The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

  “He’s fine,” Faseek says. “He just returned from Sharik Hora. But the rest of the men…” He shakes his head. “Half are injured, and all are haunted. This is like nothing we’ve ever seen. The alagai are salting the Ala. Giving us nowhere to retreat to. Soon, the Holy City will be all that’s left.”

  But for how long? The demons cannot approach Sharik Hora without burning away, but as with Chadan’s walls, they can lob stones and debris, slowly grinding heroes’ bones to powder before the protections weaken and they can force their way forward.

  The only hope is to fight. Now, while we still can.

  “What did Iraven’s scouts find?” I ask.

  Faseek’s face darkens. Darin sniffs, perhaps smelling my brother’s fear. “A path to the abyss.”

  My knees weaken. For a moment I fear I will sway, but I hear Mother’s voice in my head.

  Never lose composure, Mother told me a thousand times. Not when you stub your toe, and not when the whole duchy is ablaze. Your people take their cues from you. If you are calm, they will be calm. If you are brave…

  It was easy for her to say. I don’t think Mother has emotions the way other folk do. She took her own lessons too well.

  But now I am thankful for the words, because they give me strength to look Faseek in the eye, lending him courage I don’t have. “Explain.”

  “When the alagai breached the walls in the chin quarter two moons ago, they did not leave.”

  The words hang for long moments in the stunned silence between us. “How is that possible?” I ask at last. “Iraven said he drove them back. Sealed the breach.”

  Faseek nods. “The Warders repaired the breach in the wall, but the chin quarter’s undercity was in such disrepair it was condemned. The Sharum Ka had it sealed off, and darkness grew within.”

  The words are ominous, but Mother’s training keeps me focused. “What did they find, precisely?

  “The chin quarter stands unmolested, even as the demons have leveled every other part of the city they pass through. They went into the undercity and found…”

  A look of horror crosses my brother’s face. Faseek is the bravest warrior I know. Fearless in battle. Yet the very thought of what they found shakes him.

  I lay a hand on his shoulder, comforting and firm. I squeeze, looking him in the eyes with a hard shell of calm over my mounting fears. “What did they see?”

  “The alagai…” he swallows again, “are tunneling a greatward.”

  Acid nausea forms in my belly, spreading out to make my muscles feel shaky, sick. I’m in over my head. We all are. I remember stories of demon warding from the histories of the demon war. If there was any doubt remaining, this proves there is a mind demon controlling the assault.

  But I show none of my fear to my spear brother, arching my back the way Mother did when she wanted to be imperious. “So we have a target.”

  I turn to Darin with the same tone. “Warn Micha. Tell the others to gather the hora weapons and armor up. Now. We’ll meet you as quickly as we can.”

  Darin nods and runs off. Faseek looks about to say something, but I hold up a finger, staying him until Darin is well out of sight.

  “Your runner is quick,” Faseek says, “but he will not be quick enough. We muster in a quarter hour. The Sharum Ka believes it is best to infiltrate the alagai tunnels in the day when they will be weakest. The Princes Unit will take point with his personal guard, the Spears of the Desert.”

  “Of course,” I say. “The Sharum Ka needs his best men.” And because my brother is wise enough to take his rival to the abyss with him, lest the Damaji treat this as yet another suicide mission.

  “It is an honor,” Faseek says. “We will battle Alagai Ka himself, and be victorious, or die on alagai talons, and stand proud before Everam’s judgment.”

  I look at him a long time, wondering if perhaps I have lent him too much courage. It’s hard to see the weak, fearful boy he was just a few months ago. He’s put on muscle, but it’s more than that. Faseek is one of the fiercest fighters we have. First into the fray.

  Today, that’s likely to get him killed.

  A horn sounds out over the city, coming from the training grounds. The Horn of Sharak.

  “We are called to muster.” Faseek punches a fist to his chest. “Farewell, my prince. I will see you again, in this life or the next.”

  I surprise him by pulling him into an embrace, but he does not resist. “Do not spend your life cheaply, warrior.”

  Faseek nods. “If I die, it will be drowning in oceans of ichor.”

  I kiss his cheek and let him go.

  “We don’t have much time,” Arick says. “You may have fooled Darin, but my sister will see through your lie.”

  I don’t face him. “What do you mean?”

  The horn sounds again. “They are blowing the Horn of Sharak,” Arick says, “and you mean to answer.”

  My hand tightens on the haft of my spear. “And if I do?”

  Arick stamps the butt of his spear on the ground. “Then we’ll do it together.”

  “Why?” I ask. “This is not your city. Not your tribe. The Majah stripped you of the black.”

  “The Majah can tear my clothes,” Arick sounds pained, “but only Everam can take the black from me. Fighting alagai is the only time I’ve ever truly felt alive. This is not my city or my tribe, but all men are brothers in the night. I won’t hide in a tomb to greater men while others shed blood to hold back the forces of Nie.”

  I look at him at last, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Then come, brother. It is time to be counted.”

  52

  LEFT BEHIND

  My body feels awkward, swollen like a balloon to fit the Sharum uniform, but my legs are longer, and without added mass to fill the new volume, I feel light as a feather. It takes a few moments to hit my stride, but when I do, the ruined streets pass in a blur.

  Running is what I’ve always been best at. Running from my problems or things that overwhelm my senses, running to fetch help when I’m in over my head.

  But if the demons are building a ward here in the city, there’s no running from that. It means they’re digging in, and will only get stronger. How can we fight that? There hasn’t been a demon greatward since the war, and from the stories Mam told, they nearly killed her and Da, Aunt Leesha, Bloodfather, and the Damajah.

  What are we supposed to do, in the face of that? Olive sounded like she had a plan, but I could smell her fear.

  I avoid the gate, crowded with folk trying in vain to get permission to leave the Holy City. Instead I climb the bone-encrusted wall, avoiding the distracted wall guards and making my way to the statue that hides one of the entrances to Micha’s secret tunnels. They have more twists and turns than a gopher burrow, but I don’t need to remember them when I can just follow my nose.

  I’m back in Micha’s secret chamber in short order, relaying the news.

  Selen slaps her forehead before I even finish. “Darin Bales, you ripping idiot.”

  I break off in confusion, smelling her annoyance. “What did I do?”

  “What was the big hurry to run and tell us?” Selen demands. “We’re hiding in the safest place in the city. Olive just ran you off so she could join up and fight.”

  I stiffen. Could it be? “How’s she gonna do that if Arick’s with her?”

  “Olive Paper can pick up a milk cow and lift it over her head,” Selen says. “Arick’s tough, but he ent enough to stop her.”

  “Nor would he try,” Rojvah says. “My brother will need no convincing to kill alagai again.”

  I feel sick, because she’s makin’ a lot of sense. I remember the wild look in Arick’s eyes when he was drunk on demon magic, so like Ella Cutter before she tried to kill Mam. And Olive is different now, in ways I still don’t understand. But would she lie to my face
like that? Olive Paper?

  Startin’ to wonder if there’s anyone I can really trust anymore.

  “I’ll go after her,” I say. “She can’t have gotten far.”

  “If she’s rejoined her spear brothers, it won’t do much good,” Micha says. “I doubt you could force her to return any more than Arick.”

  She’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to hear. I beat Olive once, but I know it was because I got lucky, and she’s come a long way since then. Don’t want to fight her for real. Don’t even know that it’s my business. “So what do we do? Wait?”

  “The Core with that,” Selen says, going to the weapons rack. “Gonna get herself killed. If she’s going into the hive, we’re going after her. Then when this is all over, I’m gonna kill her myself for leaving us behind.”

  The thought of going down into a demon hive scares me so much I have to clench to keep from emptying my bladder. “We gonna be much help, if she’s got a hundred spears around her? Micha killed a mind demon, once. Why not Olive?”

  “I stabbed a surprised mind demon trapped in a sunlit room,” Micha says. “If it had known I was coming—if it had an instant to prepare—it would have sent me down the lonely path.”

  “And this ent just any mind,” Selen reminds me. “Your own mam thought it was Alagai ripping Ka. Demon’s been planning this a long time.”

  The words hang like dread in the air and I stand frozen, even as the others prepare. Micha has already taken a hora spear and shield, concealing other weapons in her robe. Rojvah takes a bone hanzhar from the rack, slipping it into her belt. Micha and Selen have donned Sharum’ting blacks, but Rojvah’s still in her pillow silks. It’s hard to look at her without my eyes sliding to places they don’t belong, and the translucent silk will offer no protection against a coreling’s claws.

  “Maybe you ought to stay,” I tell her.

  In response, Rojvah touches her choker and opens her mouth. Micha and Selen hear nothing, but the high-pitched sound she makes drives me to my knees, hands over my ears.

  As quickly as she started, Rojvah stops, and the room goes quiet.

  “Tell me again, to leave my brother to his fate,” she says quietly.

  She’s right. They’re all right. I’m not helping. I’m just the coward holding everybody back. “Ay, sorry.”

  “The demon hive is in the chin quarter,” Micha says. “We can travel there without leaving the undercity, perhaps in time to intercept Olive and the Sharum.”

  “Faseek says the demons never left the undercity.” I hate to keep arguing, but it has to be said. “With everyone sheltering here in the Holy City…”

  “We must assume the undercity is compromised,” Micha agrees.

  I’d already come to the same conclusion, but having her say it makes it all the more real. Again I feel a pressing need to find a privy.

  I shrink back to my normal size, the warrior’s robes hanging off me like I’m a boy in his father’s clothes. “I need to change,” I tell them, running to the other chamber.

  53

  NIGHT VEILS

  The sun is high in the sky, but Arick and I keep our night veils up as we cross the training grounds. The night veil is a symbol of unity, but it is also a functional garment to filter out sand, dust, or a foul stench.

  The training grounds has all three. I had become inured to it, but after a few days away, the smell envelops me like a cloud—dirt and male sweat, some fresh on the skin and some long saturated into clothes and leather.

  The dal’Sharum are focused on their own formations, and not a glance is spared for two warriors hurrying to muster. We approach the Princes Unit, and my heart aches to see our familiar number cut by a quarter, with many that remain in the ranks wearing bandages and slings.

  If those men can spear a demon, the feedback magic might heal their wounds, but it makes an already dangerous task near impossible.

  “Death stalks us tonight, brothers!” my prince shouts, as if in response to my thoughts. We are at the back of the men, and I can picture him perfectly, pacing in front of them as he gives our nightly speech.

  “Close your eyes, and imagine it!” Chadan shouts. I glance to see Arick pause his approach to comply. “The alagai that gets past your guard, its teeth sinking into your soft throat. Claws piercing organs and talons rending the flesh from your bones. Imagine your death, and embrace it.”

  I wait, watching the tense breath he takes in and holds, and the relaxed way he lets it out.

  Without thinking, I lower my veil and open my mouth to speak my part, but Gorvan is a hair quicker, stepping into the back ranks of our men. “We are the Sharum of Desert Spear! What is our fate?”

  “To spend our lives on alagai talons!” Arick and I join the men in their thunderous reply as I continue my approach, shadowing Gorvan as he inspects our warriors.

  Faseek is the first to spot us. He gives a slight bow, touching his fist to his chest. Parkot notes the move and looks up at me, eyes widening above his night veil. “Ajin’pel.”

  His voice is low, but Gorvan hears. He whirls angrily, ready to spit demonfire on whoever has the disrespect to speak during the Ka’s speech, but then he catches sight of me and chokes on his shout. Heads turn at the strangled sound, and my brothers whisper like girls gossiping in the back of Mistress Darsy’s classroom as I advance through the ranks.

  “Nie is not like the enemies of the day!” Chadan calls. “She does not fight for land or resources. She does not come to steal our wells or our wives.”

  Gorvan has fallen in behind me, and my prince is unprepared when I step from the crowd, instead. “What does she come for?”

  Those who hadn’t seen me yet gasp, and I hear my name run like fire across their lips.

  Chadan freezes for a moment, staring. Then he straightens, falling back into our routine. “She comes to exterminate us!” There is renewed passion in his shout. “She comes to undo Creation and return us to the Void! Nie cannot be reasoned with!”

  I clatter my spear against my shield and the sound is a thunderclap as Arick and my brothers mirror the move.

  “Nie cannot be placated or satiated!” Chadan shouts, and twice more I lead a clash of spears. “Nie can only be fought!” I raise my spear into the air. Chadan matches me, and in the periphery of my vision I see Arick and 150 of my brothers do the same. As one, we roar so loudly the Creator must hear us in Heaven.

  For just a moment, Chadan meets my eyes. I feared what I would find in his gaze, but instead of judgment or accusation, there is a wet glitter in his eyes.

  “I will spend my life on alagai talons!” He is supposed to look at the crowd, but we could not break this stare if we wanted to. “But I will not spend it cheaply!”

  “Prince Chadan’s a miser!” I shout, not taking my eyes from him. “Should we help him haggle?”

  “Haggle!” The men clash their spears again, relieved laughter passing like a wave through the ranks. “Haggle! Haggle!”

  None of them are more relieved than me. Just like that, I am second kai of the Princes Unit again, as if everything hasn’t changed.

  * * *

  —

  Chadan looks ready to embrace me, but this is not the time, and we both know it. Instead, he turns to Arick. “This is the half-blood princeling who came with the greenlanders masquerading as a dal’Sharum?”

  “You are not the only Sharum prince unjustly shamed at court,” I say carefully. My brothers and I have forged our bonds in blood and ichor, but they may yet reject Arick. “This is my cousin Arick asu’Rojer am’Inn am’Kaji.”

  Arick lowers his veil. “There are a hundred princes in Everam’s Bounty closer to the throne than I. I am no kai. I just want to fight.”

  “Then you have come to the right place,” Chadan says loudly for all to hear. “The princes judge our warriors by the ichor they spi
ll, not the blood in their veins.”

  My relief is short-lived as I hear more gasps behind us. I think for a moment that someone rejects Arick’s inclusion, then turn to see it is much worse than that. The crowd has parted for the Sharum Ka and a few of his elite guards, the Spears of the Desert.

  Arick steps back, attempting to disappear into the ranks, but the white sleeves of his stolen uniform stand out. Impersonating the Arms of Everam is a crime punishable by death, and both of us stand guilty.

  I tense as Iraven approaches, but his spear and shield are slung over his back, his hands held low and open to show me he is holding no secret weapon. “Mother said you would come. It was hard to believe, but I’ve learned to have faith in her prophecies.”

  Dama’ting are not meant to have boys, Favah once taught, because mothers are blind to their sons’ failings, and cannot help but scheme and use the dice for their benefit first, and the tribe’s second.

  “I know what it’s like,” I tell him, “to live a life shaped by the dice. Have you come to arrest us?”

  Iraven shakes his head. “We march into the eternal night of the abyss. Put your night veils up, and there will be nothing but brotherhood between us.”

  It’s an answer, and an evasion. I want to trust Iraven, but he has never given me reason to. “And if we return and step into daylight once more?”

  “To return we must survive,” Iraven says, “and any who do will carry such glory that even the Damaji would not dare speak against them.”

  He reaches a hand toward me. “Come. We will march side by side into the Mouth of the Abyss. If Alagai Ka himself is hiding in the ward’s eye, how can he stand against four princes of Krasia, bleeding as one?”

  Again, Belina’s words come to me. The storms will end when the heir of Hollow joins blood with the Majah, and the princes stand in the eye.

  I begin to feel hope. It seems my whole life has been building toward this moment, and with such a force acting as one, what can’t we accomplish?