Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Darsy coughed, her face reddening. Leesha pretended not to notice, giving her time to collect herself. The reaction told Leesha she didn’t compliment the woman nearly enough. Darsy vexed her at times, but every word she’d said was true, and Darsy deserved to hear it.

As they reached the council chamber, she turned to Darsy one last time. “The Gathering is set?”

Darsy nodded. “Every hospit will have apprentices covering the day. Almost every Gatherer is planning to attend.”

Leesha smiled. “Not a word of it inside.”

Darsy nodded. “Gatherers’ business.”

The other council members were already in attendance when they opened the door. Lord Arther led the way as the men rose to their feet and bowed, waiting for Leesha to sit before doing the same. Such formalities seemed out of place in the Hollow, but Thamos expected no less in his council chambers, and Arther had browbeat even the most stubborn until they adapted.

It was said in Angiers one always knew where they stood with a host by the chair they were given. There were twelve seats around the great table. Rojer, Lord Arther, Captain Gamon, Hary Roller, Smitt, Darsy, and Erny all sat in armless chairs, their legs and hard backs carved of fine goldwood in the ivy scrollwork of the Angierian royal family. The feathered cushions were green silk embroidered in brown and gold.

Inquisitor Hayes and Baron Gared faced each other at the middle of the table, both with narrow, high-back armchairs to denote their status. The Tender sat with quiet dignity on his velvet cushion. Child Franq was at his side, sitting on a simple backless stool, his posture perfect. Gared looked squeezed into his, like an adult in a throne built for a child. His legs stretched far under the table, and his huge hands seemed in constant danger of snapping the arms off if he moved too quickly.

Leesha’s chair at the foot of the table wasn’t quite a throne, but it was far more than would normally ever be accorded to a Royal Gatherer. It was wider than the baron and Inquisitor’s together, soft-cushioned and richly upholstered with wide arms and room for her to curl her legs under her if she wished.

But if Leesha felt her chair ostentatious, she had only to look at the gold-and-velvet monstrosity of Thamos’ throne at the head of the table, looming over the other chairs like Gared loomed over other men. Even empty as it was now, it was a reminder to all of his power.

A few minutes later, a boy came in to signal Lord Arther, who again was the first to stand at attention. The others followed, and all bowed as the count entered. Leesha gave him a wry smile as she dipped into her curtsy.

“Apologies for keeping you waiting,” Thamos said, meaning no such thing. No doubt he had paced his room, counting to a thousand after the pages informed him the last of his council was seated. “Arther, what is first on the agenda?”

Arther made a show of consulting his writing board, though of course he knew it all by heart. They had rehearsed while dressing.

“The same as ever, Highness. Elections, land, and entitlements.” Arther had learned to mask much of his distaste at that last word, but his lips still puckered as if it soured his tongue. “Mistress Leesha’s invitation to the Laktonians continues to grow the population of Hollow County at an alarming rate.”

Entitlements. Leesha hated the word, too, but not for the same reason as Arther. It was a cold word, used by those with full bellies to bemoan feeding those without.

Leesha smiled. “The Hollow is strong, my lord. Not just because of our leaders, or our magic. It is people that give us that strength, and we must welcome with open arms as many as will come. Already Cutter’s Hollow and three other baronies are off the program, and providing substantial tax revenue to Hollow County.”

“Four out of nearly twenty, mistress,” Arther noted. “Three more still being rebuilt, and another dozen in their infancy. The cost exceeds the revenue by a firm margin.”

“Enough,” Thamos said. “I was sent here to grow Hollow County, and that work cannot be done on empty stomachs.”

“Nor shall it,” Leesha said. “The fertilizers and farming techniques Darsy and I prepared this summer more than tripled our yield. They will be implemented in every barony before spring.” Silently, she thanked her mentor Bruna for the books of old world science that made much of it possible.

She looked to Smitt. “How are the rabbits breeding?”

Smitt laughed. “Like you’d expect. Bees and chicks, too. Shipments go out like clockwork. We’ve got hives, burrows, and hatcheries in every barony. Even the ones that are just a bunch of tents.”

Thamos looked to Gared. “Baron, how are the Cutters progressing on the new greatwards?”

“Should finish another this week,” Gared said. “Land’s mostly clear, just digging foundations and clipping the hedges.” Clipping the hedges was the Cutter term for shaping the outer perimeter of the tree line to meet the exact specifications of the Warders. He cocked his head toward Erny, who had been made master of the Hollow Warders’ Guild.

The difference between the two men was multiplied tenfold by the difference in their seats. Leesha’s father looked like a mouse next to a wolf.

Again Leesha’s mind flashed back to the night she had caught Gared and her mother coupling. She shook her head sharply to throw off the image. No one else noticed, but Thamos raised an eyebrow at her. She forced a smile and winked in return.

“The ward should activate in the next day or two,” Erny said, “but the area is well patrolled. Now that new moon is past, folk can begin moving in and building. We won’t have full potency until buildings, walls, and fences reinforce the shape.”

Arther passed Thamos a list. “These are the proposed names for the new baronies, and the barons and baronesses elected to lead them for your approval. All are willing to kneel and swear oath to you and to the ivy throne.”

Thamos grunted, glancing at the paper. He was still not pleased about letting the refugees elect their own leaders, but the count and the Wooden Soldiers he brought to the Hollow were fighting men, not politicians. Better to let the groups govern themselves as much as possible, so long as they kept the peace and did their part for Hollow County.

“And recruitment?” Thamos asked.

“Got men making the rounds at every barony, letting folk know there’s training to help protect their own if they join the Cutters. Raw wood comes in every day, and more men are ready to stand each night.”

Thamos looked to Smitt. “And how are we equipping the raw wood? Have the weapons shortages continued?”

“The fletchers are struggling to keep up with demand, Highness, but we have more than enough spears.” Smitt glanced at Erny. “The delay is in warding them.”

Erny set his mouth as all eyes turned on him. He might not stand up for himself with his wife, but at the council table, he was not to be trifled with. “I’ll leave it to Your Highness to decide which takes longer, making a stick, or warding it. My Warders are working as fast as they can, but we don’t have nearly enough to meet demand.”

Thamos was not cowed. “Then train more.”

“We are,” Erny said. “Hundreds, but one doesn’t learn wardcraft overnight. Would you want to wager your life on a first-year student’s warding?”

Smitt coughed, breaking the tension and drawing attention back to himself. “These things take time, of course. There will be more horses, in the meantime.”

Thamos sat up at that. He had lost his favorite horse, and much of his cavalry, at new moon six weeks past. He had bought a giant Angierian mustang much like Gared’s own stallion Rockslide since, and he talked of it so often Leesha had once suggested he might prefer sticking the mare to her.