The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  —The reservoir is weaker than the bounty.—

  Everam’s Reservoir. The name encompassed all the wetland territory Krasia claimed. Its forces were depleted, its leaders killed. If the alagai took the wetlands, they could begin building greatwards right on the doorstep of Everam’s Bounty.

  It meant Docktown was the next—the only—line of defense remaining. If the alagai crushed Docktown, there would be nothing to prevent them from slaughtering the wetlanders in the hamlets and claiming vast territory.

  —Alagai Ka are watching.—

  Are watching. Not is. The demon princes would rise in numbers come Waning. Even now, they watched the surface through the eyes of their drones.

  —Committing too many warriors risks divergence.—

  There were times Inevera hated the vagaries of the dice as much as Ahmann. How many warriors was too many? How much could she reinforce Docktown before the demons sensed it and changed targets?

  —The Damajah must bait the trap.—

  And so she had come personally. Every future where Inevera remained in Everam’s Bounty cast a shadow over the Reservoir’s future. Amanvah was left to sit atop Inevera’s bed of pillows in her absence. She and her brother shared power uneasily, but the dice promised balance.

  Inevera brought three of her sister-wives with her—Umshala of the Khanjin, Justya of the Shunjin, and Qasha of the Sharach—a handful of shar’dama and dama’ting, and a personal guard of five hundred Sharum’ting trained personally by Ashia and her spear sisters. The women were untested in pitched battle, more embassy caravan than troop reinforcement. Too small a force, Inevera prayed, to draw notice.

  Amanvah was not pleased to be separated from her sister-wife, especially while both were with child, but it could not be helped. The Sharum’ting Ka was needed. Sikvah was not yet halfway into the cycle—her belly still slim, the slight rounding unnoticeable in her armored robes. She and Asukaji rode in Inevera’s carriage.

  Her nephew was sullen, his aura filled with shame and regret since his healing. He stared out the carriage window, knowing he was there more as hostage against Asome’s good behavior than for any great need of his leadership in Docktown.

  “They have us surrounded,” he noted.

  “Jarvah said to expect this,” Sikvah said. “The Wolves of Everam have grown fat off greenland plunder, feral as their namesake. Jurim will not show himself without the protection of his men.”

  —The Wolves have gone unleashed too long.—

  “Jurim is a lost soul,” Inevera said. “The last kai’Sharum from Ahmann’s original Spears of the Deliverer. His honor among the Sharum is boundless.”

  “A warrior so honorable should meet us on his knees with hands on the ground,” Asukaji said, “not threatening us with his men.”

  Inevera shook her head. “To a woman? To a boy in white he hardly knew? Jurim is a true child of the Maze. His loyalty is to his Sharum leaders. Ahmann and Shanjat, gone to the abyss. Jayan, dead. Hoshkamin, unproven. He was submissive to Hasik, now a eunuch outcast. What warrior, then, carries greater glory than him?”

  “I am his Damaji!” Asukaji clenched a fist.

  “A boy he watched suck his mother’s breast,” Inevera said.

  “Then perhaps I will prove myself to him today,” Asukaji said.

  “You will not,” Inevera said. “I will handle Jurim.”

  “Damajah,” Sikvah said, when Asukaji lapsed back into sullen silence, “Jurim has over three hundred elite dal’Sharum with him. It is dangerous for you—”

  Inevera’s eyes flicked to her, and the girl fell silent. Ashia was gone, but it seemed her assertiveness had passed with the white headscarf to Sikvah.

  “We cannot bring more warriors from Everam’s Bounty without alerting the alagai to our plans,” Inevera said, “and there are no other reinforcements to be had. We need Jurim and his men if we’re to have any hope of surviving the coming Waning.”

  “Hasik is said to have over a thousand Sharum at the Monastery of Dawn,” Asukaji said. “Perhaps our time would be better spent there.”

  “Perhaps we should visit Hasik now,” Asukaji said, “before Waning comes, to remind him of his oaths.”

  “Your sister is handling that,” Inevera said. “But that information is not to leave this carriage.”

  Asukaji gaped. “Ashia? You sent her north?! Where is my son?!”

  Inevera slapped him. He blinked at her, stunned. Had anyone ever slapped the boy in his entire privileged life? Sikvah studied the wards painted on her nails, affecting not to notice.

  “Your nephew is with his mother, walking the edge of the abyss because you tried to murder her and set the dice of her fate spinning. Even now, she draws close to Hasik. She will free the khaffit from him.”

  “The khaffit?! You risk my sister and the Deliverer’s only grandson—your only grandson—for that fat pig-eater?”

  “I risk them for Sharak Ka,” Inevera said. “The dice foretell the khaffit has a role to play, still.”

  Asukaji collected himself, sliding off the bench to kneel on the carriage floor. “Perhaps I do as well. Send me, Damajah. I will go north to save my sister and…nephew.”

  Inevera laid a hand on his shoulder. “You show respect at last, Damaji, and so I tell you, respectfully, that you do not have the training or skill for such a task. The wetlands are vast, with little food and fresh water, even for those who know how to look. They teem with swamp and bog demons, who blend invisibly with the muck and rot, spitting acid on unsuspecting prey.”

  Asukaji looked up, meeting her eyes. “That is where you sent my sister and an infant?”

  Inevera nodded. “And they need no saving by the likes of you. You would be lucky if Ashia did not kill you on sight. The Deliverer would not have healed you if you did not have your own part left to play in Sharak Ka. Have patience, and Everam will reveal it to you.”

  Asukaji centered himself, bowing. “As you command, Damajah.”

  Around the next bend, the road ran straight for nearly a mile uphill. Inevera could see Jarvah waiting at the top with Jurim and his lieutenants. Perfect ground for an ambush. The Wolves closed in as they climbed, barring the other carriages and ranks of Sharum’ting from the hilltop.

  Asukaji and Sikvah exited the carriage first, standing guard to either side of the stairs as Inevera descended. Her silks were the red of blood.

  Jurim and his men towered over tiny Jarvah on her small courser. As expected, the Wolves largely ignored the girl, focused on Inevera, her eunuch guards, Asukaji, and Sikvah.

  “Damajah.” Jurim’s bow was respectful, but short of the obeisance the title demanded. Inevera knew to expect it, but the arrogance and disrespect grated on her every bit as much as they did her nephew.

  “Jurim.” She did not bow. “I am pleased to see you.”

  “You’re lucky I agreed to this meeting after your Sharum’ting bitch cut the hand from one of my men.”

  Inevera smiled behind her veil. “If that is so, then he put it in a place forbidden by Everam.” Jurim brayed like a camel, and did not contest the point.

  “You are needed in Everam’s Reservoir,” Inevera said. “Take your men north as if we are parting ways, then circle back overland to join us there. Report to Drillmaster Qeran when you arrive.”

  She turned to go, praying for one of the rare futures where her command was enough.

  “And if I do not wish it?” Jurim asked, stopping her midway in her turn.

  “What do your wishes matter, in Sharak Ka?” Inevera asked.

  “Sharak Ka!” Jurim shouted. “A myth to cow warriors into obeisance. Is it for Sharak Ka that we bleed and die in the green lands? For Sharak Ka that Jayan was smashed against Angiers? Or was it simply for the glory of men?

  “I’ve never been as interested in Sharak Ka as Ahmann.” Jurim turned, pacing the hilltop. “Not that he ever asked what I was interested in, or showered me with glory, as he did Hasik and Shanjat. I was one place in the gruel line
short of greatness.”

  “There is time for glory still, Jurim,” Inevera said.

  “Glory is a wisp of lantern smoke, Damajah. It slips from fingers that grasp for it. It cannot be held, cannot be spent.” Jurim swept an arm out over the hilltop view. “The green lands are vast. Their men are weak and their women soft. Their villages rich with plunder. So tell me, why should my men and I come back to fight and die for glory?”

  “If you disobey, your Wolves will have no welcome in Krasia or the Hollow,” Inevera said. “How long before you are crushed between us?”

  “There are other powers in the green lands,” Jurim said.

  “Hasik?” Inevera laughed. “How will the Wolves enjoy soft greenland women as eunuchs?”

  Jurim leaned on his spear. “Better I should make obeisance to the drunken, crippled drillmaster who threw me twenty feet from the Maze wall for laughing at a khaffit?”

  “Abban was not khaffit at the time,” Inevera noted. “He was one of your nie’Sharum brothers.”

  Jurim spit on the ground at her feet. “Khaffit are always khaffit, even if their nature is yet to be revealed.”

  “Sharum dog!” Asukaji shook his fist. “Kneel and beg forgiveness of the Damajah or I will…”

  Jurim gave his camel’s honk as his lieutenants raised crank bows. Once the Kaji Sharum found ranged weapons dishonorable, but honor was in short supply among the Wolves.

  “You would order your men to shoot their own Damaji?” Asukaji asked. Inevera marveled that the boy remained naïve enough to be shocked.

  Jurim brayed again. “I was killing alagai in the Maze with the Deliverer, boy, before Ashan held his nose and stuck your ugly mother. I don’t need my men to kill a sniveling push’ting like you.”

  “Then tell your men to lower their bows,” Asukaji growled, raising his whip staff.

  Jurim snorted. “Your commands carry no weight here, boy. Crawl back home to your mother’s teat.”

  Inevera glided toward the warlord. Graceful as a pillow dancer, she accented the natural turn of her hips just enough to draw Jurim’s eye.

  “Ahmann may have been under your spell, Damajah, but I am not,” the warlord said, “and your demon magic will not work in the day.”

  Inevera spread her empty hands. “There is no one in the gruel line before you anymore, Jurim.” She continued her slow approach, pacing her stride to pull her silks tight around her curves. “Ahmann and Shanjat have disappeared. Hasik is gelded and living in exile. Qeran is crippled and beholden to a khaffit. The Sharum need a true leader, if you can muster ambition beyond raiding chin villages.”

  Inevera sauntered close, and for the first time in his life Jurim dared eye her openly. “Everam curse me that I didn’t see the truth back when you wore transparent silks to tease the Shar’Dama Ka and tempt his court.”

  “What truth, Kai’Sharum?” Inevera asked.

  “We all thought you ensnared Ahmann with demon magic, but perhaps it was just a woman’s magic after all.” Jurim reached out to touch her hair.

  Inevera caught him by the thumb, pulling this arm straight and twisting, locking the bones in place as she flowed into scorpion, bending forward and kicking back over her head to strike him in the chest.

  Jurim hit the ground hard, but he was a Spear of the Deliverer and adapted quickly, using the impact to bounce back to his feet, spear at the ready.

  Inevera made no move to continue the fight, straightening her robes to conceal the curves she had moments ago displayed. “There is still this one chance, Jurim, to fall to your knees and put your head in the dirt.”

  Jurim brayed again, looking to his lieutenants with their crank bows.

  Inevera inclined her head and Jarvah crouched nimbly atop her horse, then sprang across to one of his men. Her kick shattered his hip and knocked him from the saddle as she snatched the weapon from his hands.

  Before the others could react, Jarvah raised the crank bow and fired, sending a bolt into a second lieutenant’s unarmored groin. He howled and dropped his own weapon, clutching the feathered shaft pinning him to his saddle.

  Sikvah was moving then, loosed like an arrow. Her throwing glass embedded in a warrior’s hand and his crank bow fell, the bolt loosing harmlessly. Another warrior fumbled his bow toward her. Jarvah skipped across three horses’ backs and kicked the man’s foot from one stirrup as she shoved him from his horse. His remaining stirrup caught, and his leg broke with an audible crack. He hung suspended, his head inches above the ground as Jarvah touched down next to him.

  The remaining lieutenants shouted and waved their weapons, trying to get the swift-moving women in their sights. Jarvah ran between the horses and disappeared as Sikvah threw her spear, taking another in the shoulder. One man had her in his sights, but with a crack of his alagai tail Asukaji relieved him of the weapon.

  Another shout, and a warrior in back dropped into the stamping group of horses, his saddle girth cut.

  The last dal’Sharum was frantically searching between the horses for a sign of Jarvah when she came up behind him, scaling his horse’s hindquarters as easily as she might sprint up steps. She had him in a submission hold, glass knife to his throat, before he even knew she was there.

  “Point it at your kai,” she hissed.

  Eyes wild with fear, the warrior pointed the shaking weapon at Jurim. After a moment, Jurim turned back to Inevera.

  “Your fate is committed to this course now, Jurim. Your men are all watching.” Inevera began an old Sharum proverb. “The only way out of the Maze—”

  “—is through it.” Jurim bared his teeth and leapt forward with a thrust of his spear.

  He was good, reading Inevera’s defense and countering before first contact. Inevera managed to divert the swing, but the shaft cracked painfully across her forearms. Jurim was ready for her scorpion kick this time, slipping to the side as he rolled the shield off his back and onto his arm.

  Jurim was not boasting when he spoke to Asukaji. Ahmann trained his lieutenants personally, and Jurim’s sharukin were masterful. Between the reach of his spear and the coverage of his shield, he presented few openings.

  But like most warriors, Jurim had never fought a dama’ting before. She moved in close, where his long spear was a liability.

  He was quick enough to block her kicks and punches, sacrificing small areas to cover those he considered vital. Inevera struck stiffened fingers into the convergences as they presented themselves. Tiger’s rib. Snake’s rattle. Pain lanced through him, but the warrior embraced it quickly, turning his shield to shove her back.

  Inevera threw herself into the blow, rolling across the curved shield to come around behind him. There was a gap in his armor at the base of his helm. Inevera locked her fists together and struck with divine fury.

  Done precisely, the blow cracked the spine like a whip, a shock that left an opponent paralyzed for several minutes, with a slow return to mobility.

  Done imprecisely, it might kill outright, or leave the victim paralyzed.

  Jurim gasped a breath and fell onto his side on the ground, unable to so much as twitch. His spear clattered away, the heavy shield pinning his lifeless body.

  Inevera kicked off his helm and caught the kai’Sharum by the oily curls of his hair, twisting his head to meet the eyes of his lieutenants, lying similarly broken on the ground, but very much alive to witness his defeat.

  She bent close to his ear, speaking quietly. “Do you remember what Ahmann did to Hasik in front of the men, all those years ago?”

  Jurim swallowed, the sum of movement he could muster. “Yes, Damajah.”

  “Do you need the same lesson?” Inevera asked.

  Spears of the Deliverer were taught to ignore pain, but there was no training to prepare a man for the numbness of a body that had always obeyed him. There were tears in Jurim’s eyes as he struggled desperately to move. “No, Damajah.”

  “What will you do?” Inevera asked.

  “I will take the Wolves of Ev
eram north as if we are parting ways,” Jurim said. “Then circle back overland and join you in Everam’s Bounty, reporting to Drillmaster Qeran.”

  “Good,” Inevera stroked his hair like a pet. “Then there is only the matter of your laugh to attend.”

  Jurim’s eyes grew fearful again. “My…laugh?”

  “That disgusting camel’s bray has gotten you into trouble before.” Inevera pushed him onto his back and lifted his lifeless leg, bracing it onto her shoulder so the warrior could see. “I treated your leg when Drillmaster Qeran threw you from the wall and shattered it. The break was right…here.”

  She struck, and Jurim howled. He could feel nothing, but that did little to dispel the horror as he once again saw bone jutting from his thigh.

  “I could heal this in moments,” Inevera dropped the broken limb with a thump, “but in your wisdom, you insisted we meet with the sun high in the sky.”

  Jurim had stopped howling, but he grit his teeth, unable to keep back a groan.

  “You have the daylight hours to reflect,” Inevera said. “At nightfall, you will make obeisance and swear your oaths to me anew. Then, perhaps, I will heal your broken bones.”

  —

  Jurim and his lieutenants crawled on broken limbs to make obeisance to her at dusk, and Inevera kept her promise, healing Jurim’s leg and signaling her sister-wives to do the same for his injured men.

  Her wards kept the alagai from approaching too close, and moments later Jurim and his lieutenants fled, taking the Wolves of Everam with them. They skirmished with her Sharum’ting as they went, but it was a ruse that left only minor injuries on each side from overzealous actors.

  “The alagai spies will see only another failed alliance from a fractured people,” Inevera said.

  “Do we know otherwise, Damajah?” Sikvah asked. “Can Jurim be trusted to return?”

  Inevera put her hand on her hora pouch. “The futures are infinite. In some he returns, and in others he does not. I have influenced events as much as I dare. Whether they come or not, Everam’s Reservoir must hold.”