The Skull Throne (19 page)

“Had a map,” he said, knowing it would not end there.

“And where did you get this map?” Jardir pressed. “You could not have found it out in the sands. Such a fragile thing would have long since crumbled away.”

Arlen took a deep breath, straightening his back, and met Jardir’s eyes. “Stole it from Sharik Hora.” Jardir’s nod was calm, the act of a disappointed parent who already knows what his child has done.

But despite his posture, Arlen could smell his mounting anger. Anger no wise person would ignore. He readied himself, wondering if he could defeat Jardir in the light of day if it came to blows.

Just need to get the crown off him,
he thought, knowing it sounded far simpler than it was. He’d rather climb a mountain without a rope.

“How did you accomplish this?” Jardir asked with that same tired tone. “You could not have penetrated Sharik Hora alone.”

Arlen nodded. “Had help.”

“Who?” Jardir pressed, but Arlen simply inclined his head.

“Ah,” Jardir said. “Abban. He’s been caught bribing
dama
many times, but I did not think even he could be so bold, or that he could have lied to me for so long without being discovered.”

“He ent stupid, Ahmann,” Arlen said. “You’d have killed him, or worse, done some barbaric shit like cutting out his tongue. Don’t you deny it. Wasn’t his fault, anyway. He owed me a blood debt, and I wanted the map in payment.”

“That makes him no less accountable,” Jardir said.

Arlen shrugged. “What’s done is done, and he did the world a favor.”

“Did he?” Jardir asked. His calm façade dropped as he glared at Arlen, striding in till they were nose-to-nose. “What if the spear was not meant to be found yet, Par’chin? Perhaps we were not ready for it, and you denied
inevera
by bringing it back before its time? What if we lose Sharak Ka over your and Abban’s arrogance, Par’chin? What then?”

His voice grew in power as he went on, and for a moment Arlen felt himself wilt under it. Stealing the scroll had never seemed right, but even now, he would do it again.

“Ay, maybe,” he agreed. “And it’s on me and Abban if it’s so.”

He straightened, leaning back in and meeting Jardir’s glare with one of his own. “But maybe our best chance to win Sharak Ka was three hundred years ago, when humanity numbered millions, and your ripping
dama
kept the fighting wards from us by locking those maps up in a tower of superstition. Who bears the weight of arrogance then? What if
that
was what denied Everam’s ripping plan?”

Jardir paused, losing a touch of his aggressive posture as he considered the question. Arlen knew the sign and stepped back quickly. He stood arms akimbo, offering neither aggression nor submission. “If Everam’s got a plan, he ent shared it with us.”

“The dice—” Jardir began.

“—are magic, and no denying,” Arlen cut him off. “That don’t make them divine. And they never told Inevera to have you stop me going to Anoch Sun. They just told you to use me when I got back.”

The anger further left Jardir’s scent as he considered this new possibility. His old friend could be a fool over his faith, but he was an honest fool. He truly believed, leaving him forever hamstrung as he tried to reconcile the hypocrisies of the Evejah.

Arlen spread his hands. “Got two choices here, Ahmann. Either we stand around arguing abstractions, or we fight Sharak Ka the best we can with what we’ve got and sort out who’s right after we win.”

Jardir nodded. “Then there is only one choice, son of Jeph.”

The days passed, and their tentative accord held. Jardir felt more in control of his magic than ever before, stunned at the breadth of power at his fingertips, and his previous narrow vision of it.

But for all their progress, Waning drew closer by the hour. He and the Par’chin could run at great speed when the magic filled them, but even so, Anoch Sun was not close, and they still had to lay their traps.

“When will we leave for the lost city?” he asked one morning, as they waited to show the night’s kill the sun.

“Tonight,” the Par’chin said. “Lesson time’s done.”

With those words, he melted away into mist. Jardir watched closely with his crownsight as he slipped down into one of the many paths that vented magic onto the surface of Ala. Everam’s power of life, corrupted by Nie.

He was gone for but an instant, but when he rose back out of the path, the current of magic that came with him told Jardir he had traveled a long way, indeed.

In his hands, he carried two items: a cloak and a spear.

Jardir was reaching for the spear before the Par’chin had fully solidified. His hand passed through it at first grasp, but he snatched again, and took hold at last, pulling it from the Par’chin’s hands.

He held the spear before him, feeling the thrum of its power, and knew it was the genuine Spear of Kaji. Without it, he had felt empty. A shell of himself. Now it was returned, and at last his heart eased.

We shall not be parted again,
he promised.

“You’ll be needing this, too.” Jardir looked up just as the Par’chin tossed Leesha Paper’s Cloak of Unsight to him. His arm darted out to catch it before the edge touched the ground.

He eyed the Par’chin in annoyance. “You insult Mistress Leesha by treating her wondrous cloak so disrespectfully.”

Leesha’s gift did not have the hold over his fate the spear did, but he could not deny that the feel of the fine cloth, and the invisibility it gave him against even the most powerful
alagai,
made him feel their mad plan might have a chance.

“How will you hide, when the
alagai
come to Kaji’s tomb?” he asked when the Par’chin gave no reply. “Have you a cloak as well?”

“Don’t need one,” the Par’chin said. “I could trace the wards of unsight in the air, but even that’s too much trouble.”

He held out his arms, wrists turned outward. There, on his forearms, were tattooed the wards of unsight.

The wards began to glow, even as the others on the Par’chin’s skin remained dark. They became so bright Jardir lost sight of the individual symbols as the son of Jeph faded, much as when he became insubstantial—translucent and blurry. Jardir felt dizzied at the sight of him. Something urged him to look away, but he knew in his heart that if he did, he would not be able to find the Par’chin when he looked back, even if the man did not move.

A moment later, he returned to focus. The glow faded from the wards, and they became readable once more. Jardir’s eyes danced over them, and his heart caught in his throat. Warding was like handwriting, and these were traced in the distinct looping script of Leesha Paper, embroidered in detail all over his cloak.

Normally it made his heart sing to see the art of his beloved’s warding, but not here.

“Did Mistress Leesha ward your flesh?” He did not mean the question to come out as a growl, but it did. The idea of his intended touching the Par’chin’s bare skin was unbearable.

To Jardir’s relief, the Par’chin shook his head. “Warded them myself, but they’re her design, so I copied her style.” He stroked the symbols almost lovingly. “Keeps a part of her with me.”

He wasn’t telling all. His aura practically sang with it. Jardir probed deeper with his crownsight, and caught an image that burned his mind’s eye. Leesha and the Par’chin naked in the mud, thrusting at each other like animals.

Jardir felt his heart thudding in his chest, pounding in his ears. Leesha and the Par’chin? Was it possible, or just some unfulfilled fantasy?

“You took her to the pillows,” he accused, watching the Par’chin’s aura closely to read the response.

But the Par’chin’s aura dimmed, the power Drawn beneath the surface. Jardir tried to probe, but his crownsight struck an invisible wall before it got to his
ajin’pal.

“Just ’cause I let you read my surface aura now and then don’t give you the right to break into my head,” the Par’chin said. “Let’s see how you like it.”

Jardir could feel the pull as the Par’chin Drew magic through him and absorbed it, Knowing him as intimately as a lover. He tried to stop the pull, the Par’chin caught him unaware, and by the time he could raise his defenses, it was done.

Jardir pointed the spear at him. “I have killed men for less insult, Par’chin.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m more civilized,” the Par’chin said, “’cause the first insult was yours.”

Jardir tightened his lips, but he let it go. “If you have been with my intended, I have a right to know.”

“She ent your intended, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Heard her tell it to your face on the cliff. She’ll be corespawned before she becomes your fifteenth wife, or even your First.”

The Par’chin was mocking him. “If you heard those private words, Par’chin, then you know she carries my child. If you think for a moment you have a claim to her …”

The Par’chin shrugged. “Ay, she’s a fine woman and I shined on her a bit. Kissed her a couple times, and once, something more.”

Jardir’s grip tightened on the spear.

“But she ent mine,” the Par’chin said. “Never was. And she ent yours, either, Ahmann. Baby or no. If you can’t get that, you’ll never have a chance.”

“So you no longer desire her?” Jardir asked incredulously. “Impossible. She shines like the sun.”

There was a sound of galloping hooves, and the Par’chin smiled, turning to watch his
Jiwah Ka
riding hard in the predawn light. She rode bareback on an enormous mare, leading four similarly huge horses. Their hooves, bright with magic, ate the distance at more than twice the speed of a Krasian racer.

“Got my own sun, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Two is asking to be burned.”

He pointed to Jardir as he strode out to meet his wife. “You already got enough sun to turn the green lands into another desert. Think on that.”

Renna flew from the saddle, and Arlen caught her in his arms, returning her kiss. He concentrated, activating the wards of silence on his shoulders. Jardir would see the magic and know they were masking their words, but Arlen didn’t think he would say anything. A man was entitled to private words with his wife.

“All well in the Hollow?” he asked.

Renna saw the magic, too, and kept her face buried in his chest as she spoke to hide the movement of her lips. “Well as can be expected. Hope you’re right about this being a light moon. They ent ready for much more, especially without us.”

“Trust me, Ren,” Arlen said.

Renna thrust her chin at Arlen, but he could tell she was gesturing past him, at Jardir. “You tell him yet?”

Arlen shook his head. “Was waiting for you to come back. Tell him soon as the sun comes up.”

“Might regret giving him the spear back first,” Renna said.

Arlen shrugged and gave her a smile. “This ent
Domin Sharum
with a bunch of rules on fighting fair. Got Renna Bales at my back if things go sour, don’t I?”

Renna kissed him. “Always.”

Jardir averted his eyes, giving the Par’chin and his
jiwah
privacy in their greeting. Her arrival with the horses meant their trip to face the
alagai
princes was nigh, and Jardir was eager for the test, but there was disappointment, as well. Alone, he and the Par’chin had begun to find accord at last. The addition of his unpredictable
Jiwah Ka
could upset that precarious balance.

The sun crested the horizon at last, and Jardir breathed deeply, falling into his morning meditation as the bodies of the
alagai
began to smoke and burn. Everam always returned things to balance. He must keep faith in
inevera.

When the flames had died down, they took the horses to the stable beside the hidden tower. Up close, the animals were enormous, the size of camels. The wild mustang that roamed the green lands had grown powerful in their nightly struggle with the
alagai.
His
Sharum
had captured and managed to train hundreds of them, but these were magnificent specimens, even so.

The black stallion that nuzzled the Par’chin’s hand, its body covered in warded armor and its head adorned with a pair of metal horns that could punch through a rock demon, could only be his famed horse Twilight Dancer. His
jiwah’s
piebald mare was almost of a size with it, wards painted on its spots and cut into its hooves. A simple leather girth wrapped its belly to help her keep her seat.

There were two other stallions and a mare, all of them with warded saddles and hooves. Powerful beasts—it was surprising even Twilight Dancer could keep them all in line. They stamped and pranced, but followed the lead into the stalls.

“Why are there five horses, if there are only three of us?” he demanded. “Who else have you taken upon yourself to invite to undertake this sacred journey, Par’chin? You claim to need my help, but you keep me blind to your plans.”

“Plan was for it to be the three of us, Ahmann, but it hit a snag. Hoping you’ll help me get it unstuck.”

Jardir looked at him curiously. The Par’chin sighed and nodded to the back of the stable. “Come with me.”

He lifted an old rug out of the way, shaking off a camouflage of dust and hay. Underneath was a pull-ring to a trapdoor. He lifted the trap and descended into the darkness below. Jardir followed warily, aware that the Par’chin’s
jiwah
followed behind. Jardir did not fear her, but the strength of her aura told him she was powerful. Enough to give the Par’chin a telling advantage should they come to blows.

His crownsight returned as they slipped back into darkness, but the Par’chin’s wards began to glow anyway, sending the shadows fleeing as he led them to a heavy door, banded with steel and etched with powerful wards.

The Par’chin opened the door, casting light on the man and woman, clad only in their bidos, imprisoned within.

Shanjat and Shanvah looked up from their embrace, squinting in the sudden light.

CHAPTER 8

THE TRUE WARRIOR

333 AR AUTUMN

“Deliverer!” Shanjat and Shanvah leapt to their feet, moving to stand apart. Without veil or robe, there was nothing to hide the blush of their skin or the guilty looks on their faces.

Indeed, their auras matched the look, shame and embarrassment palpable. Jardir assessed the situation, and his eyes darkened. Even if Shanvah had lain with him willingly, she was Shanjat’s daughter, and Jardir’s niece. Whether his spirit was penitent or not, Jardir would have no choice but to sentence his old friend to death.

He considered the thought grimly. Shanjat had served him loyally since the two of them were children in
sharaj,
and proven a good husband for his sister Hoshvah. More, Jardir needed Shanjat and the
Sharum
he commanded at his side when the First War began in full. Perhaps he could commute the sentence until after Sharak Ka. Give his loyal servant a chance to die on
alagai
talons and bring that his honor with him on the lonely path before he stood before Everam to be judged.

“Forgive us, Deliverer, we have failed you!” Shanjat cried before Jardir could utter a word. He and Shanvah fell to their knees, pressing hands and foreheads to the dirt floor. “I swear by Everam we tried every method in our power to escape and continue our search for you, but the Par’chin—”

“—is using
hora
magic to strengthen the our cell,” Shanvah cut in. Her fingernails were raw and dirty. In wardsight, Jardir could see the scratches where she and her father had tested every inch of their prison.

He looked around the room, seeing no robes or veils. Of course the Par’chin would have stripped and searched them before imprisoning them. Even he was not such a fool as to leave them tools to escape. The only other thing in the room was a covered chamber pot, too small and fragile to make an effective weapon.

Suddenly Jardir was the one to feel ashamed. Was the caress of parent and child, trapped in a lightless cell, a crime? He had been ready to assume the worst, to sentence one of his oldest friends to death, when his only guilt stemmed from the fear they had failed in their duty to him.

“Always quick to turn on a friend,” the Par’chin murmured, and Jardir grit his teeth.

“Rise in honor, brother, niece,” he said. “The Par’chin is beyond your power. There is no shame in defeat at his hands.”

Both stayed on their knees. When Shanjat hesitated, Shanvah spoke in his place. “It was not the Par’chin who captured us, Deliverer.”

Most fathers would have been enraged at the face lost having their daughter speak for them before the Deliverer, but Shanjat only looked at her with gratitude, and a pride Jardir had not seen him show either of his sons.

“Was me,” the Par’chin’s
jiwah
said. Jardir turned a skeptical eye on her. He knew the woman was formidable, but Shanjat and his daughter were
kai’Sharum,
Krasian warrior elite.

Shanvah raised her eyes to give the Par’chin’s
jiwah
an appraising look. “Her
sharusahk
is pathetic, Deliverer. A child could defeat her. But her magic is strong. Even with our night strength, she was beyond us. Our shields and spears lay broken.”

The words sent anguish through Shanvah’s aura. Jardir Drew through her as the Par’chin had taught him, seeing a vision around her. Inevera commanding Shanvah to seek the missing Deliverer. Her first assignment, one of such immense honor she could barely contain her pride. A chance to show the Deliverer and Damajah her worth.

And she had failed. Utterly.

Another vision arose, her defeat at the hands of the Par’chin’s
jiwah.

“The Par’chin brought me down in the same way, niece,” he said. “You have been trained well, but you would be unwise to challenge his
Jiwah Ka
 …”—he met Renna’s eyes—“… in the night. In day, she will be more vulnerable to
sharusahk,
and no match for you.”

The Par’chin’s
jiwah
glared at him. Jardir felt the weight of auras shift as face in the room was restored to balance. Shanvah looked at Renna in a new way. A predator’s appraisal.

Jardir waved for his warriors to rise and turned angrily to face the Par’chin. “If my brother-in-law and niece have been mistreated …”

“They haven’t.” The Par’chin whisked a hand. “Ask ’em yourself.”

“We have not, Deliverer,” Shanjat said as Jardir looked back to him. “We have been given food, water, and rest after days spent tracking you. The Par’chin treated the wounds we suffered when his
Jiwah Ka
subdued us.”

He looked at his daughter, and his aura shone with love. “And I do not regret having time to know my daughter.”

Jardir could well understand. He knew little about his own daughters, taken into the Dama’ting Palace when they were very young. They had been locked in the room as strangers, but trapped alone in the dark, father and daughter had found each other again.

“Thought a few days to reflect might do ’em some good,” the Par’chin said.

“And now?” Jardir said. “I will not allow you to shame them with further imprisonment, Par’chin.”

“Wouldn’t have shown ’em to you, I’d meant to keep ’em locked up,” the Par’chin said. “We’re leaving at dusk, and won’t be around to feed ’em and empty the chamber pot. Taking ’em with us.”

Jardir shook his head. “They are not prepared for the path we must walk, Par’chin. Set them free. One way or another, our task will be done before they find their way back to Everam’s Bounty.”

The Par’chin shook his head.

Jardir eyed him dangerously. “And if I free them anyway? What will you do then?”

“I’ll be done trusting that you put Sharak Ka first,” the Par’chin replied. “Mind demons can eat a person’s memories like a snack. Leave ’em not even knowing anything happened. They can plant commands that hold force in daylight. There could be spies anywhere, Ahmann, and we only get one throw at this. The less people know we’re still alive, the better.”

“Shar’Dama Ka!” The shout shocked Jardir. When was the last time Shanjat had spoken out of turn? He turned to his old friend, who bowed deeply. “If you walk a dangerous path, Deliverer, it is our duty to guard you with our lives.”

Shanvah nodded. “The Damajah bade us not return without you. She will not forgive us if we abandon you in your time of need.”

“They can help us in Anoch Sun, if they have the courage,” the Par’chin said. “Shouldn’t underestimate the princes. Your power will be limited while you maintain the field. Even with Renna, we’ll be overmatched.”

“If two warriors might shift the balance, why not bring an army?” Jardir asked.

“And hide them where?” the Par’chin asked. “I can draw wards of unsight in the air around two, but more will alert the minds to our presence, and all will be for naught.”

Jardir sighed. He could not deny the comfort the two gave him, balancing the shift in power when the Par’chin’s
jiwah
arrived. “Very well.”

“We’ll make the lost city in five days if we trample demons to charge the horses to speed,” the Par’chin said as they packed supplies, laying in food and water for the desert crossing. There would be little if anything to replenish their stores once they reached the clay flats. “Four if we really push.”

“That does not give us much time to prepare before Waning, Par’chin,” Jardir said.

The Par’chin shrugged. “Don’t want any sign we been there, so the less the better. Ent much to do once we get there save wait in any event. Better off readying ourselves than the tomb.”

“Shanjat and Shanvah will need new spears and shields,” Jardir said.

“Got a cache of weapons we can raid out in the desert,” the Par’chin said. “Meantime, I can stain their skin with blackstem wards, and we can all work on our
gaisahk
together.”

“Wise,” Jardir said. “I know my warriors’ skill, but I have not seen your
jiwah
fight.”

“Started teaching her a few months ago,” the Par’chin said. “She learns fast.”

Jardir nodded patiently, and called the five of them to practice while the sun was still high. The Par’chin and his
jiwah
produced brushes and painted impact wards on Shanjat’s and Shanvah’s fists, elbows, and feet. They cut the sleeves from their returned robes to bare the symbols to the air.

As expected, his warriors took quickly to
gaisahk,
but the Par’chin’s
jiwah
had forms even a novice could best. Shanvah had not been unfair in her assessment. If anything, she had been kind.

“You continue to place your feet wrong,” Jardir told her as she finished a
sharukin.
He had already corrected her stance a dozen times, but still she failed to give it her full attention.

“What’s the difference?” she asked. “Would’ve punched right through a demon’s face with that move.”

“The difference, fool, is that if there had been another at its back, you would have been off balance,” Jardir snapped. “
Alagai’sharak
is no game, where the loser can play another day.”

“Know that,” Renna said. The words were sullen, but he believed them. She was trying to place her feet right, but the move was beyond her. It was not fair of him to expect her to master in days what his warriors practiced their whole lives, but they did not have time to coddle her.

“Shanvah will tutor you each day when we stop under the sun to rest and water the horses,” he ordered.

“What?!” both women exclaimed at once.

Jardir looked to his niece. “She is not to be harmed. You must put aside any emotion over your imprisonment.”

Shanvah embraced her emotion and crossed her fists, bowing. “Your will, Deliverer.”

“Goes double for you, Ren,” the Par’chin said. “You need these lessons, but don’t forget you’re a lot stronger’n her, and we need you both in one piece come new moon. You’re learnin’, not fightin’.”

Renna spat in the dust. “Won’t break anything can’t heal.”

The two moved off to begin the lesson, and the Par’chin shook his head. “Gonna regret sayin’ that, isn’t she?”

“More than you know, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “But I have seen the pride in her aura. All warriors must understand their own weakness if they are to overcome it.” He looked at the departing women. “Shanvah will show her, delivering the same lesson your
jiwah
did to her.”

The Par’chin laughed. “Maybe that makes
her
the Deliverer, then.”

Hours later, Arlen paced the stable, watching the sun falling in the sky. In a few hours, they would be off, and he was anxious to begin. They were gambling the fate of everyone in the world on his plan.

What if I’m wrong?
he wondered.
Just some dumb Bales from Tibbet’s Brook going to poke the hive with a stick, thinking I’m so much smarter than the hornets.

But in his heart, he knew this was the only way. The people they were leaving behind were strong now. They would hold. They had to. Waiting behind the wards for each successive new moon was a losing strategy. The demons had the advantage in numbers, and people couldn’t ward the entire world. Cities built on greatwards might one day reach critical mass, but only with a head start.

There was a creak of floorboards, and Renna appeared, stealing him from his reverie. He was relieved until he took a look at her. She was bruised and bloody, with a swollen eye. Tears streaked the blood on her face, and she cradled her broken right arm with her left.

“You okay, Ren?” he asked.

Renna paused, surprised to see him. No doubt she had come to the stable to be alone. She gave a tired shrug, brushing past him as she went into Promise’s stall. She put her back to the divider and slid down to the floor. Promise nickered and nuzzled her cheek as she pulled the arm straight with a hiss, holding it in place while she waited for the magic in her blood to knit it back together.

Arlen nodded, leaving her in privacy. Inside the tower, he saw Shanvah laughing with her father as they prepared supper. The girl was seven years Renna’s junior and didn’t have Ren’s ability to heal, but there wasn’t a mark on her. She looked fresh as sunrise.

Oh, Ren.
He shook his head. Jardir was right. This was a lesson Renna sorely needed. One Arlen had tried—and failed—to teach her himself. She liked being strong enough to bully folk a little too much for anyone’s good. Considering what she’d been through it wasn’t surprising, but … 

Nie does not care about a warrior’s problems,
he heard Jardir say.

But there was a difference between understanding the need for Renna to learn a little humility, and looking at his love, his wife, bloody and beaten. The only thing stopping him from setting Shanvah straight about the difference between lessons and fighting was the fact he knew Renna wouldn’t want him to.

Night, she’d never forgive him.

You weren’t any different, your first time in Krasia,
he thought to himself. Ragen had taught him to fight—he’d thought as well as any man could. Then he met the Krasian drillmasters.