The Skull Throne

333 AR AUTUMN

There was a loud sound and Renna’s sight distorted, shattering entirely as her eyes were broken down into billions of tiny particles.

Human senses had little meaning in the between-state. Here, magic, in its endless tides, was the only sense that mattered. She could feel the wards in Leesha’s cottage, gently tugging at her essence. The demon bones in the pockets of her apron. They were not on the Hollow greatward net, but she felt its contours as surely as running her hand along a wall. Its power was a beacon, its Draw a twister that threatened to pull her in and suck her dry.

Instead she reached out, seeking a path to the Core. There were a number of them out in the yard, all harnessed by wardnets like Ferd Miller’s waterwheel back in Tibbet’s Brook.

Like the woman herself, Leesha’s wardnets had a powerful pull, but were simple enough to resist once their strength was known. Renna slipped into one and down, deep beneath the surface.

Immediately, she heard the call of the Core. It was distant on the surface, like Beni banging on a pot to call them from the field for lunch. But the moment she touched the path it gripped her in its beautiful song, filled with the promise of infinite power and immortality.

Beautiful as the song was, though, Renna knew it told only a half-truth. When the demons attacked the Hollow on new moon, she had conducted magic to repel them—and even that small amount had nearly consumed her. The Core was infinitely stronger, the source of all the magic in the world. Her own magic, enough to make her one of the most powerful people in the world, was a candle held up to its sun. She could indeed become a part of the Core, but not while hoping to retain anything of herself. A raindrop falling on the great lake.

She went as far down as she dared, knowing the call would only get stronger, then reached out her senses, feeling for paths back to the surface. They ran in all directions, some great and others small, some touching ground nearby, and others meandering for miles before finally poking out onto the surface.

She had not intentionally left anything of herself on the path she had taken here, but it was marked nevertheless, as familiar as the smell of her own sweat. She followed it and the miles bled by in an instant. She materialized south of the Hollow, and searched again, finding the next path in her return journey the same way.

She skated across hundreds of miles in four quick hops, materializing in moments inside the tower. “Ay, anyone here?”

When there was no answer, she grit her teeth, stomping to the door and kicking it open. Arlen and Jardir were in the yard, checking the wards that held the prisoner.

“Ren?” Arlen asked. He and Jardir both saw her aura and stopped what they were doing, turning their full attention on her.

“Sons of the Core did it again!” Renna shouted.

“What—” Arlen began.

“Krasians took Docktown,” Renna cut him off, snapping an angry hand Jardir’s way. “Marchin’ on the hamlets as we speak. Killin’, burnin’, and drivin’ folk from their homes.”

“Not as we speak,” Jardir said. “My people do not fight Sharak Sun in the night.”

“Like it makes a difference to all the folk you’ve thrown to the demons!” Arlen shouted. “Did you know about this?”

Jardir nodded calmly. “It was planned months ago that we would strike Docktown on first snow, though I did not expect the attack to go forward without me.”

Arlen flew across the distance between them. Jardir reached for his spear, but Arlen batted the weapon across the yard and bulled forward, smashing Jardir into a goldwood tree. The trunk was five feet thick, but Renna heard the wood crack as they struck.

Arlen raised a fist, flaring bright with power as he Drew magic into the impact wards on his knuckles. “Do lives mean nothing to you?!”

Jardir looked at the fist, unafraid. “Do it, Par’chin. Strike. Kill me. Doom your own plan to failure. For if you do not, it is as much as admitting I was right.”

Arlen looked at him incredulously. “How’s that?”

Jardir flexed, breaking the hold and driving an open palm into Arlen’s chest so hard he was thrown back several feet before he caught himself. The glare he threw back was terrifying.

’Bout time Arlen stomped some humble into that son of the Core, Renna thought, smirking.

Jardir seemed unconcerned, brushing himself off and straightening his robes. “You are right, Par’chin. Greenlanders, and no doubt more than a few Sharum, are dying at my command. But you are wrong if you believe their lives mean nothing to me. Every life lost is one less for Sharak Ka, and we are outnumbered already.”

“And yet you senselessly …” Arlen began.

“Not senselessly.” Jardir’s voice was still infuriatingly calm. Even his aura shone with righteousness. “The greenlanders are weak, Par’chin. You know it to be true. Weak and divided like stalks of wheat. Sharak Sun is the coming of the scythe, that a grander crop can follow. The coming generation will be spears, ready to stand fast in Sharak Ka. Those lives lost are the price we pay for unity, for in that unity is the strength to save Ala.”

Arlen spat on him. “You arrogant bastard, you don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that I will be what tips you to victory in the Core.” Jardir wiped the spittle away without comment, though it was clear his patience was thinning. “Yet you brought me here and healed my wounds despite what I’ve done. What I’m doing. Because a part of you knows there is more at stake than a few lives. It is the future of the human race, and we must hold every advantage.”

“What advantage does raping and killing and burning bring?” Arlen demanded. “Making folk bow to a different Creator? How does that make us stronger? Folk in the Hollow are every bit as strong as your Sharum, and I didn’t have to destroy their homes and families to get ’em there.”

“Because Nie did it for you,” Jardir said. “I know the tale of your coming, arriving just before the alagai took the tribe forever, like I once did for the Sharach.”

“Hollowers were just the beginning,” Arlen said. “Thousands have joined the Cutters since.”

“Refugees of my coming,” Jardir said. “How many of your chin would take up the spear had I not driven them from their illusion of safety? You told me when we first met that many of your men would not raise a hand against the alagai even when their families were threatened.”

He squinted, reading something on Arlen’s aura. Renna looked at him, but could not understand it as they did.

Yet.

“Your own father,” Jardir said, nodding as understanding came to him. “Shamed himself, watching as the alagai came for you and your mother.”

Renna might not understand the subtler aspects of auras, but even she could not miss the humiliation and anger that washed across Arlen’s.

Yet there was something in Jardir’s aura, too. Pride. Respect. Her senses sharp in the night, she saw the apple of his throat tighten with emotion as he continued to Know Arlen. “It was you who saved her. Barely old enough for sharaj, and you took to the field like a trained Sharum.”

“Wan’t enough,” Arlen said. “Still lost her. Just not as quick.”

“Do you regret standing in Nie’s path for her?” Jardir asked.