Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The Mountain Spears retook the gatehouse in minutes, flowing up to the wall tops and spreading out, reloading with practiced precision.

The enemy forces were in disarray, the cavalry riding back through the ranks of infantry that had been on the march in their wake. The Mehnding looked confused, unsure where to direct their fire and perhaps wondering if they, too, should flee.

That moment’s confusion was all the Mountain Spears needed. They opened fire on the sling and stinger teams first, and even the wood and hammered steel of their shields was no protection. They were devastated, collapsed torn and bloody atop their engines of war.

Again the Mountain Spears began to reload. Five hundred men, each with three shots to their flamework weapons, and they had reloaded how many times now? Four? Leesha had to grip the windowsill for balance as she sloshed up again.

“Time we got back to the palace, mistress,” Wonda said as a dozen Mountain Spears finally unbarred the door, marching past the flustered archers to take position at the windows.

Leesha nodded, hurrying for the door, but she was not quick enough, wincing with every blast of the flamework weapons.

Leesha was pale and worn by the time she returned to her chambers. She knew she should find Araine and report, but there seemed little point. The Krasians were broken, and the whole city would know it soon enough.

The horror of it all kept flashing in her memory. The Mountain Spears firing at the backs of fleeing Krasians. Levies brutally finishing off the wounded.

Bodies blown apart by her thunderstick.

Was she any better than Euchor? She had preached for years about why the Herb Gatherers kept the secrets of fire, but when truly pressed, she had not hesitated to kill with them. She was a Weed Gatherer. A better killer than healer.

Wonda kept her bow in hand, even as they passed through the halls of the women’s wing. None challenged them. The two women were filthy and reeking of blood and smoke, but immediately recognizable to all.

Wonda opened the door, and all Leesha could see was the inner door to her bedchamber. She made for it directly.

But the moment Wonda closed the door she let out a yelp. Leesha turned to see her on the floor, somehow pinned helplessly by tiny Sikvah. The rooms around her had been ransacked.

Amanvah appeared in front of her. “Where are they?!”

“Where are what?” Leesha demanded.

Kendall came out of Wonda’s room. “They ent hidden in there.”

“Ay!” Wonda yelled from where Sikvah held her prone.

“Sorry, Won.” Kendall shrugged.

“Where have you hidden my hora pouch?” Amanvah snapped, drawing Leesha’s eyes back to her. She did not wait for an answer, hands digging at the pockets of Leesha’s apron.

“Take your hands off me!” Leesha tried to shove the woman away, but Amanvah diverted the attack easily, glancing up only long enough to punch a knuckle into Leesha’s shoulder. The limb went numb a moment, then filled with tingling. It would recover shortly, but for now it hung limp, useless.

“Ah!” Amanvah held up her hora pouch and turned from Leesha as if she were no further matter. “Kendall! Sikvah!”

Sikvah let Wonda go, and the women followed obediently as Amanvah headed for Leesha’s bedchamber. It was only then Leesha realized the young dama’ting’s pristine white robe was soaked with blood.

Wonda was up in an instant, a long knife in her hand. Leesha raised an arm to forestall her. “Amanvah, what’s happened?”

Amanvah looked back. “Come and bear witness, daughter of Erny. This concerns you, too.”

Leesha and Wonda exchanged a worried look, but followed cautiously after.

Sikvah had overthrown the bed, clearing the floor and putting the mattresses over the thickly curtained windows. Leesha slipped her warded spectacles back on as the door was closed, leaving them in utter darkness.

Amanvah knelt in the center of the room, bathed in the red glow of her dice. She was covered in blood, but none of it seemed to be her own. She gripped a bloody wad of her robe and squeezed, hand coming away soaked red. She slipped the alagai hora into that hand and began to roll them in her palm, coating them.

“Whose blood is that?” Leesha asked, dread growing in the pit of her stomach. Her baby roiled as if it meant to kick itself free.

“Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, your blessed son, Rojer son of Jessum of the Inns of Riverbridge, son-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka and my honored husband, has been murdered.”

Leesha’s throat constricted at the words, and she thought she might choke. Rojer? Dead? Impossible.

Her thoughts were cut off as Amanvah continued. “Where must Sikvah lie in wait for the one responsible, that our vengeance be swift in bringing him to your infinite justice?”

She cast, and there was a flash of magic as the dice were twisted to fate’s pattern. Leesha did not believe the messages were Heaven-sent, but she could not deny the alagai hora had very real power.

Amanvah studied the symbols a moment, then looked to Sikvah. “The lavatory in the southeast corridor, fourth floor.”

Sikvah nodded and vanished. Even in wardsight her aura changed, becoming a blank veil of energy, blending like a Cloak of Unsight with her surroundings. There was the barest blur as she slipped from the door, somehow not letting light into the room in the process.

“She’s going to kill someone?!” Leesha demanded, grabbing Amanvah’s wrist as she gathered up her dice for another throw.

Amanvah gripped the dice in her fist and rotated her wrist, reversing the grip and bending Leesha’s wrist back so far Leesha feared it would break. The pain was intense, making it difficult to think.

“Do not touch me again,” Amanvah said, releasing her with a shove back. Wonda moved forward, but a glare from Amanvah checked her.

“Yes,” Amanvah went on. “Sikvah is doing what I should have ordered her to do months ago. Destroy the enemies of the son of Jeph. It is my failure, and now honored Coliv and blessed Rojer are on the lonely path.”

“Amanvah,” Leesha said, “if someone killed Rojer, we can tell …”

Amanvah hissed, cutting her off. “I am through waiting for corrupt chin justice while our enemies strike. I need neither assistance or permission to avenge my husband.”

“And suffer the same fate?” Leesha asked. “I cannot help you if you have this man murdered.”

Amanvah gave her a withering look. “You can, and you will.” She pointed to Leesha’s belly. “Your child has cousins growing even now in my and Sikvah’s wombs. Children of the son of Jessum, tied to yours with blood. Will you trust them to your chin justice?”

Leesha stared at her, knowing she was beaten, but hating to admit it. “Corespawn you, no.”

Leesha hadn’t needed to fake her weeping at the sight of Rojer brought down from the tower. She’d thought herself drained of tears forever after the massacre in the courtyard, but seeing her friend, pale and bloody, brought new reserves. She had waited too long, thinking Rojer safe in the South Tower. Amanvah was right. She should have pressed harder.

“Rojer dead in the tower,” Araine said later at tea. “Janson found sliced open on the commode.”

“Both within hours of each other,” Lorain noted, “right under our noses.”

“Let us not forget a dozen palace guards,” Leesha noted. “One of whom murdered my friend in his cell after you agreed to his release. Men who reported to Janson for orders and pay. Why were a dozen armed guards crammed into Rojer’s cell, do you think?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Araine said. “What I do know is that they are dead. Palace guards, Leesha. My guards. Dead, while Amanvah is missing.”