The Hidden Queen, page 56
But none of that matters if I become a cave demon’s meal. My hands are still free, and I snatch my hanzhar, slashing through the strands that bind my upper arms. Then I pray for control as I squeeze my eyes shut and lift a finger of my free hand to draw a desiccation ward in front of my face. Too much power, and this will be magic-assisted suicide, but I draw just a touch, not from the powerful but unpredictable flows around me, but the crown’s more stable reserve.
I hear a crackle as the adhesives dry out, and punch myself hard in the face, shattering the web and clawing it away from my eyes.
It’s almost too late. My first sight is the gaping maw of the largest cave demon I have ever seen. There are no teeth, but its fangs drip with venom, and the sharp ridges of its huge chelicerae threaten to mash and masticate as I am pulled inside.
I raise the crown’s forbidding, but the demon is…altered. Looking down its mouth I can see powerful magic, but its exoskeleton is as magic-dead as its webs, and the barrier has no effect.
I trust in my armor to protect me as the fangs come in, but even the Tazhan masters did not account for alagai so powerful. The demon’s fangs punch through my alagai-scale armor like nails into wood.
I scream as I feel them pump venom into my body. I’ve seen cave demons eat, and it is horrible. They dissolve prey on the inside with their venom, then suck the foul remains from the husk.
I slash instinctively with my hanzhar, cutting off the fangs before the demon has a chance to withdraw them. Not my wisest move. The cave demon lets out a high-pitched chittering as ichor and venom pump from the wound. It throws its head back to toss me between its chelicerae as they open and slam shut over and over with crushing force.
The sharp ridges do not penetrate my Tazhan armor as the fangs did, but I am battered and bruised, struggling to get my bearings. While this cave demon’s webs and exoskeleton are too mundane for the crown to affect, its venom relies heavily on magic to do what nature does with chemics and enzymes.
It takes only a thought for the crown to absorb the magic, neutralizing the venom enough for my body to handle the rest. Already I am healing, flesh knitting and working to push the fangs out. They fall to the cavern floor, far below, where my bodyguards no doubt fight for their lives against an overwhelming foe.
The next time the chelicerae open I curl up, and when they move to close again I heave with all my strength, hearing a satisfying snap as one of the appendages loses all strength. I’m still caught by its web, but with my feet dangling in midair I stab my hanzhar into the exoskeleton to hold on to as it thrashes.
Those long, magic-dead forelegs come stabbing in, and I twist, kick, and parry with my free hand, trying to keep them all at bay. One slips through, and again the sharp point breaks through my armor and impales me.
I see the demon’s many eyes staring at me, mirrors into its aura, and I gaze into them with crownsight. This is no natural demon. It has emotions. Intelligence. A body designed to pierce defenses, both magical and mundane.
I can see Alagai Ka’s hand in it, taking a baser coreling and working it with magic, reshaping it into a weapon, a lieutenant.
A kai’alagai.
I am surrounded by countless stalactites, but echoing through them I can hear cave demons skittering our way, come to defend their kai. With no time to experiment with wardings I take a direct approach, balling a fist and punching between the rows of the demon’s eyes. The thin strip of carapace shatters and I thrust my hand into the wet, ichorous opening. Here at last I can reach the creature’s magic, and I use the crown’s power to activate a Draw, sucking it out like a minoc.
I am flooded with power, but after sitting on the Skull Throne in the Spear of Ala, it is not enough to overwhelm me. Even as the kai’s aura is extinguished, I redirect the power to the crown’s forbidding, thrust the barrier as far as it will go.
And then I am falling, along with dozens of cave demons I knocked from their perches on the cavern ceiling. Still flush with power, I wonder if perhaps I can survive the fall, but I am not eager to find out. I draw a wind ward as the floor comes rushing toward me, and the blast of air arrests my momentum, even pushing me back up for a moment.
I fall the remaining thirty feet, but there’s time to twist to my side, and the impact does little more than knock the air from my lungs. The other cave demons aren’t so lucky, their exoskeletons shattering against the stone as they fall like raindrops from the sky.
My bodyguards have retreated into the narrower tunnel to limit the area they must defend, but they are hard-pressed on both sides, even with my brother and sister invoking considerable magic to hold the line.
“To me!” I call, again raising the dome. My spear brothers give a cheer, and throw up a shield wall as they advance to join me and we resume our progress. I wrap Mother’s Cloak of Unsight about myself now, knowing the demons will seek me out in particular, if they can.
* * *
—
I sense a change in the flows of the ambient magic when we enter the hive. The power is Drawn into the hive ward, but without Alagai Ka or a queen at the center of the warding the power lies dormant, and we move unhindered by it.
If anything, the regularity of it makes it easier to sense deep into the tunnels as I follow the ever-strengthening call of my father’s crown.
The kai’alagai come in different types. One is a sand demon as big as a horse. Its sand and clay demon minions tunnel under our path, and the forbidding is no protection when the floor collapses beneath us.
Against anyone else, the move would have been devastating. Countless sand demons wait in the tunnels for us to fall, surprised and disoriented, into their trap. But the crown holds them back as we collect ourselves and set to killing.
Next is an altered flame demon, who with its brethren tries to smoke us out, setting fires that choke the tunnels with non-magical smoke. My wind wards are enough to clear the worst of it, as Amanvah and Asome reverse desiccation wards, drawing moisture from the air to douse the fires and any flame demons that do not flee quickly enough.
There are no false turns as the train leads us unerringly to the prison, a three-dimensional greatward like the hive itself, but solid, as if poured into a mold, rather than made of the negative space of the tunnels. It stands before us like some twisted tree, branches growing wild in every direction.
But in crownsight, I can see how the greatward pulls magic from its center and perverts it, sending out the ribbons of power that command the csar’s defenses to stand down.
I peel away the layers of stone in crownsight and see a human aura within, trapped in a space no larger than a coffin. There are holes in the stone, just large enough to allow for a pocket of air inside, but so small I doubt even Darin could slip through.
“Father!” I call. “Father, can you hear me?” There’s no reply. He could be bound, or unconscious.
Or it could be a trap.
But I’ve come too far, fought too hard, to walk away now. If it’s a trap, time it was sprung.
“Break it.”
Gared and the Cutters step up, carrying heavy warded mattocks. The tools were designed more for wood than stone, but years of feedback magic have strengthened them beyond mere wood and steel.
While the Sharum stand guard, Amanvah, Asome, and I point to different branches of the twisted ward, and the Cutters break them off like cutting limbs from a tree before chopping it down.
The signal to the csar changes with each branch we remove, until it stops entirely. Only then do the Cutters put their mighty arms to work breaking the stone around the coffin-like chamber at the center.
Cracks start to form, but the men take their time, careful not to harm whoever is inside.
They needn’t have bothered. As the ward lost power, the aura inside strengthened, becoming brighter and brighter. The cracks begin to glow, and the Cutters scatter just in time as the stone explodes outward, revealing Ahmann Jardir, my father.
* * *
—
For a moment I am stunned, unable to believe it’s really him, that he’s really here. For all the time he’s been trapped, he doesn’t seem to have lost weight, or muscle. Has he been drawing on the power of the crown all this time to stay alive?
His face is a mask of rage, and the power that burns around him is terrifying to behold. The others tense, worried Alagai Ka may have corrupted him, but I don’t believe it. The Crown of Kaji is still blood-locked to his chin. Even unconscious, demons could not touch it, could not remove it.
His eyes fix on me, and something softens. He tilts his head. “Olive?”
It’s not my face or form he recognizes—Father hasn’t seen me since I was a babe. He’s seeing something deeper as he peers at me in Crownsight.
I nod, and he eases his stance, drawing the power crackling all around him back into the crown—the real crown.
Suddenly I feel foolish, standing here in what I see now is only a pale replica. I am a pale replica, a child clomping around in Father’s enormous boots. We stare at each other in lengthening silence. For sixteen summers I’ve dreamed of what I might say upon meeting this man, yet now that the moment is here, none of it is adequate. Where were you? doesn’t seem a fair question for someone who has just escaped a coffin of stone.
“Father.” Amanvah steps forward as she breaks the silence. Our father turns to her, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he recognizes her face and opens his arms without hesitation.
Father’s aura is unreadable to me, but images dance around Amanvah, and I see how familiar even their embrace is. Father hasn’t held me since I was in swaddling, but he has held Amanvah, his firstborn daughter, countless times.
She senses it, too, turning to draw attention back to me. “Mother sent us to secure the Spear of Ala, but it was Olive who…sensed you close by, and insisted we come to your aid.”
He reaches for me, and I take an instinctive step back. I don’t know why I do it, but Father inclines his head, and I realize I do not have his skill at masking my aura. He looks into my heart as easily as I have been doing to others.
“You are right,” he says after a moment. “You had a right to know me. All my children do. Ever I was a warrior first, a ruler second, and a father last.”
My throat catches as he steps forward again. This time I hold my ground, allowing him to put his hands on my shoulders. “But know, child, that I am proud of you. I see the glory in your spirit, and it is boundless.”
“Father.” Asome does not speak in the confident voice he uses with others, but something much more vulnerable. Still speechless myself, I understand.
Father looks at him as if noticing him and the others around us for the first time. His eyes take on the faraway look of crownsight, like he’s looking right through his son and into infinity.
“After all these years, my son,” Father shakes his head sadly, “still blinded by your own pride to the glory you could achieve.”
Even though it doesn’t touch his face, the effect of the words on Asome’s aura is devastating. There was no accusation in the words, no punishment. It reminds me of Mother’s I’m disappointed in you look, which always hurt worse than the rare occasions when she got fed up enough to shout.
Father’s aura is unreadable, apart from my sense of his power. Decades of practice have taught him control over what others can see. But now that I have tasted crownsight, I know he sees the impact of his words on his son as clearly as I do. If he had struck Asome to the ground, it would have done less harm.
I find my voice at last. “Your absence shaped us as much as your presence, Father. I expect you visited the Tower of Nothing as often as you did Hollow.”
I can barely believe it. All my life I have dreamed of this moment. Of Father holding me and telling me he was proud, and now that I have it, I would rather defend a brother who tried to kill me.
To everyone’s relief, General Gared clears his throat. “Ay, maybe the family reunion can wait until we’re out of this rippin’ hornet’s nest and back in the fort?”
Just like that, the moment is shattered. A regal air of command comes over Father, and he turns to Gared. “You are correct, son of Steave. Report.”
“We’re in the outskirts of the demon hive,” I say. “It took us two days to get here from the Spear. Your prison was a greatward that twisted the signal of the Crown of Kaji into opening the gates of the csar, which was overrun. The Damajah’s crown,” I touch the circlet, “allowed us to close them again. We have a force of ten thousand at the walls, but an assault is coming. A new demon queen is hatching, if she has not already, and they will need to cross through the csar’s cavern to take possession of the hive.”
“Which we cannot allow,” Father agrees. “We must get back to the csar.”
“Father, what happened to your spear?” Asome asks.
“Lost,” Father says. “The Father of Demons laid a trap for me, and in my arrogance, I flew right into it. Separating me from the Spear of Kaji was the first part. Perhaps the first Deliverer’s weapon remains where it fell, or perhaps the enemy found a way to destroy it.”
He speaks of losing one of the greatest artifacts of the first Deliverer like he would a hammer forgotten on a worksite.
Father looks at Asome, but it is as if he can read my thoughts. “It is just a thing, my son. Our people, Sharak Ka, they are what is important. The spear and crown are linked. If I am meant to find it again, I will. If not…” He shrugs. “Inevera.”
Don’t need my pipes now that Mam’s leading the way. She’s got unsight wards tattooed all over her, and feeds them steady power to surround us all in a cloak even Cavivat can’t penetrate.
Feels so good to just do as I’m told and trust the adults. Hate feelin’ like everything’s on me all the time.
“Proud of you, Darin,” Mam says when I’ve caught her up on the basics of what’s happened since she’s been gone. Her scent is honest and there’s nothing sunnier she could ever say to me, but it dun’t feel right.
“Ent told you everythin’,” I say. “Might still have a thing or two to holler about.”
“Won’t lie and say you ent been reckless, comin’ here and bringin’ the other kids,” Mam says. “But it’d have to really be somethin’ to get me to holler after this. Din’t put out the sun, did you?”
“I kind of…got promised,” I say.
That stops Mam short, and I nearly walk right into her. I expect Aunt Leesha to complain, but I see she’s pulled up at the words, too.
“Selen Cutter?” Mam asks, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
“No.” Disappointment in both their scents.
“Ami Rice?” Mam guesses. “She always shined on you.”
Ami Rice shined on me? Me, the weird kid who skipped school and hid from the sun in Soggy Marsh? That don’t make a lick of sense, but I ent got time to think about it.
“Ent been back to the Brook since we left.” I start walking again. “It’s a long story.”
Not that long, as it turns out. Mam leaves us in a safe spot while she fetches the others out of the demon’s livestock pit. All it takes is one look as I give Rojvah back her sacred bone hanzhar and she throws both of us into a hug. We tense up, but Mam keeps a warm, even hold until all three of us relax.
“Does this mean we have your blessing?” Rojvah whispers.
“Ay.” Mam sobs a little. “All the blessin’s in the world. You and Arick were already family. Now it’s just official.”
Everyone starts huggin’, then, and I do my best to stay out of it. Rojvah holds out the electrum pen when she and Aunt Leesha have their turn. “Your Grace, your father made a gift of this to me, but I think you will make better use of it.”
Aunt Leesha keeps eye contact with Rojvah, but she wants that pen. So much it scares me a little. She keeps her hands at her sides, that regal and aloof way she has, but aura, scent, and muscle are focused on that pen like a cat fixin’ to pounce.
And why not? No one in the world better able to use one of those things. They were invented in Hollow. And havin’ a rope from your da appear when you’re stuck in a hole…know how that can overwhelm a body. Aunt Leesha’s been helpless a long time, and even more than Mam’s knife, that pen can help her get somethin’ back of who she was before all this.
“Thank you.” Aunt Leesha gives Rojvah a kiss on the cheek as she graciously accepts the gift, but she ent the same once she’s got it in her hands.
She takes the sheath with Mam’s knife from her waist and offers it back. “I won’t be needing this anymore, Renna, thank you.”
A weight seems to lift off her with the words. Mam used to say owin’ Aunt Leesha a favor felt like wearin’ an itchy sweater, and she couldn’t wait to pay them back. Reckon the feelin’ was always mutual.
Can smell Mam’s relief when she takes it back. Reckon it’s how Leesha felt about the pen. How I’d feel, if someone had my pipes. Know it’s right for it to be back in Mam’s hands, but not sure I would have survived the last year without Mam’s knife. Harder than I thought, giving it up.
Mam catches me lookin’. “Ent been keepin’ secrets, Darin.” Her voice drops, too low for the others to hear. We used to do this all the time, havin’ conversations no one else could catch. “Was only waitin’ till you were old enough.”
“Old enough now?” I have to ask, but part of me hopes she’ll say no.
“That was your grandda’s knife,” Mam says, “and Harl Tanner was as mean a son of the Core as you’ll ever meet. Put hurts on folk just to forget his own, includin’ his own kith and kin. But Creator as my witness, Dar, no one was fool enough to try fightin’ him twice. There’s anger in this.” She pats the sheath. “And hate. And pain. But when you’re in a scrap for your life, there ent an armor in the world that’s a match for it.”
