The Skull Throne

  “It’s common sense,” Araine said as Leesha looked up from the parchment. “You’ve effectively held the role for months in any event, and I daresay your people will accept no one else. Gared’s a good boy, but better a baron than count, especially with that scandal-ridden new bride.”

  “I expect he’ll be relieved to hear it,” Leesha said.

  “You’ll return immediately,” Araine said. “And take Melny with you.”

  “Eh?” Leesha asked.

  “Everyone’s forgotten Melny for the moment, and I want to keep it that way,” Araine said. “Miln and Angiers must ally, and now. No one knows that girl’s carrying Rhinebeck’s baby, and if it gets out, the child will cause undue complications. The kind settled with spears.”

  “Lorain would never kill an unborn child,” Leesha said.

  “Never say never,” Araine said, “but I was thinking more about her father, or Easterly and Wardgood using it as a rallying point against Miln. Wouldn’t surprise me to find one of them kidnapped poor Sikvah as well.”

  “That brings us to the matter of Rojer,” Leesha said. “He’s coming with me when I go, and the charges against him will be dropped.”

  Araine raised an eyebrow at her tone, but she nodded. “Done.”

  Leesha rose, returning to her rooms to begin preparations. They were ready to leave in two days, but by then, the Krasian army was at the walls, and the city in panic.

  CHAPTER 30

  THE PRINCESS’ GUARD

  334 AR WINTER

  Rojer looked out from the tiny window of his cell, the tower affording him an all-too-clear view of the Krasian forces massing at the South Gate.

  After months in this cursed cell, this was supposed to have been his release day. Instead, the whole city was on alert, and he’d been forgotten.

  “Knew it was too good to be true,” he muttered. “Gonna die in this cell.”

  “Nonsense,” Sikvah said from the shadows above. “I will protect you, husband. If the walls are breached, we will be long gone before they reach the cathedral.”

  Rojer did not look at her. He seldom even tried now. Sikvah was seen when she wished it, and no other time. His eyes stared in mounting horror as column after column of warriors assembled, wheeling great rock slingers into position.

  “Did you know this was going to happen?” Rojer asked.

  “No, husband,” Sikvah said. “By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I did not. I was privy to many of the secrets of the Deliverer’s Palace before we were wed, but never did I hear of any plans to expand beyond the borders of Everam’s Bounty in the near future. Everam’s Bounty was a land of vast riches, and people to bring to Everam’s will. Wisdom dictated we stay there half a decade, at least.”

  “And then resume conquest.” Rojer spat from the tower window.

  “This is not news, husband,” Sikvah said. “My blessed uncle never hid his path from you. Sharak Sun must unite all peoples, for Sharak Ka to be won.”

  “Demonshit,” Rojer said. “Why? Because some book says so?”

  “The Evejah …” Sikvah began.

  “Is a ripping book!” Rojer snapped. “I don’t know if there’s a Creator or not, but I know He didn’t come down from Heaven and write any books. Books are written by men, and men are weak, stupid, and corrupt.”

  Sikvah did not respond immediately. He was challenging everything she believed, and he could sense her tension, her desire to argue, warring with her sacred vow to be a submissive wife.

  “Regardless,” Sikvah said after a moment. “This must be Jayan’s doing. My cousin has the strongest blood claim to the Skull Throne, but no real glories to his name. No doubt he strives to prove himself to our people so they will accept him in my blessed uncle’s absence.”

  “Your blessed uncle fell off a cliff months ago and hasn’t been heard from since,” Rojer said. “Do you still think he’s coming back?”

  “There was no body,” Sikvah said, “and signs he was alive when they landed. I will not believe the Deliverer is dead. He will return when he is needed most. But what will his sons and Damaji wreak in his absence? Will our armies be stronger when Sharak Ka comes, or will my fool cousins spread them so thin they shatter?”

  She dropped down silently beside him, looking out the window, careful even at this height not to be seen from without. “Everam’s blood. There are nearly fifteen thousand Sharum out there.”

  “The fort’s home to sixty thousand, give or take,” Rojer said. “But I doubt there’s two thousand Wooden Soldiers left after Thamos went south.”

  “Do you think it’s true, what they say?” Sikvah asked. “That he attacked my cousin’s forces on Waning? At night?”

  Rojer shrugged. “My people don’t see the night, and Waning, like yours do, Sikvah. Twice now, Jasin tried to kill me in the night. And the duke and his brothers, when they turned on Thamos on the hunt.”

  “Yes, but these were not men,” Sikvah said. “Goldentone, Rhinebeck, these were soulless khaffit. I saw Count Thamos fight. A fool, perhaps, but he had a Sharum’s heart, and the alagai quailed before him. I cannot imagine him acting so dishonorably.”

  Rojer shrugged again. “Wasn’t there. Neither were you. But what does it matter, now that his head was sent to his mother in a jar?”

  “No mother should witness such a thing,” Sikvah agreed. “My cousin has little high ground on which to stand.”

  Columns of smoke rose to the east, where the Krasians had sacked the local hamlets. There were dozens of them within a day of the city walls.

  “If they’ve come so far north,” Rojer asked, a lump forming in his throat, “does that mean the Hollow has fallen?”

  Sikvah shook her head. “The Hollow is strong, and blessed by Everam. This many warriors might have conquered it, but it would have taken weeks, perhaps months. These men are fresh, with no wounded or damaged equipment.”

  She looked to the east where the smoke rose. “They went east around the great wood, likely skirting the Hollow entirely.”

  “There’s that, at least,” Rojer said. “Maybe Gared’s already on his way here with ten thousand Cutters.”

  Please, Gar, he begged silently. I’m too young to die.

  Duke Pether shifted nervously, lines of sweat streaking the powder on his face. No doubt the Shepherd was unaccustomed to standing before the altar instead of presiding over it. A third son given to the church, Pether had likely never expected to wear the wooden crown, much less get married with an invading army at the gates.

  Princess Lorain, in contrast, stood straight and resolute, eyes on the Tender as he hurried through the vows that would seal their alliance and allow her to commit her soldiers to the fight. Not that her five hundred Mountain Spears were likely to make much difference against twenty thousand Sharum. Messengers had been dispatched the moment the enemy forces were spotted, but there was no way of knowing if they had gotten through.

  It was morning, though dawn was still an hour away. The ceremony was blessedly quick, just oaths and an awkward kiss. Leesha didn’t envy either of them the wedding night, but the needs of their people outweighed their personal comfort. It seemed such a simple thing, creating a child, but Leesha knew as well as any how it could impact the world.

  “Man and wife!” the Tender called, and the new duchess nodded to Bruz, the captain of her guard. The man sent a runner to muster the Mountain Spears, then fell in behind her as she and Pether stepped down from the altar. The attendees gave a ragged cheer, but most of the pews were empty, people manning the walls or barricading themselves in homes and shelters.

  Araine was the first to bow to the new couple, but the others quickly followed. Leesha bent as far as she could manage in her current state. Even Amanvah bowed, a telling move. She was desperate to see Rojer freed.

  “Enough,” Pether snapped, drawing everyone erect once more. “There will be plenty of time for bowing and scraping tomorrow, if we live to see it.” His shrill tone made clear his expectation on the mat
ter.

  Lorain’s face was stone as she looked at her new husband, but her aura was a mix of irritation and disgust. “Perhaps, husband, this is something best discussed in private?”

  “Of course, of course,” Pether said, waving the royal entourage into the vestry beside the altar and down the hall to his private offices. Rhinebeck’s palace was his, now, but there had been no time to move, and the Shepherd was reluctant to leave the lavish office he had spent a decade arranging.

  There in his place of power, surrounded by the symbols of his faith and reminders of his own greatness, the duke seemed to regain something of himself, straightening his back. “Janson, what is the status of our defenses?”

  “Little different than it was twenty minutes ago, Your Grace,” Janson said. “The enemy is massing, but if nothing else, we learned this week they will not attack until dawn. We have archers on the wall, and men to repel attempts to scale, but the real danger is the South Gate. There are companies of men guarding the other gates, but the enemy has positioned their engines to strike there.”

  “Will it hold?” Pether asked.

  Janson shrugged. “Unclear, Your Grace. The enemy did not haul boulders all this way, and they are unlikely to quickly find stone of sufficient size to break the gate. It should withstand most bombardment.”

  “Most?” Pether asked.

  Janson shrugged again. “It has never been tested, Your Grace. If it falls, the courtyard will be the last hope of stopping the charge before the enemy can spread out into the city.”

  “If it fails, we’re lost,” Pether said. “After the losses at Docktown, we don’t have enough Wooden Soldiers to man the wall and hold that yard if twenty thousand Krasians come pouring in. Men are streaming in from the levies, but we don’t even have weapons for them. They’re not going to hold back trained cavalry with carpentry tools.”

  “Nothing is lost,” Lorain said, her voice hard. “Captain Bruz will take the Mountain Spears to the courtyard. There are only three avenues for enemy coming through the gate to take. Each a choke point we can hold with limited men.”

  Pether turned to Leesha. “And the Hollow, mistress? Do you think we can expect help from the south?”

  Leesha shook her head. “I gave Briar hora to speed his journey to the Hollow with news of Gorja’s attack, but even if Gared got right on his horse, it will be days yet before he can arrive with any sizable force.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible the Hollowers caught sign of the Krasians on the march and mustered sooner, but I wouldn’t place any wagers on it.”

  “And your Warded Man?” Pether asked. “If ever he were the Deliverer, now would be the time to prove it.”

  Lorain snorted, and again Leesha shook her head. “You’ve better odds with the Hollow, Your Grace. If the Warded Man is still alive, he’s off chasing demons and left politics behind.”

  “What about you, mistress?” Pether asked. “You threw lighting at Gorja and his warriors.”

  “And nearly miscarried as a result,” Leesha said. “I won’t be doing that again save as a last resort with a spear pointed at my belly. There is little I can do in open daylight in any event. I may be able to strengthen the gate, however.”

  Everyone looked up at this. “How?” Pether asked.

  “With wards, and hora,” Leesha said, “if we can shroud the gate in darkness.”

  Pether looked to Janson. The minister’s eyes flicked to Araine, who appeared to do nothing more than shift her feet slightly.

  Janson nodded immediately. “We can have every tailor in the city stitching bolts of cloth, Your Grace.”

  “See to it.” Pether looked around. “Any other ideas? Anyone with a mad plan brewing, now’s the time to speak it.”

  Silence hung in the air like a weight, and Leesha took a deep breath. “There is one thing …”

  “Let me speak to him,” Amanvah said.

  Pether shook his head. “Madness.”

  “You asked for mad plans, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “For what it’s worth, I believe her.” She could not explain her wardsight, and the sincerity she saw in the woman’s aura. The Royals were more likely to think her mad than trust her words.

  “Jayan is my brother,” Amanvah said. “Firstborn son and daughter of the Deliverer and Damajah. Send me out now while they wait for the sun, and he will speak to me. Perhaps I can turn him from this course. The Evejah forbids any, even the Sharum Ka, from harming or physically hindering a dama’ting. He cannot prevent me from returning, or attack the city with me in it.”

  “And what guarantee do we have that you will return?” Lorain demanded. “More likely you will embrace your brother and bless him with knowledge of our defenses and command structure.”

  “You have my husband,” Amanvah reminded her. “And my sister-wife, whom the dice tell me remains imprisoned somewhere in the city.”

  “What better way to free them,” Pether asked, “than have your brother knock down the walls of their prisons?”

  “If you care at all,” Lorain noted. “Perhaps you’ve tired of your chin husband, and plan to wipe the slate clean and return to your own kind.”

  Amanvah’s eyes flared, and her aura shone with rage. “How dare you?! I offer to hostage myself for your stinking chin city, and you insult my honor and husband.”

  She advanced on the duchess, and though Amanvah was shorter and half the thickly set woman’s weight, Lorain’s aura flashed with fear, no doubt remembering the casual way Dama Gorja had killed his way across the throne room.

  “Guards!” Lorain shouted, and Bruz was in front of her in an instant, leveling his polearm at Amanvah. It had a wide, curving blade affixed to the end that would serve equally well to chop or stab. Leesha could see glittering wards etched into the steel.

  Amanvah looked at the man as if he were a bug to squash, but she stopped, holding up her hands. “I offer no threat, Duchess. I am simply concerned for my husband’s safety. If you believe nothing else, believe that. The dice tell me he is in grave danger if he remains imprisoned.”

  “We’re all in danger, with your brother at the walls,” Lorain said as six Wooden Soldiers burst into the room, surrounding Amanvah. “But if you are so concerned for your husband’s safety, you’re welcome to join him.” She signaled the guards to take Amanvah away.

  “Have women search her before she goes to the tower,” Araine said. “We don’t want her smuggling in demon bones.”

  One of the guards reached for her, but Amanvah breezed past him with a few well-placed taps that sent him stumbling from her path. She quickstepped over to Leesha, removing her hora pouch. She stripped off her jewelry, including her warded circlet and choker, slipping them into the pouch and pulling the drawstrings tight. She handed it to Leesha as the guards massed again, this time guiding her away at spearpoint.

  “I’ll keep it safe for you,” Leesha promised. “I swear by the Creator.”

  “Everam will hold you to that,” Amanvah said as she was escorted to the tower.

  Leesha was still warding the South Gate when the sun came up. Janson had made good his promise. The gatehouse was bathed in darkness, the doorways and portcullis draped in thick cloth. She wouldn’t have even known dawn had come, if not for the boom and shudder as the Krasian slingers opened fire.

  The impact threw Leesha from her feet, but Wonda was there to catch her. There was a clatter of stone as debris rained down to the ground. The enemy had not found any boulders to hurl. That was a blessing, at least.

  “Ent safe here, mistress,” Wonda said. “Need to go now.”

  “We’re not going anywhere until I finish my work,” Leesha said.

  “The child …” Wonda started.

  “Will be taken from me if this gate is breached,” Leesha cut her off, “if its half brother doesn’t simply cut it from my womb.”

  Wonda bared her teeth at the idea, but she made no further protest as Leesha went back to work painting wards on the great wooden gates and he
avy crossbars. Wonda had downed three wind demons flying over the city, and gutted them in the gatehouse, filling buckets with their foul, magic-rich ichor.

  Leesha wore delicate gloves of soft leather as she dipped her brush in the thick, reeking fluid and drew more wards, the smooth, curving lines glowing brightly in wardsight. Each linked to its neighbors, forming a net that would distribute strength throughout the wood. Even now the wards brightened with each impact, effectively healing the wood of damage. So long as the gatehouse remained dark, the barrier would only strengthen as the bombardment continued.

  Creator, let it be enough, she prayed.

  When she finished the net, Leesha drew her hora wand. Manipulating the wards on its surface with her fingers, Leesha released magic into the web in a slow, steady stream. The wards about the gate grew brighter and brighter, while her wand dimmed steadily.

  The gloves offered some protection from the feedback as the magic did its work, but not much. She felt the tingle in her fingers, spreading like a thrill through her. The baby, motionless a moment before, began to kick and thrash, but there was nothing for it but to endure as she emptied the wand’s power into the gate. The item could be recharged, if they lived till sunset.

  Again there was a boom as the gate was struck, but this time it barely shook.

  “That it?” Wonda asked. “We can go?”

  Leesha nodded, heading for the stairs.

  “Ay.” Wonda cast a thumb over her shoulder. “Way out’s this way.”

  “I know.” Leesha continued to climb. “But I want a look from the top before we go back to the palace.”

  “Night!” Wonda spat, but she darted up the steps, slipping past Leesha to take the lead.

  There were drapes on both sides of the door to the top floor of the gatehouse, a full story above the rest of the wall. The gatehouse was thick stone, with twenty-four windows—eight north and south, four each east and west. The narrow apertures afforded cover to the fifty archers stationed there.

  The north windows looked out over a great fountained courtyard, the cobbles cluttered with abandoned merchant stalls and carts. Some had been hastily stripped of their contents, but most had been abandoned as the vendors were evacuated.