The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  CHAPTER 30

  EVERAM’S RESERVOIR

  334 AR

  Jarvah was waiting as the walls of Docktown came into sight. This time she sat beside her brother Sharu—Ahmann’s fourth son—and Drillmaster Qeran. Flanking the road were rows of Sharum, too disciplined to show they had just been pulled from their posts and bunks to escort the Damajah, who none had known was coming. Many sat their mounts uncomfortably, more used to rolling ship decks than the saddle.

  The procession pulled to a halt as Sharu, Qeran, and Jarvah rode out to Inevera’s pillow carriage. Eunuchs opened the doors to reveal Inevera on her pillows.

  Despite his metal leg, the drillmaster leapt as nimbly from his horse as young Jarvah and Sharu, all three landing on their knees with his hands on the ground, head bowed. “Damajah.”

  “Welcome to Everam’s Reservoir.” Inevera did not need to see Sharu’s aura to know he was afraid. It was in his voice, the slight tremble in his limbs. “When you sent word of a delegation, you did not mention you meant to lead it personally.”

  Inevera smiled, letting him dangle on the hook. Sharu supported his half brother when Jayan defied the Skull Throne in his attack on Angiers. Now that plan lay in ruins, and Asome was Shar’Dama Ka. Blood gave Sharu command in Docktown, but he was inexperienced, and it was Qeran who made the real decisions. The boy was expendable and knew it.

  “I did not wish it known,” Inevera said at last. “Your drillmaster would have sent too many men to secure the road.”

  “It would have been wise,” Qeran agreed.

  Inevera smiled. Qeran was as prideful as any Sharum, but he had earned it, and remained loyal. “It would have shown our hand to the alagai.”

  “Of course.” Qeran glanced dubiously at the five hundred Sharum’ting marching in formation behind them. “Though I am only a low Sharum, and do not see how five hundred…warriors changes our hand.”

  He did not mention that the warriors were women, but Inevera knew he and Sharu were thinking it. And indeed, five hundred was but a fraction of Docktown’s force.

  “I have brought more than warriors,” Inevera said. “As of this moment, I am in command of Everam’s Reservoir.”

  The men hesitated. This was more than a simple visit. They quickly recovered, putting their heads to the ground. “Your will, Damajah.”

  “What passes for a palace in this wetland shipyard?” Inevera asked.

  “After the chin burned Jayan’s palace, the khaffit’s warehouse became his base,” Qeran said. “It is the safest and most richly appointed building in the city, with a view of the water and the road.”

  Sharu coughed. “I have been staying there since my brother left, but if you—”

  “I do,” Inevera said.

  Sharu bowed again. “Your will. I will send runners to have my possessions removed and ready the warehouse for your arrival.”

  —

  Abban’s “warehouse” was much like the man himself. A squat, ugly building, full of industry on its sprawling main floor. But the floors above, where the khaffit lived and worked, exceeded even the most audacious Damaji’s palace décor.

  There were fountains, colored silk, cashmere, and gold. Thick curtains that would aid in hora casting. The windows and walls were strengthened by magic already, a last gift from Asavi before she returned to Everam’s Bounty and tried to kill Inevera.

  The largest room, great windows overlooking the city and docks, was a fitting place for the pillowed throne Inevera’s eunuchs bore up the steps on their backs. The heavy frame was built of the bones of heroes and alagai in equal measure. The skulls of Andrah Ashan and Damaji Aleveran adorned the headrest, flanking the skull of a demon prince. The entire frame was warded and coated in precious electrum set with gemstones.

  The pillowed throne was not as ancient or powerful as the true Skull Throne, but with the mind’s skull to power it, the throne would cast a forbidding over a mile in radius. Enough to cover the docking bay and most of the city proper. Farther than a demon could throw a stone, or drop one with any accuracy.

  “We have more than seventeen thousand Sharum stationed at Docktown,” Sharu said. Qeran unrolled a great carpet before the pillow throne, woven into a map that showed the reservoir and its environs.

  As he spoke, Sharu’s eyes kept drifting to the white headscarf tied over Sikvah’s helm. His aura had a familiar cast—the confusion of a man who had yet to understand women as equals first encountering one his better. Sharu was a son of the Deliverer, but as with his sister Jarvah, only his veil was white.

  “Seventy-three kai’Sharum, two thousand two hundred and six dal’Sharum, six thousand one hundred seventy kha’Sharum, and some nine thousand chi’Sharum,” Qeran said, nimbly pulling from a pouch on his belt meticulously painted figures symbolizing groups of warriors, placing them on the rug where Docktown was marked.

  “In addition, we have a standing fleet of thirty-two fighting vessels, fifteen cargo ships, and some sixty smaller vessels.” Qeran placed tiny painted ships on the great blue section of carpet.

  “I see why you and the khaffit got along, Drillmaster.” Inevera gave Qeran a hint of smile.

  “Everam willing, my master will return,” Qeran said. They had not spoken of Ashia. It was doubtful Sharu even knew his cousin had passed through the city.

  Inevera nodded, looking to Sharu. “More than half your warriors are chin. Are they loyal?”

  “In the night, absolutely,” Qeran answered, when Sharu hesitated. “During the day…” He shrugged. “The levies from Everam’s Bounty are a different tribe than the fish men of the Reservoir. They have no love for each other, and will fight if commanded, but neither craves war.”

  “Do these…fish men have the resources to retake Docktown?” Inevera asked.

  Sharu shook his head. “The Laktonians cannot commit to an attack on Docktown so long as they maintain the blockade.”

  Qeran walked easily on his bladed leg to squat where Hasik’s monastery was marked, placing more ships, these painted with the flag of Lakton. “More than half the Laktonian fleet surrounds the docks. We believe their plan was to retake the monastery before converging upon us, but Hasik’s coming stymied them.

  “The fish men control the waters close to their city.” Qeran pointed to a small island at the center of the lake, the weave depicting what appeared to be hundreds of ships, lashed together. He placed tiny models of sleek, armed vessels patrolling the water.

  “The rest of the lake belongs to us.” Qeran spread ships marked with the crossed spears of Krasia hemming the Laktonians in. “Our privateers keep the fish men from bringing sufficient supply from the mainland to their floating city. We have discovered their other ports around the lake and destroyed them. They have nowhere to run.”

  “You’ve given them no choice but to attack,” Sikvah said.

  “We were only meant to hold the enemy over the winter, while Jayan went north,” Sharu said. “He was to return and fill the ships’ holds with dal’Sharum to storm the floating city and force their tribe to kneel before the Skull Throne.”

  “You admit to abetting Prince Jayan’s treason, cousin?” Asukaji asked.

  “What were we to do?” Sharu seemed eager to defend himself. “Abandon the post assigned to us by the Deliverer’s firstborn? Stand back and let the fish men escape our carefully laid nets?”

  “Indeed, not,” Inevera said. “You have done well under difficult conditions.”

  Sharu let out a breath. “Then why have you…”

  “Come to your town, without enough soldiers to take the city on the lake?” Inevera asked. “The dice foretell a dark Waning over Docktown.”

  The fear that had left Sharu’s aura returned tenfold. Inevera wanted to be forgiving of it. He was young and untested. But he was the Deliverer’s son. The other warriors would look to him.

  “Effective immediately, you will report to the Sharum’ting Ka,” Inevera told him.

  Again Sharu looked to Qeran, bu
t the drillmaster held up a hand, straightening to his full height at last. “Do not look to me, boy. Bow and tell the Damajah you understand.”

  Sharu turned, and both men bowed. “Your will, Damajah.”

  They turned to regard Sikvah, who was still studying the map. She produced a braided gold cord, laying it in a precise circle on the map, encompassing much of the bay and half the town. “The pillow throne will cast a forbidding in this circle. Drillmaster, arrange to move your best ships into this part of the bay before Waning to protect them.”

  “That will leave openings to the fish men to regroup and slip our nets,” Qeran noted.

  “It cannot be helped,” Sikvah said. “I have seen firsthand what the mind demons are capable of. If one of Alagai Ka’s princelings rises near Docktown on Waning, the water alagai may begin using tools.”

  Qeran gaped. “We’ll be helpless as they scuttle the ships. It will be done, Sharum’ting Ka.”

  “Triple the wall guard by Waning,” Sikvah said. “But we should assume it will fall.” She pointed to the gold braid. “We’ll build a second defense at the forbidding.”

  “If the alagai get that far, won’t the throne hold them back?” Sharu asked.

  “It will not prevent them from hurling stones or burning brands,” Qeran said. “They can still destroy the city without entering.”

  “The power of the throne is not infinite,” Inevera said, “nor powered by the demons themselves, as with the outer wards. If enough alagai strike at once, the field will weaken, and they will slowly press inward, like swimming against the tide. The demon princes will know this and move to exploit the weakness.”

  “We must delay, trap, and kill as many alagai as possible before they reach the forbidding, to ensure it remains strong.” Sikvah studied the area of the map between the gold rope and the town walls. “We have a week to turn these streets into a new Maze.”

  —

  “The tide is low,” Qeran said, as night fell on Waning.

  Inevera had strengthened the city’s defenses as best she could, but the preparations seemed woefully inadequate if the alagai brought their full strength to bear. Below, much of the warehouse level had been cleared and scrubbed clean, laid with white cloth as she and her sister-wives waited for the wounded to come.

  And still Jurim had not shown himself.

  “Eh?” Inevera asked.

  Qeran pointed out the window to the dock below. “Those markers should be covered with water at this time.”

  “If the alagai break through, the shallows will be to our advantage, making water demons easier to strike.” Inevera gave one of her earrings a twist. “Sikvah. Report.”

  “The walls are clear, Damajah,” Sikvah responded immediately. “Every inch is under Sharum eyes, with reserves waiting to reinforce any breaches. The Maze is set and ready to be sprung. A third defense waits at the forbidding.”

  “The alagai?” Inevera asked.

  “None sighted yet, Damajah,” Sikvah said. “But the evening fog is thick. They could be using it to draw close. I could order a volley…”

  “Everam’s beard,” Qeran said.

  “Hold, yet,” Inevera said.

  “Your will, Damajah.”

  “We must get out,” Qeran said.

  “Eh?” Inevera turned to regard the drillmaster, pointing out the window again, this time at the horizon.

  “We must get out, now!” Qeran shouted.

  Inevera focused her eyes in Everam’s light, seeing beyond the limits of her natural vision. Water was drawing rapidly from the bay, moorings squealing as the boats began to sink. But in the distance, she could see the water rising in a wave that threatened to crush the docks like the Hand of Everam.

  Inevera touched her earring as she allowed Qeran and Jarvah to usher her toward the door. “Sikvah. Sound the horns to evacuate the docks.”

  “Your will, Damajah.”

  The horns were already sounding by the time she made the hall. Qeran was waving them toward the stairs to exit the back of the building. Inevera turned to her sister-wives and eunuch guards. “Go with Qeran to the city center.”

  “Where are you going?” Qasha asked.

  “Too long have you been in my shadow, sisters,” Inevera said. “This night, you must shine on your own. Go. Now.”

  “Your will, Damajah.” Qasha, Umshala, and Justya bowed as one, then turned and fled with the eunuchs down the stairs.

  Inevera went up instead. Behind her, she heard Qeran curse, but he and Asukaji followed. Jarvah kept silent pace with her, moving ahead to open the access door and secure the roof.

  The wind was fierce, whipping Inevera’s veil from her face. She made no move to secure it, facing the vast shadow of water rising in the twilight and raising her hora wand.

  Wrist straight, the wand was an extension of her arm, and she worked it like a brush, trailing silver magic in the air as she traced a pyramid of linked impact wards. The wave was too great to break or destroy, but as in sharusahk, perhaps its force could be diverted. The shape grew exponentially as she fed it power and sent it streaking toward the wave.

  The impact was deafening as the magic cut into the water, splitting the wave like a scalpel split flesh.

  For a moment, at least. The flows divided, but the water kept pressing, and even the massive power she spent—half the wand’s charge—could not hold back millions of gallons of water. The wave flowed back together before it struck the docks, but its power was much blunted.

  Perhaps the extra moment saved a few lives as men and women fled the docks, but it did not save the ships, or the skeleton crews aboard. It did not save the Mehnding scorpion crews stationed on the far piers.

  The boats that had been sinking a moment ago rose into the air, shattering as their hulls smashed together, fusing into a massive battering ram of wood and water that splintered the docks and tore through buildings like castles of sand.

  Even Abban’s warehouse rocked, but its foundation was deep, inlaid with a skeleton of magic and warded glass. Inevera bent as a palm in wind, keeping her feet as she watched the destruction of the fleet. In one stroke, the alagai princes had reached through her wards and smashed Krasia’s budding naval power in its infancy.

  Water exploded all around, drenching and knocking all of them back as it flooded across the roof.

  “Damajah.” Qeran sprang to her side, not daring to touch her, but she could see the need in his aura. “We must get out now.”

  Inevera shook her head. “The building can withstand…”

  “It does not matter.” Qeran pointed to the horizon. Already the wave was receding, waters flowing back to build anew. “We will be trapped. Caught in the enemy’s net.”

  “Everam’s balls!” Inevera spat, but she wasted no more time, running for the stairs. All of them Drew on hora, moving with inhuman speed and grace down the flooded steps.

  Inevera’s earring began to vibrate, and she clicked the wards back into alignment without breaking stride.

  “Damajah!” Inevera could hear the crashing stone and screaming warriors surrounding Sikvah. “The demons are at the walls!”

  “How many?” Inevera demanded.

  “All of them!” Sikvah shouted. “We cannot hold!”

  “Tell the men on the walls Everam is watching,” Inevera said, “and bring the Sharum’ting to the town center. I will meet you there.”

  Asukaji made the landing first, the splashing water up to his thighs. There was a wreckage of cargo and white cloth swept in from the warehouse blocking the doors, but the young dama raised his hora staff and blasted a path through.

  Inevera splashed out onto the streets of Docktown, purple silks soaked and clinging to her body. Her veil was lost in the wind.

  The city was in chaos. Men, women, and children they had thought ensconced in the safest part of the town were a wild press trying to flee uphill. The water was knee-deep, a sucking current pulling at her center, sweeping flotsam, jetsam, and bodies through the str
eets.

  So many dead, and the sun had barely set.

  “Make for the town center!” Inevera used the warded gem anchoring her bodice to amplify her voice, sending it resounding in the streets. “Aid your neighbors! Take no possessions! Everam is watching! Everam will protect us!”

  And then she Drew, people and buildings blurring as she sped past, leaving water in a slashing wake for the others to follow. She feared for Qeran with his bladed leg in the water, but there was no time to waste. If the drillmaster could not keep pace, he would find another way to assist.

  Moments later she was in the town center, the square already filling with people. She had barely come to a halt beside her sister-wives when Asukaji, Jarvah, and Qeran appeared beside her.

  She heard Sikvah before she saw the woman, her voice amplified by the choker at her throat as she sang the Song of Waning at the head of five hundred singing Sharum’ting.

  “Sing, Children of Everam!” Inevera boomed. It was not hard for the quivering, fearful people of Docktown, Krasian and chin alike, to let themselves be swept up in Sikvah’s song, sung every night in Sharik Hora. Their voices were tentative at first, growing in strength as they desperately clutched at hope. “Sing, for Nie is listening!”

  Sikvah leapt down from her horse, but her warriors continued to sing, leading the crowd. Each woman had a hora brooch, less powerful than the ones Inevera and Sikvah wore, but enough to cut through the cacophony.

  “Damajah.” Sikvah’s voice was calm, but her aura betrayed her. Her first real command, and already she had failed.

  “The walls have fallen,” Inevera said.

  “The breaches were contained when I left,” Sikvah said, “but more alagai penetrate the outer wards every moment. It is likely there are already demons in the Maze.”

  Inevera nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going.” She turned to her sister-wives. “Take your Sharum’ting east, west, and south. Hold the Maze.”

  “Your will, Damajah,” the women said, signaling their warriors as they strode away.

  “I will go to the north section of the Maze,” Inevera said. The most direct approach, where the alagai would be thickest.