Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Renna looked at her curiously. “Catch what?”

“My tears!” she wailed.

It seemed a bizarre request, but Renna had seen the Krasian women doing this when they came for their dead after new moon. She unstoppered the vial, looking at its wide rim, the edge almost sharp, ideal for scraping a streaking tear from a cheek. She stepped close, catching one drop just before it fell, and then tracing its path back up with the vial’s edge.

Shanvah’s sobbing only increased, as if she were throwing herself intentionally into the emotion for this sole purpose. Fast as she was, Renna was hard-pressed to keep up. Shanvah filled two bottles before she was done.

“What happened to the demon?” Shanvah asked, when it was over.

“We killed it,” Renna said.

“You’re sure?” Shanvah pressed, leaning forward to grip her arm.

“Cut its head off myself,” Renna said.

Shanvah slumped back, looking as defeated as Renna had ever seen her, and she had beaten the woman unconscious just weeks earlier.

“Thank you,” Shanvah said.

Renna nodded, deciding it was best not to mention that she, too, had fought Enkido when they first met.

They reached Anoch Sun by the first morning of Waning. Arlen led them down to Kaji’s tomb, and they set to work preparing the chamber.

In the darkness beneath the sands, Anoch Sun was a place of strong magic, ancient and deep. It was embedded in every speck of dust, leached from the Core with powerful wards over thousands of years. Arlen reached tendrils of his own magic to join with it, and immediately felt the city come to life, like an extension of his own body. It hummed with power, lending him strength for the trials to come.

Jardir led a prayer to Everam, and Arlen swallowed his cynicism long enough to bow his head and be polite. He could see the honest belief in the auras of the Krasians, and the strength it gave them.

Even Renna shone with belief, in spite of all that had been done to her in the name of the Canon.

Night, wish I could share it. The others in the room were convinced they were marching in the Creator’s great plan. Arlen alone understood they were making things up as they went along.

“That’s enough,” he said at last, when it seemed the chanting would go on forever and he could stand it no more. “Night’s falling. Take your places, and no more noise.”

Jardir looked at him with irritation. The sun had not yet set. Still, he nodded. This was no time for discord. “The Par’chin speaks wisely.”

Shanjat and Shanvah had made an ambush pocket off to one side, cut from the wall, which Arlen had etched with wards of camouflage. The wall would appear unbroken to demon eyes.

Renna drew her Cloak of Unsight about herself and went to stand ready to one side of the small doorway into the tomb. Arlen moved to stand opposite her, cutting himself off from the magic of Anoch Sun, lest the coreling princes sense his presence.

The next hour, silent and still, was the longest of his life. As the minutes ticked by, he almost wished they could go back to prayers.

Night fell, but attack did not come right away. Arlen knew it was a risk, but after an hour he could not stand it, and opened himself up to the magic of Anoch Sun, reaching out his senses for sign of the enemy.

They were out there. Night, there were thousands of them.

The mind demons had been in his head. They knew the layout of the city, and exactly where the tomb of Kaji lay.

But they were in no hurry. They had three days to desecrate and destroy the city, and obviously meant to savor the task. The ground shook as the demons began to tear down the city.

All night Arlen and the others waited, silent and still, the deep, booming vibrations of the corelings’ assault their only company. But in the end, the demons never came anywhere near them.

They were saving Kaji for last.

Dawn came to find everyone tense and exhausted, massaging sore muscles as they looked questioningly at Arlen.

“You promised they would come, Par’chin,” Jardir growled. “Here! To this very spot! You swore on your honor. Instead I insult Kaji by hiding in—”

“They will!” Arlen insisted. “Didn’t you feel it? Tonight was just the opening act.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Jardir growled.

“City told me,” Arlen said.

Jardir’s glower became uncertain. “The … city? Are you mad, Par’chin?”

Arlen shrugged. “Reckon more’n a little, but not about this. There’s old magic here, Ahmann. Magic that’s been at the heart of this city since it was alive with your ancestors. Open yourself to it, and it will speak to you.”

Jardir spread his feet and closed his eyes. Arlen could see the magic flowing to him, but a few moments later he shook his head, opening his eyes to look at Arlen. “There is power as you say, Par’chin, but Anoch Sun is silent to me.”

Arlen looked to Renna, who had already closed her eyes and Drawn as Jardir had. After a minute she opened her eyes and shrugged.

“It’s there,” he asserted, shoving aside the very real possibility he might indeed be mad. “Just need to practice listening.”

“So what happened?” Renna asked.

“They’ve made a ring around the city,” Arlen said, “with the tomb at the center. Burning their way inward. Reach us soon enough. Won’t leave a stone intact by the end of Waning.”

“Think I might lose my mind spending another night on edge like that, much less two,” Renna said, moving for the doorway. “Goin’ up for some air.”

Arlen moved to block her way. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. Can’t have the demons pickin’ up our scent.”

“So what, we’re supposed to spend three days buried in a tomb?” Renna demanded.

“If that is what’s required,” Jardir said. “We will die in here, if need be.”

Arlen began to nod, but Jardir went on. “But I am not convinced that is what is required. I would see the devastation with my own eyes, to ensure the voice speaking to you is not your own madness. If the alagai are attacking with such abandon as to raze the entire city in a single Waning, then they are not snuffing about for scents.”

He strode to the exit, slow enough to give Arlen a chance to try and stop him, but his aura made clear it would be foolish to do so. Arlen nodded.

Carefully they removed the heavy warded stone fitted in the entryway and went up to the surface, where a grim sight awaited them.

Jardir looked over the devastation of Anoch Sun with a heavy heart. The Par’chin had accused his people of destroying the place—not without cause—but the Krasians had barely scratched the surface compared to the wrath of the alagai princes.

The minds had let their drones play, digging up buried sandstone only to grind and burn it back down to sand and glass. As the Par’chin had said, a ring of destruction miles wide circled the area like a moat. A deep crater was filled with the pulverized remains of what had once been a sprawling and vibrant city. There was no piece of rubble larger than Shanvah’s small fist.

Save for the bodies.

At the edge of the ring, the demons had laid the sarcophagi of Anoch Sun’s great leaders as each was stripped from its tomb. Jardir lifted the lid from one, then turned away in horror, dropping the lid to gag.

Inside, the sarcophagus was filled to the rim with an oily back filth, the stench of which was overpowering. Jardir had to forcibly swallow back the remains of his last meal, putting his silk night veil up over his mouth and nose.

It did little to help. His eyes stung and teared from the noxious fumes, but he forced himself to step close again, seeing bits of the cloth used to wrap his ancestor’s body floating in the muck. Khanjin, Kaji’s second cousin and one of the sacred twelve, lay within, desecrated.