The Skull Throne
Page 48
“Will it burn?” Jardir asked.
“Ay,” the Par’chin began, “but …”
“I will not leave my ancestors like this, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
“You will,” the Par’chin snapped. “Maybe you’re right and the corelings won’t scent us, but sure as the sun rises they’ll notice if we burn their little display. We go back. Now. Wait for them to come right to us, and then pay them back in person.”
Jardir wanted to argue. Every fiber of his being screamed to alleviate the dishonor to his holy ancestors. But the Par’chin was right. The only way he could hope to balance the scales was to make the alagai pay dearly for the insult.
Arlen kept feeling his chest constrict, and had to remind himself to breathe. He dared not touch the power of Anoch Sun to learn anything of the foe. It was the third night of Waning, and the sounds of destruction had grown ever closer, until it felt as if the whole chamber would collapse in on itself. Then abruptly the cacophony stopped, the only sound the dust still falling all about them.
Even without reaching out his magic, Arlen could sense the minds’ approach. Not just one, but many. Too many, if they did not claim every surprise and every advantage. Even then, perhaps.
Creator, he thought, feeling the fool even as he did, if you’re up there, now’s the time to throw in.
There was no response, of course. Arlen had not expected one, but this was one time he would have been glad to have been wrong.
Renna wiped the sweat from her palms on her tight-laced vest, flexing her fingers. Her hand kept drifting down to stroke the handle of her knife.
Across the room, Shanjat shifted his feet, adjusting his grip on his spear. Only Shanvah showed no sign of unease. She had not moved in hours, her aura so flat and even Arlen might have thought her sleeping, if nor for her open eyes.
There was a hissing outside, and the sound of scraping as the demons marred the wards barring their entry. Arlen looked at the wards of unsight he had set around the ambush pocket, wondering if they would be enough. He activated his own, and watched as Renna pulled her cloak in tight.
There was a boom as the great stone exploded inward, spraying the room with shrapnel. Renna cried out in surprise, but off to the side of the entrance, she was safe from the worst of it. Others were not so lucky. Shanvah got her shield up in time, but was knocked from her feet. A large chunk of stone struck Shanjat on the head, and he collapsed. Shanvah caught him as he fell, keeping him within the safety of the concealing wards, but it was clear he was out of the fight.
Dust was still falling when the mimic rolled into the room, shapeless, flowing over the floor like liquid. In normal light it would have looked like boiled tar, but in wardsight it was bright with core magic. Everyone tensed, watching, waiting to see if they were noticed.
It always felt thus when shielded by the magic, wondering if this would be the time the corelings pierced the veil. Arlen’s chest grew tight, and he forced himself to breathe.
But if the mimic sensed them, it gave no sign. It completed a circuit of the room, flowing around the great warded sarcophagus and returning to pool in the doorway. A lump grew in the center of that pool, and like a man climbing from a vat of molasses, the demon formed, rising until its shoulders nearly touched the low ceiling. It grew wide and squat, with short, powerful legs and long muscular arms ending in huge obsidian claws.
A mind demon entered the chamber and Arlen smiled, holding up a hand to stay the others until the time was right. The coreling was small, like the minds he had encountered, with spindly limbs and delicate claws. The horns on its huge, bulbous head were vestigial, and its gigantic eyes were inky, reflective pools.
His smile faded slightly as another mind entered the chamber. And another after that. They kept coming until the room was crowded with them, six in all. They moved toward the sarcophagus, and its wards began to glow fiercely, holding them at bay. Arlen could see the forbidding, an impenetrable barrier surrounding the stone like a bubble. The demons could get close, but not enough to touch. Kaji’s wards were too powerful.
The minds stood silently for a time, studying the wards, their knobbed craniums throbbing as they silently communicated with one another. Arlen could feel the vibrations in the air, but with his mind wards in place, it was a buzzing and nothing more.
Then, as one, they turned their backs and bent their knees. The stubs of what might once have been tails lifted, and there was a horrid squelch as they released a spray of black, oily feces.
The stench that filled the tiny room was overwhelming. Arlen’s eyes stung and teared, and his lungs burned with it. He envied the veils of the Krasians, though he doubted they helped much. There was a slight ripple in her camouflage as Renna put a hand to her mouth to keep from retching, but the corelings, intent on the sarcophagus, did not notice.
The mind demons glowed bright with magic, far more than the mimic, which held more power than any other demon breed. But coreling princes controlled their power completely, and relinquished none of it as they eliminated. The spray was magic-dead, covering the wards and blocking their power. Their glow dimmed and faded to nothing as they were covered. Open to the air, the vile stool quickly dried, hardening to a layer like crete.
Arlen readied himself. It was almost time. He forced his hand to keep from shaking as he prepared to give the sign. They would not have a second chance at this.
But a crunch of talon on dirt in the hall outside stayed him. Suddenly the other minds straightened and stepped away from the sarcophagus, moving close to the walls and kneeling, talons on the floor and necks bared as another mind entered. One stood so close Renna could reach out and touch him if she wished. Another was in spear’s reach of where Shanvah crouched protectively over her father’s unconscious form.
In physical appearance, this demon was little different from the others, small and frail with fine needle teeth and talons that seemed almost fragile, like an Angierian noblewoman’s painted nail.
But the power this one demon held was staggering. More than Arlen had ever sensed in a single creature, as much as a Hollow greatward. It might not have been a match for all six of the other minds, but it was close. Arlen knew the coreling princes had a hierarchy of sorts based on age and power, but in his only other experience it had been more one of grudging respect and slight deference than outright submission. This one must be ancient and strong indeed to make the others hug the walls and bare their necks.
Powerful enough to spot them despite the concealing wards? His muscles knotted, readying to attack at the slightest hint they were discovered. He felt the burning in his chest again, but did not dare to breathe as the demon passed him by, moving to stand before the sarcophagus.
Its cranium throbbed and the mimic was moving instantly, reaching out to grasp the heavy stone lid in its talons, tossing it aside. The powerful mind sprang with surprising grace and strength, leaping lightly to stand spread-legged, balanced atop the narrow rim as it looked down at the mummified form of its kind’s greatest foe. It squatted, its vestigial tail lifting to bare its anus.
And that was when Jardir, hidden in the coffin wrapped in his cloak of unsight, struck.
Before the demon even knew he was there, Jardir had snapped the shaft of the Spear of Kaji up between its legs, lifting it clear off its clawed feet. At the same instant, his crown activated, trapping it in an impenetrable buddle of energy as he leapt up and struck again.
“Ay,” the Par’chin began, “but …”
“I will not leave my ancestors like this, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
“You will,” the Par’chin snapped. “Maybe you’re right and the corelings won’t scent us, but sure as the sun rises they’ll notice if we burn their little display. We go back. Now. Wait for them to come right to us, and then pay them back in person.”
Jardir wanted to argue. Every fiber of his being screamed to alleviate the dishonor to his holy ancestors. But the Par’chin was right. The only way he could hope to balance the scales was to make the alagai pay dearly for the insult.
Arlen kept feeling his chest constrict, and had to remind himself to breathe. He dared not touch the power of Anoch Sun to learn anything of the foe. It was the third night of Waning, and the sounds of destruction had grown ever closer, until it felt as if the whole chamber would collapse in on itself. Then abruptly the cacophony stopped, the only sound the dust still falling all about them.
Even without reaching out his magic, Arlen could sense the minds’ approach. Not just one, but many. Too many, if they did not claim every surprise and every advantage. Even then, perhaps.
Creator, he thought, feeling the fool even as he did, if you’re up there, now’s the time to throw in.
There was no response, of course. Arlen had not expected one, but this was one time he would have been glad to have been wrong.
Renna wiped the sweat from her palms on her tight-laced vest, flexing her fingers. Her hand kept drifting down to stroke the handle of her knife.
Across the room, Shanjat shifted his feet, adjusting his grip on his spear. Only Shanvah showed no sign of unease. She had not moved in hours, her aura so flat and even Arlen might have thought her sleeping, if nor for her open eyes.
There was a hissing outside, and the sound of scraping as the demons marred the wards barring their entry. Arlen looked at the wards of unsight he had set around the ambush pocket, wondering if they would be enough. He activated his own, and watched as Renna pulled her cloak in tight.
There was a boom as the great stone exploded inward, spraying the room with shrapnel. Renna cried out in surprise, but off to the side of the entrance, she was safe from the worst of it. Others were not so lucky. Shanvah got her shield up in time, but was knocked from her feet. A large chunk of stone struck Shanjat on the head, and he collapsed. Shanvah caught him as he fell, keeping him within the safety of the concealing wards, but it was clear he was out of the fight.
Dust was still falling when the mimic rolled into the room, shapeless, flowing over the floor like liquid. In normal light it would have looked like boiled tar, but in wardsight it was bright with core magic. Everyone tensed, watching, waiting to see if they were noticed.
It always felt thus when shielded by the magic, wondering if this would be the time the corelings pierced the veil. Arlen’s chest grew tight, and he forced himself to breathe.
But if the mimic sensed them, it gave no sign. It completed a circuit of the room, flowing around the great warded sarcophagus and returning to pool in the doorway. A lump grew in the center of that pool, and like a man climbing from a vat of molasses, the demon formed, rising until its shoulders nearly touched the low ceiling. It grew wide and squat, with short, powerful legs and long muscular arms ending in huge obsidian claws.
A mind demon entered the chamber and Arlen smiled, holding up a hand to stay the others until the time was right. The coreling was small, like the minds he had encountered, with spindly limbs and delicate claws. The horns on its huge, bulbous head were vestigial, and its gigantic eyes were inky, reflective pools.
His smile faded slightly as another mind entered the chamber. And another after that. They kept coming until the room was crowded with them, six in all. They moved toward the sarcophagus, and its wards began to glow fiercely, holding them at bay. Arlen could see the forbidding, an impenetrable barrier surrounding the stone like a bubble. The demons could get close, but not enough to touch. Kaji’s wards were too powerful.
The minds stood silently for a time, studying the wards, their knobbed craniums throbbing as they silently communicated with one another. Arlen could feel the vibrations in the air, but with his mind wards in place, it was a buzzing and nothing more.
Then, as one, they turned their backs and bent their knees. The stubs of what might once have been tails lifted, and there was a horrid squelch as they released a spray of black, oily feces.
The stench that filled the tiny room was overwhelming. Arlen’s eyes stung and teared, and his lungs burned with it. He envied the veils of the Krasians, though he doubted they helped much. There was a slight ripple in her camouflage as Renna put a hand to her mouth to keep from retching, but the corelings, intent on the sarcophagus, did not notice.
The mind demons glowed bright with magic, far more than the mimic, which held more power than any other demon breed. But coreling princes controlled their power completely, and relinquished none of it as they eliminated. The spray was magic-dead, covering the wards and blocking their power. Their glow dimmed and faded to nothing as they were covered. Open to the air, the vile stool quickly dried, hardening to a layer like crete.
Arlen readied himself. It was almost time. He forced his hand to keep from shaking as he prepared to give the sign. They would not have a second chance at this.
But a crunch of talon on dirt in the hall outside stayed him. Suddenly the other minds straightened and stepped away from the sarcophagus, moving close to the walls and kneeling, talons on the floor and necks bared as another mind entered. One stood so close Renna could reach out and touch him if she wished. Another was in spear’s reach of where Shanvah crouched protectively over her father’s unconscious form.
In physical appearance, this demon was little different from the others, small and frail with fine needle teeth and talons that seemed almost fragile, like an Angierian noblewoman’s painted nail.
But the power this one demon held was staggering. More than Arlen had ever sensed in a single creature, as much as a Hollow greatward. It might not have been a match for all six of the other minds, but it was close. Arlen knew the coreling princes had a hierarchy of sorts based on age and power, but in his only other experience it had been more one of grudging respect and slight deference than outright submission. This one must be ancient and strong indeed to make the others hug the walls and bare their necks.
Powerful enough to spot them despite the concealing wards? His muscles knotted, readying to attack at the slightest hint they were discovered. He felt the burning in his chest again, but did not dare to breathe as the demon passed him by, moving to stand before the sarcophagus.
Its cranium throbbed and the mimic was moving instantly, reaching out to grasp the heavy stone lid in its talons, tossing it aside. The powerful mind sprang with surprising grace and strength, leaping lightly to stand spread-legged, balanced atop the narrow rim as it looked down at the mummified form of its kind’s greatest foe. It squatted, its vestigial tail lifting to bare its anus.
And that was when Jardir, hidden in the coffin wrapped in his cloak of unsight, struck.
Before the demon even knew he was there, Jardir had snapped the shaft of the Spear of Kaji up between its legs, lifting it clear off its clawed feet. At the same instant, his crown activated, trapping it in an impenetrable buddle of energy as he leapt up and struck again.
