The Daylight War (116 page)

The Watchers were from different tribes, one Nanji and the other Krevakh. Anywhere else in the world, the two men could not have been in the same room as each other without shedding blood.

But tribe meant nothing to Abban’s hundred. He was their tribe. He wondered sometimes if, three thousand years after Ahmann’s reign, the Haman tribe might endure. Had not Nanji and Krevakh been men once, serving at the side of Kaji?

He snorted. Haman? If Ahmann was truly the Deliverer, it should be the Abban tribe. That had a nice sound to it.

The men struck as one body, the first swinging his club at the meat of the newcomer’s thigh, a blow meant for maximum pain and surprise, but minimum damage. While the
Sharum
recoiled, the other would move in, catching him from behind with the garrotte and allowing his partner open access to attack. Abban had seen them do the dance several times now, and never tired of it.

But the
dal’Sharum
surprised him, moving as if he had known the men were there all along. He was baiting them, Abban realized as the stranger slipped his leg away from the club and threw his head back just in time to avoid the garrotte. He came back up fast with a punch the Krevakh barely parried in time and a kick that the Nanji managed to turn aside with his wire, though he failed to catch the ankle as it retracted.

The
dal’Sharum
had a chance to slip the shield onto his arm, but he didn’t bother, leaving it slung over his back. He twirled his spear like a
dama
’s
whip staff, parrying a club blow from the Krevakh, then spinning to strike the Nanji in the kidney. It came back and caught the Krevakh across the face before the Nanji finally caught it in his loop. He pulled, trying to yank the weapon from the man’s grasp, but the
Sharum
thrust at the same time, breaking the Nanji’s hold and slamming the butt of the spear hard into the centre of his chest.

As the Nanji dropped, the warrior turned to face the Krevakh fully. The
kha’Sharum
regarded him coolly, but pressed the hidden button on his club that extended a sharp, poisoned blade. The
dal’Sharum
attacked, but the Krevakh parried it smoothly and came in hard.

A moment later he was lying on the floor, gasping for air. It happened so fast that it took a moment for Abban’s eyes to catch up to his mind. The warrior had sidestepped the blow and put an elbow in the Watcher’s throat.

Abban hesitated. He had not thought it possible that any single man could defeat his Watchers, much less a common
dal’Sharum
. Thankfully, he was prepared to handle far more than a single man. He reached under his desk for the hidden bell rope that would bring a dozen
kha’Sharum
rushing into the room.

‘Please don’t do that,’ the newcomer warned, pointing at Abban with his spear. His voice was a rasp, but it had a familiar ring to it. ‘The more people you send running in, the more likely someone will get seriously hurt.’ He gave Abban a look so intense the
khaffit
had to suppress a shudder. ‘And I assure you, it won’t be me.’

Abban swallowed deeply, but he nodded, slowly lifting his hands into the air. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘Abban, my true friend,’ the man said, dropping the rasp from his voice. ‘Do you not recognize your favourite fool? This is not the first time you’ve seen me in a
Sharum
’s blacks.’

Abban felt his blood turn to ice. ‘Par’chin?’

The man gave a slight nod. One of the Watchers let out a slight groan, struggling to put a knee under himself. The other was climbing shakily to his feet.

‘Out, both of you,’ Abban snapped. ‘Your salaries will be docked for incompetence. Wait outside and make sure my friend and I are not disturbed.’

As the men stumbled out the door, the Par’chin closed it behind them. He turned, removing his turban and veil. Beneath, his head was shaved clean, covered in hundreds of tattooed wards. Abban drew in a breath, covering his shock with a booming laugh and his customary greeting. ‘By Everam, it is good to see you, son of Jeph!’

‘You don’t seem surprised.’ The Par’chin looked disappointed.

Abban came around his desk as fast as his crutch would allow, slapping the Par’chin on the back. ‘Mistress Leesha hinted that you were alive, son of Jeph,’ Abban said. ‘I knew then this “Painted Man” could be no other. Would you like some couzi?’ He moved to the delicate porcelain couzi set on his desk. The drink was still illegal in Everam’s Bounty, but Abban displayed it on his desk openly now. After what had happened to Hasik, who would dare say a word? He poured two cups, holding one out to the Par’chin.

‘Not poisoned, is it?’ the Par’chin asked, taking the cup.

It was a fair question. One of the delicate porcelain bottles in Abban’s set was indeed poisoned, a drug Abban took the antidote to daily. Still, he put a hurt look on his face. ‘You wound me, my friend! Why would I wish to harm you?’

The Par’chin shrugged. ‘Been in the bazaar long enough to get caught up. Word is you and Jardir are suddenly pillow friends again. Makes me wonder if you always were, and your public bickering was just a Jongleur’s show. Makes me wonder if you tricked me into retrieving the spear so your friend could steal it.’

‘I warned you,’ Abban said. ‘You cannot claim I did not, Par’chin. Did I not say to you that I would deal in no Sunian artefacts? Warned you what my people would do if you so much as profaned the holy city with your footsteps, much less stole its treasures?’

‘Yet you gave me the map,’ Arlen said.

‘You
asked
for it, Par’chin,’ Abban pointed out. ‘To be honest, I thought the holy city was a myth, and that you would never find it. But I owed you a debt, and I paid it.’

He paused. ‘Now that I think of it, Par’chin, it is you who have not paid. “A mule load of Bahavan pottery” you promised. Is this why you have come? To pay your debt to me at last?’

The Par’chin laughed, and Abban was struck with how much he had missed the sound. They clicked cups and drank, Abban immediately refilling them for another round. They took their time about it, quietly enjoying each other’s presence after so long. It was not until they tasted cinnamon that they moved to business.

‘Why are you here, Par’chin?’ Abban said. ‘You must know Ahmann will kill you if he finds you, and his senses are sharp.’

The Par’chin waved dismissively. ‘I will be long gone before he can catch my scent.’ He met Abban’s eyes. ‘Will you tell him of this meeting?’

Abban shrugged. ‘I do not see the profit in keeping silent, and I will not lie to my master.’

The Par’chin nodded. ‘Nor would I ask you to. In truth, I want you to give him a message from me.’ From inside his robes, he pulled a small, rolled paper, tied with a simple string. When Abban took the paper, he smiled. ‘I saved you the trouble of breaking the seal and forging a new one. Jardir will know my script.’

Abban chuckled, untying the string. The Par’chin’s handwriting was as florid and beautiful as ever, but the contents of the letter made his stomach sink. He looked at his true friend and shook his head.

‘You do not understand what he has become, Par’chin,’ he said. ‘You are no match for him. This one time I beg you. Run far and never return. Run, and I swear by Everam’s beard I will say nothing of this meeting to Ahmann.’

But the Par’chin only smiled. ‘He couldn’t kill me in the Maze, and then I was only a pale shadow of what I am now. You’d best start looking for a new master.’

‘That pleases me no more than the thought of him killing you,’ Abban said. ‘Is there no other way?’

The son of Jeph shook his head. ‘Ala is too small for us two.’

‘S
har’Dama Ka, the
khaffit
is here to speak with you.’

Jardir nodded, dismissing the guard as Abban limped into his map room. The
khaffit
wove unsteadily towards one of the soft chairs. He stumbled, but managed to guide his fall into the seat. He gave a sigh of relief.

Jardir’s nose knew the cause even before he could look into his friend’s aura. ‘Nie’s black heart, you dare come before me drunk on couzi?’

Abban looked at him flatly. ‘The Par’chin is alive, Ahmann.’

The words, and the truth he could see behind them, cut off all other thoughts. Jardir shook his head slowly, turning away while he embraced his feelings.

‘I had suspected,’ he admitted. ‘Months ago when we first heard of this “Painted Man”.’

Abban nodded. ‘We all did.’

‘But I told myself it was ridiculous. We left him for dead in the dunes.’ He looked back at Abban. ‘How did he survive? Did he shelter in one of the
khaffit
villages?’

‘I did not ask,’ Abban said. ‘What does it matter? It was
inevera
.’

Jardir conceded the point with a wave. ‘What did he want?’

Abban produced a simple roll of parchment, tied with rough cord. ‘He asked me to give you this.’

Jardir took the paper, slipping off the string and reading quickly.

Greetings, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, in this year of our Creator, 333 AR—

I testify before Everam that you, my ajin’pal, have broken faith and robbed me on the sacred ground of the Maze, in the night when all men are brothers.

In accordance with Evejan law, I demand you meet me in Domin Sharum, an hour before dusk on the autumnal equinox, when Everam and Nie are in balance.

As the aggrieved, the location will be a place of my choosing. You will be given its location one week in advance, and allowed to arrive first, ensuring there is no trap. We will each bring seven witnesses, no more and no less, to honour the seven pillars of Heaven. We will settle our differences as men, and let Everam judge.

The alternative is for our men to meet in the field, shedding red blood in the day instead of black ichor at night. I hope you will see there is no honour in this.

I await your response,

Arlen asu Jeph am’Bales am’Brook

Jardir shook his head.
Domin
Sharum
. Literally it meant ‘two warriors’, referring to trial by single combat as prescribed in the Evejah, based on the rules agreed upon by Kaji and his treacherous half brother before they fought to the death.

‘Autumnal equinox,’ Abban said. ‘One month to the day before we invade Lakton. It’s as if he knew.’

Jardir smiled wanly. ‘My
ajin’pal
is no fool, and knows our traditions well. But though he speaks of Everam and Heaven, he does not believe their truth in his heart.’ He shook his head. ‘The “aggrieved”, he calls himself. As if taking back what he stole from my ancestor’s grave was common robbery.’

The question had gnawed at him for years. ‘Was it?’

Abban shrugged. ‘Who can say? I’ve done worse to men; even lied to the Par’chin for my own profit. But for all that, I was fond of him. He was very true. When I was around him, I felt …’

‘How?’ Jardir asked. They had both known the man well, but in very different ways.

‘Like I once did around you, when we were boys in
sharaj
,
’ Abban said. ‘That he would stand in an instant between me and any harm, as he did when you called us before the Spear Throne so many years ago. He made me feel safe.’

Jardir nodded. The way they had known him was not so different after all. ‘And now?’

Abban’s aura became unreadable and he sighed, taking a small clay bottle from his vest and pulling the stopper.

‘Do not …’ Jardir began.

Abban cut him off with a roll of his eyes. ‘The blood of thousands pools at your feet, Ahmann. Are you truly about to lecture me about drinking couzi like I’m a drunken
Sharum
in the Maze?’

Jardir frowned, but he did not protest further as Abban took a thoughtful pull, his eyes distant. The
khaffit
looked back at him, holding the bottle out. ‘Drink with me, Ahmann. Just this once. These are things best discussed with lips of cinnamon.’

Jardir shook his head. ‘Kaji forbids—’

Abban threw back his head and laughed. ‘He forbade it because his men were slaughtered in Rusk by a force they outnumbered five to one after spending the night before celebrating a battle that had not yet been won! It was a decree meant for uneducated sheep with weapons, not two men sharing a cup during the day at the centre of their stronghold.’

Jardir looked at Abban sadly. He could see in the man’s aura that he not only did not understand, he thought Jardir the fool in this exchange. ‘This, my friend, is why you are
khaffit
.’

‘Why?’ Abban asked. ‘Because I do not treat every single utterance of Kaji as the direct word of Everam? You are Shar’Dama Ka now, Ahmann, and I’ve known you a long time. You are a brilliant man, but you have said and done many a stupid and naïve thing over the years.’