Nevertheless, the dining room was richly furnished, as befitted a prince of Angiers. Thamos waited at the head of the long table, conferring with Captain Gamon, but the moment Leesha arrived both men rose and the captain bowed deeply. ‘A pleasure to see you again, Mistress Paper. Please excuse me.’ Gamon was out the door as soon as Leesha nodded.
Thamos himself pulled out her chair, and then sat himself as a servant filled their wineglasses. He dismissed the woman with a wave, and she scurried from the room.
‘Alone at last,’ Thamos said. ‘I’ve been thinking of you all day.’
‘You and the whole town,’ Leesha said. ‘Your coachman told tales to half the Hollow after dropping us off last night.’
The count raised an eyebrow. ‘Shall I have his tongue cut out?’
Leesha’s eyes bulged, and Thamos broke out laughing. ‘A jest, only!’ He patted the air to placate her. ‘Though he should be punished.’
‘What did you have in mind?’ Leesha asked.
‘A week of digging refuse pits without pay should make him think twice,’ Thamos said. ‘I can’t have loose tongues in my servants.’ He winked. ‘At least not when it doesn’t suit my purpose.’
‘And this doesn’t suit your purpose?’ Leesha asked. ‘You wouldn’t be parading me through town in your coach and dangling your title if you didn’t think marrying me would bring you advantage in the Hollow.’
‘Courting you properly brings me advantage,’ Thamos agreed. ‘Bedding you like a tavern wench does not.’ He shook his head. ‘I can already hear what my mother is going to say when she finds out.’
‘I see no reason why she needs to know,’ Leesha said.
Thamos chuckled. ‘Don’t fool yourself. My mother has more spies in the Hollow than you can count.’
‘So what do we do about it?’ Leesha asked.
Thamos held up his glass. ‘You accept the position as Royal Gatherer, and we work together to benefit Hollow County. In the meantime, I will invite you to dinners, send you flowers, and shower you with expensive gifts while entertaining you with witty conversation and playful banter. After that … we’ll see.’
‘And are you expecting these dinners to end in your bedchamber?’ Leesha asked.
Thamos smiled. ‘I will remind you, Miss Paper, that it was you who took advantage of me last night.’
Leesha clinked her glass with his. ‘So it was.’
Gared was overseeing the Cutters’ muster in the Corelings’ Graveyard when Arlen found him.
‘Evening, Baron,’ he said.
Gared looked at him, embarrassment in his aura. ‘Don’t feel right, you callin’ me that, sir.’
‘General?’ Arlen asked, smiling.
‘Night, I think that’s worse,’ Gared said.
‘No better than you callin’ me sir,’ Arlen said. ‘Think you got half a decade on me. So how about we drop the formalities? I’ll call you Gared and you call me Arlen.’
The embarrassment turned to actual fear. Gared started to shake his head, but Arlen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’ve got demons on one side and corelings on the other, Gar. Either I’m just folk and ent too good to be called my proper name, or I’m the ripping Deliverer and you got to do as I say.’
Gared rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Guess when you put it that way, ent got a choice.’
‘Arlen,’ Arlen said.
‘Arlen,’ Gared repeated.
Arlen slapped his shoulder. ‘Didn’t burn your tongue, did it? Walk with me a spell. Got something to show you.’
Gared nodded, and they set off to the private spot where Renna waited with Rockslide. She kept a firm hold on the stallion’s thick braided leather reins, though he seemed to have stopped struggling, at last. It had taken a long time, and several broken reins, before Rockslide came to accept that Renna, who was a tenth his mass, was strong enough to hold him immobile.
Gared stopped short at the sight of the magnificent animal, letting out a low whistle. ‘He’s even bigger’n Twilight Dancer.’
‘Rockslide is Dancer’s sire,’ Arlen said. ‘Only horse I ever saw built on your scale, Gared Cutter, and I don’t think there’s anyone else strong enough to break him. Cutters managed to get him into a saddle, but none of them has been able to keep the seat.’
‘Don’t let Arlen scare you,’ Renna said, handing Gared the reins. ‘Rocky’s sweet as can be. Just gotta understand him.’
‘Ay?’ Gared asked. He reached out to stroke the horse’s neck, but Rockslide turned a glare his way, and he thought better of it.
‘Ay,’ Renna said. ‘Rocky’s been locked behind the wards for years, but he was meant to run free in the night.’
‘Know what that’s like,’ Gared said.
Renna nodded. ‘Don’t put him behind walls or tolerate him acting the fool and he’ll friend you. And with the wards I cut into his hooves, he’ll kick in the skull of any demon so much as looks at you funny.’
‘Like the sound of that.’ Gared met Rockslide’s eyes. The horse tried to pull back, but though Gared was not as strong as Renna, he was still the strongest man Arlen had ever met. His thick arm bunched and the reins creaked, but Rockslide’s head did not move as Gared laid a hand on his neck. After a moment, the stallion relaxed again.
‘Don’t deserve this,’ Gared said.
‘Ent for you to decide what folk give you,’ Arlen said. ‘You earned that horse ten times over.’
‘Din’t just mean the horse,’ Gared said. ‘All of it. Count has men making me a coat of arms. Me! Gared rippin’ Cutter.’ He shook his head. ‘Feels like I’m about to be caught in a lie and sent back to choppin’ trees. Need you to tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Want you to man up and think for yourself,’ Arlen said. ‘Like it or not, you’re Baron of Cutter’s Hollow now. Your job is to look out for the people under you first, and be the count’s man second. He asks you to do something you don’t think is right, you follow your conscience.’
‘Don’t want all that responsibility,’ Gared said. ‘Ent clever or anything, and my conscience gets me into trouble, oft as not.’
‘Don’t need to be clever to know right from wrong,’ Arlen said, ‘and I know all about being saddled with responsibilities you don’t want. But life ent fair, Gared Cutter. Won’t always be someone around to tell you what to do.’
22
New Moon
333 AR Autumn
First Night of New Moon
The new moon left the cave mouth dark as pitch. Barely more than a fissure, it gaped like an open wound from a rocky outcropping on a forgotten hill. The space within narrowed tightly but never truly ended, leading to an endless maze of cracks and tunnels, some cramped and others opening into huge caverns, all the way down to the core of the world. Here, even starlight failed to give faint glow, and there was true darkness.
From out of that darkness came something darker still, a corruption beyond the absence of light. It flowed like ink, coating the cave floor in oily blackness and spilling out into the night. There along the hill, forms rose from the stain, growing tall as they branched out, solidifying into a stand of six trees that stood around the cave mouth like teeth.
A great stalagmite formed at the centre of the cave, coalescing into an enormous mimic demon. Row upon row of teeth formed along its massive jaws, and its limbs ended in great talons. The rest of its body, sharp in some places and smooth in others, flowed like the coils of a snake, never truly settling.
The coreling studied the area intently, then slithered to take up position at the rear of the cave. There it kept watch as the Royal Consort took form.
He was slight, and hunched as if weighed by the massive head atop his small and slender body. His horns were vestigial, and pulsed like the smooth bumps and ridges flowing up the charcoal skin of his cranium. His nails and teeth were sharp, but more like needles compared with the massive rending instruments of the mimic.
Not that the consort had need of such things. The bodie
s and senses of his mimics were mere extensions of his own. He saw through their eyes and killed with their claws, tasted the surface air through their nostrils. It was cold and bland, almost devoid of magic, burned clean each cycle by the hated day star. At court, the air was hot – thick and heavy with the magic radiating from the Core, every breath delicious and brimming with power.
Instinctively, the demon Drew magic from the fissure, a wellspring of power leading all the way to the source. He filled himself with it, suffused with power, then moved to the cave mouth. He squinted in the dim starlight, feeling a slight drain of power, like a soft breeze stealing the barest touch of heat.
The cave was high in the rocky hills, and afforded a wide view of the surface. To the southwest and northeast, humans were swarming, their breeding grounds overflowing as they relished their newfound strength. Even many miles away, the consort could sense the magic they were collecting. It took the barest effort to take over the rudimentary consciousness of wind drones in the areas, collecting more information.
The results were impressive. It usually took humans millennia to build back this kind of strength, especially with the drones culling them for sport. All this, in barely a turning.
He had thought the initial reports – culled from the less-than-trustworthy memories of drones – nothing more than an anomaly, and sent two minor princelings to deal with the matter. Their reports had been disturbing. Humans in three of the local breeding grounds had regained both the fighting wards and spirit, two things thought crushed beyond repair. With their drones strengthening, human minds were beginning to form. The Queen had no desire to make humans extinct – what would her minds feed upon? – but neither could this insurgence be tolerated.
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 tas
te, 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.
She had powered Wonda’s bow in the same way, as well as Gared’s gauntlets, his axe and machete. Whatever her feelings for the man, Gared would be in the thick of the fighting tonight, and she had no misconceptions of whose side she was on in the coming conflict. He would be able to crush diamonds in his fists, and his already formidable weapons would bite as never before.
But for all these wardings, she had used only the bones of common wood demons. The desiccated arm and stub of horn from the mind demon she kept safe, save for the tiny claws – little more than a pampered noblewoman’s fingernail – that she used to power the wards in their helms. No coreling prince would slip into their minds as had been done to her. She shuddered at the memory.