The Daylight War (87 page)

But the princelings, eager for the favour of consort and Queen, had assured him they would have little trouble killing the minds and scattering their armies before their corruption could spread to the other breeding grounds. Their last report had them moving to strike.

And then, nothing.

The entire mind court had waited on their return, but there was only silence, and the growing realization of the unthinkable. That they failed was obvious, but that alone was not disgrace enough to prevent their return. Not when the Core could restore their power and replenish their drones, allowing them to return even stronger. The answer was far more ominous.

They had not simply failed, they had been destroyed.

The princelings had been young – weak by the standards of their brethren – but still cunning and cautious, in full control of their magic where the humans played with it like hatchlings drawing their first wards. How could they have been so utterly defeated?

The Queen had raged when the truth became clear. Every prince, from the weakest to the strongest, was a potential mate and precious to her, especially now. Her fury, and the incoherence with which she expressed it, made clear what his brethren had known for some time – she was close to laying, and soon the entire court would tear itself asunder as the princes fought for the right to imprint upon her egg sac.

The consort hated the surface, and hated more having to come here now. He should be at court, attending the Queen and keeping his rivals at bay, not up here tending stock that had forgotten it was food. But the Queen had demanded he go himself, and though her mind was confused this far in her cycle, it was still powerful enough to compel any demon fool enough to refuse her – if she did not kill them with a casual stroke of her claws. She owned him utterly, and he hated her for it.

He reached out, searching for the minds of the other coreling princes that had risen on the moonless night, many miles distant. Three to the north and three south; the consort had persuaded the Queen to send his greatest rivals to the surface with him to do his bidding as he put down the rebellion.

It was a risk. The farther the princes were from the Queen, the less her power over them. With every hour that passed, they would have more freedom to disobey her commands – and those of her consort. The fighting would make them stronger and more experienced, and amid the battle they might even take the opportunity to strike at one another. Feasting on the mind of a rival could double a prince’s power, perhaps even enough for one to grow bold enough to strike at him. They could even strike in unison. Few things could make the more powerful coreling princes work together, much less conspire to kill one of their own, but unseating a consort when a mating was near was one of them. The consort was stronger than any of them, but he was not stronger than
all
of them.

But for all the risks, it was better to remove them from court entirely. The Queen was bloated with eggs, and at any time she could croon her laying, sending them all into a frenzy to be the first to her side.

It was for this reason the consort had chosen the cave to direct the battle from. With the most direct path to the Core for a thousand miles, he could Draw powerfully enough to repel any assault, and march prisoners back down for its personal larder. If it came, he would hear the Queen’s call before the others on the surface, and be able to return to court faster.

He still would not be the first to her side, but the Queen would not choose instantly, and the consort had fought off challenges before. He was old, older than almost all the others combined, and the magic in his veins older still. He had fed on many minds, first his father, uncles, and brothers, then his sons and grandsons as subsequent matings came and went. He had cunning to match his raw power, and thousands of years of experience to draw upon.

He closed his eyes, cranium throbbing as he touched the minds of his generals. They were even less pleased than he, cut off from the Core’s magic – limited to what they could store within themselves and draw from vents and their subordinates. Enough to be a match for almost anything on the surface, but not without becoming vulnerable to their brethren. All were wary as they linked their surface thoughts with the consort.

He transmitted the senses of his wind drone spies, and immediately reports from the others began to flood his mind, feeding the results of their own drones’ reconnaissance. Battlegrounds were quickly chosen and preparations under way.

The consort withdrew from their minds, letting his generals conduct the details. A steady stream of information poured in as their efforts went on. The very air hummed with it.

Again he focused on the land in front of him, peering out from his guarded cave. How many centuries had passed since he last felt the need to visit the surface? He breathed in its stink with his own nostrils, and with it came a scent that moistened his teeth.

Humans.

It took only a moment for the consort to pinpoint them, not even needing the use of drones. The small village, far from the travelled paths, had hidden itself well from the bloodshed that came with any unification, but though its wards of protection were strong, there were no mind wards. He was able to slip into the consciousness of the villagers as easily as a mimic might take their shape.

With a pulse of command, every male, female, and juvenile in the village stopped whatever it was doing and quietly gathered as much food and water as they could carry, then walked out beyond the protection of the village’s wards, joining the others as they silently followed the demon’s call.

The path they followed was thick with drones, drawn to the consort’s presence like magic to a ward, but the humans marched unmolested through the thick forest and up the high hill. Soon they stood gathered before the cave mouth, staring blankly.

It was a simple matter to single out their leader, though this one was no mind. Unresistant, he stumbled towards his doom. One of the mimics grabbed him, growing a curved claw to sever the human’s neck, letting the rest of the body fall. It came forward, peeling open the skull to present it to its master.

The consort slipped his delicate talons into the skull, scooping out the sweet meat and shovelling it into his mouth. The meat was tough, veined with the meaningless needs and wants of its kind, traits long since bred from the consort’s personal larder. He had forgotten how different surface stock could taste, and savoured every thought and emotion of the man’s lifetime as he licked the sticky fluid from his teeth.

He looked to the other humans, over two hundred of them, and felt a rush of pleasure. What would his brethren at court pay for a taste of the surface?

His cranium pulsed as he impressed his will deeper into the minds of the humans, imparting upon them precise instructions. One by one, they shouldered their burdens and began squeezing into the fissure at the back of the cave. As they passed, he imparted a touch of his scent upon them so that no creature, demon or otherwise, would dare molest them on their long march down to the Core.

It was late in the afternoon, the last day before new moon, as Leesha watched Araine’s royal armourer go about Wonda’s final fitting.

Leesha had spent many sleepless nights working on it, adding to the already powerful forbidding wards of strength, speed, and misdirection. If she stood still, coreling eyes would slide off her the way men’s eyes slid off a woman’s face when her dress was cut low. The suit would Draw upon ambient magic as well as that of corelings that attacked her, and the slivers of demon bone she had worked into the lacquer would act as batteries when those other sources were lacking.

She had powered Wonda’s bow in the same way, as well as Gared’s gauntlets, his axe and machete. Whatever her feelings for the man, Gared would be in the thick of the fighting tonight, and she had no misconceptions of whose side she was on in the coming conflict. He would be able to crush diamonds in his fists, and his already formidable weapons would bite as never before.

But for all these wardings, she had used only the bones of common wood demons. The desiccated arm and stub of horn from the mind demon she kept safe, save for the tiny claws – little more than a pampered noblewoman’s fingernail – that she used to power the wards in their helms. No coreling prince would slip into their minds as had been done to her. She shuddered at the memory.

‘Truly breathtaking,’ Thamos said, coming into the fitting room. ‘My Wooden Soldiers will gnash their teeth in envy.’

Wonda blushed, dropping her eyes as she always did at the sight of the handsome count. Wonda was never far from Leesha’s side, and was privy to her every secret, including the nights she spent with the count. But more than that, Wonda was a girl unused to the kind of male attention that Thamos lavished on every woman in his presence, regardless of age or beauty.

Makes
you
feel
like
you’re the only one in the room
,
Leesha thought, looking at him and suppressing a shy smile herself.

‘Thanks, Yur Highness.’ Wonda attempted to bow, but the armourer pulled hard on her stays.

‘Keep still,’ he grunted.

Wonda blushed deeper, but Thamos pretended not to notice. ‘I am told to expect our mistress to be even bolder than Darsy Cutter in the night.’

‘I’ll keep her safe,’ Wonda promised.

‘Of that I have no doubt.’ Thamos smiled, but Leesha saw him tighten his lips. He did indeed have doubts, and had argued them long and hard with Leesha in private. His eyes flicked to a private alcove, and she moved off to speak with him alone.

‘I wish you would reconsider,’ he said. ‘Stay by my side in the battle. My Wooden Soldiers …’

‘Would form a ring around me five men thick, and keep me from my business,’ Leesha said. ‘They, and you, need their attention on the demons, not on protecting me.’ She smiled. ‘Wonda and I have been at this a lot longer than you.’

Thamos’ face soured, but he could not disagree. ‘It’s not just the demons I worry about. My spies report that since our … since the wedding night, many of the Krasians have been grumbling about you and making threats.’

‘That reminds me,’ Leesha said. ‘The
Sharum
will have their weapons returned when they arrive at muster tonight.’

‘What?!’ Thamos sputtered. ‘Did you not hear what I just—’

‘It is irrelevant,’ Leesha said. ‘We need every able-bodied warrior ready tonight, and the
Sharum
have already proven they can kill with or without their weapons. Their religion forbids they attack anyone during Waning. Only demons need fear them. After the moon begins to wax once more, they will surrender them again.’

‘I forbid it,’ Thamos said.

Leesha smiled. ‘It is already done, Highness. None of the Hollowers will support you if you try to disarm them again now.’

Thamos shook his head, laughing helplessly. ‘You are an impossible woman, Leesha Paper.’

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer one of the insipid ladies at court as your countess?’ Leesha asked.

Thamos’ predatory grin returned. ‘Not for an instant.’

Rojer watched as Hary Roller held his conductor’s wand aloft, holding the final note. The Jongleurs and apprentices had been practising the
Song
of
Waning
almost nonstop ever since they recovered from Arlen and Renna’s wedding. If Rojer’s performance at the celebration hadn’t been impetus enough, then his demonstration out beyond the greatwards the following night surely was.

Most of the players weren’t ready yet. Hary had proven a fine teacher, learning the song quickly and working tirelessly to pass it on, but only the most skilled of the Jongleurs had been able to master the more complex arrangements in the time given them.

They had tested their abilities last night with mixed results. Many of the Jongleurs could affect the demons much as Rojer once had – mesmerizing them; driving them to dance or follow him, to flee or attack. They could even walk unmolested in the night, so long as they kept the underlying tune.