The Skull Throne (67 page)

He looked to Briar. “The chaos in our wake …”

Briar nodded. It would be easy to slip away unnoticed with four hundred heavy horse as a distraction.

The count gave a shout, kicking his horse before he had time to rethink his course. The Wooden Soldiers thundered down the hill, sweeping the
chi’Sharum
aside. Unlike previous sallies, they kept on as they reached open ground, heading straight for the ranks of elite
dal’Sharum
archers.

The Krasians had not anticipated the move, but their surprise was short-lived, and they began to pepper the horsemen with a withering fire that thinned their ranks. The horses could not run in full armor, and as arrows began to find the gaps, they screamed and fell, often taking out neighbors in their fall.

Still they picked up speed, and suddenly they were on top of the archers, laying about with cavalry spears as their great horses trampled and crushed. The bowmen had no defense, and were quickly overrun.

Thamos led the attack, his spear a blur as his horse leapt to and fro. Sament rode close beside him.

But as the archers were destroyed, the Krasian army moved in. These were not
chi’Sharum,
given spears and pressed into service. These were true
Sharum,
bred to battle and trained since childhood, many of them mounted themselves. They closed in from all sides, breaking Thamos’ ranks and shattering his ordered men into chaos.

Still the battle raged. Sament kept close to Thamos, the two lords standing out in their bright armor. Sament batted a spear from Thamos’ path with his shield. Thamos skewered the man, then swung the
Sharum’s
body into the path of an enemy horse. Sament was ready, putting his spear into the rearing animal’s throat.

They seemed to be dominating the field around them, but from a distance Briar could see they were being separated from their fellows. Herded.

Briar knew he should flee. Should take his lead into the night and deliver news of the loss of the hill, and the letter to Leesha Paper.

But he could not bring himself to go. He pulled up his
Sharum
veil and flitted from stone to stone, getting closer to the battle.

Thamos and Sament fought their way into a ring, and suddenly found themselves in the clear. The
dal’Sharum
had circled an area of open ground.

There in the center of the circle was the Krasian leader, Jayan, marked by his white turban and veil.

“You fight well, greenlander,” Jayan called, raising his spear. “Shall we test your mettle against a true foe?”

Abban took up his distance lens—another gift from the Damajah. His Warders had painstakingly taken the device apart, studying the design, the warding, and the shard of demon bone that powered it. It had not taken long to produce more of them, and all his ship captains, Qeran included, had them now.

The device allowed him to see in Everam’s light—wardsight, the greenlanders called it. With it he could see the enemy ships as if they were right before him in bright day, with every hand illuminated and the wards on the their hulls glowing as if written in fire.

The water was dark, all its drifting magic drawn to the ships’ wards, but underneath the surface Abban could see the glow of demons, drawn to the commotion. They circled like a whirlpool, waiting only for a gap in the wards to pull whole ships down to Nie’s embrace.

On the docks and beach, the enemy slingers were taking a heavy toll. The demonfire was concentrated farther inland—the
chin
did not wish to destroy the docks. Their slinger baskets were filled with stones the size of a man’s fist, scattering to smash through fortifications, warriors, and engines alike. Scorpions added precise kills to the chaos, taking out shooters and
kai
when they stepped from cover.

And still, the withering fire from Colan’s Rise.

“They cannot hold,” Khevat said, pointing to galleys moving in behind the barrage, large enough to be seen in only the light of wards and fire. “The
chin
will overwhelm them when they land their forces.”

“
If
they land, honored
dama,
” Abban said.

Asavi appeared beside them, looking out onto the lake. Abban pretended to adjust his lens, stealing a glance at her through it. As he suspected, her many jewels glowed fiercely with magic, particularly the warded coins at her brow. No doubt she could see as well as he in the darkness.

“Leave war to true men,
khaffit,
” Khevat said. “I was studying the conquests of Kaji before your father wore his bido. There is nothing the
dal’Sharum
can do to stop the landing. They will have to prevail on open ground.”

Abban wasted no time arguing, skimming his lens to the south, finding what he sought at last. There, coming in fast from their hidden cove, his small fleet was nearly invisible on the dark water, unnoticed by the enemy.

The lead vessel was
Everam’s Spear,
commanded by Drillmaster Qeran and crewed entirely by men from Abban’s Hundred, a sleek galley with twenty oars to a side and square sails that could catch most any wind. But the black sails were furled, the galley shooting like an arrow for the enemy fleet under oar power alone. The fore and aft castles had no slingers, only specially designed scorpions and many, many men.

Two more galleys followed, and a score of smaller vessels—these carrying neither slinger nor scorpion, their holds packed with
Sharum.

Abban produced a second warded distance lens, a cheap copy of his own, but effective enough. He wanted his old teacher to see this.

“You are right,
dama,
not to put faith in the
dal’Sharum
to stop the enemy. Watch now as my
kha’Sharum
do what they could not.”

Khevat looked doubtful, but he raised the lens to where Abban pointed. “Our captured ships. What of it? A handful of ships cannot sink so many.”

“Sink?” Abban tsked. “Where is the profit in that? If we are to win this war, Dama, the enemy fleet must become ours.”

A moment later, Qeran’s ship was in range of a large Laktonian galley, an elegant vessel with great pointed sails and wide deck lined with armament on both sides.

The Krasians fired great barbed stingers that stuck and held fast in the enemy ship’s hull. The trailing ropes were attached to heavy cranks, and muscular
chin
slaves bent their backs, drawing the ships in close.

Before the Laktonians knew what was happening, agile
kha’Sharum
Watchers were already running up the taut ropes like
nie’Sharum
on the top of the Maze walls. They carried no shields, but all had half a dozen throwing spears on their backs, and by the time planks were dropped for the other warriors to follow, the biggest threats on deck were eliminated.

In moments, Abban’s warriors swept the deck. He saw Qeran among them, the drillmaster easy to spot with his missing leg. He killed with an efficiency that would have frightened Abban, if not for the man’s aura. Abban could not read hearts like Ahmann or the Damajah, but the glory of victory was bright around him.

You see, Drillmaster?
Abban thought.
I have given back all you have lost.

When the deck was clear and the ship firmly in the hands of the Hundred, Mehnding were brought aboard, the teams running to man the
chin
armament. A skeleton crew was left in place, and Qeran leapt back to
Everam’s Spear
even as the lines were cut.

All across the lake, Laktonian ships were being similarly boarded by teams of
Sharum
that had rowed silently into position. The greenlanders might have the advantage in ranged fire, but in close-quarters killing, there were none in all the world to match the
Sharum
of Krasia. Jayan had given Qeran men, and the drillmaster had run them mercilessly back and forth across tilting ship decks until they found their water legs.

Qeran himself had taken four ships, and the rest of his fleet another sixteen, before the cries of alarm reached the rest of the Laktonian fleet.

Only then did the Mehnding on the decks open fire, aiming for the enemy ships that had pulled up to the docks and struck ground on the beach. As the Laktonian troops disembarked, the Mehnding rained the greenlanders’ own demonfire down on them.
Chin
warriors screamed and burned as Abban’s pirates turned their attention to the next ships in line to unload. Great chains were slung, tearing sails and splintering oars to leave the ships dead in the water.

The Laktonian captains, still outnumbering the pirates, shifted fire to the new foe, but the Mehnding archers let fly flaming arrows, catching their sails and strafing their decks while the
chin
fire teams struggled to recalibrate.

Sharum’s Lament
appeared, the agile vessel tacking around the others to bring its armament to bear. The advantage of surprise was soon lost, and the numbers began to tell. But unlike the greenlanders,
Sharum
warriors were ready to die. When their ships were damaged, they were more than willing to ram the enemy and leap the gap, fighting in close.

But still it seemed the battle on the water would be lost, and the Laktonians escape back to their stronghold. There was one last trick Qeran could try, but the drillmaster had argued long and hard against it, and even Abban agreed it was a desperate move that might do more harm than good.

Jayan lowered his veil. “I am Jayan asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji, firstborn son of Shar’Dama Ka and Damajah, Sharum Ka of all Krasia.” He gave a slight nod from his saddle. “May I see your face and have your name,
chin,
before I send you to Everam to be judged?”

“Don’t …” Sament began, but Thamos ignored him, sticking his spear in the ground within easy reach, unfastening his helm.

As he lifted it away, Jayan’s eyes widened. “You. The princeling who came with the Par’chin to …”

Thamos nodded. “I am Prince Thamos, fourth son of Duke Rhinebeck the Second, Lord Commander of the Wooden Soldiers, third in line to the ivy throne and Count of Hollow County.”

Jayan bared his teeth. “The one who dared touch the Deliverer’s intended.”

There was an angry murmur through the
Sharum
at this.

“Leesha Paper chose me even before Ahmann Jardir fell to his death.” Thamos pointed at Jayan with his spear. “And you will share his fate. I challenge you to
Domin Sharum.
”

Jayan laughed, and after a moment, the warriors joined him.

“
Domin Sharum
is honorable combat before Everam,
chin.
” Jayan pointed his spear back at Thamos. “You have attacked men in the night on Waning. You have no honor.”

“We have your brother and his lieutenants,” Thamos said. “Harm us, and you will never see them again.”

“Icha?” Jayan asked.

Thamos nodded. “And three
kai,
half a dozen drillmasters, and more than fifty
Sharum.
Grant me honorable combat, and they will be released.”

Jayan turned to his
dal’Sharum.
“See how even
chin
warriors attempt to bargain for their lives like
khaffit
merchants!”

The Krasian warriors jeered, many around the ring spitting at Thamos.

Jayan turned back to Thamos. “Keep my brother and his men! If they were weak and stupid enough to be captured by
chin,
they deserve no better. We will come for them soon enough.”

He raised his veil. “But if you wish me to kill you personally for thinking you could cuckold the Shar’Dama Ka, that I will grant.”

Thamos was quick to replace his helm and snatch up his long spear, kicking his horse to circle counter to Jayan as he readied himself.

Neither man hesitated long, kicking their great mustang into nearly identical charges, spears lowered.

At the last moment before they struck, Jayan lifted his spear to take aim at Thamos’ chest. Thamos, unexpectedly, tossed his long spear expertly in the air, catching it in a reversed grip much closer to the head.

Jayan’s spear struck the count full in the chest, but there was a flare of light from the wards on Thamos’ armor, and the weapon shattered.

And then Thamos was in close, able to put force and speed to a series of rapid spear thrusts, poking holes at Jayan’s defenses, searching for an opening.

Jayan tried to ride off and regroup, but the count was the better horseman, his mare herding Jayan’s stallion like a sheepdog, keeping them locked close as the count continued the battering.

Jayan moved his shield with frantic speed, and under its wide shade and his own glass armor, he found shelter enough. But he was on the defensive, and without a spear to strike back. It seemed the count would soon manage to find a seam in his armor and deliver a killing blow.

Jayan shoved against his shield, knocking Thamos back just enough to strike at his mount. The back of the mare’s neck was armored, but its throat was not, and Jayan buried the broken haft of his spear into it.

The giant mustang reared and gurgled, stumbling on hind legs as its forelegs kicked wildly. Thamos kept his seat until the animal began to topple, managing to throw himself clear of its bulk as they struck the ground.

Briar thought it would end there, but Jayan rode back to his lieutenants, dismounting and taking up a six-foot infantry spear.

Thamos was back on his feet as Jayan began striding toward him. He left his ten-foot cavalry spear in the mud, pulling a three-foot Angierian fencing spear from its harness on his back as he waited for his enemy to come.

Jayan growled, his feet set in the stance Briar’s father had taught him long ago. His skittering steps forward were fast and economical, spear resting on his shield arm. His arm was a blur as he pumped the weapon much as the count had on horseback, searching the wooden armor for weaknesses to exploit.

Thamos took most of the barrage on his shield and breastplate, thrusting his own spear low at the gap between the armor plates on Jayan’s thigh.