“You did well,” he said quietly, coming to stand next to the man.
Qeran grimaced. “I failed. I should be—”
“Proud,” Abban cut the drillmaster off before he could make some masochistic proclamation. “You outshone the other Sharum in the chase. Such speed! Such skill! Your new leg puts the old to shame.”
“It was still not enough,” Qeran growled.
Abban shrugged. “Inevera. Nothing happens, but that Everam wills it. Whatever the spy stole from the Sharum Ka’s manse, the Creator wanted our enemies to have it.”
It was nonsense, of course, but inevera had always been a balm and a crutch to disgruntled Evejans.
“Like He willed that my leg be lost?” Qeran asked through gritted teeth. “That I drown in couzi and my own filth until a fat, crippled khaffit proves my better and puts a boot to my neck? And now, it is inevera that I can’t even hold a chin spy when I have him in my grasp.”
The drillmaster spat into the water. “It seems Everam wills nothing but humiliation upon me.”
“There is glory to come, Drillmaster,” Abban said. “Glory enough for all in Sharak Sun and Sharak Ka. Bad enough I found you wallowing on the floor bemoaning fate. I did not pull you out of it so you could wallow on your feet.”
Qeran looked at him sharply, but Abban met his stare. “Embrace the pain, Sharum.”
The drillmaster’s nostrils flared, but he nodded. Abban turned to bow as Jayan approached.
The Sharum Ka looked out over the dark lake. “How did the spy run across the water like that?” He turned to Asavi. “I thought you said the chin do not use hora magic.”
“It was no magic, Sharum Ka,” Abban said, drawing the attention of all. “I have heard of this phenomenon from men returned from the chin villages in the wetland. They build little islands called crannogs, reachable only by stone paths hidden just under the surface of the water. The steps are irregular, easy enough for one who knows the path, but difficult for a demon … or man, to follow.”
Jayan grunted, digesting the information as he watched the first of the Sharum be hauled back onto the dock. The man shivered, coughing water and soaking the deck, but he seemed well enough.
Until a tentacle whipped from the water, wrapping about his leg. The man had barely a moment to scream before it was cut off with a splash and he was yanked back into the water.
Hasik froze, eyes searching the dark surface for sign of the water demon, but the other Sharum began to shout and wave his free arm as he clutched at the boat with the other. “Everam’s balls, throw me the line! Quickly!”
Of course, the commotion drew the demon right to him. A tentacle wrapped around his throat, and his cries were choked off as he was pulled under.
Hasik used that exact moment to attempt to pull himself into the boat. The small craft tipped from his weight, threatening to capsize, but somehow Hasik managed to roll in and shift his weight to right it.
All the boats at anchor were water-warded, and Hasik no doubt thought himself safe until a tentacle wrapped around his ankle. The warrior had already lost spear and shield to the lake, but he clutched at his waist, pulling a curved warded dagger as the boat capsized and he was pulled under.
There was a hush as everyone assembled stared at the surface of the water, watching as the ripples where the warrior disappeared began to fade. Sharum were fearless against the demons of land and air. It was fair to say the demons feared them more than the other way around. But water demons, mysterious nightmares that pulled their victims down to drown, terrified them.
Abban was no different, but he could not bring himself to weep at Hasik’s fate. He wanted the man to suffer, but after all Hasik had done to make his life an abyss, it was good, too, to have an end.
But then there was a flash, like lightning under the water. It came again, and again, then all went dark. A moment later Hasik broke the surface, gasping for air. He was naked, having discarded his armor lest it pull him down, but he still held the knife. He stuck it in his teeth as he clumsily paddled toward the dock.
“Everam’s beard,” Jayan muttered, a sentiment echoed all around as Hasik was thrown a line and hauled himself onto the dock, very much alive. There were puckered wounds all over his skin where the demon’s tentacles had latched on, but they were already beginning to close from the magic he’d absorbed in the killing.
As he stood, one of the Sharum who helped pull him up gaped at the sight of Hasik’s crotch, smooth like a woman’s with only a scar and a metal tube where his manhood should be.
Hasik growled, taking the warrior’s neck in his mighty arm and flexing, breaking it with a loud crack. He turned from the others as he stripped the man’s robes, and the remaining warriors gave him a wide berth as he quickly pulled on the pantaloons and robe. Jayan made no mention of the killing, so his advisors, too, remained silent on the matter.
“I will see to your bodyguard’s wounds,” Asavi said.
Jayan caught her arm as she passed, his eyes angry. “Hasik can wait until you tell us what he almost died for.”
Everyone froze. It was death to touch a dama’ting so. She could demand his hand be cut off, or he be killed, and Evejan law would demand it be carried out.
But Jayan was Sharum Ka, firstborn son of the Deliverer, and likely the next leader of Krasia. Abban wondered if any would dare so much as take the dama’ting’s side, much less try to carry out a sentence should she deliver it.
Asavi seemed to know it, too, her eyes scanning the reaction of the witnesses. If she demanded punishment and was refused, it would weaken her greatly in the eyes of Jayan’s council. Khevat and the other dama grated on the new, more vocal role of the dama’ting since Inevera’s display in the throne room.
She reached out with her free hand instead, seeming only to tap Jayan on the shoulder, but Abban could spot a pickpocket three stalls down the market, and saw the sharp jab of her knuckle.
Jayan’s hand dropped away limp, as if he had decided of his own volition to let her go, but his eyes said otherwise.
“The Sharum Ka is right to be concerned,” Asavi said, her voice serene, “but they are words for your private council chambers, not the open docks.”
“I have no council chambers!” Jayan snapped. “The water witch set them afire.”
Abban bowed. “There are other manses claimed by your loyal kai, some with a view of the docks, while safely out of slinger range. I will bring you a list to choose from, and see your lieutenant recompensed while we move your possessions. In the meantime, I have a warehouse nearby with a richly appointed office where you may relax until arrangements are made.”
Jayan shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his shoulder, but he simply grunted. “That will be acceptable, khaffit. Lead the way.”
By the time they made it to the warehouse, Jayan was sweating and pale with pain. He collapsed to the pillows, accepting tea with one hand, his other still limp at his side. Khevat and the other men pretended not to notice, but all were aware that something was wrong.
There was a glow from the corner of the room as Asavi sent magic through Hasik, finishing the healing the kill had started. There was a whispered plea to her, but Asavi, eyes flicking between his legs, only shook her head sadly. Hasik looked at Abban, eyes full of hatred, and Abban let him see just the hint of a grin.
“Would the Sharum Ka like me to see to his arm now?” Asavi asked. The other men glanced at her uncomfortably, then back to pale and sweating Jayan. All knew what was coming. Asavi had not been able to take her due in public, so she would have it thrice over behind the curtain.
“If the d-dama’ting wishes,” Jayan managed through gritted teeth.
“I could leave it, if you prefer,” the Bride said. “There is time to save it if I act quickly. If not, it will wither and die.”
Jayan’s one good eye bulged, and he began to shake.
“The Brides of Everam do not need clerics and warriors to punish those who would lay hands upon us, son of A
hmann,” Asavi said. “Our blessed Husband has given us power enough to see to our own protection. It is a lesson you would do well to remember.”
She looked around the room, boldly meeting the eyes of the other men, even Khevat. “All of you.”
They were bold words for a woman, and many of the men—Khevat especially—bristled, but none was fool enough to contradict her. She gave them a moment, then nodded, gliding over and helping Jayan slip his robe from one shoulder. The spot where the dama’ting had struck was black now, and the shoulder swollen. She took the limb tenderly, stretching and turning it as she massaged it back to life. Soon Jayan was wriggling his fingers again, and not long after making a fist.
“The limb will recover fully in a few days,” she said.
“Days?!” Jayan demanded.
Asavi shrugged. “Kill alagai, and the magic will speed the healing.”
“You healed Hasik in an instant,” Jayan pressed.
“Hasik did not lay hands upon me,” Asavi noted.
“Fine, fine!” Jayan said sullenly, cradling the limb with his good hand. “Now will you tell us what all that business on the docks was about?”
“Your enemies gather and make plans,” Asavi said. “The dice have long foreseen this.”
“Any fool can guess that,” Jayan snapped.
“The dice also told me to stop the thief who stank of demon root, or thousands would die,” Asavi said.
“Demon root?” Jayan said.
“A dama’ting healing herb,” Asavi said. “They call it hogroot here in the North. The spy reeked of it.”
“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” Khevat demanded. “We could have had guards sniffing everyone to enter the palace of the Sharum Ka.”
“The dice said nothing of the palace,” Asavi said, “or the Sharum Ka. The thief could have been anyone, anywhere. The dice foretold we would meet when I caught his scent, and what I must do. Had I spoken of it to anyone, fate may have changed, and the thief evade me as well.”
“He did evade you,” Khevat noted. “All your vaunted hora magic, and you could not so much as stop a simple thief?”
“That was no simple thief, my dama,” Abban said, bowing. “He evaded the dal’Sharum as if they waded in deep sand, and lasted ten seconds against the greatest living drillmaster. And fearless, running knowingly out amongst the water demons. And let us not forget he had the Sharum’s Lament to set fire to the palace as distraction.”
“But what was he after?” Qeran mused.
“There’s no way to know for sure,” Abban said. “Only a few lives were lost in the burning of the palace, but the building is lost. We cannot say just what papers are missing amongst the ashes, but it is easy to guess.”
“Troop numbers,” Qeran said. “Supply trains. Our maps. Our plans.”
Abban bowed to Jayan. “We have copies of everything, Sharum Ka. Nothing has been lost. But we must assume our enemies now know all.”
Asavi knelt on the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. While they spoke, the dama’ting had quietly laid out her casting cloth. Now she took out the hora, casting all in their eerie glow.
“Guesswork,” Asavi said. “Everam may show us a clearer path, now that the divergence is past.”
All were silent as she threw, many of them seeing it for the first time since their Hannu Pash. When it was over, the Bride looked up, the hora light casting her white veils in red as if soaked with blood.
“It does not matter what the spy took,” Asavi said. “Three duchies unite against us, and your enemies have what they need to attack.”
Jayan’s eyes took on an eager light. “Where? When?” A sane commander might be concerned at an impending attack, but the young Sharum Ka saw only a chance for glory, a chance to prove himself worthy of the Skull Throne.
The dama’ting looked back at the dice, eyes flicking over unreadable patterns. Abban had always mistrusted the dice. He could not deny there was magic about them, giving information that could be uncannily accurate, but it seemed their reading was as much art as science, and they did not tell all.
“They will attack from land and water,” Asavi said.
“Oh?” Jayan asked. “Will they use weapons, perhaps? And warriors? If that is the best your dice can …”
Asavi held up the dice and they flared with power, casting the entire room in red light. It seemed they would sear the fingers from the dama’ting, but she held them easily, even as the men shrank away from the glow.
All were silent a moment. Abban looked at Qeran, nodding him forward.
The drillmaster looked as if he were being asked to climb into an alagai pit, but he went without hesitation or complaint, kneeling before Asavi and putting his hands on the floor. He bent forward, pressing his forehead between them.
Asavi looked at him a moment, and nodded. “Speak, Drillmaster.”
“Honored and wise dama’ting,” Qeran began carefully. “It is not for we humble men to question the word of Everam. But if there is anything the dice may tell of where to position our forces, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”
“The dice do not speak of such things,” Asavi said, “because our enemies watch us for hint we see their intent. If their spies note our movements, they will change their plans, negating the prophecy.”
She held up a finger. “But while they will not say where, they do tell us when. They will attack on Waning.”
Khevat blinked. “Impossible. They would not dare …”
“They will,” Asavi said, “for the very reason you doubt. They think the Waning will distract us. Make us weak.”
Jayan scowled. “My father said the chin had honor, if of a lesser sort, and were humble before Everam. But it cannot be so, if they would dare attack on the day we prepare for the rise of Alagai Ka.”
“That is only the beginning of their offense to Everam,” Asavi said, drawing all eyes back to her.
“They will attack in the night.”
CHAPTER 26
FIRST STRIKE
334 AR WINTER
Heart pounding, Briar ran fast and low, using cover wherever he could find it. Still clad in his stolen blacks, the darkness was a comforting blanket.
There were few cories in the area. Whatever else could be said of his father’s people, the Krasians had swept the lands around Docktown clean of demons, so much that even in the night there was little to fear.
But there were other predators out in the darkness.
Thamos had used the distraction of the Waning celebrations to move his forces in close, positioning them behind a small copse of trees near the base of Colan’s Rise. The count’s horse gave a start as Briar burst from the thicket right in front of them, rearing with a great whinny.
Briar froze, fearing the count would be thrown, but Thamos kept his seat, expertly bringing the animal back down.
“Night, boy,” the count growled, voice low and angry. “Are you trying to give our position away and get us all killed?”
“They know,” Briar said.
“Eh?” Thamos asked.
“Seen ’em,” Briar said. “Sharum moving through the woods to get behind us. Know we’re here.”
“Corespawn it,” Thamos growled. “How many? Are they mounted?”
“Lots more than us,” Briar said. He was not good with numbers. “But most on foot.”
Thamos nodded. “Harder to move in secret on horseback. Are they in position?”
Briar shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”
Thamos turned to Lord Sament. “Ready the men. We proceed as planned.”
“You mean to ride right into the trap?” Sament asked.
“What would you have me do?” Thamos asked. “We won’t get another chance at this. Egar and his men are committed, and Lakton without winter supply. We must take that hill and position the archers to cover the Laktonian deployment. The enemy is on foot, and their avenue of attack is narrow. Once we have the high ground, they will have a bloody
time getting us out.”
“But they will,” Sament said. “Once we’re on that hill, we’ll be trapped there.”
“If we can hold until the docks are taken, it may be we can break through with a charge of horse and escape.”
“And if not?” Sament asked.
“If not,” Thamos said, “we protect the docks until we die.”
Abban leaned on his crutch by the waterfront window of his warehouse, staring into the darkness. His office spanned the entire top floor with windows on all sides, affording a view in every direction.
Earless loomed nearby, but Abban remained ill at ease. The giant was stronger than anyone Abban had ever met, and well on his way to becoming a sharusahk master, but his presence did not lend the comfort of Qeran. The drillmaster was matchless in combat and respected by all, willing—eager, even—to advise and point out when Abban was about to do something foolish.
It was surprising how much he had come to depend on the drillmaster, a man he had once hated with every fiber of his being. The man who had kicked Abban off the Maze wall into a layer seething with demons, simply for failing to fold a net properly.
With his merchant’s eye, Abban understood. He had been a liability to his unit, endangering other Sharum with his incompetence at war. He accrued debt with no way of paying it back, like a chicken that could not lay. Better the slaughter, from Qeran’s perspective.
But Abban had other skills, ones that made him invaluable to the Shar’Dama Ka—and to his sons. It was his plan they executed tonight. If they were victorious, Jayan would claim credit and Abban’s part would be struck from history. If they failed, Abban’s life wouldn’t be worth the dust on his sandals.
Qeran was needed out there in the darkness.
A few feet away, Dama Khevat paced restlessly by the window, the old man taking no more ease than Abban. Only Asavi, kneeling on the floor on her perfect white casting cloth, projected serenity. She watched the men coolly as she sipped her tea.
The Krasians had been careful to appear as if nothing were out of the ordinary throughout the day. Khevat presided over Waning prayers as warriors spent the day eating, resting, and lying with women. Many of the Sharum had sent for their families to settle and help hold the town, and others had taken greenland brides when the town was sacked.
Demon Cycle 04 - The Skull Throne Page 60
