The Skull Throne
Page 83
“You have to tell me these things, Wonda,” Leesha said. “Now more than ever, you need to tell me everything. The magic is affecting you, and we need to make sure it’s safe, for all their sakes.”
And for mine, she thought. And my baby.
“You haven’t slept in over a week,” Leesha said. Few of the Cutters had. Wherever demon fighting was thickest for refugees on the road, Wonda and Gared were there with the original Cutters, those who had stood with Arlen at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. By night, the wards cut into their horses’ hooves ate the miles as they tracked packs of demons hunting the refugees, destroying them before they could strike. By day they helped guide the fleeing Laktonians to the warded campsites being built along the road.
“Neither have you, mistress,” Wonda pointed out. “Don’t think because I wan’t here I din’t have eyes on you. Girls tell me you ent caught more’n a few minutes since all this began. Magic’s affecting you, too.”
It was true enough.
“It is.” Leesha hardened her voice just a touch. “I’ve used more hora magic in the last week than in the months before. I’m not getting half the feedback you are since the blackstem, but enough to get a sense of what you’re going through. I feel …”
“Like you could march on the Core itself, and put your toe up the Mother of Demons’ ass.”
Leesha laughed. “More colorful than I would have put it, but ay. The magic flows through you and washes fatigue away.”
Wonda nodded. “By sunrise, feels like you’ve had a full night’s sleep and a pot of coffee. Better. Like a bowstring, ready to loose.”
“Do you keep your bow drawn all the time?” Leesha asked.
“Course not.” Wonda paused in her workout to look at Leesha. “Ruin a good bow like that.”
“It’s unnatural to go so long without sleep,” Leesha said. “Maybe we’re not tired, but I feel something draining away. Without dreams to escape to—”
“—whole world’s starting to feel like one,” Wonda finished for her. “Ay.”
“I’m going to brew you a dash of tampweed and skyflower,” Leesha said. “Should put you out for eight hours.”
“What about you?” Wonda said.
“I’ll sleep tonight, when you take them out,” Leesha promised. “Honest word.”
Wonda grunted, going back her stretching. Leesha wondered what it was like for Arlen, or even Renna. Had they had a decent sleep in months? When did they last dream?
She was afraid of the answer. Probably why they’re both crazy as cats.
Wonda finished her exercises and they went inside. Wonda took her wooden armor off its rack, readying her polishing tools. The armor was a gift from Thamos’ mother, Duchess Araine, and Wonda prized it nearly as much as the bow and arrows Arlen had given her. Each morning she polished the weapons and armor as lovingly as a mother bathing an infant.
Leesha stole a moment to boil a kettle and take it to the bathing chamber. She nibbled on a biscuit and stripped for a quick rag bath before changing into a fresh dress.
She took a deep breath. It would get easier soon. The flow of refugees continued, but the Hollow’s reach lengthened daily, now scooping folk still fresh on the road, with live animals and food on their backs. Several towns that had not yet broken were conducting organized evacuations under Cutter protection.
The Hollow would still need to absorb them, but it was more easily done when people came as settlers, with supplies and possessions in hand, rather than the first waves of exhausted folk, carrying nothing but their wounded.
Tonight, Leesha could afford to sleep. Perhaps. But already, young volunteers were gathering in her courtyard, being tested for strength and reflexes to serve as baselines and split into groups by her apprentices. The chatter of the assembled young Hollowers fell into an excited hush as Leesha and Wonda appeared at the door.
The volunteers were all in their late teens or early twenties, Hollowers who had volunteered to join the Cutters only to be turned away for one reason or another. One had trouble breathing. Another needed lenses to see. Others simply because they weren’t large or strong enough to keep up.
A growing class of khaffit, if we’re not careful, Leesha thought.
“They’re staring at me,” Wonda said.
“Ay,” Leesha said. “See how it feels, for once. You might as well be the Warded Man to these children.”
“Don’t jest about the Deliverer,” Wonda said.
“We’re all Deliverers,” Leesha said. “His words. It’s your job to inspire these children, same as he did for you. World needs all the Deliverers it can get.”
“Why not ward the Cutters and Sharum, then?” Wonda asked. “Why only the rejects?”
“We’re still testing,” Leesha said. “We need a small group. A group we can control, to test the process before we try it on men the size of goldwood trees.”
There were three groups. Stela had made it into one. Her uncle Keet, only a couple of years her senior, another. None was the finest fruit the Hollow could provide in terms of warriors.
The first dozen, including her friend Brianne’s son Callen Cutter, would be given specially designed spears Leesha had warded personally. They had short shafts and long warded blades, designed to maximize the magic leached from the corelings and fed back into the wielder.
The second group would be given weapons that appeared identical to the first, but contained slivers of hora, coated in warded silver. The spears would hold some limited power in day as well as night, and recharge when spent.
Finally, Stela’s group, the most coveted of the three, would have blackstem wards painted on their skin, and study sharusahk with Wonda.
The testing would take months, but if Leesha’s hypotheses were right, they could have an army of Deliverers waiting in the Hollow the next time the demon princes came calling.
Her Warded Children.
“There, finished.” It was dark by the time Leesha painted the last ward on Stela’s skin. The others all waited with Wonda in the yard, marveling at warded weapons and skin. All knew that soon they would be going out into the night, a place many seasoned warriors had gone, never to return.
Excitement was building in the air. A chance to die, yes, but also a chance to avenge, to show the Hollow that they were to be counted. None of them could keep still, shifting from foot to foot or pacing the yard, waiting for Stela, that they might begin.
Leesha sent her off, watching the girl with her warded spectacles. The yard was awash with magic, only a fraction of it visible to the naked eye. Some wards were designed to glow, casting light in the yard, but others thrummed with power unseen by any without wardsight.
She saw the power draft to Stela’s ankles as it already had begun to do with the others. It danced up the blackstem wards on her legs, pulled along by the interlinked wards, swirling around her torso and out to her limbs and head like a heart pumping magic instead of blood. Just standing in the yard, the Warded Children would be feeling a tingle. At first it would feel like a strong stimulant tea, then an adrenaline rush. Soon after, their senses would expand, confusing them with every faint scent, every whisper heard from a mile away. It would be overwhelming until their thoughts sped as well.
And for mine, she thought. And my baby.
“You haven’t slept in over a week,” Leesha said. Few of the Cutters had. Wherever demon fighting was thickest for refugees on the road, Wonda and Gared were there with the original Cutters, those who had stood with Arlen at the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow. By night, the wards cut into their horses’ hooves ate the miles as they tracked packs of demons hunting the refugees, destroying them before they could strike. By day they helped guide the fleeing Laktonians to the warded campsites being built along the road.
“Neither have you, mistress,” Wonda pointed out. “Don’t think because I wan’t here I din’t have eyes on you. Girls tell me you ent caught more’n a few minutes since all this began. Magic’s affecting you, too.”
It was true enough.
“It is.” Leesha hardened her voice just a touch. “I’ve used more hora magic in the last week than in the months before. I’m not getting half the feedback you are since the blackstem, but enough to get a sense of what you’re going through. I feel …”
“Like you could march on the Core itself, and put your toe up the Mother of Demons’ ass.”
Leesha laughed. “More colorful than I would have put it, but ay. The magic flows through you and washes fatigue away.”
Wonda nodded. “By sunrise, feels like you’ve had a full night’s sleep and a pot of coffee. Better. Like a bowstring, ready to loose.”
“Do you keep your bow drawn all the time?” Leesha asked.
“Course not.” Wonda paused in her workout to look at Leesha. “Ruin a good bow like that.”
“It’s unnatural to go so long without sleep,” Leesha said. “Maybe we’re not tired, but I feel something draining away. Without dreams to escape to—”
“—whole world’s starting to feel like one,” Wonda finished for her. “Ay.”
“I’m going to brew you a dash of tampweed and skyflower,” Leesha said. “Should put you out for eight hours.”
“What about you?” Wonda said.
“I’ll sleep tonight, when you take them out,” Leesha promised. “Honest word.”
Wonda grunted, going back her stretching. Leesha wondered what it was like for Arlen, or even Renna. Had they had a decent sleep in months? When did they last dream?
She was afraid of the answer. Probably why they’re both crazy as cats.
Wonda finished her exercises and they went inside. Wonda took her wooden armor off its rack, readying her polishing tools. The armor was a gift from Thamos’ mother, Duchess Araine, and Wonda prized it nearly as much as the bow and arrows Arlen had given her. Each morning she polished the weapons and armor as lovingly as a mother bathing an infant.
Leesha stole a moment to boil a kettle and take it to the bathing chamber. She nibbled on a biscuit and stripped for a quick rag bath before changing into a fresh dress.
She took a deep breath. It would get easier soon. The flow of refugees continued, but the Hollow’s reach lengthened daily, now scooping folk still fresh on the road, with live animals and food on their backs. Several towns that had not yet broken were conducting organized evacuations under Cutter protection.
The Hollow would still need to absorb them, but it was more easily done when people came as settlers, with supplies and possessions in hand, rather than the first waves of exhausted folk, carrying nothing but their wounded.
Tonight, Leesha could afford to sleep. Perhaps. But already, young volunteers were gathering in her courtyard, being tested for strength and reflexes to serve as baselines and split into groups by her apprentices. The chatter of the assembled young Hollowers fell into an excited hush as Leesha and Wonda appeared at the door.
The volunteers were all in their late teens or early twenties, Hollowers who had volunteered to join the Cutters only to be turned away for one reason or another. One had trouble breathing. Another needed lenses to see. Others simply because they weren’t large or strong enough to keep up.
A growing class of khaffit, if we’re not careful, Leesha thought.
“They’re staring at me,” Wonda said.
“Ay,” Leesha said. “See how it feels, for once. You might as well be the Warded Man to these children.”
“Don’t jest about the Deliverer,” Wonda said.
“We’re all Deliverers,” Leesha said. “His words. It’s your job to inspire these children, same as he did for you. World needs all the Deliverers it can get.”
“Why not ward the Cutters and Sharum, then?” Wonda asked. “Why only the rejects?”
“We’re still testing,” Leesha said. “We need a small group. A group we can control, to test the process before we try it on men the size of goldwood trees.”
There were three groups. Stela had made it into one. Her uncle Keet, only a couple of years her senior, another. None was the finest fruit the Hollow could provide in terms of warriors.
The first dozen, including her friend Brianne’s son Callen Cutter, would be given specially designed spears Leesha had warded personally. They had short shafts and long warded blades, designed to maximize the magic leached from the corelings and fed back into the wielder.
The second group would be given weapons that appeared identical to the first, but contained slivers of hora, coated in warded silver. The spears would hold some limited power in day as well as night, and recharge when spent.
Finally, Stela’s group, the most coveted of the three, would have blackstem wards painted on their skin, and study sharusahk with Wonda.
The testing would take months, but if Leesha’s hypotheses were right, they could have an army of Deliverers waiting in the Hollow the next time the demon princes came calling.
Her Warded Children.
“There, finished.” It was dark by the time Leesha painted the last ward on Stela’s skin. The others all waited with Wonda in the yard, marveling at warded weapons and skin. All knew that soon they would be going out into the night, a place many seasoned warriors had gone, never to return.
Excitement was building in the air. A chance to die, yes, but also a chance to avenge, to show the Hollow that they were to be counted. None of them could keep still, shifting from foot to foot or pacing the yard, waiting for Stela, that they might begin.
Leesha sent her off, watching the girl with her warded spectacles. The yard was awash with magic, only a fraction of it visible to the naked eye. Some wards were designed to glow, casting light in the yard, but others thrummed with power unseen by any without wardsight.
She saw the power draft to Stela’s ankles as it already had begun to do with the others. It danced up the blackstem wards on her legs, pulled along by the interlinked wards, swirling around her torso and out to her limbs and head like a heart pumping magic instead of blood. Just standing in the yard, the Warded Children would be feeling a tingle. At first it would feel like a strong stimulant tea, then an adrenaline rush. Soon after, their senses would expand, confusing them with every faint scent, every whisper heard from a mile away. It would be overwhelming until their thoughts sped as well.
