The Skull Throne (70 page)

Hoshkamin took two steps back, giving Asome a respectful bow. “Of course not, brother. I only meant that it is dangerous in the night. I will assign you a bodyguard …”

Asome whisked a hand dismissively. “I have all the bodyguard I need.”

With that, Damaji Asukaji and Asome’s
dama
brothers cast aside their cloaks, their white robes bright in the flames and wardlight. Hoshkamin and the
Sharum
stared, speechless, as they strode into the field of battle.

Asome went first, striding toward a reap of field demons being harried by a unit of
dal’Sharum,
their shields locked in a V-formation.

He walked right up to the apex of the V, brushing aside the
Sharum
at point with a gesture. Surprised at the sight of a
dama,
the Deliverer’s son, they fell back instinctively. Ashia and her spear sisters followed with Asukaji and the others.

One of the demons was quicker to take advantage of the break in formation than its fellows, leaping at Asome with a roar. Ashia tensed, ready to charge and interpose herself should the
alagai
prove too much for her honored husband.

She needn’t have worried. Asome flowed easily around the jaws and talons, catching the demon by the horns and turning a full circle that converted all the energy of the demon’s leap into a twist that cracked its neck like a whip. Trained
Sharum
jumped at the sound, and hopped back as Asome threw the demon’s lifeless body at their feet.

Two more charged at him, but Asome was ready, snatching the wrist of one and turning to pull its arm straight as he laid his free hand against its shoulder joint. Again he turned the demon’s momentum against it, twisting it to the ground and breaking its arm effortlessly as he put it into the path of the other.

The second demon lost barely a moment clawing its way over the first, talons digging deep wounds as it tamped and pounced. But a moment was time enough for Asome to shift his stance and catch its wrists, pulling it off balance as he fell back. He hooked a leg around its neck, getting in too close for the demon’s jaws. They rolled in the dirt a moment, but Ashia knew her husband had the hold, and even
alagai
needed to breathe.

Soon it lay still, and Asome rose. The other demon hissed at him, limping weakly on three legs. Asome hissed back, moving in.

“Everam’s beard,” Hoshkamin whispered as the demon retreated to match Asome’s advance. The other
Sharum
echoed him, muttering oaths and drawing wards in the air.

The other demons of the reap hesitated momentarily in confusion, but now they gathered themselves, readying a charge that would surely overwhelm Asome.

Asome saw it, too, chopping his hand in the air at them.
“Acha!”

With that, Asukaji and the other
dama
gave piercing battle cries, raising their weapons and charging past Asome into the fray, leaving husband and wife standing together.

Ashia turned to Micha and Jarvah. “Inform the Damajah of what you have seen. Now. Do not deviate or slow until our mistress has heard your account.”

The women looked at each other, then bowed deeply to Ashia, running at speed back toward the city.

Asome looked at her curiously.

“Many oaths conflict this night, husband,” Ashia said. “But I will keep them all, if I can.”

Asome bowed. “Of course, wife. I would ask nothing less of you. But you should have waited.” He winked. “The best is still to come.”

They turned together, looking out on the field as the clerics waged
alagai’sharak.
Asukaji waded into a knot of demons, whip staff seeming to strike them all at once. Flashes of magic sparked and popped around him as he spun.

The younger brothers distinguished themselves as well. Though they were but fifteen, they had been trained in
sharusahk
since they could stand, each marked by the distinctive fighting style of his tribe. Maji, trained by grand master Aleverak, used no weapon save warded nails and silvers. He let the demon he faced do most of the work, powering the heavy blows that rocked it back.

Dama
were denied blades by Evejan law, including the broad-bladed arrows and throwing knives Mehnding
Sharum
favored. Mehnding
dama
used bolas instead, and Savas was no exception. A slender warded chain connected two heavy balls of warded silver. Savas took the legs from a field demon, immobilizing it as he beat it senseless with his silvers.

Hallam, the Sharach brother, used the
alagai
-catcher favored by his tribesmen, its metal cable warded. He caught a demon by the neck, tightening the loop until the magic popped its head off. Tachin and Mazh, the Krevakh and Nanji brothers, had small wooden pegs hammered into their staves, like the rungs of a ladder. Ashia watched Tachin run up the side of his staff to leap ten feet in the air, somersaulting over a charging demon to land behind it. As the creature whirled about in confusion, he landed a flurry of explosive blows with his silvers.

They ranged through the night, Hoshkamin and his warriors following his older brother as Asome led his
dama
brothers to glory.

As it had been for several months, there was no sign of Alagai Ka, but it was Waning, and the
alagai
were stronger and more numerous. And there was something else.

“They are attacking strategic positions,” Ashia said. The demons lacked the precision they had under the control of the minds, but they clustered in places were defenses were weakest, attacking wardposts to increase their range.

Asome nodded. “Perhaps Father stands at the cusp of the abyss as Mother foretold, holding Nie’s princelings at bay, but She has
kai,
as well.”

“The changelings,” Ashia said, tightening her grip on her spear.

“Melan foretold we would find one in the night,” Asome agreed. He looked at Ashia. “For this test, wife, we must fight side by side.”

Ashia nodded eagerly. A mimic had taken Enkido, and she would show this one the sun in her master’s honor. “Your glory is boundless this night, husband. I am proud to stand with you.”

An hour later, the attack came without warning as a large wood demon surrounded by fighting
dama
lashed out, its arm becoming a great horned tentacle. The blow knocked half a dozen men back. The wards embroidered in silver thread on their robes deflected the worst of it, but all were stunned, shaking heads and placing hands on the ground as they tried to push up even to sitting position.

Hoshkamin rushed in to protect his
dama
brothers. The shields of his warriors were better at turning the mimic’s blows, but the demon spun, lashing through the thin gap between the shields and the ground.
Sharum
screamed in agony as they collapsed, many with severed feet.

Ashia was relieved to see Hoshkamin had escaped that fate.
Dama’ting
magic could heal much, but even they could not grow back that which was cut away. She gave a cry as she rushed in, hoping to distract the creature from her brothers in the night as they regrouped.

Asome followed, but her husband had absorbed no magic in the night’s battle, and could not keep pace. It was good. Asome had surpassed all expectations, but without so much as a warded nail, this foe was beyond him.

Tentacles whipped at her, but Ashia was ready. She dodged the first, leapt over the second, and caught a third on her shield, never slowing her advance. Two more lashed out as she drew in close, and she dropped her shield in order to dive between them.

She hit the
ala
in a roll, bouncing back to her feet and using the momentum to add power to her two-handed thrust into the demon’s heart.

Magic exploded with the blow, shocking up Ashia’s arms and filling her with power such as she had never felt. The changeling’s black eyes widened in shock, and Ashia stared back hard, wanting to see its unholy life melt away. “Everam burn you in the name of Enkido!”

The demon shrieked at her and she tried to pulled the spear free and thrust again, but found it held fast. Still staring into the creature’s dark eyes, she understood her mistake.

A rock demon’s arm grew from the mimic’s chest, knocking the wind from her as it clutched her tightly and bore her to the ground, talons scraping against the plates of warded glass woven into her robes. The claws did not pierce, but it mattered little as Ashia felt her ribs crack.

Her spear, punched clear through the demon’s torso, melted free like a spoon through hot resin, sloughing onto the ground just out of reach. There were other weapons concealed in her robes, but Ashia could not reach them while held in the crushing grip.

Everam, I am ready,
she thought. She had served Him in all things, and would die on
alagai
talons, as her
Sharum
blood demanded. There was no dishonor. This was a creature like the one that had killed her master, like the one that fought the Deliverer on even terms. It was a good death.

As the changeling drew back for a killing blow, Asome leapt past her. She wanted to cry out, to tell him to flee, but even if she had the breath, she would not dishonor him so.

We will walk the lonely path together,
Ashia thought. What more could any couple ask for? Everam had joined them in life. It seemed only fitting they should also die as one.

But then Asome struck, and there was a flare of magic so bright it burned Ashia’s warded eyes. As if she had looked at the sun, the image stayed with her a few moments, even as she blinked and shook her head. The talon that held her eased its grip as the creature was rocked by explosions of magic, then pulled away entirely.

Ashia clenched her eyes tight for a moment, then opened them.

Asome held the demon’s arm in a grip that smoked and burned, bright with magic. Her husband had stripped to a simple white bido, discarding even his sandals and the wrappings that had covered his hands.

She saw now why he had hidden his hands these last days. His fists—his entire body—was covered in raised scars. Like his father, Asome had cut wards into his flesh, that his very touch be anathema to the children of Nie.

His glow had been dim before, when he fought without the aid of the symbols, proving himself before Everam and the
Sharum.
But now the wards were written in fire across his skin, and he glowed so brightly that there was a halo around him all could see, warded sight or no.

He ducked and twisted, delivering powerful blows that knocked the demon back, parrying its return strikes, but even he seemed unable to do lasting damage. They fought for several moments, and instead of continuing to lose ground, the demon seemed to be strengthening, gaining firmer footing as it took Asome’s measure and adapted.

Asome saw it, too. “Brothers! Form a ring! Nie’s servant must not be allowed to escape!”

He barely got the words out before the demon struck hard, one of its flailing tentacles slipping past Asome’s defenses. Magic stopped the limb short of connecting, but the impact still sent him flying through the air.

Ashia was already moving, diving into a roll and coming up with her spear in hand. She studied the mimic in her warded sight, but it was unlike any demon she had faced before. Every demon—every living thing—had lines of power. The essence of
dama’ting sharusahk
was breaking these lines by striking the points where they converged.

But the demon’s lines were as amorphous as its body, growing and retracting, ever changing. She sensed a pattern in it all, but it was beyond her ability to grasp, her attention focused upon simply staying alive.

The magic she had absorbed on her initial blow surged through her, making her impossibly fast and strong. Horned tentacles came at her from all sides, but she spun her spear, picking them off.

The demon hawked and spat fire like a flame demon, but like a flame demon its eyes squeezed shut and in that instant she quickstepped around it to come from another angle. This time she made no effort to strike a killing blow, instead thrusting the spear rapidly back and forth to strike half a dozen shallow ones.

Each wound flared brightly at first, the demon’s ichor giving off raw magic like smoke from a fire. But then the loss stemmed, and the area around the wound dimmed as the demon’s flesh knit back together.

The changeling shrieked, and this time she wasn’t fast enough as it spat lightning at her. Pain like she had never imagined wracked her body, jolting limbs rigid as she was thrown through the air. She thought she would lose the spear, but when she struck the ground it remained locked in her frozen grasp. She could not have let go if she wanted.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pain dissipated and her muscles unclenched. Her entire body burned, but there was still magic coursing through her, and already it was easing. She looked up to see Asome back in the fight, hammering at the mimic while his brothers struck at it from all sides.

Savas caught two tentacles in his bola, and the warded chain held them fast, unable to melt away. Another was caught in Hallam’s
alagai
-catcher.

But even these seemed minor inconveniences. The demon would writhe from the bolas soon enough, and it swung Hallam to and fro by his
alagai
-catcher pole. Others lent their strength to the task, but they were sorely pressed and out of the fight.

Asome continued to pound at the demon, and as she retrieved her shield, Ashia could see a pattern beginning to emerge in the creature’s magic. Even this fiend had a limited supply, and she watched as it ebbed and flowed, healing its wounds, powering its blows, reshaping its body.

With every blow he struck, Asome grew a fraction brighter, the demon, that much dimmer. If they could keep it at bay long enough, his victory was inevitable.

Ashia moved back in, stabbing hard where the creature was held by the men at the catcher pole. She hacked the blade of her spear through a tentacle at its base, severing the limb. The demon repaired the damage, but the tentacle, and the magic it had contained, lay in the dirt, no longer part of the whole.