The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 24 BRIAR 333–334 AR WINTER

Briar woke in the hogroot patch in the duchess’ gardens. Mum had offered a proper bed, but Briar hadn’t slept in a bed or with a roof over his head for almost a decade. Not since he was six years old, and his carelessness had burned his family out into the naked night.

Fear had kept him alive all those years. That nervous edge alerting him to every sound, every flicker of movement. He did not sleep so much as close his eyes for a few hours now and again, ready to move on a moment’s notice. Warded walls and soft beds led a person to forget that the night waited right outside, ready to take everything.

And to forget that was to die.

Briar grabbed hogroot leaves as he got to his feet, stuffing them into his pockets. The weed was common enough, but a person in the night could never have too much.

The commotion at the palace went on until late in the night, cries of murder dying down into a fitful silence as the killer was dragged from the palace to the Holy House. It was none of Briar’s concern. There were people in Lakton counting on him to bring help from the duke. Nothing was more important than getting Count Thamos to the monastery.

He went to the stables, but there was none of the bustle he expected. No horses being readied, no soldiers mustering. He caught a stable hand by the arm. “Where’s count?”

The woman looked at Briar, wrinkling her nose. She stank of dung, but the smell of hogroot was distasteful? This is where sleeping in a bed took you. “Say again?”

Used to watching others from hiding, Briar had barely spoken for years. He understood Thesan and Krasian, but speaking was still foreign to him, and it was difficult sometimes to be understood.

“Sposedta guide the count south. Where is he?”

“Doubt His Highness Prince Thamos is going anywhere today,” the woman said. “This business with the fiddle wizard has the whole city in an uproar.”

Briar squeezed her arm tighter. “Can’t wait. People counting on us.”

“Ay, what am I supposed to do about it?!” the hand cried, yanking her arm away. “I ent the Duchess Mum!”

Briar started, taking a step back and putting up his hands. He could see his handprint reddening on the woman’s arm. “Sorry. Din’t mean to squeeze.”

“S’all right,” the woman said, but she rubbed her arm, and Briar knew it would bruise. People weren’t like cories. They were soft. You could hurt them, if you weren’t careful.

He went back to the gardens and slipped through the little-used palace entrance there. Guards everywhere, servants bustling to and fro, but none of them noticed his passage as more than a whiff of hogroot in the air. The halls had endless places to hide, if you were quick.

But Mum and Janson were behind closed doors, and Briar only knew a handful of other people in Angiers. None of them could be found. He returned to the garden, crawling into the hogroot patch and closing his eyes.

Some time later there were voices. Briar tensed, ready to flee, but the voices were not directed at him, and he crept closer to listen. Even before he reached them, he knew it was Leesha Paper. The smell of her pocketed apron, filled with dozen’s of herbs, reminded him of his mother. Briar liked the mistress, even if folks called her a witch. They said the same thing of Dawn.

“Not going anywhere while they’ve got Rojer held up!” Gared, the Baron of Cutter’s Hollow, shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” Leesha whispered.

“Ya seen him,” Gared said. “He beat up bad?”

Leesha nodded. “But nothing I couldn’t heal with bone magic. He’ll need some new teeth, but he’s all right now.”

Gared clenched a fist. “Swear by the son, if that runt Jasin wan’t already dead …”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Gar,” Leesha said. “It’s all the more reason you should go.”

“How’s that?” Gared asked.

“You won’t help things here,” Leesha said. “And if you want Rosal to go with you, you’d best take her now, before one of the Royals gets it in mind to stop you.”

When he looked unconvinced, she put a hand on his arm. “And while you’re there, would you be so kind as to ready a few thousand Cutters to return here and escort us home? The roads are so full of bandits these days …”

Gared’s brows drew tight in confusion, then lifted suddenly. “Oh, ay. I get it. You want me to …”

“I want you ready to see the Hollow delegation safely home,” Leesha said. “All of us. Whatever the court decides.”

“Duke ent gonna like that,” Gared said.

“I don’t imagine he will,” Leesha said. “I know I have no right to ask it …”

“Core ya don’t,” Gared said. “Hollow owes you and Rojer everythin’, and ya belong safe at home with us. Duke and his Wooden Soldiers don’t wanna throw in with that …” He spat. “Ent no one chops wood like a Cutter.”

“It won’t go that far,” Leesha said. “Show them teeth, but don’t bite.”

“Won’t,” Gared said. “So long as Rojer keeps breathin’. I come back and find he ent …”

He left the thought hanging in the air and strode off.

Briar looked at the reins the stable hand thrust at him and shook his head. He liked horses well enough, but he didn’t trust them. “I’ll run.”

“That won’t be good enough, Briar,” Thamos said. “I mean to press hard for the Hollow.”

Briar shrugged.

“I need you to keep up,” Thamos said.

Briar nodded. “Ay.”

The count looked irritated, though Briar couldn’t understand why.

“You won’t be able to keep pace with my cavalry on foot,” Thamos said.

Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”

The count looked at him a long time, then shrugged. “Have it your way, boy. But if you lag behind, I’ll sling you from my saddle like a deer.”

Briar laughed, surprised the others did not join him. It was a good joke.

Thamos climbed into his own saddle, raising his spear as the city gates opened. “Forward!”

Briar took off at a run as the cavalrymen kicked their horses into a trot. They kept pace with him for a while, but there was traffic on the road this close to the city, and even those who immediately gave way choked the streets and slowed the count’s men. On foot, Briar was able to slip from the road and avoid the traffic and the inevitable stares and questions.

He quickly left them behind, gathering food where he could as he explored the terrain, making note of villages and paths. Mum said he would be coming to Angiers often, so it was best to know the ways. He took careful notice of the hogroot patches, and scattered seeds where there were none. The weed was aggressive, and thrived most anywhere.

Even taking the extra time, he had to backtrack north along the side of the road that evening to find the supper camp. Briar watched in envy from the scrub at the side of the road as the soldiers stood in patient lines to be given a bowl of thick soup and a loaf of bread.

The roots and nuts he’d found filled his belly well enough, but his mouth watered at the smell of the bread and soup. He knew they would give him some. All he needed to do was stand in the line.

But the soldiers all looked alike, in matching wooden armor and cloaks, tabards bearing the count’s arms. They belonged. Briar did not. They would stare at him. Call him Stinky or Mudboy, when they thought he could not hear. They would keep their distance, or worse, speak to him.

He wanted bread, but not that badly.

The men were quickly back in the saddle, readying arms as the sun set. They resumed march, killing cories as they went with practiced precision.

Already, the demons were learning to avoid the open road, pacing the procession in the trees, watching. Wood demons were patient when prey could outrun them or fight back. Briar saw one demon up ahead swing into a large tree whose limbs stretched out over the road. The demon climbed quickly, perching hidden in the branches as it waited.

The cory let the fighting cavalry pass, but the count and baron rode behind the first ranks at a more stately pace. The others gave the two men a wide berth. Both were lost in their own thoughts. To the woodie in the tree, they might as well have targets painted on their backs.

Briar ran for the tree. Another woodie hissed and tried to block his way, but Briar flapped his open coat at it, and the fresh hogroot stains drove it away, coughing. Dropping his spear and shield, Briar put his foot on a knob in the tree trunk, climbing as quickly as the demon had. He chose his handholds carefully, making not a rustle or sound until he stepped out onto the branch where the demon waited.

The cory looked up as Briar gave a cry and ran out onto the branch, pulling the warded knife from his belt. The demon shifted to spring at him, but Briar was ready, coiling under the sweeping talons. He sprang, grabbing the woodie with one arm as his other thrust the knife into its barklike armor. Magic bucked up his arm, powering a frenzy of stabbing as Briar held his breath.

The cory was under him to break the impact as they struck the road, but it still knocked the wind from him. The fall might have injured him but for the magic coursing through his body. Briar rolled away from the demon and bounced to his feet, knife at the ready, but the woodie was not moving.

“Briar, where in the Core have you been?” Thamos demanded.

Briar looked at him, confused. “Ent been far.”

“I want you checking in regularly,” Thamos said. “Creator only knows how I’m to find the resistance if I lose you.”

It was a ridiculous statement. How could Briar lose track of so many men and horses? But he nodded before moving back into the trees.

“Li’l stinker killed a woodie that mighta cored us,” he heard Gared say. “Coulda said thanks before choppin’ his head off.”

Briar let himself be seen when the procession stopped for meals, taking his bowl and bread and disappearing once he was sure the count had taken note of him. It was a week by Messenger to the Hollow, but Thamos’ Wooden Soldiers did not sleep, absorbing magic enough by night to keep them moving through the day. The men grew increasingly irritable, but they shaved days from their trek, and were close to the Hollow by the third evening.

“Briar!” Thamos called as the boy slipped into the camp for his meal. “Join us!” He was sitting with Baron Gared and Lord Sament on a fallen log not far from the other men.

“Not too stinky?” Briar asked as he moved over to them.

“Ay, sorry about that,” Gared said. “Shoulda known yuv got ears like a bat.” He opened his coat, giving himself a sniff. “Ent none of us are smelling like roses after four days ridin’ an’ killin’ demons.” He glanced at the single carriage in the procession, carrying Miss Lacquer and her mother, and gave a slight smile. “Well, maybe one or two.”

“We’ll be in the Hollow by morning,” Thamos said. “We’ll take the day to prepare and leave the following morning. We’ll arrange rooms for you …”

Briar shook his head. “Guide folk to the Hollow sometimes. Know where the hogroot patches are.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life sleeping in hogroot patches,” Thamos said.

Briar tilted his head. “Why not?”

Thamos opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked to Gared for help.

“Gonna get cold, come winter,” Gared said.

Briar shrugged. “Can build a fire.”

“As you wish,” Thamos said. “How long will it take to get to Shepherd Alin’s monastery?”

“Ten days,” Briar said.

“So long?” Sament said.

“Can’t take roads,” Briar said. “Watchers everywhere. Goin’ through the bogs.”

“Don’t like the sound of that,” Gared said. “Horses break ankles in wetland, not to mention their riders’ necks.”

“Ways twist,” Briar said, “but I can find dry ground most of the way.”

“Can you draw a map?” Thamos asked.

Briar shook his head. “Can’t read, but I know the way.”

“We’ll bring a cartographer,” Thamos said.

“Got food?” Briar asked.

Thamos smiled. “Still hungry? Ask cook for another loaf.”

Briar shook his head. “For the monastery. Crowded. Lots of hungry.”

Thamos nodded. “I imagine so. We don’t have time for a proper baggage train, but five hundred mounted Wooden Soldiers can carry considerable supply if there is grazing for the horses.”

Briar nodded. “Take longer, that many.”

“Thought the duke said to take fifty,” Gared said.

“Do you think?” Thamos said. He reached into his jacket, producing a folded parchment with the royal seal. He pointed to a dark stain on the paper. “Hard to read with this stain on the paper. It could say fifty, I suppose, but that would be madness, of course.”

“Course,” Gared agreed.

“Only a fool would command you send so few,” Sament agreed. “Indeed, it must say five hundred.”

“Why not five thousand?” Gared asked.

Thamos shook his head. “We cannot do that without stripping the Cutters from the defense of the Hollow. I will not leave it unguarded. My cavalry will have to do until we know more. I want to be fast and mobile.”

Briar nodded eagerly. The Laktonians had no cavalry. With five hundred Wooden Soldiers, they could defend the monastery from most anything, and the supply would feed a great many hungry mouths.

“Lookin’ forward to seein’ the lake,” Gared said. “Heard it’s so big ya can’t see the far side.”

Thamos nodded. “I saw it once before, and it was a sight to behold. But you won’t be coming, Baron. Someone needs to see to the Hollow when I’m gone.”

“Make it sound like ya ent comin’ back,” Gared said.

“I mean to,” Thamos said, “but there’s no guarantee with the enemy so close. You must be prepared to lead.”

“Folk listen to me, ay,” Gared said, “but I ent made for papers and policies.”

“We do what we’re needed to do, not what we want,” Thamos said.

“Deliverer told me the same thing, once,” Gared said.

“I don’t know if Arlen Bales is the Deliverer or not,” Thamos said. “But if you should see him …”

Gared smiled. “Ay. I’ll send him your way.”

They were three days in the Hollow while Thamos gathered his men. Briar spent the time exploring, finding others living in the Gatherers’ Wood. Some were his father’s people, Krasian, but others were Thesans who had taken to painting wards on their bare skin. They wore only loose robes in the day, and loincloths at night when they killed cories with their bare hands.

Briar kept hidden as he watched them, but he was fascinated. He didn’t understand their ways, but thought in time perhaps he could.

They made good time the first few days out of the Hollow, but it was slower going when they entered the vast wetlands surrounding the lake. The cold kept the worst of the mosquitoes at bay, but the men still slapped at them, complaining.

Briar pointed to some tracks. “Bog demons.”

“I’ve never seen one,” Sament said.

“Nor I,” Thamos said.

“Short,” Briar said, putting his arms out in front of him. “Long arms. Bogspit sticks to anything. Burns and eats through, you don’t wash it off.”

“How do you kill them?” Thamos asked.

“Step to the side. Boggies can’t put their arms sideways. Have to turn.” He lifted his own arm, pointing to the hollow beneath his rib cage. “Put your spear right here. No armor.”

“You seem to know a lot about them,” Thamos said.

Briar smiled. He didn’t know much about maps, but he knew cories. “Make camp. Can’t walk horses through the bog at night. Show you how to make boggie traps.”

Briar twisted to conform with the gnarled trunk of the stooped swamp tree, watching unseen as the Krasian scout made his way though the wetland. The kha’Sharum carried a heavy rucksack of supply, noting landmarks on oiled paper.

He was alone. Briar had made sure of it. He wasn’t attached to a hunting party, or otherwise likely to be missed. Just a lone scout sent to map the wetlands.

But he was heading right into the path of Thamos and his men. In an hour, he would hear them, or see sign of their passing. Soon after, he would be running to tell his superiors.

Briar clutched his spear. He hated this. Hated killing people. The Krasians looked so much like him that it felt like killing himself each time.

But there was nothing for it. When the scout passed under the tree, Briar fell upon him, spear punching down through his shoulder into heart and lungs. He was dead before they hit the ground.

Briar took his rucksack and papers, leaving the body to sink beneath the murky swamp water.

It was fifteen days before they reached the monastery, as Briar guided Thamos and his men past enemy scouts and dry land with grazing for the horses. Nine Wooden Soldiers were lost to boggies, and seven horses suffered broken ankles and had to be put down. One of the Mountain Spears took a slimy wad of bogspit in the face. Briar packed it with mud and poultices, but it looked like a melted candle when he finally took the bandage off.

The Monastery of New Dawn stood on a high bluff stretching out over the lake. Water on three sides, it was accessible only by a narrow road with a moat that cut clear across to link the waters of the lake. The wooden walls were thick and high, with a drawbridge to allow entry and egress. The docks to the north and south were low on the rocky bluffs—goods and livestock coming by ship had to be taken up a narrow stair cut zigzag into the rock face.

The drawbridge was lowered for them, and they rode inside.

“Creator,” Thamos said, seeing the refugee tent camps inside the walls. The folk were filthy and thin, used now to missing meals.

“I had no idea it was this bad,” Sament said. “The refugees in the Hollow …”

“Have the benefit of being safe in allied territory,” Thamos said. “These poor souls …”

He turned to one of his captains. “Find the quartermaster and deliver our supply. Learn if there is anything else we can do to provide comfort for these people.”

The man saluted and was off as Briar led Thamos and Sament to the monastery doors.

Tender Heath was waiting for them. The fat old Tender hugged Briar tightly. “Creator bless you, boy.”

He looked to the count, bowing deeply. “It is an honor, Your Highness. Welcome to the Monastery of New Dawn. I am Tender Heath. I will take you to the Shepherd.”

It wasn’t often Briar was allowed into Shepherd Alin’s private offices. The Shepherd wore plain brown robes like Tender Heath, but his inner chambers were richer than anything Briar had ever imagined. The carpeting was thick, soft, and colorful, woven with powerful church warding. Acolytes followed him with ready brooms, lest any mud slip from his sandals.

The seats and couches were great pillowed things—so soft. Heath said he was not allowed to sit lest he stain them with hogroot sap, but Briar walked close to a velvet sofa as they passed by, shivering with pleasure as he ran his fingertips along its length.

Great shelves of lacquered goldwood ran floor-to-ceiling along the walls, holding countless books. Heath had been trying to teach him to read, but Briar was more interested in the pictures.

The Shepherd was waiting for them in the back office with two other men.

Briar’s father, Relan, had taught him all about bowing. The Shepherd’s was deep and long enough to be respectful, without relinquishing dominance. The bow of an equal.

“An honor to meet you, Your Highness,” the Shepherd said. “We hoped Briar would bring back help, but hadn’t expected royalty.”

“Or so many Wooden Soldiers,” one of the other men said. He was midsized, with a fine coat. He stood with his feet spread like one more used to the rolling of a ship’s deck than dry land. “And cavalry, no less! It seems the Creator answers prayers, after all.”

“Dockmaster Isan,” Shepherd Alin advised, gesturing to the man, “and his brother, Captain Marlan.”

Thamos put his hands out in the way Laktonian captains favored, and they gripped arms just beneath the elbow. “Please accept my condolences, and those of the ivy throne, over the loss of your mother.”

Marlan spit, ignoring the irritated look Alin threw his way. “She wasn’t lost. She was murdered.”

“Of course.” Thamos turned to Sament. “May I introduce Lord Sament of Miln, who has brought fifty Mountain Spears.”

“It is good that you’ve come,” Alin said. “What happens here concerns all the Free Cities.”

“You don’t need to convince me of that,” Sament said. “Euchor may be another matter.”

“What he needs is a victory,” a new voice added. Briar looked up and smiled widely as Captain Dehlia entered the room with another richly dressed man in tow.

“Captain Dehlia of Sharum’s Lament,” Heath said. “She’s been a thorn in the Krasians’ side since they first came to Docktown.”

“Thanks to Briar,” Dehlia said, running her fingers through Briar’s tangled hair. “Boy’s been sneaking into town for us, spying on the enemy and telling us where to hit.”

She put an arm around him, hugging him close, heedless of the sticky hogroot stains on his clothes. Briar didn’t like to be touched, but when it was Captain Dehlia, he found he didn’t mind so much.

Shepherd Alin gestured to the new arrival. “Egar—”

“—third son of Duke Edon of Rizon,” Thamos finished, as the men embraced each other. “We feared you dead, my friend.”

Egar shook his head. “After the Krasians struck the capital, I gathered as many fighting men as I could and fled onto the plains. We strike where we can and melt away before the desert rats can catch us.”

“How many men do you have?” Thamos asked.

“I can call five thousand spears, given enough time,” Egar said.

Thamos squinted at him. “Why are you here, and not in Rizon with your men?”

“Because,” Isan cut in, “it’s time we retook Docktown.”

“It was Briar who made it all possible,” Shepherd Alin said. They were descending what seemed an endless spiral of stairs, past the foundations of the monastery and into the natural caverns of the bluff.

“He discovered the enemy force scouting the lakeshore,” Isan said, “giving us time to prepare an ambush. We captured or killed over two hundred men that day. Our greatest victory to date.”

They came to a great cavern, cold and damp, the air rank. Briar looked in horror at dozens of Krasian warriors chained to the walls, faces and limbs emaciated.

“Creator,” Thamos said. “Don’t you feed these men?”

Marlan spit. “When we feed them, they try to escape. And why should they eat when so many above go hungry?”

Briar felt sick. The men, looking so much like his own father and brothers, lay listless and skeletal, soiled with their own filth. He had led the Laktonians to them knowing many of the invaders would be killed, but this …

“The ones who talk are fed,” Alin said. “My Tenders and Children all speak Krasian, but the lesser fighters knew little of use.”

He signaled the guards at the far end of the cavern, and they unlocked a heavy door.

Inside, a Krasian man was strapped tightly to a chair. His black turban and white veil were gone, but still Briar recognized the leader of the Krasian scouts. A narrow table in front of him, his hands were splayed out, each finger held tight in a tiny screw vise bolted to the wood. He was breathing evenly, but he was flushed and bathed in sweat. An old bespectacled man, still in the robes of an acolyte, tended the screws.

“This is Prince Icha,” Alin said. “He claims to be the third son of the demon of the desert himself, Krasian Duke Ahmann Jardir.”

“And when my father hears of this,” Icha growled in guttural but understandable Thesan, “he will visit these tortures one thousandfold on every man, woman, and child in the resistance.”

At a nod from Alin, the acolyte adjusted the screws until Icha began to howl. Another nod and he dialed them back until the Icha fell silent again, panting.

“Your father is dead,” Thamos said bluntly. “I watched Arlen Bales pitch him off a cliff.”

“My father is the Deliverer,” Icha said. “No fall can kill him. The Damajah has foreseen his return. Until then, my brother will be the instrument of his divine wrath.”

“How many men does your brother have in Lakton?” Thamos asked.

“More than there are fish in your lake,” Icha said. “More than there are stars in the sky. More—”

Alin flicked a finger, and the acolyte dialed him back into screams. The old man hunched over the screws with no more expression than Briar’s father mending a broken piece of furniture. Briar wanted to hit the man, or to run away and try to forget the scene. But he could not. He drew closer, and when the pain was at last dialed back, Icha looked up and met his eyes.

“The chin will be judged, Briar Damaj, but none so much as you,” Icha gasped. “Everam sends ginjaz to the depths of Nie’s abyss in the afterlife.”

“Not a traitor,” Briar said. “This is my home. You’re the chin.”

But even as he said the words, he wasn’t sure he believed them. He had thought the Shepherd a good man, but what he was doing to the Krasian prisoners was abhorrent.

Perhaps it was time to go back to the bog. Life was easier alone with the cories.

Captain Dehlia put an arm around him. “Come along, Briar. Don’t listen to this animal. You know what they’ve done.”

Briar nodded, allowing himself to be led away, back through the freezing cavern full of starving Sharum.

“This hill,” Thamos said, pointing to the map. “Do you know it, Briar?”

Briar started. Lost in thoughts of the caverns below, he hadn’t been paying attention. He looked at the squiggled lines and blotches of color on the paper, but he could not make out what was meant to be a hill.

“Colan’s Rise,” Dehlia supplied.

Briar nodded. “Know it.”

“If we can position longbows there,” Thamos said, “they can cover the bulk of the port.”

“Lots of Sharum there,” Briar said. “Scorpions. Difficult to take.”

“Not for my cavalry,” Thamos said. “We can trample through and take the scorpions for our own, then continue down the road under covering fire to attack the town proper.”

Shepherd Alin nodded, sliding a finger down the map. “Drawn to the sounds of battle, they will not see your forces, Egar, coming from the south.”

Egar shook his head. “We don’t know how many warriors they have, but it is doubtless more than our two forces combined.”

“Unless the entire fleet moves to retake the docks and beach,” Isan said. “We can land thousands of fighting men and women.”

“That will be bloody,” Egar said.

Isan nodded. “But in six weeks, the lake will freeze, and we will be trapped without supply. The dockmasters are all agreed. We stand to lose far more if we do nothing.”

“When are you planning the attack?” Thamos asked.

Shepherd Alin put down a map with various markings. “These are the typical Krasian troop positions.” He put down a second map, significantly different. “And these are their positions during new moon.”

“Waning,” Thamos murmured.

“The sand rats spend the day in prayer, and then move to defend against demon attack,” Captain Marlan said. “They will not be ready to face our combined forces instead.”

People at prayer, people standing against the cories, and these men were planning to slaughter them. It was no different from what the Krasians had done, unprovoked, but still the thought sickened Briar.

Egar nodded. “That should be enough time to march, but not if there are enemy troops in the land between. We have to know the way is clear, or I cannot commit my men.”

Alin nodded. “We will need to interrogate Prince Icha more … vigorously.”

Briar flexed his hands, thinking of the screws crushing Icha’s fingers, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. He coughed, trying to force air into his lungs.

“Are you all right, boy?” Shepherd Alin asked.

“What if he don’t know?” Briar asked. “What if things changed?”

“He’s right,” Egar said. “I won’t commit my men to months-old information. We need to know how many warriors they have in the hamlets now.”

“I can go,” Briar said. Anything to keep that horrible old man from adjusting the screws, playing screams like an instrument. “Know where leaders meet.” He pointed to the maps on the table. “Steal maps.”

Captain Dehlia put a hand on his shoulder. “Briar, that’s too dangerous. We can’t ask you to …”

“Didn’t ask,” Briar said. “I’ll go.”