its barklike armor. Magic bucked up his arm, powering a frenzy of stabbing as Briar held his breath.

The cory was under him to break the impact as they struck the road, but it still knocked the wind from him. The fall might have injured him but for the magic coursing through his body. Briar rolled away from the demon and bounced to his feet, knife at the ready, but the woodie was not moving.

“Briar, where in the Core have you been?” Thamos demanded.

Briar looked at him, confused. “Ent been far.”

“I want you checking in regularly,” Thamos said. “Creator only knows how I’m to find the resistance if I lose you.”

It was a ridiculous statement. How could Briar lose track of so many men and horses? But he nodded before moving back into the trees.

“Li’l stinker killed a woodie that mighta cored us,” he heard Gared say. “Coulda said thanks before choppin’ his head off.”

Briar let himself be seen when the procession stopped for meals, taking his bowl and bread and disappearing once he was sure the count had taken note of him. It was a week by Messenger to the Hollow, but Thamos’ Wooden Soldiers did not sleep, absorbing magic enough by night to keep them moving through the day. The men grew increasingly irritable, but they shaved days from their trek, and were close to the Hollow by the third evening.

“Briar!” Thamos called as the boy slipped into the camp for his meal. “Join us!” He was sitting with Baron Gared and Lord Sament on a fallen log not far from the other men.

“Not too stinky?” Briar asked as he moved over to them.

“Ay, sorry about that,” Gared said. “Shoulda known yuv got ears like a bat.” He opened his coat, giving himself a sniff. “Ent none of us are smelling like roses after four days ridin’ an’ killin’ demons.” He glanced at the single carriage in the procession, carrying Miss Lacquer and her mother, and gave a slight smile. “Well, maybe one or two.”

“We’ll be in the Hollow by morning,” Thamos said. “We’ll take the day to prepare and leave the following morning. We’ll arrange rooms for you …”

Briar shook his head. “Guide folk to the Hollow sometimes. Know where the hogroot patches are.”