Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The seats and couches were great pillowed things—so soft. Heath said he was not allowed to sit lest he stain them with hogroot sap, but Briar walked close to a velvet sofa as they passed by, shivering with pleasure as he ran his fingertips along its length.

Great shelves of lacquered goldwood ran floor-to-ceiling along the walls, holding countless books. Heath had been trying to teach him to read, but Briar was more interested in the pictures.

The Shepherd was waiting for them in the back office with two other men.

Briar’s father, Relan, had taught him all about bowing. The Shepherd’s was deep and long enough to be respectful, without relinquishing dominance. The bow of an equal.

“An honor to meet you, Your Highness,” the Shepherd said. “We hoped Briar would bring back help, but hadn’t expected royalty.”

“Or so many Wooden Soldiers,” one of the other men said. He was midsized, with a fine coat. He stood with his feet spread like one more used to the rolling of a ship’s deck than dry land. “And cavalry, no less! It seems the Creator answers prayers, after all.”

“Dockmaster Isan,” Shepherd Alin advised, gesturing to the man, “and his brother, Captain Marlan.”

Thamos put his hands out in the way Laktonian captains favored, and they gripped arms just beneath the elbow. “Please accept my condolences, and those of the ivy throne, over the loss of your mother.”

Marlan spit, ignoring the irritated look Alin threw his way. “She wasn’t lost. She was murdered.”

“Of course.” Thamos turned to Sament. “May I introduce Lord Sament of Miln, who has brought fifty Mountain Spears.”

“It is good that you’ve come,” Alin said. “What happens here concerns all the Free Cities.”

“You don’t need to convince me of that,” Sament said. “Euchor may be another matter.”

“What he needs is a victory,” a new voice added. Briar looked up and smiled widely as Captain Dehlia entered the room with another richly dressed man in tow.

“Captain Dehlia of Sharum’s Lament, ” Heath said. “She’s been a thorn in the Krasians’ side since they first came to Docktown.”

“Thanks to Briar,” Dehlia said, running her fingers through Briar’s tangled hair. “Boy’s been sneaking into town for us, spying on the enemy and telling us where to hit.”

She put an arm around him, hugging him close, heedless of the sticky hogroot stains on his clothes. Briar didn’t like to be touched, but when it was Captain Dehlia, he found he didn’t mind so much.

Shepherd Alin gestured to the new arrival. “Egar—”

“—third son of Duke Edon of Rizon,” Thamos finished, as the men embraced each other. “We feared you dead, my friend.”

Egar shook his head. “After the Krasians struck the capital, I gathered as many fighting men as I could and fled onto the plains. We strike where we can and melt away before the desert rats can catch us.”

“How many men do you have?” Thamos asked.

“I can call five thousand spears, given enough time,” Egar said.

Thamos squinted at him. “Why are you here, and not in Rizon with your men?”

“Because,” Isan cut in, “it’s time we retook Docktown.”

“It was Briar who made it all possible,” Shepherd Alin said. They were descending what seemed an endless spiral of stairs, past the foundations of the monastery and into the natural caverns of the bluff.

“He discovered the enemy force scouting the lakeshore,” Isan said, “giving us time to prepare an ambush. We captured or killed over two hundred men that day. Our greatest victory to date.”

They came to a great cavern, cold and damp, the air rank. Briar looked in horror at dozens of Krasian warriors chained to the walls, faces and limbs emaciated.

“Creator,” Thamos said. “Don’t you feed these men?”

Marlan spit. “When we feed them, they try to escape. And why should they eat when so many above go hungry?”

Briar felt sick. The men, looking so much like his own father and brothers, lay listless and skeletal, soiled with their own filth. He had led the Laktonians to them knowing many of the invaders would be killed, but this …

“The ones who talk are fed,” Alin said. “My Tenders and Children all speak Krasian, but the lesser fighters knew little of use.”

He signaled the guards at the far end of the cavern, and they unlocked a heavy door.

Inside, a Krasian man was strapped tightly to a chair. His black turban and white veil were gone, but still Briar recognized the leader of the Krasian scouts. A narrow table in front of him, his hands were splayed out, each finger held tight in a tiny screw vise bolted to the wood. He was breathing evenly, but he was flushed and bathed in sweat. An old bespectacled man, still in the robes of an acolyte, tended the screws.

“This is Prince Icha,” Alin said. “He claims to be the third son of the demon of the desert himself, Krasian Duke Ahmann Jardir.”

“And when my father hears of this,” Icha growled in guttural but understandable Thesan, “he will visit these tortures one thousandfold on every man, woman, and child in the resistance.”

At a nod from Alin, the acolyte adjusted the screws until Icha began to howl. Another nod and he dialed them back until the Icha fell silent again, panting.

“Your father is dead,” Thamos said bluntly. “I watched Arlen Bales pitch him off a cliff.”

“My father is the Deliverer,” Icha said. “No fall can kill him. The Damajah has foreseen his return. Until then, my brother will be the instrument of his divine wrath.”

“How many men does your brother have in Lakton?” Thamos asked.

“More than there are fish in your lake,” Icha said. “More than there are stars in the sky. More—”

Alin flicked a finger, and the acolyte dialed him back into screams. The old man hunched over the screws with no more expression than Briar’s father mending a broken piece of furniture. Briar wanted to hit the man, or to run away and try to forget the scene. But he could not. He drew closer, and when the pain was at last dialed back, Icha looked up and met his eyes.

“The chin will be judged, Briar Damaj, but none so much as you,” Icha gasped. “Everam sends ginjaz to the depths of Nie’s abyss in the afterlife.”

“Not a traitor,” Briar said. “This is my home. You’re the chin. ”

But even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure he believed them. He had thought the Shepherd a good man, but what he was doing to the Krasian prisoners was abhorrent.

Perhaps it was time to go back to the bog. Life was easier alone with the cories.

Captain Dehlia put an arm around him. “Come along, Briar. Don’t listen to this animal. You know what they’ve done.”

Briar nodded, allowing himself to be led away, back through the freezing cavern full of starving Sharum.

“This hill,” Thamos said, pointing to the map. “Do you know it, Briar?”

Briar started. Lost in thoughts of the caverns below, he hadn’t been paying attention. He looked at the squiggled lines and blotches of color on the paper, but he could not make out what was meant to be a hill.

“Colan’s Rise,” Dehlia supplied.

Briar nodded. “Know it.”

“If we can position longbows there,” Thamos said, “they can cover the bulk of the port.”

“Lots of Sharum there,” Briar said. “Scorpions. Difficult to take.”

“Not for my cavalry,” Thamos said. “We can trample through and take the scorpions for our own, then continue down the road under covering fire to attack the town proper.”

Shepherd Alin nodded, sliding a finger down the map. “Drawn to the sounds of battle, they will not see your forces, Egar, coming from the south.”