The Skull Throne

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.”