The Skull Throne (66 page)

“I will see to your bodyguard’s wounds,” Asavi said.

Jayan caught her arm as she passed, his eyes angry. “Hasik can wait until you tell us what he almost died for.”

Everyone froze. It was death to touch a
dama’ting
so. She could demand his hand be cut off, or he be killed, and Evejan law would demand it be carried out.

But Jayan was Sharum Ka, firstborn son of the Deliverer, and likely the next leader of Krasia. Abban wondered if any would dare so much as take the
dama’ting’s
side, much less try to carry out a sentence should she deliver it.

Asavi seemed to know it, too, her eyes scanning the reaction of the witnesses. If she demanded punishment and was refused, it would weaken her greatly in the eyes of Jayan’s council. Khevat and the other
dama
grated on the new, more vocal role of the
dama’ting
since Inevera’s display in the throne room.

She reached out with her free hand instead, seeming only to tap Jayan on the shoulder, but Abban could spot a pickpocket three stalls down the market, and saw the sharp jab of her knuckle.

Jayan’s hand dropped away limp, as if he had decided of his own volition to let her go, but his eyes said otherwise.

“The Sharum Ka is right to be concerned,” Asavi said, her voice serene, “but they are words for your private council chambers, not the open docks.”

“I have no council chambers!” Jayan snapped. “The water witch set them afire.”

Abban bowed. “There are other manses claimed by your loyal
kai,
some with a view of the docks, while safely out of slinger range. I will bring you a list to choose from, and see your lieutenant recompensed while we move your possessions. In the meantime, I have a warehouse nearby with a richly appointed office where you may relax until arrangements are made.”

Jayan shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his shoulder, but he simply grunted. “That will be acceptable,
khaffit.
Lead the way.”

By the time they made it to the warehouse, Jayan was sweating and pale with pain. He collapsed to the pillows, accepting tea with one hand, his other still limp at his side. Khevat and the other men pretended not to notice, but all were aware that something was wrong.

There was a glow from the corner of the room as Asavi sent magic through Hasik, finishing the healing the kill had started. There was a whispered plea to her, but Asavi, eyes flicking between his legs, only shook her head sadly. Hasik looked at Abban, eyes full of hatred, and Abban let him see just the hint of a grin.

“Would the Sharum Ka like me to see to his arm now?” Asavi asked. The other men glanced at her uncomfortably, then back to pale and sweating Jayan. All knew what was coming. Asavi had not been able to take her due in public, so she would have it thrice over behind the curtain.

“If the
d-dama’ting
wishes,” Jayan managed through gritted teeth.

“I could leave it, if you prefer,” the Bride said. “There is time to save it if I act quickly. If not, it will wither and die.”

Jayan’s one good eye bulged, and he began to shake.

“The Brides of Everam do not need clerics and warriors to punish those who would lay hands upon us, son of Ahmann,” Asavi said. “Our blessed Husband has given us power enough to see to our own protection. It is a lesson you would do well to remember.”

She looked around the room, boldly meeting the eyes of the other men, even Khevat. “All of you.”

They were bold words for a woman, and many of the men—Khevat especially—bristled, but none was fool enough to contradict her. She gave them a moment, then nodded, gliding over and helping Jayan slip his robe from one shoulder. The spot where the
dama’ting
had struck was black now, and the shoulder swollen. She took the limb tenderly, stretching and turning it as she massaged it back to life. Soon Jayan was wriggling his fingers again, and not long after making a fist.

“The limb will recover fully in a few days,” she said.

“Days?!” Jayan demanded.

Asavi shrugged. “Kill
alagai,
and the magic will speed the healing.”

“You healed Hasik in an instant,” Jayan pressed.

“Hasik did not lay hands upon me,” Asavi noted.

“Fine, fine!” Jayan said sullenly, cradling the limb with his good hand. “Now will you tell us what all that business on the docks was about?”

“Your enemies gather and make plans,” Asavi said. “The dice have long foreseen this.”

“Any fool can guess that,” Jayan snapped.

“The dice also told me to stop the thief who stank of demon root, or thousands would die,” Asavi said.

“Demon root?” Jayan said.

“A
dama’ting
healing herb,” Asavi said. “They call it hogroot here in the North. The spy reeked of it.”

“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” Khevat demanded. “We could have had guards sniffing everyone to enter the palace of the Sharum Ka.”

“The dice said nothing of the palace,” Asavi said, “or the Sharum Ka. The thief could have been anyone, anywhere. The dice foretold we would meet when I caught his scent, and what I must do. Had I spoken of it to anyone, fate may have changed, and the thief evade me as well.”

“He
did
evade you,” Khevat noted. “All your vaunted
hora
magic, and you could not so much as stop a simple thief?”

“That was no simple thief, my
dama,
” Abban said, bowing. “He evaded the
dal’Sharum
as if they waded in deep sand, and lasted ten seconds against the greatest living drillmaster. And fearless, running knowingly out amongst the water demons. And let us not forget he had the
Sharum’s Lament
to set fire to the palace as distraction.”

“But what was he after?” Qeran mused.

“There’s no way to know for sure,” Abban said. “Only a few lives were lost in the burning of the palace, but the building is lost. We cannot say just what papers are missing amongst the ashes, but it is easy to guess.”

“Troop numbers,” Qeran said. “Supply trains. Our maps. Our plans.”

Abban bowed to Jayan. “We have copies of everything, Sharum Ka. Nothing has been lost. But we must assume our enemies now know all.”

Asavi knelt on the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. While they spoke, the
dama’ting
had quietly laid out her casting cloth. Now she took out the
hora,
casting all in their eerie glow.

“Guesswork,” Asavi said. “Everam may show us a clearer path, now that the divergence is past.”

All were silent as she threw, many of them seeing it for the first time since their
Hannu Pash.
When it was over, the Bride looked up, the
hora
light casting her white veils in red as if soaked with blood.

“It does not matter what the spy took,” Asavi said. “Three duchies unite against us, and your enemies have what they need to attack.”

Jayan’s eyes took on an eager light. “Where? When?” A sane commander might be concerned at an impending attack, but the young Sharum Ka saw only a chance for glory, a chance to prove himself worthy of the Skull Throne.

The
dama’ting
looked back at the dice, eyes flicking over unreadable patterns. Abban had always mistrusted the dice. He could not deny there was magic about them, giving information that could be uncannily accurate, but it seemed their reading was as much art as science, and they did not tell all.

“They will attack from land and water,” Asavi said.

“Oh?” Jayan asked. “Will they use weapons, perhaps? And warriors? If that is the best your dice can …”

Asavi held up the dice and they flared with power, casting the entire room in red light. It seemed they would sear the fingers from the
dama’ting,
but she held them easily, even as the men shrank away from the glow.

All were silent a moment. Abban looked at Qeran, nodding him forward.

The drillmaster looked as if he were being asked to climb into an
alagai
pit, but he went without hesitation or complaint, kneeling before Asavi and putting his hands on the floor. He bent forward, pressing his forehead between them.

Asavi looked at him a moment, and nodded. “Speak, Drillmaster.”

“Honored and wise
dama’ting,
” Qeran began carefully. “It is not for we humble men to question the word of Everam. But if there is anything the dice may tell of where to position our forces, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

“The dice do not speak of such things,” Asavi said, “because our enemies watch us for hint we see their intent. If their spies note our movements, they will change their plans, negating the prophecy.”

She held up a finger. “But while they will not say where, they do tell us when. They will attack on Waning.”

Khevat blinked. “Impossible. They would not dare …”

“They will,” Asavi said, “for the very reason you doubt. They think the Waning will distract us. Make us weak.”

Jayan scowled. “My father said the
chin
had honor, if of a lesser sort, and were humble before Everam. But it cannot be so, if they would dare attack on the day we prepare for the rise of Alagai Ka.”

“That is only the beginning of their offense to Everam,” Asavi said, drawing all eyes back to her.

“They will attack in the night.”

CHAPTER 26

FIRST STRIKE

334 AR WINTER

Heart pounding, Briar ran fast and low, using cover wherever he could find it. Still clad in his stolen blacks, the darkness was a comforting blanket.

There were few cories in the area. Whatever else could be said of his father’s people, the Krasians had swept the lands around Docktown clean of demons, so much that even in the night there was little to fear.

But there were other predators out in the darkness.

Thamos had used the distraction of the Waning celebrations to move his forces in close, positioning them behind a small copse of trees near the base of Colan’s Rise. The count’s horse gave a start as Briar burst from the thicket right in front of them, rearing with a great whinny.

Briar froze, fearing the count would be thrown, but Thamos kept his seat, expertly bringing the animal back down.

“Night, boy,” the count growled, voice low and angry. “Are you trying to give our position away and get us all killed?”

“They know,” Briar said.

“Eh?” Thamos asked.

“Seen ’em,” Briar said. “
Sharum
moving through the woods to get behind us. Know we’re here.”

“Corespawn it,” Thamos growled. “How many? Are they mounted?”

“Lots more than us,” Briar said. He was not good with numbers. “But most on foot.”

Thamos nodded. “Harder to move in secret on horseback. Are they in position?”

Briar shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”

Thamos turned to Lord Sament. “Ready the men. We proceed as planned.”

“You mean to ride right into the trap?” Sament asked.

“What would you have me do?” Thamos asked. “We won’t get another chance at this. Egar and his men are committed, and Lakton without winter supply. We must take that hill and position the archers to cover the Laktonian deployment. The enemy is on foot, and their avenue of attack is narrow. Once we have the high ground, they will have a bloody time getting us out.”

“But they will,” Sament said. “Once we’re on that hill, we’ll be trapped there.”

“If we can hold until the docks are taken, it may be we can break through with a charge of horse and escape.”

“And if not?” Sament asked.

“If not,” Thamos said, “we protect the docks until we die.”

Abban leaned on his crutch by the waterfront window of his warehouse, staring into the darkness. His office spanned the entire top floor with windows on all sides, affording a view in every direction.

Earless loomed nearby, but Abban remained ill at ease. The giant was stronger than anyone Abban had ever met, and well on his way to becoming a
sharusahk
master, but his presence did not lend the comfort of Qeran. The drillmaster was matchless in combat and respected by all, willing—eager, even—to advise and point out when Abban was about to do something foolish.

It was surprising how much he had come to depend on the drillmaster, a man he had once hated with every fiber of his being. The man who had kicked Abban off the Maze wall into a layer seething with demons, simply for failing to fold a net properly.

With his merchant’s eye, Abban understood. He had been a liability to his unit, endangering other
Sharum
with his incompetence at war. He accrued debt with no way of paying it back, like a chicken that could not lay. Better the slaughter, from Qeran’s perspective.

But Abban had other skills, ones that made him invaluable to the Shar’Dama Ka—and to his sons. It was his plan they executed tonight. If they were victorious, Jayan would claim credit and Abban’s part would be struck from history. If they failed, Abban’s life wouldn’t be worth the dust on his sandals.

Qeran was needed out there in the darkness.

A few feet away, Dama Khevat paced restlessly by the window, the old man taking no more ease than Abban. Only Asavi, kneeling on the floor on her perfect white casting cloth, projected serenity. She watched the men coolly as she sipped her tea.

The Krasians had been careful to appear as if nothing were out of the ordinary throughout the day. Khevat presided over Waning prayers as warriors spent the day eating, resting, and lying with women. Many of the
Sharum
had sent for their families to settle and help hold the town, and others had taken greenland brides when the town was sacked.

But when they mustered for
alagai’sharak,
as all
Sharum
must on Waning, they did not follow the usual path they took to sweep the
alagai
from the town environs, flitting invisibly in their black robes to places where they might ambush the coming
chin.

“When fire shrieks thrice across the sky, you must strike,” Asavi had told Jayan that morning after reading the dice. The power of the
alagai hora
was shown once more as a line of fire whined into the sky with a shriek that could be heard for miles.

The
chin
flamework was mirrored by another streaking missile from the surface of the lake. A third lit the sky to the south where Sharu had taken his
dal’Sharum.

In the distance, he heard the Horn of Sharak, and he felt a thrill pass through him. For better or worse, the battle had come.

On cue, roaring fires sprang up in the sling baskets of dozens of Laktonian warships moving swiftly for the shallows. Mehnding crews went to work immediately, but they were still getting the range when flames began to arc through the air. Khevat stopped his pacing to watch the streaking missiles, trepidation on his normally impassive face.

Abban was unconcerned. His engineers and Warders had secured the building, bricking
alagai
corpses into the walls to power the wards. A crude imitation of
dama’ting hora
magic, but effective enough. Boulders would bounce off the walls like pebbles, and no flame could touch them. Even smoke would turn to a fresh breeze before it drifted inside. The whole town could be laid to ruin, but his warehouse would remain unscathed.

He had barely entertained the thought before the Laktonians tried to make it reality. In the past they had restricted bombardment to the beaches and docks, but tonight’s missiles ranged farther, blasting through buildings and setting fires throughout town.

“The first night of Waning,” Khevat growled, “and they would burn women and children from their wards!”

“I suppose it is fitting,” Abban said. “We gave little thought to their holy day of first snow when we took the town, and I’ve seen what
Sharum
do to women and children.”

“
Chin
women and children,” Khevat said. “Unbelievers outside Everam’s light.”

Abban shrugged. “Perhaps. Fools, in any event, if they believe there is profit attacking on Waning.”

Khevat grunted. “Even if they somehow manage to win the battle, the
Damaji
will not stand for it. They will empty Everam’s Bounty of warriors and kill a thousand
chin
for every
Sharum
lost.”

Briar watched as Thamos bent, putting match to the paper tube he stuck in the ground.

The archers had been ready for them, but there were not enough to stop the charge of Thamos’ armored cavalry. If the Krasians had positioned too many men atop the hill, they would have shown their hand too soon. They left the men on the hill to die.

The fuse sparked to life and the rocket took of with a great shriek, leaving a tail of red fire in the sky behind it. Briar’s eyes widened as he tracked its flight. His mother made toss bangs for festival days, but this was flamework like he had only heard tale of. To the south and east, other rockets rose in response, signaling the readiness of the forces to attack.

“They’re beautiful,” he said.

“Leesha Paper made them for a different new moon.” Thamos’ voice was distant, sad. “I’ve seen flamework fail many times, but not hers. Never hers.” He put two fingers into the seam of his breastplate as if to reassure himself something was there.

“I wonder what the Gatherer would think,” Sament said, “knowing her flamework heralds such bloodshed.”

Thamos turned to him, eyes ready to fight, but a horn sounded below them, stealing both men’s attention. The count took a deep breath, seeming to deflate as he let it out.

He put a foot in his stirrup, swinging himself into the saddle. “It is too late to worry what women think.”

He lifted his spear. “Archers! Kill anything that moves on the docks until the ships are in! Fire at will!”

Briar ran for one of the great stones by the road, climbing quickly and putting his belly to the rock as he looked out over the approaching forces.

“What do you see?” Thamos asked, riding close.

Colan’s Rise was sheer rock on three sides, with only one rock-strewn road leading to its top. “Too much cover to shoot,” Briar said. “They’re charging on foot. Archers held behind.”

“To be fresh and ready when they retake the hill,” Thamos said. “If they manage it, they can rain arrows on the docks as the Laktonians deploy.”

Briar moved to climb down, but Thamos checked him with a pointed finger. “Stay right there, Briar. This is soldier’s business.”

“My home,” Briar growled. “My fight, too.”

Thamos nodded. “But you fight in ways others cannot, Briar. You alone can escape this hill, and make sure others know what happened here.” He reached into his armor, removing a folded bit of paper.

“You alone can get this to Leesha, if I do not live through the night.”

Briar felt his throat tighten as he took the paper. He liked the count, but there were many
Sharum
coming.

Too many.

Thamos gave a wild cry, kicking his mare and leading the charge down the road.

Briar felt a surge of hope, watching the heavy horses. He had expected the charge to slow when they reached the
Sharum
spears, but the Wooden Soldiers and their horses wore lightweight wooden armor strengthened by warded lacquer. They turned the enemy spears even as the giant mustang mowed the men like grass, leaving nothing but bloody clippings behind.

But as they reached the base of the hill, great lights flared as the Krasians put fire to bowls of oil. Mirrors caught and angled the light as the horses came into the sights of the enemy archers. They launched indiscriminately into the press of warriors, heedless of their own men in the line of fire.

Arrows began to find seams and weaknesses in the Wooden Soldiers’ armor. Men screamed and horses reared in pain, even as enemy troops moved to surround them on the open ground.

Thamos gave a signal and his cavalry turned like a flock of birds to race back to the high ground.

It was a temporary respite, but already the
Sharum
gained ground, and more warriors were flowing up the hill. In the oil lights Briar could see their robes were not black or tan, but green.

That explained why their commander was so willing to waste their lives taking the hill. They were not Krasian at all, but Rizonan men pressed into service. They would do the bleeding, and then their masters would take the hill.

Briar remembered Icha, remembered the sympathy he had felt for the man under the torturer’s screws. That treatment had been cruel, and wrong, and pointless. But it was nothing compared to what the enemy was willing to do.

Briar knew then that nothing would stop the Krasians from taking Colan’s Rise. He rubbed his fingers against the paper the count had given him. If he was to escape, it had to be soon.

The main road was too dangerous, so Briar moved to the far side of the bluff to scale down the sheer walls. With his climbing skills and the blacks he still wore, he could go where others could not.

Or so he thought.

At first Briar rubbed his eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on him. His night vision was strong, honed by a lifetime living in the darkness, but even it had limits.

He froze, straining against the dim starlight and the fires now raging on the waters below as Captain Dehlia and the others attacked the port.

There it was again. Movement on the cliffs. All over the cliffs.

There were
dal’Sharum
scaling Colan’s Rise, hundreds of them.

He scrambled the other way, racing through the archers. “
Sharum
on the cliffs!
Sharum
on the cliffs!”

“I see one!” an archer called, firing down into the rocks. He must have missed, because he cursed, pulling another arrow.

All around the bluff, archers were confirming the approaching warriors, taking their eyes from the docks as they attacked the closer targets. But the
Sharum,
black-clad and flat against the steep slope, were difficult targets, and more arrows were wasted than Krasians killed.

Thamos rode up to the sergeant in charge of the Laktonian archers. “Tell your men to stop wasting arrows and keep firing on those docks! I’m leaving a hundred horse to guard them.”

“And the rest of us?” Sament asked, riding up next to him.

Thamos pointed down the hill. “The rest of us are going to destroy the archers they have waiting to position here. They may take the rise, but they will not benefit from it.”