The Skull Throne

Her vision was gone when she felt its teeth sink into her, but she had no voice to scream.

Jardir had not dropped his guard and had his spear at the ready when the demon solidified, but instead of dropping down into their midst, the alagai prince hovered in midair as if standing on solid ground. It extended a single talon, drawing complex wards in the air as easily as Jardir, who approved hundreds of documents a day, might sign his name.

The effect was immediate. Jardir had the spear ready to absorb a blast of killing magic, but he was unprepared as the sandstone floor beneath him turned to mud and he slipped under with a wet sucking sound.

Jardir stifled his gasp before he swallowed a lungful of muck, flailing to find purchase. The tip of his spear scraped stone, telling him it was only a local effect, but his attempts to reach the edge failed. Like most Krasians, Jardir had never learned to swim.

There was no knowing what was happening above, but Jardir knew the Par’chin’s life, and that of all the Ala, depended on him maintaining the trap. He embraced his fear, concentrating on the crown’s forbidding, keeping the demon trapped.

His lungs burned as his frantic movements only seemed to pull him farther down. At last he gave in, sweeping his arms to push himself under, stretching his toe downward until at last he touched bottom.

He relaxed, folding his legs under him and using the spear to Draw magic into himself, strengthening his legs for a desperate leap to freedom.

But then things went deathly cold, enough to make winter nights in Krasia seem a summer day. The mud around him froze hard, and he, too, was trapped.

Arlen started to reach for Jardir as he slipped below the surface of the mud, but knew that was just what the demon wanted. Its spell did not have the range to take them both.

He coiled his legs instead, leaping high to strike at the demon, but he passed through an illusion. The real demon had to be close—and solid, if it was drawing wards—but apparently it could cloak itself from sight as easily as Arlen.

He bounced off the ceiling, coming down in a shower of stones and half landing in the muck that trapped Jardir. Before he could extricate himself, the mind drew more wards, freezing the muck solid, trapping his leg.

Arlen grabbed the largest stone he could reach, throwing it into the air and drawing an impact ward. The sandstone exploded, and in the spray he saw the outline of the demon, raising its arms to shield itself. Arlen threw his warded knife at it as hard as he could, then planted his hands and tore his leg free of the frozen mud. Cracks spiderwebbed out from the spot, and they were deepened and multiplied a moment later as the rock bowed upward.

Jardir was still fighting.

The demon hit the ground hard, losing its cloak of distortion. It reached to pull the knife from its ribs, but its talons smoked as it tried to grip the handle, and Arlen smiled. He drew the same series of wards the mind had used a moment earlier, but the demon was wise to the trick, floating atop the mud as easily as solid ground. It dissipated and Arlen’s favorite knife fell free, sinking into the mud, lost.

With the trap still in place, the mind could not go far, and in its ethereal state, it was unable to draw wards or absorb magic. Arlen sketched a quick series of wards to send a shock of magic through the cloud, forcing it to solidify.

The floor shook again, and the Spear of Kaji broke the surface of the stone. Arlen used the moment of distraction, closing the distance in an instant. He caught the demon’s horns in his sizzling grasp, pulling hard as he slammed the impact ward tattooed on the top of his head right between its eyes.

Arlen felt the ground shake again as Jardir worked to tear himself free of the trap, but he refused to be distracted, hammering the demon’s conical head over and over. The coreling prince had swollen again, as big as a wood demon and stronger by far. Arlen had to draw his own defensive wards in close in order to strike, giving the demon the ability to strike back. It shoved hard, and they hit the ground, grappling.

“Even the creatures of Nie draw breath, Par’chin!” Jardir called. Arlen grit his teeth, accepting the claws and spiny ridges that cut at him as he worked his way into a choke hold.

There was a sound, and he realized it was his own screams, but still he held on.

Renna wanted to lose consciousness, but even as the demon began to eat her, she could not give in. She pulled at the magic of Anoch Sun, hoping, praying for some help, but she could not focus the power with wards, or use it to create air in her burning bloodstream.

But then, as if from a great distance, she heard it.

The call of the Core.

Through the cracks of the shattered stone, deep in the Ala, a song resonated, just as Arlen had described it so long ago. Calling to her like a Jongleur to a reel, or her mother’s arms to a warm embrace. There would be no pain there. No more struggle. Nothing but the warm glow of the Creator’s power.

She reached for it, and the pain fell away. The demon’s claws closed on empty air as she sank beneath the surface, racing to touch that infinite power, leaving behind all the pain of the surface. No more demons. No more people, as apt to hurt as help.

No more sunrises, burning her as they took away the magic she absorbed in the night.

No more Arlen, holding her and whispering his love.

She pulled up short. How far had she gone? The Core was closer, its song a roaring now, the surface a distant thing. She strained her senses along the path behind her, and could still make out, just barely, the sounds of battle.

Arlen, fighting alongside his greatest enemy for the sake of the human race. Shanvah, ignoring her father as he bled to death, holding back a demon horde. And her, fleeing for a warm embrace.

She reversed course, flowing back out of the cracks in the floor. She saw the mimic hammering at the forbidding surrounding Arlen, Jardir, and the mind demon, but even as it kept the mind in, the barrier kept the demon out. At last it turned its attention to Shanvah, moving for her unprotected back.

Renna reached out to stop it, but she had no limbs, her body still insubstantial. She willed herself back to solidity, but as Arlen had warned, it was not so easily done. She felt the cloud her body had become drawing back together, but it was slow to respond. She concentrated, remembering her limbs and willing them back into existence, but knew it would not happen in time. Claws leading, the mimic struck.

KA-CHUNG!

A crank bow bolt tore through the demon’s throat, exploding out the other side in a spray of ichor. The demon turned to Shanjat, even this grievous wound healing, as the warrior dropped the bow to hang from its strap as he charged in with his spear.

“Nie take me, demon, before I let you touch my daughter!” Shanjat’s attack was uneven, the blow to his head and loss of blood taking much of his strength and balance, but his aim was true. The spear sank deep into the demon, and it howled as its magic was drained and turned against it as waves of killing power. Just a fraction of that energy flowed up the shaft as feedback, but Renna could see how it restored balance to Shanjat’s aura, bringing him fully into the fight once more.

The demon melted away from the spear, reforming, but Renna, too, was solid again, fully healed and feeling stronger than ever before. Her punch crumpled the demon’s face, knocking it across the chamber once more.

“Hold the door!” she cried, and then crossed the tomb in an eyeblink, hammering at the demon, keeping it off balance and unable to focus. It burst into mist, but this time Renna joined it, remembering Arlen’s description of his battle with the mind on the path to the Core. She intermingled with its essence, latching onto it with her own, and touched its will.