The Daylight War

11

333 AR Summer

28 Dawns Before New Moon

‘Stop pacing, Rojer,’ Leesha said. ‘You’re making my head hurt.’ Indeed, the motion of the Jongleur’s garish motley had set off a throbbing behind her right eye. She worried her temple with the heel of her hand.

Ahmann had invited them to breakfast at his table before they joined the caravan back to Deliverer’s Hollow. Leesha assumed he meant at dawn, the traditional time for breakfast before a long journey, but the Krasians seemed to be dragging their feet. They had been left waiting in one of the receiving rooms for hours.

After the first hour, Rojer produced his fiddle and began to play, but as always his emotions came through in the music, a piercing melody that reminded Leesha of nothing more than fingernails on slate. She had asked him to stop, but it was too late. She felt her sinuses constrict. No stranger to the feeling, Leesha knew a headache cycle was beginning.

She had known headaches her whole life. Sometimes the pain and nausea lasted an hour. Other times it would come and go for a week or more, like rain in springtime. Most of the time the aches simply made her irritable, and many were fended off with easily mixed remedies and avoidance of triggers. Other times, Leesha had a choice between blinding pain or such powerful medicine that she was delirious for hours. On the worst — and thankfully least frequent — occasions, there was nothing to do but find a private place and weep.

The cycles worsened as she grew older and took on more stress and responsibility, and were regular visitors by the time she became Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow. Now, in Everam’s Bounty, surrounded by their enemies, it was a near-constant state, like a long winter with no sign of spring.

She wasn’t alone in her discomfort. Tension was thick in the air as the delegation from Deliverer’s Hollow waited on this last formality before they could begin the long trek home. Her father, Erny, had stood and strode urgently to the privy room seven times in the last hour, and he blushed furiously as her mother harangued him about it.

‘It ent natural, Ernal, piddling in drips and drops. You should have Leesha examine you.’ Elona was across the room, but Leesha’s sense of smell would put a wolf to shame when a cycle was upon her. She caught the scent of her mother’s perfume, and it nauseated her. The pressure in her skull increased.

Like everyone else, the Cutters pretended not to hear. Wonda, who fancied herself Leesha’s bodyguard, sat hunched forward in a chair much too small for her massive frame. Her giant warded bow, unstrung, was slung with her quiver of arrows over the chair back, and a heavy knife hung at her belt.

Big enough to wrestle strong men to the ground, Wonda Cutter was just sixteen, and when she was nervous, as now, she rocked slowly back and forth, tracing the demon scars on her face with her fingers.

Gared Cutter, close to seven feet tall and thick with muscle, was the only one in the room built on Wonda’s scale, though they were only distantly related. Bored and with nothing to kill, he was attempting to carve a wooden horse, but his massive hands — perfect for throttling a downed wind demon — were unsuited to the careful work. He put too much pressure on the knife, and for what felt like the hundredth time the blade skipped from the wood and nicked his hand.

‘Corespawn it!’ He stuck his bleeding thumb in his mouth and made as if to throw the bit of wood, but Leesha raised an eyebrow at him, and he restrained himself. She immediately regretted the gesture, minute though it was, as a stab of pain struck her eye.

Rojer rounded on her. ‘Can’t pace, can’t fiddle. What can I do, Your Highness?’ Everyone looked up at that. Leesha wasn’t known for tolerating that tone even in her best moods.

But the last thing Leesha needed at the moment was an argument. There was still hope to blunt the attack, and every heated word would halve her chances. She took a dose of headache powder with a sip of water from her mixing flask. The liquid splashed in her empty stomach, making it roil with a mix of hunger and nausea. The last thing Leesha wanted was food, but if she didn’t eat soon, it would be all the worse.

She cursed herself silently for passing on the tea and pastry Abban’s wives had put out that morning in the Palace of Mirrors, but she had just cleaned her teeth, and wanted her breath fresh when she greeted Ahmann. His invitation was for breakfast, a last meal before their journey began, but the sun was already high in the sky.

Idiot girl, she heard Bruna say in her head, chew a mint leaf next time. Leesha knew her old mentor’s spirit was right. She fumbled in the pockets of her apron for something to eat, but for all the thousand and one medicines she could brew from their contents, she did not have so much as a nut.

Rojer kept glaring at her, and she suppressed the desire to snap at him. ‘I’m sorry, Rojer. I’m as frustrated as you. At this rate, it will be past noon before we’re on our way.’

‘If they let us go at all,’ Rojer said. ‘Every minute we’re kept waiting makes me all the more sure I’m going to end up in a dungeon with my stones on a chopping block by sunset.’

Rojer had good reason to be afraid. Ahmann had sent his eldest daughter Amanvah — a full dama’ting — and his niece Sikvah to Rojer as potential brides some weeks past. The two, selected by Inevera, had proven to be spies, pretending not to speak Thesan when in fact they were fluent, and attempting to poison Leesha when she threatened the status quo in Everam’s Bounty.

Nevertheless, and much to Leesha’s annoyance, Rojer had allowed himself to be seduced by them, bedding Sikvah while Amanvah coaxed them on. Since that night he had been on edge, wondering if at any minute the Spears of the Deliverer would come and take him away for despoiling the girls without first agreeing to marry them.

‘Perhaps you should have shown some self-control,’ she said.

‘Like you should tell,’ Rojer said.

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ Leesha asked.

Rojer’s face became one of such comic incredulity Leesha almost laughed, but for the lash of words that followed. ‘Do you honestly think there isn’t a person in this room, this palace — this city, even — who doesn’t know you’ve been sticking Ahmann Jardir?’

Leesha closed her eyes and took a breath. ‘I made a calculated decision with Ahmann, pondering all the variables. Your calculus was done solely with your cock.’

‘Calculus?’ Rojer laughed. ‘I grew up in a brothel, Leesha, I know all about that sort of maths.’

‘That is enough, Rojer!’ Leesha’s temper flared, and a bright ball of pain flared hot in her skull, giving her strength as she surged to her feet.

But Rojer refused to back down. ‘Or what? I’m getting tired of your holier-than-thou attitude, Leesha. You’re not the Duchess Mum of Angiers. I don’t have to do as you say, and I won’t have you acting better than me after whoring yourself to the demon of the desert.’

Gared rose to his feet, pointing at Rojer with his carving knife. ‘Can’t have you talking to Leesha like that, Rojer. Painted Man said to keep you safe, but I’ll scrub your mouth with soap, you say that again.’

A knife spun into Rojer’s hand. ‘Try it, you backwoods bumpkin, and you’ll have a knife in your eye.’

Gared blanched, and then his face narrowed into the look of an angry predator. Wonda had her bow strung in an instant, arrow nocked and ready. ‘You throw that knife, and I’ll-’

‘Stop it, all of you!’ Leesha shouted. ‘Wonda, put up your bow. Gared, sit back down.’ She whirled on Rojer. ‘And you, mind your ripping manners and remember that my “whoring” may be the only reason your stones remain attached!’

‘Leesha Paper!’ Erny barked, and all eyes turned. Erny was close to sixty, much older than his wife, but he looked older still. He was thin, with only a few wisps of grey hair atop his head. He wore wire-rimmed spectacles and his pale skin was almost translucent. A moment ago his head was down, looking ill as Elona harped at him, but now he met Leesha’s gaze and his eyes were sharp. ‘Is that how I raised you? You demand respect, and that’s your due, but you give it in return and tell honest word.’

Leesha felt her face go cold, and for a moment her headache was forgotten. Her father didn’t speak up often, and he took that tone even less, but when he did there was nothing for it but to obey, because he had the right of things.

‘I’m sorry, Rojer,’ she said. ‘I have an empty stomach and a splitting headache and I was out of line. The whole reason they sent those girls to you in the first place was because they think you can pass on your talent for charming demons to your sons. Not much chance of that if they kill you, or take your stones. If you were some khaffit or chin off the street caught sleeping with the Deliverer’s niece out of wedlock, you might have to worry. But after Inevera made such a show of Sikvah not being a virgin, I think it’s safe to say this was planned from the start.’

Rojer cocked his head. ‘What, like a trap?’

Leesha smiled wanly. ‘One you fell right into. The question is, what will happen now that it’s sprung?’

Elona snorted. ‘May be they’ll lock you in a harem for the rest of your life, breeding and training them an army of little fiddle wizards.’

Gared roared a laugh, slapping a gigantic paw on his knee. ‘Beats cuttin’ wood all day, ay?’

Rojer did not seem to share his enthusiasm, paling and beginning to pace again. He rubbed his chest, where his family medallion rested safely beneath his shirt.

‘Why is everyone ignoring the obvious answer?’ Elona said. ‘Idiots, you and my daughter, both. Just marry them, you nit.’

‘Even if I wanted to,’ Rojer said, ‘they’ll expect a dower worthy of them. I have nothing to offer.’

‘The only thing they want from you is your seedpods.’ She grabbed a handful of material at the crotch of her seated dress and gave it a meaningful shake. ‘You have a power no one has ever seen or heard of outside a Jak Scaletongue story, and they want to know if you can breed it. Jardir told you as much when he offered to find you brides in the first place. And who knows? Maybe he’s right, and it’s something in your blood that lets you charm demons. Can’t hurt to check.’

‘I couldn’t …’ Rojer said.

But Elona didn’t relent, her voice a lash that made the pain in Leesha’s head flare. ‘Couldn’t what? Accept the best marriage offer anyone’s ever heard of? Jardir is rich and powerful beyond belief. Sit next to me and shut up for ten minutes alone with Inevera and the girls, and you can have it all. Lands. Titles. Peasants to tax and rule. More gold than a Milnese mine.’

‘Stolen gold,’ Leesha said. ‘Stolen people. Stolen lands.’

Elona waved a dismissive hand. ‘Everything’s stolen in the end, land most of all. Those people it was taken from ent getting it back in any event, and Rojer’ll be a better lord than some Krasian.’

She turned back to Rojer. ‘And let us not forget daily bed rights to two beautiful women. Creator! They’ll even help you pick more! Do you think offers like that come every day? Believe me, boy,’ her eyes flicked to Erny, just for an instant, ‘they don’t.’

‘I-’ Rojer began.

Elona cut him off with a cruel grin. ‘Or do you prefer boys? Ay, maybe that’s why you chase my unattainable daughter instead of more willing lasses. No shame if you want a man to bend you now and again, but you should still accept and put a pair of brats in those girls. Just close your eyes and picture Gared for the deed.’

‘Ay, now!’ Gared cried.

‘I don’t prefer boys!’ Rojer snapped.

Leesha leaned forward, massaging her temples. ‘If I don’t eat soon, I may scream.’

‘Sharum break their fast late,’ a voice said, and Leesha turned to find Abban standing in the doorway. ‘It comes from sleeping in after staying up all night killing demons. But fear not. I will escort you to the Deliverer shortly.’

Leesha wondered how much he had overheard as the fat khaffit hobbled over to her on his camel-headed crutch. Wonda tensed as he reached into his robes, but Abban bowed slightly to her, pulling his hand free to show he held only a ripe red apple. Leesha knew then he had heard everything. She wouldn’t put it past Abban to have engineered the entire delay, just for the chance to listen in.

‘Thank you.’ Leesha took the apple and immediately bit into it, the first delicious wet crunch as welcome a medicine as any in her herb pouches. Like smell, her senses of taste and touch were heightened during an attack, and she closed her eyes to savour every chew.

‘Remember, mistress,’ Abban said in a low tone the others could not hear. ‘You may be a creature of calculation, but Ahmann is one of passion. His blood tells him right from wrong, and he reacts immediately and without remorse. It is a trait that serves him well as a warrior and leader of men, I imagine.’

‘What of it?’ Leesha asked.

‘It means the Deliverer believes that one day, you are fated to marry him. That it is Everam’s will. He may let you go now, but he will never stop pursuing you.

‘As for you, Jongleur,’ Abban continued, raising his voice and hobbling Rojer’s way, ‘I would worry less about the Deliverer and Damajah, and more about Hasik. If he learns you have lain with his daughter without marrying her honourably, he will consider it rape. The moment Ahmann turns his gaze elsewhere, he will return it tenfold on you, and your little knives might as well be silken kerchiefs, for all they will hinder him.’

Rojer’s mouth fell open, and he clutched for his medallion again. ‘Hasik is Sikvah’s father?’ They knew Jardir’s brutal, hulking bodyguard well.

‘That’s if Hasik finds out, Rojer,’ Leesha cut in, ‘and he won’t. Don’t let Abban scare you.’

The khaffit shrugged helplessly. ‘I speak only truth, mistress.’ He bowed. ‘Variables, for your calculus.’

‘Give them all, then.’ Leesha took another bite of her apple. She was close to the core now, nibbling it down to nothing but seed and stem. ‘We both know it’s not in Sikvah’s or Inevera’s interest to tell anyone. Evejan law forbids women to bear witness to rape. Ahmann would have to take Rojer’s word over theirs, and even if he didn’t, the admission would mean Sikvah’s death as well.’

‘Honest word?’ Rojer asked.

‘Disgusting, but true,’ Leesha said.

‘Evejan law can be flexible where the blood of the Deliverer is involved, mistress,’ Abban said. ‘Consider the insult of refusing the girls as unworthy.’

‘Hasik is going to kill me if I don’t accept,’ Rojer said, as if testing the words.

‘Rape and kill, yes,’ Abban agreed.

‘Rape and kill,’ Rojer repeated numbly.

‘Bah, he’s no bigger’n Wonda,’ Gared said, slapping one of his great paws on Rojer’s shoulder. ‘Don’t you worry, I ent gonna let him hurt ya, even if yur acting the fool.’

Rojer was a foot and a half shorter than Gared, but still seemed to look down at him. ‘Don’t shine yourself, Gared. You’re used to being the biggest kid at the swimming hole, but truer is Hasik would have you on the ground in seconds.’

‘And bugger you in front of the other Sharum so all see your shame,’ Abban agreed. ‘He is known for that.’

‘Why you fat little …’ Gared lunged, reaching for the khaffit’s throat, but Abban stepped smoothly aside on his good leg, then delivered a sharp rap of his camel-headed crutch to the back of the giant Cutter’s leg.

Gared roared in pain and fell to one knee. Stubborn, he turned to grab again, but froze when he found the crutch pointed right at his throat, a thin blade extended from its tip.

‘Ah,’ Abban said, lifting the blade into Gared’s beard, making him gulp. ‘I haven’t been in sharaj since my stones dropped, but even I recall enough sharusahk to put down a brainless oaf, and I have my tricks to keep them down.’

He stepped back, and the blade disappeared into his crutch with a well-oiled click. ‘So listen to me when I offer you wisdom. When Hasik comes to my house without Ahmann to hold his leash, I bow and stay out of his way, no matter what, or who, he does. That one is a killer of killers, and I have seen many. Heed Drillmaster Kaval and you may one day be his match, but it is not this day.’

He looked at Rojer. ‘Learn from your Mistress Leesha. If you do not wish to accept the girls, delay.’

‘How?’ Rojer asked.

Abban shrugged. ‘Say your custom is to be … promised, you say?’

‘Promised,’ Rojer agreed.

‘Say your custom is that you be promised for a year, or that you must first compose some great work of music to bless the day. Say you will not marry until you learn the Krasian tongue, or until the first day of spring. It does not matter what you say, son of Jessum, only that you save face for my master and the girls and give yourself time to get far away from here.’

Rojer and the others followed Abban into Jardir’s huge dining hall. Sunlight streamed in from high windows, filling the room with light. The main section of the marble hall was a collection of long, low tables, surrounded by pillows where hundreds of Sharum, the elite Spears of the Deliverer as well as the personal guards of the Damaji, sat cross-legged, spears and shields at hand as they gorged themselves on bread, couscous, and spits of roast meat, served in beautifully painted pottery by boys clad only in white bidos.

Rojer gave no outward sign, walking as casually as he would through a field of flowers, but he could feel his heart beating wildly as he passed the warriors. There would be no running from this room, no trick of smoke or fiddle that could spirit them past such a host. They would leave at Jardir’s sufferance, or not at all.

Abban led them through the warriors to a stair to the dais where sat the Damaji, Jardir’s sons and heirs, and various other ranking clerics. There was thick carpet on the floor and warm tapestries on the wall. They sat on silken pillows and ate delicately from rich food piled upon moulded silver wares served by women clad in black from head to toe.

The clerics watched with hate-filled eyes as the Hollowers passed and ascended above them to the next dais. There was no change in his casual stride, no hint of it on his face, but Rojer felt his chest constrict as if the air were being slowly squeezed from his lungs. He knew the skill with which the clerics fought, deadlier with open hands than a Cutter with an axe.

On the next and smallest dais, though still a huge space rich with thick carpet and gilded marble, sat Jardir’s own table. The pillows were embroidered in gold, like the gem-studded bowls, pitchers, and plates, which were served by Jardir’s own women, many of them black-veiled dama’ting. Rojer’s stomach twisted at the thought of eating at a table where almost every server was skilled in poisoning. They were all covered from head to toe, but Rojer nonetheless caught sight of Amanvah and Sikvah among them, their shapes and the graceful way they moved etched forever into his mind.

Jardir sat at the head of the table with Inevera at his right, the Damajah clad as ever in diaphanous silk that drew the eye, yet promised a painful death to any man whose gaze lingered too long. At the foot of the table sat Damaji Ashan and Aleverak, their heirs Asukaji and Maji, Jardir’s first- and secondborn sons, Jayan and Asome, kai’Sharum Shanjat, and, of course, Hasik.

Despite the obvious futility, Rojer felt a mad urge to run for his life. Subtly, he slid a finger between the buttons of his motley shirt to touch the cold metal of his medallion. As he did, he felt much of his tension ease.

The medallion was the highest award of bravery from the Duke of Angiers, given to Rojer’s adoptive father Arrick Sweetsong as reward for throwing him and his mother to the corelings and then later lying about it. Even Arrick had been unable to stomach that, and when he gathered his things before being expelled from the duke’s palace, he had left the medallion behind even as he took everything else of value he could get his hands on.

But where Arrick abandoned him, others stood fast that night. Geral the Messenger had thrown his mother a shield, and he and Rojer’s father interposed themselves between mother and child and the demons that poured through the ruin of their front door. They had died, much as Arrick many years later, protecting Rojer.

Leesha had etched the names of all who had given their lives for Rojer into the medal of valour, and it had become his talisman. It was a comfort when fear threatened to overwhelm him, but also a reminder that his remaining days were bought with the lives of everyone who had ever cared for him. He wanted to believe it was because there was something special about him, something worth saving, but in truth he had never seen much evidence that was the case.

Leesha took the pillow to Jardir’s left with Rojer after, followed by Elona, Erny, Gared, and Wonda. Abban took his customary place, kneeling a pace behind Jardir, almost invisible in the backdrop.

Sikvah immediately set a tiny cup of thick coffee in front of him, and as he caught her eye, she winked at him, her lashes thick and black. No one else caught the look, and it was a warm, artful gesture that sent a little thrill through Rojer. But he had practised such looks in front of a mirror enough times not to be taken in. Amanvah and Sikvah might be fond of him, and willing to be his brides, but they did not love him. Did not know him well enough for it to be true even if they believed it.

Neither did Rojer love them. They were brilliant, beautiful creatures, but beneath the surface they were still a mystery to him.

But there was something …

He thought back often on the night they seduced him, but it was not the lovemaking that he recalled. At least, not most often. It was the Song of Waning they had sung for him in duet. There was power in their voices. Power that Rojer, raised by arguably the greatest singer of his time, knew was rare and potent.

Inevera and Elona had done everything in their power to pressure Rojer into accepting the brides. Abban wanted him to dance around the promise. Leesha seemed to want him to turn them down on the spot, though she herself danced Abban’s dance like she was in the centre of a reel.

No one seemed at all interested in what Rojer himself wanted.

The meal seemed to drag forever, with endless prayers and formal pleasantries, often delivered through thinly veiled expressions of mistrust. Ahmann kept most of his attention on Leesha, to the obvious annoyance of the Krasians at the table. They were arguing again over how many Sharum would act as escort for their journey back to the Hollow.

‘We agreed to ten,’ Leesha said, ‘and not a one more. Gared tells me there are closer to thirty in the caravan.’

‘We agreed to ten dedicated dal’Sharum,’ Jardir agreed. ‘But you need men to drive the wagons with my gifts to the Hollow tribe, to hunt your food, care for the animals, prepare your meals, and wash your clothes. Those will not lift their spears unless the need is dire.’

‘Are those not jobs traditionally done by your women?’ Leesha asked. ‘Let your ten warriors bring their wives and children.’ She didn’t say as hostages, but Rojer heard it all the same.

‘Even so,’ Jardir said, ‘ten is insufficient to ensure your safety. My scouts tell me the roads to the Hollow have grown dangerous with chin bandits.’

‘Not chin,’ Leesha said.

‘Eh?’ Jardir asked.

Careful, Rojer thought.

‘You taught me that chin means “outsider”,’ Leesha said. ‘These are people living in the land they were born to, or driven from it by your army. You are the chin here.’

There were angry murmurs from the Krasians at that. Here in Everam’s Bounty, Jardir’s power was absolute, his slightest whim no different than law. In truth, his decrees could, and often did, supersede laws that had stood for thousands of years. No one, especially not a woman — and an outlander at that — dared speak so boldly to him in open court.

Jardir lifted a finger, and they fell silent. ‘A trick of words that changes nothing of the danger. Twenty warriors. Ten kha’Sharum and ten dal, including Drillmaster Kaval to continue the lessons to your own warriors, and my Watcher, Coliv. All will bring their first wives and one child of their blood.’

‘Half of them girls,’ Leesha said, ‘and not a one old enough for Hannu Pash. I don’t want twenty boys pulled from sharaj a day before they are to lose the bido.’

Jardir smiled and flicked a finger over his shoulder. ‘Abban, see to it.’

Abban touched his forehead to the floor. ‘Of course, Deliverer.’

‘Twenty-one,’ Inevera cut in. ‘A holy number. Amanvah is dama’ting and must have a dedicated eunuch guardian. I will send Enkido with her.’

‘Agreed,’ Jardir said.

‘It is not-’ Leesha began, but Jardir cut her off.

‘My daughter must be protected, Leesha Paper. I think your honoured father,’ he gestured to Erny, ‘can agree that this is not a negotiable point?’

Leesha glanced his way, but Erny gave her a stern look. ‘He’s right, Leesha, and you know it.’

‘Perhaps,’ Leesha said. ‘If she returns with us. There has been no agreement about that.’

Inevera smiled over the golden chalice she used to sip her water. ‘Another thing, daughter of Erny, that is not yours to decide.’

All eyes turned to Rojer, and he felt his guts clench tight. He focused his thoughts on the medallion, heavy against his chest, and drew a deep breath. He reached into his multicoloured bag of marvels, producing his fiddle case.

‘Great Shar’Dama Ka,’ he said, ‘I have been practising a tune your daughter and her handmaiden taught me, the Song of Waning. You said music in praise to Everam was welcome in your court. May I play it for you?’

There were curious looks from around the table at the evasion, but Jardir waved a hand and nodded. ‘But of course, son of Jessum. We would be honoured.’

Rojer opened the case, removing the ancient fiddle the Painted Man had given him, a carefully preserved relic of the old world. The strings were new, but the lacquered wood was still strong, producing a rich resonance that surpassed any instrument Rojer had ever held. He paused carefully, then looked up as if a thought had just occurred to him. ‘Would it be appropriate to ask Amanvah and Sikvah to add their voices to the song?’

‘The Song of Waning is an honoured one,’ Jardir said, and nodded to the young women. They moved silently over to him like birds to the falconer’s wrist, coming to kneel on the pillows a step behind him.

As well I can’t see them, Rojer thought. Can’t afford distraction. Not here. Not now.

He took the fine horsehair bow in his crippled hand and closed his eyes, blocking out the taste of Krasian coffee from his mouth, the smell of food from his nostrils, the general din of the dining hall from his ears. He focused until there was nothing in the world but the feel of the instrument in his hands, and then he began to play.

He started slowly, a long improvisation around the opening notes of the tune. It was soft at first, but as he layered in more and more of the true melody, he let it grow louder until it filled Jardir’s dais, spread out over the Damaji’s level, and finally echoed through the entire hall. Rojer was dimly aware of the silence that fell over the crowd, but it was meaningless to him. Only the music mattered.

When the melody was complete, Rojer let the fiddle grow quiet again, and began assembling the notes anew. He gave no other signal, no nod or stroke of his bow as he might to his apprentices, but nevertheless Amanvah and Sikvah joined him instantly on the repeat, softly singing wordless notes to complement Rojer’s previous improvisation as he built the complexity and volume back to its former height and beyond.

Oh, the lungs, he thought, feeling the air thrumming with the strength of their voices. He felt a stiffening in his crotch, but ignored it like every other distraction. A good performance could have that effect. Fortunately, Jongleurs wore loose trousers.

This time when the melody was built again in full, the women began to sing. The words were still beyond Rojer’s very limited understanding of Krasian, but they were beautiful nonetheless — mournful but with a tone of warning. Amanvah and Sikvah had explained their meaning, but the women’s knowledge of Thesan, while fluent, was insufficient to translate the artistry and harmony that resonated between the music and the original Krasian lyrics.

It was a challenge Rojer was hungry for. There was power in the Song of Waning. Ancient power.

After each verse, there was a wordless chorus, a call to Heaven beseeching Everam for strength in the night. Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s voices blended into a union that made it nearly impossible to determine where one ended and the other began.

He played the first chorus exactly as the women had first shown him, but before the second verse ended, Rojer began to thread in a new variation, improvised around the original. It was a minor change, but a difficult one for a singer to follow. They did so effortlessly, changing their harmony to follow his playing. On the third chorus, he took them farther still, building the music into something that would stop a coreling in its tracks. Again they followed, as easily as if he led them down a garden path, arm in arm in arm.

The fourth verse spoke of Alagai Ka, the father of demons, who stalked the land when the moon was new. Rojer did not know if such a creature existed, but the demon prince that had tried to kill Leesha and Jardir on new moon a few nights past was terror enough. The music had a frightening tone, and when the next chorus was reached, Rojer turned the music into a piercing, discordant wail that would send even a rock demon fleeing beyond earshot.

And again, Amanvah and Sikvah, without practice, without prompting, followed.

Verse after verse, Rojer tested them, working his fiddle magic — if that was what this was — to its fullest, bathing the great dining hall in his power. They were with him every step of the way, even as he improvised a new closing to wend the music down into silence.

When the last resonance left the wood, Rojer lifted bow from string and opened his eyes. As if coming out of a deep slumber, reality was slow to focus. Everyone at the table, even Jardir and Inevera, sat in stunned silence, watching him. Rojer looked out farther, seeing the dozens of clerics at the table below similarly entranced, as well as the hundreds of Sharum on the floor proper.

Then, as if given a cue, the room burst into a roar of approval. The Sharum shouted and ululated, stomping their feet so hard the floor seemed to shake. The clerics were more controlled, but their applause was thunderous nonetheless. Gared slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the wind from him, and Leesha flashed him a smile that once would have stopped his heart in its tracks. Even Hasik clapped and stomped his feet, staring at his daughter with obvious pride.

Jardir and Inevera did not react, however, and soon all fell silent, eyes upon the Deliverer to see his response. The demon of the desert smiled slowly, and then, to the astonishment of all, bowed deeply to Rojer.

‘Everam speaks to you, son of Jessum,’ he said, and with that, the roars and clapping began anew.

Rojer bowed in return, as deep as the table before him would allow. ‘I wish to marry your daughter and niece, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji.’ Leesha let out a slight gasp, and Elona a satisfied huff.

Jardir nodded, gesturing with his right hand towards Inevera and his left towards Elona. ‘Our women will arrange …’

But Rojer shook his head. ‘I wish to marry them here. Now. There is nothing for the women to negotiate. I have no need or want of groom gifts, nor have I money for dower.’

Jardir steepled his fingers as he regarded Rojer, his face an unreadable mask that would do a master Jongleur proud. He looked as apt to order Hasik to crush him like a bug as to accept the offer. Indeed, his bodyguard had dropped a hand to his spear.

But Rojer had his audience now, and there was no fear in him as he pressed on. ‘But no gold or jewels could ever be worthy of Amanvah and Sikvah in any event. What are such things but baubles to Shar’Dama Ka? Instead, I will translate the Song of Waning into Thesan and play it for my people. If Sharak Ka is coming as you say, all should remember to fear the new moon.’

‘You think I will sell you my daughter for a song?’ Inevera said.

Rojer bowed her way. He knew he should fear her, but the rightness was on him, and he smiled instead. ‘Apologies, Damajah, but that is not yours to decide.’

‘Indeed,’ Jardir said, before Inevera could retort. She gave no outward sign of agitation, but there was a cold calculation in her eyes that frightened more than an outburst.

Rojer turned back to him. ‘You say Everam speaks to me. I cannot say if this is so or not, but if true, He is telling me there was real magic in your court just now. Magic older and deeper than warding. He is telling me that if I pursue that magic with your daughters, we may learn to kill alagai with song alone.’

‘He tells me the same, son of Jessum,’ Jardir said. ‘I accept.’

Hasik gave a whoop of delight that would have sent a chill down Rojer’s spine just a few minutes ago. There was more applause and stomping of feet from below, and congratulations from around the table.

‘You sly son of the Core,’ Gared said, grabbing Rojer’s shoulder in a great paw and giving him a teeth-rattling shake. Even Inevera seemed pleased with the result, though Rojer knew his slight to her would not soon be forgotten. The only sour look was from Elona, no doubt mentally cataloguing all the wealth he had just turned his back on.

But Rojer had no love of wealth save as a means of survival, and he had gold enough for that already from the Painted Man. And even without, his fiddle had never failed in the past to bring him a full belly and a place to lie his head.

Jardir gestured to Amanvah, and she stepped forward, bowing. ‘Rojer, son of Jessum, I offer you myself in marriage in accordance with the instructions of the Evejah, as set down by Kaji, Spear of Everam, who sits at the foot of Everam’s table until he is reborn in the time of Sharak Ka. I pledge, with honesty and in sincerity, to be for you an obedient and faithful wife.’

Jardir turned to him. ‘Repeat my words, son of Jessum: I, Rojer, son of Jessum, swear before Everam, Creator of all that is, and before the Shar’Dama Ka, to take you into my home, and to be a fair and tolerant husband.’

Rojer reached into his shirt, producing his medallion and clutching it in his fist. ‘I, Rojer, son of Jessum, swear before the Creator of all that is, and before the spirits of my parents, to take you into my home, and to be a fair and tolerant husband.’

There were some murmurs of discontent at that. Rojer heard ancient Damaji Aleverak’s voice among them, but Jardir gave no sign that he even noticed the shift, though Rojer was not fool enough to think that the case. ‘Do you accept my daughter as your Jiwah Ka?’

‘I do,’ Rojer said.

The vows were repeated with Sikvah, and Amanvah reached for her, removing her black veil. ‘Welcome, sister-wife, beloved Jiwah Sen,’ she said, tying a veil of white silk in its place.

Hasik rose, spear and shield in hand. For a moment, Rojer was sure the giant dal’Sharum meant to kill him, but instead Hasik clattered his spear against his shield and gave out an ululating cry. Instantly, every warrior in attendance was doing the same, and the hall shook with their cacophony.

‘You could have at least said something if that was your plan, Rojer,’ Leesha said as Abban escorted them to the caravan.

‘I hadn’t decided anything until the song was done,’ Rojer replied, ‘but even if I had, what business is it of yours who I marry? Let us not pretend you would consult me if the positions were reversed.’

Leesha gripped her skirts tightly in her fists. ‘Need I remind you that those young women tried to murder me?’

‘Ay,’ Rojer agreed. ‘Yet you’re the one that treated Amanvah when the antidote made her sick, and offered asylum to her and Sikvah both.’

‘Don’t fool yourself,’ Leesha said. ‘They’re still Inevera’s creatures.’

Rojer shrugged. ‘Perhaps. For now.’

‘You really think you can change them?’ Leesha asked.

Rojer shrugged. ‘Do you think you can change him?’ They reached the caravan, and Rojer, who had been given an opulent carriage to ride in with his wives, quickly disappeared inside.

‘Do not underestimate the son of Jessum,’ Abban said to Leesha. ‘He gained much power today.’ He gestured to a woman who stood at the head of the caravan with a ledger. ‘My First Wife, Shamavah. She will accompany you to the Hollow, and has personally chosen the kha’Sharum who will drive the carts with their wives and children. All of them, wives or husbands, are family, or work for me. They will give you no trouble.’

‘It’s not the kha’Sharum I’m worried over,’ Leesha said.

Abban nodded. ‘And you are wise in that. I have had no say over the dal’Sharum. They will report to Kaval, and though Ahmann has told the drillmaster that you are still his intended and to answer to you in all things, I expect it will be Amanvah they follow in practice.’

‘Then we’d all best hope Rojer’s confidence is justified,’ Leesha said.

‘I am saddened to see you leave, mistress,’ Abban said. ‘I will miss our conversations.’

Rojer fell into the wedding carriage with a contented sigh. It was of Rizonan make, fine wood and gilded paint with a metal suspension to take away the jolts and bumps of the road. A nobleman’s carriage, and a rich one at that.

But the Krasians had made alterations, removing the seats and covering the floor with thick colourful carpets and embroidered silk pillows. The walls and ceiling were covered in dark velvet of red and purple, and scented herbs hung from the ceiling in bronze pots punched with holes. The windows were glass, but could be cracked to let in air, as they were now, but curtained in velvet for privacy. Bronze and glass oil lamps hung from the walls, lighting and extinguishing themselves with the twist of a key.

Rojer had been in brothels less suited to lovemaking.

They don’t want me to waste any time, it seems. He couldn’t deny that he was eager for it, as well. Sikvah had lain with him already, but refused to let him spend in her until they were wed, and Amanvah was still a virgin. He would have to be gentle with her.

He took a pencil and notebook from his bag of marvels, continuing his notes on the Song of Waning. He could read well enough, and write in a cramped hand, but neither letters nor the musical symbols Arrick taught him came as naturally as fiddling.

‘Not everyone can hear a song once and play it forever,’ Arrick scolded when he had complained of the lessons, punctuating the advice with a clout to the ear. ‘You want to sell a song, you’ve got to be able to write it down.’

Rojer had hated his master in that moment, but now he was thankful for the lesson. He had already put down the tune and the meter of the lyrics. It would take time to translate the meaning fully, but they would be two weeks at best on the road to the Hollow, with nothing else to do.

Rojer smiled, stroking one of the silken pillows. Well, almost nothing.

He heard voices, and peeked through a crack in the curtains, seeing Amanvah and Sikvah approaching with a pair of white-clad dama, a strange-looking Sharum, and two other women.

Rojer immediately recognized Jardir’s son Asome and his nephew Asukaji. The warrior must be Amanvah’s bodyguard, Enkido. He wore the standard warrior blacks, but his wrists and ankles were bound in golden shackles that seemed permanently welded in place.

The women he did not recognize. Both wore black robes, but one had a veil of white like Sikvah’s. The other’s face was bare, indicating she was unmarried and unbetrothed.

Asome and Amanvah walked in front, arguing. They stopped in front of the carriage, whispering harsh words that Rojer could not understand. Asome grabbed Amanvah by the shoulders and shook her, his face a scowl. Her supposed bodyguard looked on but did nothing. It seemed doubtful any Krasian would dare strike the Deliverer’s son, much less a lowly Sharum.

Rojer felt a chill of fear. He knew Asome could kill him. He had seen dama fight — the least of them could use his head as a tackleball. But he couldn’t just watch. He ran through his mummer’s repertoire, thinking of the most fearless person he knew and putting him on like a cloak.

He kicked open the door of the carriage, startling everyone.

‘Get your hands off my wife!’ Rojer said in the low growl of the Painted Man. He flicked his good hand, and a throwing knife appeared in it.

Asukaji hissed and looked ready to leap at him, but Asome let Amanvah go and used a hand to forestall him.

‘Apologies, son of Jessum,’ Asome said, though he did not bow. His Thesan was clear, but heavily accented like Amanvah’s. ‘A disagreement among siblings, only. I meant no disrespect on your wedding day.’ The anger in his tone was barely contained. Had any man ever dared threaten him with a knife before?

‘Got a funny way of showin’ it,’ Gared said, appearing off to one side of the carriage. His huge axe was held casually in one hand, his warded machete in easy reach. Out of the corner of his eye, Rojer saw Wonda quietly appear to the other side, bow in hand. Rojer knew she could nock and fire an arrow in the blink of an eye.

Asukaji moved to interpose himself between her and Asome. There was a cold calm about him, and Rojer wondered if even Wonda could fire before the dama reached her, and if she would hit anything if she did. All around, their dal’Sharum escort was watching.

Rojer gave a shallow bow, little more than a nod, tucking his knife away in a blink and showing his empty hand. ‘You honour me, brother, by coming personally to bless our wedding day and present your sister and cousin to me.’

Amanvah gave him a warning look. Rojer knew he was walking a line taking such a familiar tone with men who would as soon kill as speak to him, but he had a handle on the scene now. The dama would not dare attack the Deliverer’s new son-in-law in public as long as he kept his words polite.

‘Indeed,’ Asome agreed, though there was nothing of agreement in his tone. His return bow was the exact depth and duration as Rojer’s. Asukaji did the same. ‘Blessings upon this day … brother.’

Asome looked at Amanvah and said a few words in Krasian, then the two dama turned on their heels and strode off to the collective relief of all.

‘What did he say?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah hesitated, until he turned and met her eyes. ‘He said, “We will speak of this another time.”’

Rojer nodded as if it were of no import. ‘It would please me, wife, if you would introduce the rest of your escort.’

Amanvah bowed, gesturing for the other women to step forward. First was the woman with the white veil. Up close, Rojer could see she was young, perhaps no older than Sikvah.

‘My sister-in-law and cousin Ashia,’ Amanvah said, ‘firstborn daughter of Damaji Ashan and the Deliverer’s eldest sister, holy Imisandre, Jiwah Ka to my brother Asome.’

Rojer hid his surprise as the woman bowed. ‘Blessings upon your wedding day, son of Jessum. My heart is filled with joy to see my blessed cousin wed to you.’ Her tone held none of Asome’s insincerity. Quite the contrary, she looked as if she might kiss him.

He turned to the other young woman, her uncovered face showing her to be of an age with the others.

‘My cousin Shanvah,’ Amanvah said. ‘Firstborn daughter of kai’Sharum Shanjat, leader of the Spears of the Deliverer, and my father’s middle sister, holy Hoshvah.’

‘My blessings as well, son of Jessum.’ Shanvah’s smooth bow was so low her nose nearly touched the ground. Rojer knew trained dancers who would give anything for such strength and flexibility.

‘The four of us have trained together under Enkido in the Dama’ting Palace since we were children,’ Amanvah said, nodding to include Sikvah. ‘They have come to hold their goodbyes until the last moment, as it may be some time before we are together again.’

Enkido bowed deeply to Rojer as Amanvah indicated him.

‘Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Bridge,’ Rojer said, giving his name in the Krasian fashion as he stuck out his hand. The warrior looked at it curiously a moment, then reached out and clasped his wrist. His fingers were like bars of steel. He did not reply.

‘Enkido is a eunuch, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘He has no spear, so he may be trusted to guard us in your absence, and no tongue to whisper our secrets.’

‘You let them cut off your tree?!’ Gared blurted in shock. All eyes turned to him, and he blushed. Enkido only looked at him mutely.

‘Enkido does not speak your heathen tongue,’ Amanvah said, ‘so he is unaware of your rudeness.’

Gared flushed even more deeply at that, fumbling his axe back into the harness on his back and bowing as he backed away. ‘Sorry ’bout that. I … ah …’ He turned and moved quickly to tend his horse.

Rojer bowed again to draw attention back to himself. ‘I am honoured to have so many of the Deliverer’s blood come to see us off. Please, do not let me interfere with your goodbyes. Take as long as you need.’

He moved away as the women began their tearful embraces, nodding to the two Cutters. ‘Thanks.’

‘Just doin’ our jobs,’ Gared said. ‘Painted Man said to keep you safe, and that’s what we aim to do.’

‘Glad we’re leavin’,’ Wonda said. ‘Sooner we’re gone the better.’

‘Honest word,’ Rojer agreed.

‘What was all that about?’ Rojer demanded of Amanvah as soon as they were alone in the carriage.

‘A matter between-’ Amanvah began.

‘Is this how we begin our marriage, my Jiwah Ka?’ Rojer cut her off. ‘With half-truths and evasions?’

Amanvah looked at him in surprise, but she quickly dropped her eyes. ‘Of course you are right, husband.’ She gave a slight shiver. ‘You and your companions are not the only ones eager to leave Everam’s Bounty.’

‘Why was your brother so angry?’ Rojer asked.

‘Asome believes I should have refused my mother when she told me to wed you,’ Amanvah said. ‘He argued with her, and it … did not go well.’

‘He doesn’t want your house allying with a greenlander?’ Rojer guessed.

Amanvah shook her head. ‘Not at all. He sees the power you command and is not blind to its uses. But Father has many dama’ting daughters whom he feels would serve. He has ever meant me as a gift for Asukaji, though it is not a brother’s right to give away his sister while their father lives.’

‘Why you?’ Rojer asked.

‘Because nothing less than his eldest full-blooded sister would do for Asome’s beloved Asukaji,’ Amanvah spat. ‘He cannot bear his lover’s children himself, so he tries to use the closest thing, as Asukaji did when he convinced Uncle Ashan to offer Ashia to my brother. Only my white robes have protected me thus far.’ She looked at him. ‘My white robes, and you.’

Rojer felt nauseous. ‘Where I come from, it’s considered … improper to marry your first cousin, unless you’re in some remote hamlet and haven’t got a choice.’

Amanvah nodded. ‘It is not favoured among my people either, but Asome is the son of the Shar’Dama Ka and Damajah. He does as he pleases. Already, Ashia has been forced to bear him a son that he and Asukaji treat as their own.’

Rojer shuddered, and breathed his relief as the carriage began to sway in its suspension, a sign they were finally moving.

‘Think on it no more, husband,’ Amanvah said, taking his right arm as Sikvah moved to his left. ‘It is our wedding day.’