The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  He shook his head. There was nothing to be gained in looking back. Now was the time to look ahead. He drew more wards, putting Everalia and Thalajah to sleep much as he had the eunuch guard.

  Kajivah felt the women’s work cease, looking back to find them breathing peacefully, eyes closed. She let out a shriek. “Insolent girls! You have the audacity to sleep while the Holy Mother speaks?!”

  Jardir raised his hand, and the bar on the other side of the door lifted. He entered as Kajivah was about to slap Everalia.

  “Do not lay hands on my wife, Mother,” he said. “She cannot hear you. I have put my jiwah to sleep so we may speak privately.”

  Startled, Kajivah turned at the sound, letting out another shriek. “Ahmann, my son! My son! You have returned from the abyss!”

  She ran to him, weeping with joy, and he returned the embrace as she threw her arms around him. For a moment, he allowed himself to forget his purpose, to be her son one last time, safe in his mother’s arms.

  But then she spoke.

  “Thank Everam you have come, my son,” Kajivah wept. “That heasah you married has been keeping me prisoner like a khaffit caught stealing bread. You should whip her for her insolence. I’ve always thought you took too lax a hand, letting her dress like a pillow dancer at court and…”

  Jardir took her arms, thrusting her back enough to look at him. “Enough, Mother! You speak of the Damajah of Krasia, not one of your dal’ting servants! Every moment of every day, she stands fast against the forces of Nie, while you do nothing but complain and berate the servants and women of our house! You shame our family with your behavior!”

  Kajivah’s eyes grew wide with shock. “But—”

  “I do not want to hear it,” Jardir cut her off. “You say I have taken too lax a hand, and you are right. But it is you I should have been more firm with.”

  “Do not say such things!” Kajivah cried. “I have always been loyal to you!”

  “It was I who put Inevera on the dais of the Skull Throne,” Jardir said. “I who left her to choose my successor. I who trusted her with the safety of our people in my absence. But where has your support been?”

  “I supported your sons and heirs,” Kajivah said.

  “My sons are too young for the weight of rulership!” Jardir snapped. “Even after Asome murdered his brother and half the council, you think he serves Krasia better than Inevera?”

  “What has that woman done but take you from me?” Kajivah asked. “Taken my daughters and nieces, given women the spear—”

  “Nie’s black heart, Mother!” Jardir cried. “Can you think of no one but yourself? Sharak Ka is at my heels, and you would poison my court with womanly squabbles? It was I who gave women the spear, not Inevera, and if she had not ‘taken’ Shanvah from you, the girl would have been vapid and worthless. But Inevera has been given the Sight by Everam Himself. She saw my trials, trained the girl, and sent her to me when I needed her most. Without her and her father fighting side by side to shield my back, I would have been overwhelmed these past months. Might have fallen, and all Ala fallen with me.”

  “But Ashia struck me,” Kajivah protested. “Killed Sharum and stole my grandson.”

  “Ashia is that boy’s mother, not you,” Jardir said. “She cannot steal what is already hers. That girl carries more honor than the greatest Spears of the Deliverer, and because of you she and her child have been forced to flee Everam’s Bounty.”

  Kajivah’s aura went cold. “Kaji is gone?”

  “He is gone,” Jardir confirmed. “It was the only way to keep Asome from using the boy as a pawn, as he would have used you. A tool to oust Everam’s Damajah and replace her with a foolish old woman who does not understand what it means to rule.”

  “Never have you spoken to me this way,” Kajivah said. “I who gave birth to you. I who suckled you at my breast. I who supported you after your father walked the lonely path. What have I done to deserve your wrath?”

  “It is my own fault,” Jardir admitted. “I was so focused on our enemies without, I gave no thought to the affairs of the court’s women. I let you lord yourself over them, shrieking at everyone who dared bring you the wrong nectar or braid your hair too tightly. To think that because you were in the palace, it was the duty of all to serve you, and not the other way around.”

  Kajivah shrank further and further from him with the words, and he could see in her aura how they pained her. Still he pressed. Their relationship would never be the same, but it could not be helped. This might be his last chance to get through to her—to make Kajivah the ally and leader Krasia needed her to be.

  “Listen to my words, Mother, and mark them well,” he said. “All Ala hangs in the balance, and I must know I can count on your support in my absence. I need you in this. Krasia needs you.”

  Kajivah fell to her knees. “Of course, my son. That is my only wish. Tell me what to do and it will be done.”

  “Every time you vex the Damajah, all Krasia suffers,” Jardir said. “I will leave again on the morrow, and may not return for many months, if at all. You will obey Inevera until I return. Not Asome. Not my sons and grandsons. Inevera.”

  “And if you do not return?” Kajivah asked. There was anguish in her aura at the thought, but he had no time to coddle it.

  “Then you will obey her until you die,” Jardir said.

  Jardir lifted the spear of Kaji, laying it on her shoulder. “Swear it. Before me, and before Everam.”

  “I swear,” Kajivah said.

  Jardir deepened his voice. “What do you swear, Mother?”

  She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I swear, before Everam, before my son the Shar’Dama Ka, to obey the Damajah, Inevera vah Ahmann am’Jardir, in all things, from this moment until your return, or unto my death.”

  She clutched at the hem of his robes. “But you must return, Ahmann. I could not bear to lose you as I did your father and Jayan.”

  “It is inevera, beloved Mother,” Jardir said. “You must hold faith in Everam’s great plan. I will not spend my life cheaply, but if I am meant to martyr myself for the sake of Ala, I will not refuse.”

  Kajivah wept openly at the words, and Jardir dropped to one knee, holding her as she sobbed. When it was finished he rose, lifting her with him and setting her on her feet. “I must leave you here now, to be freed when I am gone. No one, not even my Jiwah Sen, must know I have been to see you.”

  “But why?” Kajivah asked. “It would give our people such hope, to know you are alive.”

  “Because even now, Nie’s forces hunt for me,” Jardir said. “Word of my return would endanger you, and draw the eyes of Her princelings when I wish for them to be fixed elsewhere.”

  He went to Thalaja and Everalia, kissing them as they slept. “Blessings upon you, my sweet wives.” He turned to his mother one last time as he headed for the door. “From this day forth, you will show my wives, daughters, and nieces the respect they are due.”

  Kajivah bowed. “Of course, my son.”

  He stared into her aura a long time, weighing a boy’s adoration against an adult’s wisdom. It pained him to see they were not the same. “I love you, Mother. Though I walk the depths of Nie’s abyss, never doubt this.”

  “Never,” Kajivah promised. “Nor you doubt that your mother’s pride and love are greater than those of any who ever lived.”

  He nodded and was gone.

  —

  Jardir left the chamber, Drawing behind him the magic that kept his wives and the guard asleep. By the time they woke, the Vault door was closed behind him.

  Once again wrapped in his Cloak of Unsight, he moved through the palace until he came to an unguarded window, slipping out and taking flight. The power exhilarated him, cold wind rushing his face as the moon and stars lit the night sky. He had to remind himself that flight was a gift of Everam, a holy tool, not a plaything for his pleasure. He flew to the opposite side of the palace, to chambers that had once been his—now claimed by his up
start son.

  The windows were well warded and barred against unwanted entry. No doubt Asome feared assassins, and not without cause. He’d angered many of the most powerful in Krasia with his dishonorable rise to power. Instead Jardir chose an outer wall he knew faced a seldom-used corridor, drawing a series of wards he learned at great cost while battling Alagai Ka. The stone of the wall melted away into mud, opening a portal large enough for him to pass through. Once inside, he drew a ward in the air, securing the opening against alagai. Even here, in the center of Krasian power, he would not risk a weakness against the night.

  Inside, he once again powered the cloak, moving silently down the hall into his son’s chambers. There, to his sorrow but not surprise, he found what Inevera had told him to expect—Asukaji bedridden, his aura flat and lifeless, and Asome, still wearing his replica crown, tending his lover personally. There were no servants, and for that Jardir was thankful.

  Despite Jardir’s camouflage, Asome sensed something amiss. His aura showed it first, then he stiffened slightly, ears perking. He turned, slowly scanning the room, his crown glowing fiercely. The boy had grown adept in its use, as Inevera had warned, and if the circlet had less power than Jardir’s own, it was formidable nonetheless.

  “Who is there?” Asome demanded, his eyes drifting over the wall Jardir stood against, struggling to fix on him. He stood, reaching for his spear, another replica bright with power.

  Seeing no reason to continue hiding, Jardir threw back his cloak. “Hello, my son.”

  He expected surprise, even fright. What he did not expect was for Asome to attack. Like a tunnel asp, he struck, thrusting with his shining spear.

  “Impostor! My father is dead!”

  Jardir barely had time to get his spear up, batting the point aside. Asome was undeterred, working his weapon with blinding speed as he thrust again and again, each time from a different angle, seeking a hole in his father’s defenses.

  It was not surprising that this warrior had fought demons unarmed in the night—had killed his way up the seven steps of the Skull Throne. Jardir trained the boy himself, teaching him and his brothers a blend of the deadliest sharukin of the various tribes. Jayan had been larger, stronger, taking after Jardir himself. For a time when they were young, it was a telling advantage, but Asome had thrown himself into his studies in Sharik Hora and found his own style. He was quick, tireless, and deadly. The spear and crown energized him, giving him strength beyond strength.

  An errant blow Jardir diverted struck a marble pillar, thicker than a man could wrap his arms around, sending a spiderweb of cracks clear through to the other side.

  Shocked at the sudden ferocity, Jardir struggled simply to defend himself, unprepared to kill his second son, especially after just learning of the death of his first. As his father taught, Asome was careful not to repeat a pattern, his feet in constant motion, next moves unguessable to a common warrior.

  But Jardir was no common warrior. He, too, had fought his way to the Skull Throne, and while Asome had grown in skill using crownsight, he had not achieved his father’s mastery. The boy’s aura was steady, but there were ripples along its surface as he sent energy to his limbs. After a moment of adjustment, Jardir knew his son’s moves before they began.

  When Asome’s next thrust began, Jardir was already moving. He slipped to the side of the blow, taking one hand from his own spear to grip the shaft of Asome’s. He kicked out hard, and Asome, anchored by his own grip on the weapon, took the full blow on his hip, folding in half as he was knocked back to slam into a wall, leaving Jardir holding both weapons.

  “Asome!” Asukaji cried, but it was a hoarse thing, barely audible. His aura writhed in anguish, trying to force a broken body to go to his lover’s aid.

  “Now will you speak, my son?” Jardir asked, but again Asome came at him, fearless.

  Jardir threw the weapons aside, out of easy reach. He could call the spear back to him with a ward if needed, but if they were to fight, better it be with hands and feet alone, lest he accidentally kill the boy before they had words.

  “Begone, specter!” Asome cried as he struck. “Haunt me no more!”

  Jardir wasn’t able to catch the punch, but he followed the circle of energy, giving his son no advantage in his next attack. The words gave him pause, and even as they fought he peered into his son’s spirit, seeking their source. Images rose at the beckon of his crownsight—Asome tossing and turning in his sleep, crying out and coming awake in violence. Once he had struck Asukaji in his half-woken state, and they had since slept apart. Another night, he had nearly killed Jamere, choking him naked in the pillows before the young dama had woken him fully.

  Indeed, Asome was haunted, seeing his father’s disapproving face whenever he closed his eyes.

  As he should, Jardir thought. He accepted a glancing blow to get in close, grabbing Asome’s robe and push-kicking his thigh, forcing his knee to hyperextend. Even Asome’s perfect balance faltered at that, and Jardir used the momentary shift to take him down. They wrestled in close now, too quick and furious to read auras and react accordingly. It was a primal struggle for dominance—the kind of struggle Jardir had known his entire life. Asome was no stranger to such fighting, but as a prince of Krasia he had always known his opponents would fear to kill him.

  Jardir had experienced no such luxury in his rise to power. It was what had allowed him to defeat so many dama in his conquest of the Desert Spear, and the key to victory here. Inch by inch, he worked his way to a dominance hold, controlling his son’s midsection to make his legs useless, pinning one arm beneath him and immobilizing the other as he forced his forearm against his son’s throat.

  He could have forced the boy’s head aside. Denying an opponent sight of you was a powerful advantage, but Asome’s greatest fear was his father’s disapproving face, and Jardir showed it to him now.

  “I am no specter. You are not asleep. I have returned to find the faithless ruin you have wrought upon my court in the short months of my absence.”

  Asome’s struggles increased, sheer panic and stark terror giving him new strength, but Jardir had the hold and would not let go. Asome’s blows and thrashes had no leverage behind them, and Jardir was larger, heavier, and stronger. He eased back a moment and Asome rose with him, then he thrust back down, bashing his son’s head against the floor.

  “I did not come to fight!” Jardir barked. “I do not seek to kill my son, though I have just cause.” He slammed Asome’s head down again, cracking floor tiles. “But I will, if you leave me no choice.”

  At last, Asome’s struggles eased, though if it was submission or lack of air, Jardir could not be sure. He kept the press, waiting until his son’s aura dimmed and his eyes fluttered. Then he let go, standing quickly and stepping back. He drew a ward in the air and the Spear of Kaji flew to his grasp as Asome choked and gasped, putting a weak arm under himself as he struggled to rise.

  “Choose,” Jardir said. “Remain on your knees and accept my judgment, or come at me again, and I will send you along the lonely path to be judged by Everam Himself.”

  Asome’s aura swirled, and even Jardir could not guess what he would do. He could see the boy had come to realize it was indeed his father, but he had stepped too far in taking the throne and knew there might be no turning back.

  At last, he put his hands on the floor, shaking as he pressed his forehead between them. “What will you do with me, Father?”

  “That remains to be seen,” Jardir said. “You must answer for your crimes, but it may be there is use for you yet, in Sharak Ka.”

  “What crime have I committed, Father?” Asome raised his eyes to watch his father’s aura as they spoke. He was Drawing on his crown, healing quickly. In moments, he would be back to fighting strength. Jardir readied himself in case he was fool enough to attack again.

  “Need you ask that, my son?” Jardir asked. “You betrayed your brother, sending him to his death, and killed your uncle to take the throne he had been
rightfully given.”

  “How does that differ from your glorious example, Father?” Asome asked. “Did you not betray the Par’chin, sending him to his death? Did you not kill Damaji Amadeveram, who trained you in Sharik Hora, and all his sons, on your path to the Skull Throne? Did you not spear the Andrah like a khaffit spitting a pig?”

  “That was different,” Jardir said, but whether he was saying the words to his son or himself, he could not be sure.

  “How?” Asome pressed.

  “It was inevera,” Jardir said.

  “Everam’s will?” Asome asked. “Or my mother’s?”

  “Both,” Jardir said. “The Andrah was corrupt. His foolishness was killing our people. Amadeveram was a good man, but he was a part of that broken system and would not stand aside. There was no dishonor in his death.”

  “My brother was corrupt,” Asome said. “His foolishness was killing our people, forcing us into war before we were ready to slake his lust for conquest and desire to prove himself a worthy successor to the throne. If he had been allowed to succeed, Krasia would have suffered under his rule.”

  “Perhaps,” Jardir said.

  “And perhaps the Par’chin would have led us to glory when he carried the spear in the Maze,” Asome said. “We make the choices we think best for the good of our people, Father. You taught me that. I took no pleasure in killing my uncle, but he was part of a broken system, and there was no dishonor in his death. I used no hora, and challenged him and the Damaji openly, in accordance with our law.”

  “In the night,” Jardir growled. “When all men are brothers. And you goaded my other sons to cheat with hora in their sacred challenges.”

  Again Asome shrugged. “Was the Par’chin lying when he spoke of your betrayal before Domin Sharum? Did you not turn on him in the night, throwing him to the demons?”