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‘No doubt it has already begun.’ He made the puppet wave its spear, and predictably the eyes of the humans followed. ‘You doom your own kind, keeping me here.’
Delicately, the Consort shifted its chains, probing for a weakness. The wards etched into the metal burned, pulling at his magic, but the Consort kept a tight grip on his power. Already he had shattered one of the locks and freed a limb. If he could break another, the puppet might disable the circles enough for the Consort to escape.
‘How many minds are left in the hive?’ the Explorer demanded. ‘We killed seven so far, not counting you. Reckon that ent nothing.’
‘In the hive?’ the Consort asked. ‘None, by now. No doubt they have already divided the breeding grounds and seek to pacify their new territories before the laying.’
‘Breeding grounds?’ the Hunter asked.
The puppet smiled. ‘The people of your Free Cities will soon find their walls and wards less secure than they have been led to believe.’
‘Bold words, Alagai Ka,’ the Heir said, ‘as you lie bound before us.’
The Consort found what he sought, at last. The tiny flaw in one of the locks, eroded slowly over the months of his imprisonment. Breaking it would allow the demon to slip the chain, but the power required would be bright, and his captors might notice before it was done.
‘You were allowed your breeding grounds against this time.’ The puppet took a step to the side, and their eyes went with it. ‘Hunting preserves for my brethren. They will take their drones and crack your walls like eggs, stocking their larders to satiate their hatchling queens.’
‘And doom for Ala grow in their wombs,’ the Heir said. ‘We must not allow this.’
‘Free me,’ the Consort said.
‘Not a chance,’ the Explorer growled.
‘It is your only real choice,’ the Consort said. ‘My return can still prevent swarm.’
‘You are the Prince of Lies,’ the Heir said. ‘We are not fools enough to trust your words. There is another choice. We will go to the abyss and kill Alagai’ting Ka once and for all.’
‘You claim not to be fools,’ the Consort said, ‘yet you believe you can survive the path to the hive? You will not even get as far as Kavri before he broke and fled back to the surface.’
The words had the intended effect as the Heir stiffened, tightening his grip on the spear. ‘More lies. Kaji defeated you.’
‘Kavri killed many drones,’ the Consort said. ‘Many princes. It took centuries to repopulate the hive, but his attempts to breach our domain failed. That is the best your kind can hope for. This is not the first cycle, nor shall it be the last.’
‘Said you’d guide us to the Core,’ the Explorer said.
‘You might as well ask to go to the surface of the day star,’ the Consort said. ‘You would be consumed long before you reached it. You know this.’
‘To the hive, then,’ the Explorer said. ‘The mind court. The ripping whelping room of the demon queen.’
‘That will destroy you, as well.’ The Consort edged the puppet another step.
‘Take our chances,’ the Hunter said.
At last, they were in position. The puppet raised its spear and threw it at the Explorer’s heart. As expected, he dissipated and it passed harmlessly through, flying straight at the Heir, who spun his weapon to bat it aside.
The puppet flung the shield with all its strength, the hard edge shattering one of the wardstones keeping the Consort imprisoned. The Hunter was moving fast to attack, but the female drone gave a cry, blocking the Hunter’s path to her sire.
It was time enough for the puppet to turn, taking the warded chain in hand as the Consort focused a burst of magic to shatter the weakened link. Like a spider picking apart a damaged web, the puppet unwove the chain. The silver wards burned the Consort’s skin, but the pain was a small price to pay for freedom.
He flicked a claw, using a burst of magic to fling a tiny piece of the shattered metal link through the air, striking the Heir’s crown and knocking it from his head, preventing him from raising the shield that had first trapped the Consort.
The Hunter cast the female drone aside, leaping to try to stop the puppet, but it was too late. The Consort dissipated even as she swung her weapons, leaving solid only a single claw to lay open her bowels as they passed. He slipped through the gap the puppet had made in the circle, rematerializing at the edge of the outer warding.
The Explorer rushed to his mate as she gasped, trying desperately to keep her intestines from spilling onto the floor. The Hunter did not have the focus to dissipate and heal herself, and the Explorer would waste valuable time and power healing her.
The Consort drew an impact ward in the air, and the stones at the Heir’s feet exploded, sending him stumbling as he scrambled for his crown. The puppet kicked the crown across the room, then attacked to stall the Heir just a few seconds more.
Turning, the Consort raised the stub of his tail, sending a spray of magic-dead faeces to disable the wards.
He was about to dissipate again when the Heir cried, ‘Enough!’ He slammed the butt of his spear to the floor, and a wave of magic knocked everyone from their feet. The Consort recovered quickly, dematerializing and moving for the gap in the wards, but not before the Explorer threw magic of his own, pulling back a curtain to cast dawn twilight over the gap in the wards. The day star had not yet crested the horizon, but already the light burned at his magic – unspeakable agony. The demon dare not approach.
The Hunter dissipated, re-forming with her wounds healed. She and the Explorer drew wardings in the air with practised hands, sending shocks of pain through the demon’s cloud even as he fled the light. In his non-corporeal form, the Consort could not control the puppet, and the female drone quickly put him in a submission hold. The Heir recovered his crown, raising the shield, trapping the Consort once more.
There was no choice but to surrender and negotiate. They still needed him alive. The Consort solidified, claws retracted and teeth covered, arms held high in the human sign of submission.
The Hunter struck him hard in the side of his head, impact wards rattling his skull. She was impulsive. The others would be more restrained.
But as the Consort rolled with the blow, the Explorer struck him from the opposite side, cracking his skull and bursting an eye from its socket.
The demon stumbled, only to take a third blow from the shaft of the Heir’s spear, striking harder than a rock drone.
The beating continued, and the Consort thought surely they would kill him in their primitive savagery. He attempted to dissipate, but like the Hunter moments before, he found it impossible to focus enough to trigger the transformation.
Then it became hard to focus on who delivered which blow, and there was only the sound and shock as each fell.
And then it became hard to focus at all. Blackness filled his vision.
The Consort woke in agony. He attempted to Draw power from his inner reserve to heal, but there was little remaining. Unconscious, he must have Drawn deeply to recover from the worst of his injuries. The rest would have to heal naturally.
He remained free of the cursed chain. Perhaps they were rushing to repair it, even now. Perhaps they expected him to remain disabled for longer.
If so, they were greater fools than even he had believed. The curtain had been drawn, and the Consort could sense the darkness beyond the thick cloth. Escape again felt within reach. He raised a claw, siphoning a bit of his remaining magic to power a ward he drew in the air.
But the power dissipated before it reached the tip of his talon, and a shock of pain ran through his body, causing him to hiss.
Again he Drew, and again the power failed, even as his flesh burned.
The Consort looked down at his skin, realization dawning even as he saw the glow of the wards.
They had inked his flesh with needles, much as the Explorer had done to himself. He was covered with wards.
Mind wards, keyed to his own caste. The symbols put him in a prison of his own flesh, preventing him from dissipating or reaching out with his mind. Worse, if the Consort – or one of his captors – fed the wards with enough magic, they would kill him.
It was worse by far than the chain. An indignity beyond anything the Consort could imagine.
But every problem had its solution. Every warding its weakness. He would bide his time, and find it.
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334 AR
The cramping startled Leesha awake.
Ten days on the road with an escort of five thousand Cutters had gotten her used to discomfort. She could only sleep on her side now, something the carriage bench was not designed for. She had taken to curling on the floor like Amanvah and Sikvah in their carriage full of pillows.
Waves of pain washed over her as uterine muscles tightened and contracted, readying themselves for the task to come. Leesha wasn’t due for another thirteen weeks, but it was common for women to experience this.
And every one of them panics the first time, Bruna used to say, thinking they’ll birth early. Even me, though I’d smacked dozens of squalling babes into the world before I grunted out one of my own.
Leesha began breathing in a quick steady rhythm to calm herself and help endure the pain. Pain was nothing new these days. The skin of her stomach was blackened and bruised from powerful foetal blows.
Several times during her pregnancy, Leesha had been forced to channel powerful ward magic. Each time, the baby reacted violently. Feedback from magic could grant inhuman strength and stamina. It made the old young again, and brought the young to primacy before their time. It heightened emotions and lessened control. Folk in the throes of magic could be violent. Dangerous.
What might such power do to a child not fully formed? Not even at seven months, Leesha looked and felt full term. She anticipated an early delivery, even welcomed it, lest the child grow too large for natural birth.
Or punch through my womb and crawl out on its own. Leesha breathed and breathed, but she did not calm, nor did the pain subside.
All sorts of things can bring a set of contractions, Bruna taught. Like the brat kicking a full bladder.
Leesha found the chamber pot, but relieving herself did little to ease the spasming. She glanced at the porcelain. Her water was clouded and bloody.
She froze, mind racing as she stared at the pot. But then the baby kicked hard. She cried out in pain, and she knew.
It was coming.
Leesha was propped on the bench by the time Wonda came to report. It was nearly dawn.
Wonda handed off her reins, rolling off her horse nimbly as a cat. She landed on the lip of the moving carriage and opened the door, effortlessly swinging onto the bench across from Leesha.
‘Almost home, mistress, if ya wanna warsh a bit,’ Wonda said. ‘Gar rode on ahead while ya slept. Just got word back.’
‘How bad is it?’ Leesha asked.
‘Bad,’ Wonda said. ‘Whole staff’s turned out. Gar tried to stop it like ya asked. Said it was like trying to pull up a stump bare-handed.’
‘Angierians and their ripping ceremony.’ Leesha grimaced. She was beginning to understand how Duchess Araine could walk past a cloud of bowing and curtsying servants while pretending not to see them at all. Sometimes it was the only way to get where you meant to go.
‘Ent just maids and guards,’ Wonda said. ‘Half the town council’s turned up.’
‘Night.’ Leesha put her face in her hands.
‘Give the word and I can have a wall of Cutters shuttle you right inside,’ Wonda said. ‘Tell everyone yu’ll see them when yu’ve had yur rest.’
Leesha shook her head. ‘This is my homecoming as countess. I won’t begin it by shunning everyone.’
‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.
‘I need to tell you something, Wonda,’ Leesha said. ‘But you must remain calm when I do.’
Wonda gave a confused look, then her eyes widened. She began to rise.
‘Wonda Cutter, you keep your bottom on that bench.’ Leesha swung her finger like a lash, and the girl fell back.
‘The contractions are sixteen minutes apart,’ Leesha continued. ‘It may be hours before the baby comes. I’m going to be quite dependent on you today, dear, so I need you to listen carefully and stay focused.’
Wonda swallowed heavily, but she nodded. ‘Ay, mistress. Tell me what ya want and I’ll make it happen.’
‘I will exit the carriage at a stately pace and head for the door,’ Leesha said. ‘I will speak to one person at a time as I walk. At no time do we stop or slow.’
‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.
‘I will openly appoint you head of my household guard,’ Leesha said. ‘If everyone’s mustered in the yard as you say, that should be enough for you to take command and send Cutter women to secure the royal manse. Once they have the royal chambers secure, no one gets in save you, me, and Darsy.’
‘Vika?’ Wonda asked.
Leesha shook her head. ‘Vika will be seeing her husband for the first time in months. I won’t take that from them. There’s nothing she can do that Darsy can’t.’
‘Ay, mistress,’ Wonda said.
‘You’re not to tell anyone what is happening,’ Leesha said. ‘Not the guards, not Gared, not anyone.’
‘But mistress …’ Wonda began.
‘No one.’ Her words came out in a growl as Leesha gritted her teeth through another contraction. It was like a serpent wrapped around her belly, squeezing. ‘I won’t have loose talk turning this into a Jongleur’s show. I’m giving birth to Ahmann Jardir’s baby. Not everyone will wish it well, and after the birth we’ll both be … vulnerable.’
Wonda’s eyes hardened. ‘Not while I’m around, mistress. Swear it by the sun.’
Wonda gave no sign anything was amiss when she exited the carriage, stepping easily into the stirrup of her moving horse.
The wardlight inside the carriage dimmed in the early-morning light, but it brightened as the door clicked shut. With it, the wards of silence reactivated, and Leesha let out a groan of pain.
She put one hand on the small of her back and the other under her heavy belly as she heaved herself upright. Heat wards had the kettle hot in seconds. Leesha poured steaming water on a cloth and pressed it to her face.
The reflection in the mirror was pale and hollow, dark circles beneath her eyes. Leesha longed to reach into her hora pouch, Drawing a bit of magic to give her strength through the ordeal to come, but it was too dangerous. Magic was known to send the child into wild fits. It was the last thing she wanted now.
She glanced at the powder kit, but she’d never had the skill painting her face that she had painting wards. That was her mother’s talent. She made do as best she could, brushing her hair and straightening her dress.
The roads of Cutter’s Hollow’s outer boroughs twisted and turned, following the curving shape of the greatwards she and Arlen Bales designed. The Hollow had over a dozen boroughs now, an ever-expanding net of interconnected greatwards that pushed the demons back farther every night. Leesha knew the shape as intimately as a lover, not needing to glance out the window to know they were passing through Newhaven.
Soon they would enter Cutter’s Hollow, the capital of Hollow County and the centre of the greatwards. Just two years ago, the Hollow had been a town of less than three hundred souls – barely large enough for a dot on the map. Now it was equal to any of the Free Cities.
Another contraction took her. They were getting closer – just six minutes apart now. She was dilating and could feel the child sitting lower. She breathed. There were herbs that could ease her pain, but she dare not take them until she was safely ensconced in her chambers.
Leesha peeked from the curtain, immediately regretting it as a cheer went up in response. She’d hoped to keep her homecoming quiet by arriving before dawn, but there was no quieting an escort of such size. Even at the early hour, folk crowded the streets and watched from windows as the procession wound its way home.
It was strange, thinking of Thamos’ keep as home, but it belonged to her now as Countess of Hollow County. In her absence, Darsy had turned Leesha’s cottage in the Gatherers’ Wood into the headquarters for Gatherers’ Academy, hopefully the first of many establishments of learning in the Hollow. Leesha would rather be there training apprentices, but there was far more she could accomplish if she took up residence in the keep.
