The Daylight War
Page 140
But the princelings, eager for the favour of consort and Queen, had assured him they would have little trouble killing the minds and scattering their armies before their corruption could spread to the other breeding grounds. Their last report had them moving to strike.
And then, nothing.
The entire mind court had waited on their return, but there was only silence, and the growing realization of the unthinkable. That they failed was obvious, but that alone was not disgrace enough to prevent their return. Not when the Core could restore their power and replenish their drones, allowing them to return even stronger. The answer was far more ominous.
They had not simply failed, they had been destroyed.
The princelings had been young – weak by the standards of their brethren – but still cunning and cautious, in full control of their magic where the humans played with it like hatchlings drawing their first wards. How could they have been so utterly defeated?
The Queen had raged when the truth became clear. Every prince, from the weakest to the strongest, was a potential mate and precious to her, especially now. Her fury, and the incoherence with which she expressed it, made clear what his brethren had known for some time – she was close to laying, and soon the entire court would tear itself asunder as the princes fought for the right to imprint upon her egg sac.
The consort hated the surface, and hated more having to come here now. He should be at court, attending the Queen and keeping his rivals at bay, not up here tending stock that had forgotten it was food. But the Queen had demanded he go himself, and though her mind was confused this far in her cycle, it was still powerful enough to compel any demon fool enough to refuse her – if she did not kill them with a casual stroke of her claws. She owned him utterly, and he hated her for it.
He reached out, searching for the minds of the other coreling princes that had risen on the moonless night, many miles distant. Three to the north and three south; the consort had persuaded the Queen to send his greatest rivals to the surface with him to do his bidding as he put down the rebellion.
It was a risk. The farther the princes were from the Queen, the less her power over them. With every hour that passed, they would have more freedom to disobey her commands – and those of her consort. The fighting would make them stronger and more experienced, and amid the battle they might even take the opportunity to strike at one another. Feasting on the mind of a rival could double a prince’s power, perhaps even enough for one to grow bold enough to strike at him. They could even strike in unison. Few things could make the more powerful coreling princes work together, much less conspire to kill one of their own, but unseating a consort when a mating was near was one of them. The consort was stronger than any of them, but he was not stronger than all of them.
But for all the risks, it was better to remove them from court entirely. The Queen was bloated with eggs, and at any time she could croon her laying, sending them all into a frenzy to be the first to her side.
It was for this reason the consort had chosen the cave to direct the battle from. With the most direct path to the Core for a thousand miles, he could Draw powerfully enough to repel any assault, and march prisoners back down for its personal larder. If it came, he would hear the Queen’s call before the others on the surface, and be able to return to court faster.
He still would not be the first to her side, but the Queen would not choose instantly, and the consort had fought off challenges before. He was old, older than almost all the others combined, and the magic in his veins older still. He had fed on many minds, first his father, uncles, and brothers, then his sons and grandsons as subsequent matings came and went. He had cunning to match his raw power, and thousands of years of experience to draw upon.
He closed his eyes, cranium throbbing as he touched the minds of his generals. They were even less pleased than he, cut off from the Core’s magic – limited to what they could store within themselves and draw from vents and their subordinates. Enough to be a match for almost anything on the surface, but not without becoming vulnerable to their brethren. All were wary as they linked their surface thoughts with the consort.
He transmitted the senses of his wind drone spies, and immediately reports from the others began to flood his mind, feeding the results of their own drones’ reconnaissance. Battlegrounds were quickly chosen and preparations under way.
The consort withdrew from their minds, letting his generals conduct the details. A steady stream of information poured in as their efforts went on. The very air hummed with it.
Again he focused on the land in front of him, peering out from his guarded cave. How many centuries had passed since he last felt the need to visit the surface? He breathed in its stink with his own nostrils, and with it came a scent that moistened his teeth.
Humans.
It took only a moment for the consort to pinpoint them, not even needing the use of drones. The small village, far from the travelled paths, had hidden itself well from the bloodshed that came with any unification, but though its wards of protection were strong, there were no mind wards. He was able to slip into the consciousness of the villagers as easily as a mimic might take their shape.
With a pulse of command, every male, female, and juvenile in the village stopped whatever it was doing and quietly gathered as much food and water as they could carry, then walked out beyond the protection of the village’s wards, joining the others as they silently followed the demon’s call.
The path they followed was thick with drones, drawn to the consort’s presence like magic to a ward, but the humans marched unmolested through the thick forest and up the high hill. Soon they stood gathered before the cave mouth, staring blankly.
It was a simple matter to single out their leader, though this one was no mind. Unresistant, he stumbled towards his doom. One of the mimics grabbed him, growing a curved claw to sever the human’s neck, letting the rest of the body fall. It came forward, peeling open the skull to present it to its master.
The consort slipped his delicate talons into the skull, scooping out the sweet meat and shovelling it into his mouth. The meat was tough, veined with the meaningless needs and wants of its kind, traits long since bred from the consort’s personal larder. He had forgotten how different surface stock could taste, and savoured every thought and emotion of the man’s lifetime as he licked the sticky fluid from his teeth.
He looked to the other humans, over two hundred of them, and felt a rush of pleasure. What would his brethren at court pay for a taste of the surface?
His cranium pulsed as he impressed his will deeper into the minds of the humans, imparting upon them precise instructions. One by one, they shouldered their burdens and began squeezing into the fissure at the back of the cave. As they passed, he imparted a touch of his scent upon them so that no creature, demon or otherwise, would dare molest them on their long march down to the Core.
It was late in the afternoon, the last day before new moon, as Leesha watched Araine’s royal armourer go about Wonda’s final fitting.
Leesha had spent many sleepless nights working on it, adding to the already powerful forbidding wards of strength, speed, and misdirection. If she stood still, coreling eyes would slide off her the way men’s eyes slid off a woman’s face when her dress was cut low. The suit would Draw upon ambient magic as well as that of corelings that attacked her, and the slivers of demon bone she had worked into the lacquer would act as batteries when those other sources were lacking.
And then, nothing.
The entire mind court had waited on their return, but there was only silence, and the growing realization of the unthinkable. That they failed was obvious, but that alone was not disgrace enough to prevent their return. Not when the Core could restore their power and replenish their drones, allowing them to return even stronger. The answer was far more ominous.
They had not simply failed, they had been destroyed.
The princelings had been young – weak by the standards of their brethren – but still cunning and cautious, in full control of their magic where the humans played with it like hatchlings drawing their first wards. How could they have been so utterly defeated?
The Queen had raged when the truth became clear. Every prince, from the weakest to the strongest, was a potential mate and precious to her, especially now. Her fury, and the incoherence with which she expressed it, made clear what his brethren had known for some time – she was close to laying, and soon the entire court would tear itself asunder as the princes fought for the right to imprint upon her egg sac.
The consort hated the surface, and hated more having to come here now. He should be at court, attending the Queen and keeping his rivals at bay, not up here tending stock that had forgotten it was food. But the Queen had demanded he go himself, and though her mind was confused this far in her cycle, it was still powerful enough to compel any demon fool enough to refuse her – if she did not kill them with a casual stroke of her claws. She owned him utterly, and he hated her for it.
He reached out, searching for the minds of the other coreling princes that had risen on the moonless night, many miles distant. Three to the north and three south; the consort had persuaded the Queen to send his greatest rivals to the surface with him to do his bidding as he put down the rebellion.
It was a risk. The farther the princes were from the Queen, the less her power over them. With every hour that passed, they would have more freedom to disobey her commands – and those of her consort. The fighting would make them stronger and more experienced, and amid the battle they might even take the opportunity to strike at one another. Feasting on the mind of a rival could double a prince’s power, perhaps even enough for one to grow bold enough to strike at him. They could even strike in unison. Few things could make the more powerful coreling princes work together, much less conspire to kill one of their own, but unseating a consort when a mating was near was one of them. The consort was stronger than any of them, but he was not stronger than all of them.
But for all the risks, it was better to remove them from court entirely. The Queen was bloated with eggs, and at any time she could croon her laying, sending them all into a frenzy to be the first to her side.
It was for this reason the consort had chosen the cave to direct the battle from. With the most direct path to the Core for a thousand miles, he could Draw powerfully enough to repel any assault, and march prisoners back down for its personal larder. If it came, he would hear the Queen’s call before the others on the surface, and be able to return to court faster.
He still would not be the first to her side, but the Queen would not choose instantly, and the consort had fought off challenges before. He was old, older than almost all the others combined, and the magic in his veins older still. He had fed on many minds, first his father, uncles, and brothers, then his sons and grandsons as subsequent matings came and went. He had cunning to match his raw power, and thousands of years of experience to draw upon.
He closed his eyes, cranium throbbing as he touched the minds of his generals. They were even less pleased than he, cut off from the Core’s magic – limited to what they could store within themselves and draw from vents and their subordinates. Enough to be a match for almost anything on the surface, but not without becoming vulnerable to their brethren. All were wary as they linked their surface thoughts with the consort.
He transmitted the senses of his wind drone spies, and immediately reports from the others began to flood his mind, feeding the results of their own drones’ reconnaissance. Battlegrounds were quickly chosen and preparations under way.
The consort withdrew from their minds, letting his generals conduct the details. A steady stream of information poured in as their efforts went on. The very air hummed with it.
Again he focused on the land in front of him, peering out from his guarded cave. How many centuries had passed since he last felt the need to visit the surface? He breathed in its stink with his own nostrils, and with it came a scent that moistened his teeth.
Humans.
It took only a moment for the consort to pinpoint them, not even needing the use of drones. The small village, far from the travelled paths, had hidden itself well from the bloodshed that came with any unification, but though its wards of protection were strong, there were no mind wards. He was able to slip into the consciousness of the villagers as easily as a mimic might take their shape.
With a pulse of command, every male, female, and juvenile in the village stopped whatever it was doing and quietly gathered as much food and water as they could carry, then walked out beyond the protection of the village’s wards, joining the others as they silently followed the demon’s call.
The path they followed was thick with drones, drawn to the consort’s presence like magic to a ward, but the humans marched unmolested through the thick forest and up the high hill. Soon they stood gathered before the cave mouth, staring blankly.
It was a simple matter to single out their leader, though this one was no mind. Unresistant, he stumbled towards his doom. One of the mimics grabbed him, growing a curved claw to sever the human’s neck, letting the rest of the body fall. It came forward, peeling open the skull to present it to its master.
The consort slipped his delicate talons into the skull, scooping out the sweet meat and shovelling it into his mouth. The meat was tough, veined with the meaningless needs and wants of its kind, traits long since bred from the consort’s personal larder. He had forgotten how different surface stock could taste, and savoured every thought and emotion of the man’s lifetime as he licked the sticky fluid from his teeth.
He looked to the other humans, over two hundred of them, and felt a rush of pleasure. What would his brethren at court pay for a taste of the surface?
His cranium pulsed as he impressed his will deeper into the minds of the humans, imparting upon them precise instructions. One by one, they shouldered their burdens and began squeezing into the fissure at the back of the cave. As they passed, he imparted a touch of his scent upon them so that no creature, demon or otherwise, would dare molest them on their long march down to the Core.
It was late in the afternoon, the last day before new moon, as Leesha watched Araine’s royal armourer go about Wonda’s final fitting.
Leesha had spent many sleepless nights working on it, adding to the already powerful forbidding wards of strength, speed, and misdirection. If she stood still, coreling eyes would slide off her the way men’s eyes slid off a woman’s face when her dress was cut low. The suit would Draw upon ambient magic as well as that of corelings that attacked her, and the slivers of demon bone she had worked into the lacquer would act as batteries when those other sources were lacking.
