The Core is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Peter V. Brett
Ward artwork designed by Lauren K. Cannon, copyright © Peter V. Brett
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Published in the United Kingdom by HarperVoyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd., London.
Map on this page reprinted by permission of HarperVoyager, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd., London.
Hardback ISBN 9780345531506
Ebook ISBN 9780425285794
randomhousebooks.com
Book design by Christopher M. Zucker, adapted for ebook
Cover design: Elizabeth Shapiro
Cover illustration: © Larry Rostant
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Map
Prologue: Gaolers
Chapter 1: Both
Chapter 2: Olive
Chapter 3: Countess Paper
Chapter 4: Ragen and Elissa
Chapter 5: The Pack
Chapter 6: Everam Is a Lie
Chapter 7: The Eunuchs
Chapter 8: Monastery
Chapter 9: The Majah
Chapter 10: Family Matters
Chapter 11: Sorcerers
Chapter 12: Drained
Chapter 13: The Last Will and Testament of Arlen Bales
Chapter 14: Spankin’
Chapter 15: Sisters Return
Chapter 16: Beloved
Chapter 17: Forest Fortress
Chapter 18: Homestead
Chapter 19: Hunted
Chapter 20: The Escort
Chapter 21: Neocounty
Chapter 22: The Edge of Nie’s Abyss
Chapter 23: Sharum’s Lament
Chapter 24: First Steps
Chapter 25: The Mouth of the Abyss
Chapter 26: The Dark Below
Chapter 27: Bedfellows
Chapter 28: Araine’s Tale
Chapter 29: Wolves
Chapter 30: Everam’s Reservoir
Chapter 31: Harden’s Grove
Chapter 32: Blizzard and Quake
Chapter 33: Evil Gives Birth
Chapter 34: Spear of Ala
Chapter 35: Severed
Chapter 36: Smoke and Mist
Chapter 37: Jessa’s Girls
Chapter 38: Sharak Ka
Chapter 39: Whistler’s Mind
Chapter 40: Alamen Fae
Chapter 41: Light of the Mountains
Chapter 42: The Hive
Chapter 43: The Core
Chapter 44: Born in Darkness
Chapter 45: The Pact
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Ward Grimoire
Demon Cycle Books by Peter V. Brett
About the Author
PROLOGUE
GAOLERS
334 AR
“There will be swarm.”
Alagai Ka, the demon Consort, spoke with the lips of the human drone, the one they called Shanjat. The Consort lay bound within a circle of power, but he had shattered one of the locks and taken the drone before his captors could react.
His will crushed, Shanjat was little more than a puppet now, and the Consort took pleasure in the pain that caused his captors. He shifted the drone’s feet, getting a sense of the body. Not as useful as a mimic, but strong, armed with the primitive weapons of the surface stock and an emotional connection to his captors the Consort could exploit.
“What in the Core is that supposed to mean?” the Explorer demanded. The one the others called Arlen or Par’chin. He held influence over the others, but it was not true dominance.
The Consort accessed the drone’s language center, growing in fluency with the primitive grunts that passed for communication among humans. “The queen is close to laying.”
The Explorer met the drone’s eyes and crossed his arms. The wards inked into his flesh throbbed with power. “Know that. What’s it got to do with a swarm?”
“You have imprisoned me and killed my strongest brethren,” the Consort said. “There are none left in the mind court with power enough to keep the young queens from draining their mother of magic and maturing.”
The Explorer shrugged. “Queens’ll kill each other, won’t they? Right there in the whelping room, with the strongest one taking over the hive. Better a hatchling queen than a fully matured one.”
The Consort kept the drone’s eyes fixed on the Explorer as he watched the auras of the others in the room with his own eyes.
Armed with the cloak and spear and crown of the Mind Killer, the Heir—the one called Jardir—was easily the most dangerous. Chained in a warding circle, the Consort had few options if the Heir decided to kill him, and the subjugation of Shanjat enraged the Heir beyond measure.
But the Heir’s aura betrayed him. Much as he wanted to kill the Consort, he needed him alive.
More interesting was the web of emotions connecting the Heir to the Explorer. Love and hate, rivalry and respect. Anger. Guilt. It was a heady mix, and the Consort took pleasure as he studied it. The Heir was impatient for information. There was much the Explorer had not told him, and irritation crackled along his aura at having to follow another’s lead.
Less predictable was the Hunter, the one called Renna. The fierce female was hot with stolen core magic, her flesh stained with wards of power. She was less skilled in the use of her power, apt to lash out unless kept in check. She was tamped down, weapon in hand, ready to spring at the first break in the stalemate.
The last was a female drone, Shanvah. Like the puppet, she had no great magic about her. If she had not killed a demon prince with her weapons, the Consort would have dismissed her as irrelevant.
But while Shanvah was the weakest of his captors, her aura was exquisite. The puppet was her sire. Her will was strong, keeping her surface aura still, but beneath, her spirit was wracked with pain. The Consort would savor the memory of it when he sliced open her skull and bit into the soft meat of her mind.
The Consort made the puppet laugh, keeping the humans’ attention on the drone instead of him. “The young queens won’t have a chance to fight. With none of my brethren strong enough to dominate the others, each will steal an egg and flee.”
The Explorer paused at that, understanding dawning. “Start nests all over Thesa.”
“No doubt it has already begun.” He made the puppet wave its spear, and predictably the eyes of the humans followed. “You doom your own kind, keeping me here.”
Delicately, the Consort shifted its chains, probing for a weakness. The wards etched into the metal burned, pulling at his magic, but the Consort kept a tight grip on his power. Already he had shattered one of the locks and freed a limb. If he could break another, the puppet might disable the circles enough for the Consort to escape.
“How many minds are left in the hive?” the Explorer demanded. “We killed seven so far, not counting you. Reckon that ent nothing.”
“In the hive?” the Consort asked. “None, by now. No doubt they have already divided the breeding grounds and seek to pacify their new territories before the laying.”
“Breeding grounds?” the Hunter asked.
The puppet smiled. “The people of your Free Cities will soon find their walls and wards less secure than they have been led to believ
e.”
“Bold words, Alagai Ka,” the Heir said, “as you lie bound before us.”
The Consort found what he sought, at last. The tiny flaw in one of the locks, eroded slowly over the months of his imprisonment. Breaking it would allow the demon to slip the chain, but the power required would be bright, and his captors might notice before it was done.
“You were allowed your breeding grounds against this time.” The puppet took a step to the side, and their eyes went with it. “Hunting preserves for my brethren. They will take their drones and crack your walls like eggs, stocking their larders to satiate their hatchling queens.”
“And doom for Ala grow in their wombs,” the Heir said. “We must not allow this.”
“Free me,” the Consort said.
“Not a chance,” the Explorer growled.
“It is your only real choice,” the Consort said. “My return can still prevent swarm.”
“You are the Prince of Lies,” the Heir said. “We are not fools enough to trust your words. There is another choice. We will go to the abyss and kill Alagai’ting Ka once and for all.”
“You claim not to be fools,” the Consort said, “yet you believe you can survive the path to the hive? You will not even get as far as Kavri before he broke and fled back to the surface.”
The words had the intended effect as the Heir stiffened, tightening his grip on the spear. “More lies. Kaji defeated you.”
“Kavri killed many drones,” the Consort said. “Many princes. It took centuries to repopulate the hive, but his attempts to breach our domain failed. That is the best your kind can hope for. This is not the first cycle, nor shall it be the last.”
“Said you’d guide us to the Core,” the Explorer said.
“You might as well ask to go to the surface of the day star,” the Consort said. “You would be consumed long before you reached it. You know this.”
“To the hive, then,” the Explorer said. “The mind court. The ripping whelping room of the demon queen.”
“That will destroy you, as well.” The Consort edged the puppet another step.
“Take our chances,” the Hunter said.
At last, they were in position. The puppet raised its spear and threw it at the Explorer’s heart. As expected, he dissipated and it passed harmlessly through, flying straight at the Heir, who spun his weapon to bat it aside.
The puppet flung the shield with all its strength, the hard edge shattering one of the wardstones keeping the Consort imprisoned. The Hunter was moving fast to attack, but the female drone gave a cry, blocking the Hunter’s path to her sire.
It was time enough for the puppet to turn, taking the warded chain in hand as the Consort focused a burst of magic to shatter the weakened link. Like a spider picking apart a damaged web, the puppet unwove the chain. The silver wards burned the Consort’s skin, but the pain was a small price to pay for freedom.
He flicked a claw, using a burst of magic to fling a tiny piece of the shattered metal link through the air, striking the Heir’s crown and knocking it from his head, preventing him from raising the shield that had first trapped the Consort.
The Hunter cast the female drone aside, leaping to try to stop the puppet, but it was too late. The Consort dissipated even as she swung her weapons, leaving solid only a single claw to lay open her bowels as they passed. He slipped through the gap the puppet had made in the circle, rematerializing at the edge of the outer warding.
The Explorer rushed to his mate as she gasped, trying desperately to keep her intestines from spilling onto the floor. The Hunter did not have the focus to dissipate and heal herself, and the Explorer would waste valuable time and power healing her.
The Consort drew an impact ward in the air, and the stones at the Heir’s feet exploded, sending him stumbling as he scrambled for his crown. The puppet kicked the crown across the room, then attacked to stall the Heir just a few seconds more.
Turning, the Consort raised the stub of his tail, sending a spray of magic-dead feces to disable the wards.
He was about to dissipate again when the Heir cried, “Enough!” He slammed the butt of his spear to the floor, and a wave of magic knocked everyone from their feet. The Consort recovered quickly, dematerializing and moving for the gap in the wards, but not before the Explorer threw magic of his own, pulling back a curtain to cast dawn twilight over the gap in the wards. The day star had not yet crested the horizon, but already the light burned at his magic—unspeakable agony. The demon dare not approach.
The Hunter dissipated, re-forming with her wounds healed. She and the Explorer drew wardings in the air with practiced hands, sending shocks of pain through the demon’s cloud even as he fled the light. In his non-corporeal form, the Consort could not control the puppet, and the female drone quickly put him in a submission hold. The Heir recovered his crown, raising the shield, trapping the Consort once more.
There was no choice but to surrender and negotiate. They still needed him alive. The Consort solidified, claws retracted and teeth covered, arms held high in the human sign of submission.
The Hunter struck him hard in the side of his head, impact wards rattling his skull. She was impulsive. The others would be more restrained.
But as the Consort rolled with the blow, the Explorer struck him from the opposite side, cracking his skull and bursting an eye from its socket.
The demon stumbled, only to take a third blow from the shaft of the Heir’s spear, striking harder than a rock drone.
The beating continued, and the Consort thought surely they would kill him in their primitive savagery. He attempted to dissipate, but like the Hunter moments before, he found it impossible to focus enough to trigger the transformation.
Then it became hard to focus on who delivered which blow, and there was only the sound and shock as each fell.
And then it became hard to focus at all. Blackness filled his vision.
—
The Consort woke in agony. He attempted to Draw power from his inner reserve to heal, but there was little remaining. Unconscious, he must have Drawn deeply to recover from the worst of his injuries. The rest would have to heal naturally.
He remained free of the cursed chain. Perhaps they were rushing to repair it, even now. Perhaps they expected him to remain disabled for longer.
If so, they were greater fools than even he had believed. The curtain had been drawn, and the Consort could sense the darkness beyond the thick cloth. Escape again felt within reach. He raised a claw, siphoning a bit of his remaining magic to power a ward he drew in the air.
But the power dissipated before it reached the tip of his talon, and a shock of pain ran through his body, causing him to hiss.
Again he Drew, and again the power failed, even as his flesh burned.
The Consort looked down at his skin, realization dawning even as he saw the glow of the wards.
They had inked his flesh with needles, much as the Explorer had done to himself. He was covered with wards.
Mind wards, keyed to his own caste. The symbols put him in a prison of his own flesh, preventing him from dissipating or reaching out with his mind. Worse, if the Consort—or one of his captors—fed the wards with enough magic, they would kill him.
It was worse by far than the chain. An indignity beyond anything the Consort could imagine.
But every problem had its solution. Every warding its weakness. He would bide his time, and find it.
CHAPTER 1
BOTH
334 AR
The cramping startled Leesha awake.
Ten days on the road with an escort of five thousand Cutters had gotten her used to discomfort. She could only sleep on her side now, something the carriage bench was not designed for. She had taken to curling on the floor like Amanvah and Sikvah in their carriage full of pillows.
Waves of pain washed over her as uterine muscles tightened and contracted, readying themselves for the task to come. Leesha wasn’t due for another thirteen weeks, but it was commo
n for women to experience this.
And every one of them panics the first time, Bruna used to say, thinking they’ll birth early. Even me, though I’d smacked dozens of squalling babes into the world before I grunted out one of my own.
Leesha began breathing in a quick steady rhythm to calm herself and help endure the pain. Pain was nothing new these days. The skin of her stomach was blackened and bruised from powerful fetal blows.
Several times during her pregnancy, Leesha had been forced to channel powerful ward magic. Each time, the baby reacted violently. Feedback from magic could grant inhuman strength and stamina. It made the old young again, and brought the young to primacy before their time. It heightened emotions and lessened control. Folk in the throes of magic could be violent. Dangerous.
What might such power do to a child not fully formed? Not even at seven months, Leesha looked and felt full term. She anticipated an early delivery, even welcomed it, lest the child grow too large for natural birth.
Or punch through my womb and crawl out on its own. Leesha breathed and breathed, but she did not calm, nor did the pain subside.
All sorts of things can bring a set of contractions, Bruna taught. Like the brat kicking a full bladder.
Leesha found the chamber pot, but relieving herself did little to ease the spasming. She glanced at the porcelain. Her water was clouded and bloody.
She froze, mind racing as she stared at the pot. But then the baby kicked hard. She cried out in pain, and she knew.
It was coming.
—
Leesha was propped on the bench by the time Wonda came to report. It was nearly dawn.