Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“I had a hundred thousand people to feed, and nothing here to sustain them,” Jardir said. He was keeping his outward calm, but his words were beginning to tighten. “We had to work fast. There was no time to peel the layers of the city back with brushes and hand tools.”

He looked curiously at Arlen. “How did you manage it, Par’chin? There is nothing to eat here, and without baggage, you cannot have carried much from the Oasis of Dawn.”

Arlen was thankful his aura was hidden in the morning sun. The question cut close to one of the few secrets he was not yet willing to share with Jardir. Likely he never would. He had eaten demon meat to sustain himself in the weeks he spent in Anoch Sun, something he knew the Krasians would never understand, despite the power it brought.

“Went out and brought back supplies,” Arlen said. It wasn’t a lie, precisely.

He shook his head to clear it. There was nothing to be gained, continuing to bicker. They needed to work together, now more than ever. He glanced at Shanjat and Shanvah to find their predatory eyes locked on him and Renna, as if awaiting Jardir’s command to kill them while the sun kept their full powers at bay.

But Jardir gave no such command. For better or worse, they were allies.

“Just as well you took anything of value,” Arlen said, “now that the demons know of it. That’s my fault, I’ll admit. Let them get in my head.”

“ Inevera, ” Jardir said. “It may be your failing is what saves us. Just this once, we know where our enemy will strike. Just this once, we have advantage. We must seize it.”

“First thing we need to do is find a spot near the tomb to stake the horses,” Arlen said. “We’ll paint wards of unsight around the place. Might need to ride out of here in a hurry.”

“And then what?” Jardir asked.

“We go to Kaji’s tomb and dig a secret exit,” he said. “Then we find places to hide, and we wait.”

“And then?” Jardir asked.

Arlen blew out a breath. Core if I know.

“Bit to the left,” Renna said, looking down the shaft of the arrow Shanvah pointed to the sky. “Wind’s stronger that high. Got to account for it.”

She stood behind the younger woman, raised on the balls of her feet to put her sight in line with Shanvah’s. Renna had never thought herself short, but even the average Krasian was tall by Tibbet’s Brook standards. Her heel was only a little off the ground, but she resented that inch.

Shanvah accepted the correction with a nod, and loosed. Her arrow arced high over the dunes, then came down hard on the sand-filled bag they were using as a target. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but from such distance it was impressive nonetheless.

“How did you learn this?” Shanvah asked, lowering her bow. There was more respect in her tone now, though Renna was not fool enough to think them friends. “By your own words, you were no warrior until recently, but you handle that weapon too comfortably for the Par’chin to have been your only teacher.”

Renna shook her head. “My da taught me. Wern’t always enough food to go around back home. Everyone who liked eatin’ needed to go out and hunt sometimes.”

Shanvah nodded. “Among my people, women were not allowed to even touch weapons until recently. You are fortunate to have had such a father. What was his name?”

“Harl.” Renna spat. “But wern’t no fortune in him as a da.”

“In Krasia, we carry the honor of our fathers, daughter of Harl,” Shanvah said. “The pride of their victories, and the shame of their failures.”

“Got a lot to make up for, then,” Renna said.

“If we succeed tonight,” Shanvah said, “you will have cleaned the slate and dipped it in gold, even if your father is Alagai Ka himself.”

“Far as me and my sisters went, might as well have been.” Renna felt a throb in her temple. Thoughts of her father, of that corespawned farm, always made her angry. Less the memories themselves than the reminder they brought. The reminder of the old Renna. Weak. Scared. Useless. Sometimes she wished that part of her was a limb she could cut away and cast off forever.

Shanvah was staring at her. Why were she and Shanvah sharing stories like square girls, anyway? They might need to fight the same side, but neither trusted the other, and Renna saw no reason for that to change.

“You said you faced one of them,” Shanvah said. “An alagai prince.”

As if talk of Harl’s farm hadn’t been personal enough. Renna remembered the horror, the violation, as the demon had taken over her mind, burrowing deep and nestling in like a tomato bug. It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, but this, Shanvah had a right to know. Soon she would be face-to-face with them.

“Ay,” Renna said. “Keep your mind wards sharp that night. Paint ’em right on your brow. Don’t trust a headband. They get inside your mind, swallowing everything that makes you … you. Swallow it, and then spit out just the parts that cut the ones you love.”

Shanvah nodded. “But you killed it.”

Renna bared her teeth, magic boiling in her blood at the memory. “Arlen killed it. I put my knife right through its ripping back, and it kept fighting.”

“How is my bow supposed to make a difference against such a creature?” Shanvah asked.

Renna shrugged. “Honest word? Probably won’t. Against a mind demon, you strike a killing blow, or you might as well not have struck at all. Wouldn’t trust that to a bow.”

She looked at Shanvah. “But the minds are for Arlen and Jardir to worry about.” Shanvah stiffened at the informal reference to her uncle, but she kept her mouth closed. “Up to us to keep their guards away while it’s done,” Renna went on. “Minds can call other demons from miles around, and make ’em fight smart.”

Shanvah nodded. “So I have been told.”

“You heard about their bodyguards?” Renna asked. “The mimics?”

“Only whispers,” Shanvah said.

“Smarter’n other corelings,” Renna said. “Able to lead and summon lesser demons, but that ent the worst of it.”

“Shapeshifters,” Shanvah whispered, as much a question as a statement.

Renna nodded. “Turn into anything they can think of. One second you’re fighting the biggest damn rock demon you ever saw, and a second later it’s got tentacles, or wings. Think you got a grip and suddenly it’s a snake. Think you’ve got help coming, but in the blink of an eye it looks just like you, and your friends don’t know who to shoot.”

Shanvah gave no sign, but a trickle of fear came into her scent, and that was good. She needed to know what was coming and respect it, if she was going to live.

“Last one I fought killed over two dozen men before we brought it down,” Renna said. “Cut through a unit of dal’Sharum like a nightwolf in a henhouse. Killed half a dozen, along with Drillmaster Kaval and Enkido. And more Cutters than I can remember. Hadn’t been for Rojer and …”

She broke off, looking at Shanvah’s wide eyes. The young woman had stopped listening, staring at her openmouthed. Her scent changed dramatically, filling with mounting horror and grief as tears began to well in her eyes. It was more emotion than Renna had ever seen her show.

“What’d I say?” Renna asked.

Shanvah looked at her silently for a long time, her mouth moving slowly, as if needing to limber before forming words.

“Master Enkido is dead?” she asked.

Renna nodded, and Shanvah wailed. It went on till her breath caught, and she coughed out a sob.

She fumbled desperately at a pouch on her belt even as she wept, producing a tiny glass vial that slipped from her shaking fingers.

Renna caught the vial before it hit the ground, holding it out to her, but Shanvah made no move to take it. “Please,” she begged. “Catch them before they are lost.”