The Daylight War

29

333 AR Autumn

‘I have taken the alagai princes’ measure,’ Ahmann said, ‘and found them wanting.’ He pointed to the foot of the dais. The curtains of his throne room had been pulled tight and the room lit by oil lamps that he might display the bulbous head of the demon prince, staked there. He had ordered Abban to commission masons to brick the windows permanently.

His counsellors had taken it in turn to stare into the huge bulbous black eyes of their enemy, each hiding his revulsion behind a forced scoff of derision. Abban could not blame them. The demon was not nearly so large or full of teeth and claws as many of its other brethren, but its otherworldly stare was unnerving. Its high conical head, vestigial horns, and almost gentle features were not those of a mindless killer. It was a thinker. A planner.

Not for the first time, Abban thanked Everam that he was a crippled khaffit and denied the night.

He adjusted his camel crutch into a more comfortable position as his friend gave the speech the two of them had so carefully prepared. Though he often stood on the dais where he could advise his master, they had agreed that for this decree Abban should remain on the floor, that none should suspect his involvement. Ahmann would get his way regardless, but the clerics would fall into line much more quickly if they thought the plans were coming from the Shar’Dama Ka and not a spineless khaffit.

They think me spineless, but I can make them dance like puppets. He kept his eyes respectfully down, but he had learned to see much in periphery watching the clerics as Ahmann spoke.

‘But we must not grow complacent,’ Ahmann went on. ‘The return of the sons of Alagai Ka signals the beginning of Sharak Ka, and Sharak Ka cannot be won until Sharak Sun is brought to a close. The alagai cannot break our defences, but they can wear them down, burning fields and killing livestock until we are too weak to fight, even as the greenlanders gird themselves against us. To win both wars, we must continue to expand, bringing the Northern cities one by one under Evejan law, levying their men and confiscating their resources.’

Damaji Aleverak nodded. ‘The Daylight War must be won, and we grow soft in Everam’s Bounty.’

‘Agreed,’ Ashan said. Technically he spoke for the council, but all knew he was Ahmann’s puppet. Aleverak was the oldest and most venerated of the Damaji, the only man who had fought Ahmann for the Skull Throne and lived to speak of it. All treated the ancient cleric with deference, and his words were given enormous weight.

This was why Ahmann, when he met with them privately earlier in the day, ordered Aleverak to speak first, and Ashan second.

Ahmann thumped the butt of his spear on the dais. ‘We will attack Lakton in two months.’ On cue, Abban furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

‘You frown, khaffit,’ Ahmann said. ‘Do you doubt the wisdom of my plan?’

All eyes turned to Abban, and he pretended to wilt under their glare. No doubt everyone in the room was praying for him to say something foolish that would cost him his favour with the Shar’Dama Ka.

It was, Abban had to admit, a valid concern. He knew full well that should he ever publicly fall from Ahmann’s favour, every man in the room — not to mention the Damajah herself — would move immediately to dominate or kill him.

‘The Deliverer’s wisdom exceeds my own,’ Abban said, adding just the right bit of snivelling to his tone. ‘But your forces are stretched thin attempting to hold the land you have already taken. The cost-’

‘Do not listen to the cowardly words of this pig-eating khaffit, Father,’ Jayan cut in. ‘He spoke against your attack on Everam’s Bounty, as well.’ The other Damaji nodded, muttering their agreement.

Pig-eating khaffit is redundant, you idiot, Abban thought. Khaffit literally meant ‘pig-eater’, for the Evejah forbade the eating of pork, and poor khaffit could often afford no other meat. Abban’s lip twitched imperceptibly as he resisted the urge to smirk. No man in this room had the slightest idea what they were missing. Pigs were such delicious animals, denied to all men simply because Kaji’s half brother had poisoned a suckling and set it before the Deliverer three thousand years ago. Kaji’s legendary strength had resisted death, but he had — most likely in a moment of pique after spending hours on the commode — declared pig unclean, denying countless generations of fools their sweet, tender meat.

His mouth watered. He would have suckling pig tonight, and then have one of his wives spill his seed in some manner the clerics had seen fit to forbid.

He looked at Jayan, unsurprised at the eager look in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. The boy was little more than an animal, enjoying conquest and plunder too much, and ruling too little. Killing men was far easier than killing alagai, and killing soft greenlanders easiest of all. Easy victories to add to his quite lacking list of accomplishments.

He resisted the urge to shake his head. An accident of birth had dropped all the power and opportunity anyone could ever dream of in Jayan’s hands, and all he could think of was the size of his palace, and new ways for his toadies to flatter him.

Asome and Asukaji kept their faces blank, but the two men had a language all their own — an elaborate mixture of subtle stances and gestures the lovers had no doubt concocted in the pillows — that allowed them to hold whole conversations without anyone around them knowing.

Abban, after watching them for months, had only deciphered a fraction of the code, but he could guess the current content well enough. There were advantages and disadvantages to being left behind while his father and brother went off to war. Ashan would speak for the council, the Damaji ruling in concert with the Damajah in the Deliverer’s absence, but while the glory would go to those in the field, there was much Asome could do to increase his own power while they were gone.

‘And you, Asome?’ Jardir asked.

Asome bowed ever so slightly in his elder brother’s direction. ‘I agree, Father. The time to strike is now. The khaffit’s concerns are not without merit, but they are small things in Everam’s great plan. You have lost much of the harvest to the alagai, and those losses will mount. Taking more territory will mitigate this.’

Ahmann turned to the other ten Damaji, and Abban studied them while their eyes were directed at the throne. The men stood in precise order based on the number of Sharum in their tribes, no matter that the difference was negligible in many cases. The line changed slightly every few months.

After Ashan and Aleverak was Enkaji of the Mehnding. The Damaji had grown fat over the years, now that the path to the Skull Throne was beyond his reach. Ahmann still bore a grudge after Enkaji’s attempt to hide the Crown of Kaji from him, but Abban could not blame the man for that. He wouldn’t have just handed the thing over for free, either. Enkaji had survived since by marching in lockstep with Ashan and Aleverak, at least in court.

‘The Daylight War is the purview of Shar’Dama Ka,’ Enkaji said. ‘Who are we to question?’ He looked to the men standing next to him, the Damaji of the Krevakh and Nanji tribes. The Watcher Damaji wore night veils, even in the day, hiding their true identities to all save the leaders of the tribes they served and the Deliverer himself.

As always, the men bowed and said nothing.

Abban barely spared the other Damaji a glance. Ever since the lesson Ichach and Qezan had been given, the lesser Damaji had become even more obsequious than Enkaji. Only Kevera of the Sharach spoke out, meeting Ahmann’s eyes. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions on your wise plan, Deliverer, but it is true my tribe cannot spare men for a new assault and continue to hold what we have taken.’

‘Stay behind, then!’ Chusen of the Shunjin barked. ‘More spoils for the rest of us!’ Some of the other Damaji chuckled at that, but all of them wilted at the glare Ahmann threw them.

‘I am Sharach,’ Ahmann said, ‘by blood and marriage. I am Shunjin as well, and every tribe between. When you insult one another in my presence, you insult me.’

Asome stroked the handle of his alagai tail, and Damaji Chusen paled. He fell to his knees, pressing his head against the floor. ‘I apologize, Deliverer. I meant no disrespect.’

Ahmann nodded. ‘That is good. You will leave behind men to guard the Sharach lands in Everam’s Bounty as they march to claim more in the land of the lake men.’

Abban wanted to laugh aloud at the stricken look that crossed Chusen’s face. Every warrior he left behind would mean less spoils for his tribe, and might mean Damaji Fashin of the Halvas passing him in the order from the Skull Throne. He glanced at Fashin, and saw the Damaji smiling openly at the decree, though he was wise enough to say nothing.

Abban’s mind began to wander as Ahmann went over the details of the plan with them — at least, the details they needed to know. The meat of the plan, including the exact timing and location of their strike, would be given when there was no chance for the fools to bungle it.

He eyed the Skull Throne, wondering what the point of covering it in electrum had been. It seemed such an enormous waste.

Abban had given the Damajah the entire mine’s electrum as commanded. He’d expected the metal to disappear, put to some secret purpose, or at the least to reappear as a suit of armour for Ahmann. Instead, it had been dumped over his throne, a meaningless show of power.

Or was it? He snuck a glance at the Damajah. The woman was not given to empty displays. There were few who could display better, but it was never meaningless.

It mattered little. Abban had delivered the metal, but he had not been idle in locating more, starting with the mine where Rennick first encountered the alloy — a gold mine marbled with veins of silver that still yielded a fair bit of electrum each year. Abban had bought the mine through an intermediary, and throughout Everam’s Bounty his agents were tracking and buying the jewels and coins made from it. Already, he had amassed a considerable amount of the precious metal, using it to replace the retractable blade on his crutch and hammering some into filigree for the weapons and armour of his most trusted kha’Sharum.

The audience was soon over. Ahmann was first to leave, followed quickly by Jayan, Asome, and the Damaji. Abban turned to follow in their wake.

‘Abban,’ the Damajah called, and Abban froze. Ahead, Hasik closed the great doors and stood in front of them with his arms crossed, blocking his path.

Abban turned to watch Inevera descend from the Skull Throne’s dais, his eyes quickly moving to avoid the hypnotic sway of her hips and lock on her eyes.

You have your own beautiful wives, he reminded himself. This one displays her wares openly, but the price of looking is too high.

He bowed. ‘Damajah. How may this humble khaffit be of service to you?’

Inevera drew close to him. She was too close for Hasik to overhear their words, but at her back was Shanvah. By all accounts the kai’Sharum’ting was every bit as deadly as Ahmann’s brutal bodyguard.

‘Have your metalworkers made any further progress?’ Inevera asked. ‘The last batch of alloy they sent was worthless.’

Abban shrugged. ‘Alloying the metals is simple enough, but finding the right mixture is a slow process. The fires of Ala may have introduced agents we have not anticipated.’

‘We need more,’ Inevera said.

‘I see that,’ Abban said. ‘Coating a throne requires a great deal of metal. Will you do the steps next?’

‘What I do with it is not your concern, khaffit,’ Inevera said. Her voice was serene, but there was a warning in it nonetheless.

Abban bowed. ‘As you say, Damajah. Nor is it my concern what you do with your eunuchs, though I am told by the city guard that three of them were found dead, washed up on the shore of the river.’ He smiled at her, and knew immediately he had taken the game too far.

At a gesture from Inevera, Shanvah stepped in. Her punch was little more than a flicker, but pain blossomed in his face and he found himself falling onto his back.

Abban clutched his nose, eyes widening at how quickly his hand was covered in blood. He pulled a kerchief from his vest pocket, but that, too, became saturated. ‘The Shar’Dama Ka has said he will kill any man that strikes me.’

‘Sharum’ting are not men, khaffit.’ Inevera smiled, her full lips turning up beneath her translucent veil as she swept a hand at the chamber doors. ‘But by all means, hobble out and tell Ahmann that you insulted me and I had Shanvah strike you. Let us see what he will do.’

When Abban did not move, she snatched the kerchief from his hand, holding the blood-drenched cloth before his eyes. ‘This is the least of what will happen the next time you are insolent with me.’

Abban swallowed as she and the warrior woman strode into her private pillow chamber. He might not fear the Damaji, but Ahmann’s First Wife was another matter entirely. His plot to install Leesha Paper as her rival had failed, and now he had made an enemy he would wish on no one.

When the door to the pillow chamber closed behind the women, Hasik honked a laugh. ‘Not so bold now, eh, khaffit?’

Abban looked at him coldly. ‘Open the door, dog, or I will tell Ahmann this bloodied nose came from you.’

Rage blossomed across Hasik’s face, soothing the pain in Abban’s own. Abban hid his smile as the huge warrior opened the door. Hasik would come soon to collect payment for the indignity, but this time Abban looked forward to it.

My metalworkers have made another attempt at reproducing the sacred metal, Abban wrote to Ahmann later in the day. Send a strong-backed messenger you trust to retrieve the Damajah’s sample at day’s end.

And Ahmann, as he often did, sent Hasik.

Abban’s daughter Cielvah was working alone in the front of his pavilion in the New Bazaar when the warrior was spotted coming their way. Curfew was looming and the bazaar nearly empty, most of the pavilions and storefronts closed for the night. Abban watched through a pinhole as Hasik entered the tent. Cielvah was young and beautiful, intelligent with skilled hands. She had a bright future, and Abban loved her dearly. Something Hasik had known when he raped her. It was never about Cielvah. It was about hurting Abban.

The girl gasped when she saw Hasik. She scurried behind the counter and down a short hallway where she disappeared through a canvas flap. Like a cat after a mouse, Hasik followed, leaping nimbly over the counter in pursuit and disappearing through the flap an instant after the girl.

Abban heard a door slam, and counted to ten before following, taking his time with the walk. His leg still pained him even after so many years, and he saw no need to tax it.

Hasik was still struggling when he entered the room, shutting the heavy door behind him. The pavilion abutted a large warehouse, and Hasik had unwittingly stepped inside. Two Sharach kha’Sharum had the situation well in hand with their alagai-catchers. The hollow poles were twice the length of Hasik’s arms, threaded with woven steel cable, the end loops tight around his neck. Hasik grasped one in each fist, trying to keep them from tightening, but it was useless against the skilled Sharach warriors. When he pulled they pushed, and vice versa, all the while tightening the cords. Abban watched in pleasure as Hasik’s struggles slowed, and he dropped to his knees, face reddening.

Cielvah came over to him, and Abban put an arm around her. ‘Ah, Hasik, how good of you to visit! I trust you remember my daughter Cielvah? You took her virginity last spring. I have promised her a front seat to what I do to you in return.’

Still unmarried, Cielvah did not have a veil to lift as she spat in the Sharum’s face. Hasik tried to lunge at her, but the Sharach held him fast, choking him back down to his knees. Abban raised a hand, and another of his kha’Sharum, standing invisibly in the shadows, came forward. The Nanji were renowned for their skill at torture, and the small man was no exception. He moved with easy grace, silent as death save for the ring of the sharp, curved blade he drew. Hasik’s eyes bulged at the sight, but he was not allowed air to protest.

The small man considered. ‘This would be easier if he were on his back.’ His voice was low and quiet, barely a whisper. ‘And his limbs held tight.’

Abban nodded, clapping his hands loudly. The Sharach twisted their poles, throwing Hasik flat onto his back as the doors opened and a number of black-clad women entered — Abban’s wives and daughters. Many wore marriage veils, while others, like Cielvah, had their faces uncovered. More than one of them had fallen prey to Hasik’s attentions over the years.

Four of the women carried alagai-catchers of their own, and in short order they had looped Hasik’s wrists and ankles, pulling tight. The Sharum was strong as only a warrior who regularly felt the magical rush of killing alagai could be, but the women had numbers and leverage, and he was held fast, even without the Sharach. The two kha’Sharum eased tension of their nooses, that all might better enjoy Hasik’s screams and frantic, impotent thrashing as the Nanji sliced open his pantaloons.

The women all laughed at the sight of Hasik’s limp member as it was revealed. Abban, too, chuckled, knowing the presence of the women multiplied Hasik’s pain and humiliation a thousandfold. ‘This pathetic thing is what my women fear when you visit my pavilion?’

‘Dogs have tiny members as well, Father,’ Cielvah said. ‘That does not mean I wish to be humped by one.’

Abban nodded. ‘My daughter has a point,’ he told Hasik. He nodded to the Nanji. ‘Cut it off.’

Hasik shrieked, thrashing again, but it did him no good as the women held him fast. ‘I am the Deliverer’s ajin’pal! He will not let you get away with this, khaffit!’

‘Tell him, Whistler!’ Abban laughed using the mocking nickname Hasik had been given after Qeran knocked out one of his teeth for calling Abban a pig-eater’s son when they were boys in sharaj. ‘Tell the whole world a khaffit cut your manhood away, and watch as they snigger at your back!’

‘I will kill you for this!’ Hasik growled.

Abban shook his head. ‘I am of more value to the Deliverer than you, Hasik.’ He gestured to the three kha’Sharum. ‘In his wisdom, he has given me warriors to see to my protection.’ He smiled. ‘And to protect the honour of my women.’

Hasik opened his mouth again, but Abban gestured and the Sharach choked off his words. ‘The time for talk is over, old friend. We were taught in sharaj to embrace pain. I hope you took the lessons better than I did.’

The Nanji worked quickly, skilled as a dama’ting as he wound a tight cord around shaft and sack both, cutting them away and dropping them onto a plate as he inserted a metal tube to drain waste and sewed up the wound with practised efficiency. When he was finished, he lifted the plate. ‘How shall I dispose of this, master?’

Abban looked to Cielvah. ‘The dogs have not yet been fed today, Father,’ she noted.

Abban nodded. ‘Take your sisters and see that they have something to chew on.’ The girl took the plate and the other women dropped their alagai-catchers to follow her out the door, all of them laughing and talking amiably among themselves.

‘I will encourage them to be discreet, my friend,’ Abban said, ‘but you know how women are. Tell a secret to one and soon they all hear of it. Before long, every woman in the bazaar will know to no longer fear Hasik, the man with a woman’s slit between his legs.’

He tossed a heavy leather sack at the warrior, eliciting a grunt of pain as it struck his stomach with a clink. ‘Take that to the Damajah on your way back to the palace.’

Jardir followed Inevera down the winding stair leading from their private quarters to the underpalace. He had never had need to visit the underpalace — he had not hidden in the night for over a quarter century — and was mildly fascinated as they descended. Wardlight lit their way, but Jardir’s crownsight was all he needed. He could see the eunuch Watchers hiding in the shadows as easily as he could in brightest day. Their auras were clean, intensely loyal to his wife. He was glad of this. Her safety was everything.

She led him through twisting tunnels, freshly hewn from the rock, and several more doors, leaving even the eunuch guards behind. At last, they arrived at a small private chamber where a man and a woman sat on pillows, sharing tea.

Inevera pulled the door closed behind them as the couple quickly got to their feet. The woman looked much as any other dal’ting, swathed in black robes that hid all but her eyes and hands. The man was in a khaffit’s tan and pushed hard on a cane as he rose. His aura ended abruptly halfway down one leg.

Cripple, Jardir noted, not having to ask who they were. Their auras told him everything, but he allowed Inevera the niceties all the same.

‘Honoured husband,’ she said. ‘Please allow me to present my father, Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, and his Jiwah Ka, my mother, Manvah.’

Jardir bowed deeply. ‘Mother, Father. It is an honour to meet you at last.’

The couple bowed in return. ‘The honour is ours, Deliverer,’ Manvah said.

‘A mother need not cover her face when alone with her husband and children,’ Jardir said. Manvah nodded, removing her hood and veil. Jardir smiled, seeing many of the features he loved in the woman’s face. ‘I can see where the Damajah gets her legendary beauty.’

Manvah dropped her eyes politely, but she was not truly moved by the words, sincere though they were. Her aura was sharp, focused. He could sense her pride in her daughter, and the respect Inevera gave her in return, but nevertheless there was discomfort in the room. Jardir could see it dancing in the auras of his wife and her parents, a discordant web of anger and fear and shame and love that doubled and redoubled on itself, all of it centring on Kasaad.

He looked at his khaffit father-in-law, peering deeper into his aura. The man’s body was covered in the telltale scars of a warrior, but the wound at his knee was not from the rending claws or tearing teeth of an alagai. It was even — surgical. ‘You were once a Sharum,’ he guessed, ‘but you did not lose your leg in battle.’ The words caused a spike in the man’s aura, yielding another flood of information. ‘You lost the black over a crime. The leg was removed as punishment.’

‘How did you …’ Inevera began.

Jardir looked at her, reading the waves of emotion connecting her to her father. ‘A crime your wife and daughter long to forgive you for, but dare not.’ He looked back to Kasaad. ‘What was this unforgivable crime?’

Shock registered in Inevera’s and Manvah’s auras, but it was worse for Kasaad, who paled in the wardlight, sweat running down the side of his face. He leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself to his knees with as much dignity as he could manage, then put his hands before him and pressed his forehead into the thick carpet.

‘I struck my dama’ting daughter and murdered my eldest son for being push’ting, Deliverer,’ he said. ‘I thought myself righteous, defending Kaji’s law even as I broke it myself with drink and behaviour that brought far more dishonour to my family than anything my son could ever have done. Soli was a brave Sharum who sent many alagai back into the abyss. I was a coward who got drunk in the Maze and hid in the lower levels where alagai seldom wandered.’

He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and turned to Inevera. ‘My daughter was within her rights to have me killed for my crimes, but she deemed it a greater punishment to let me live with my shame and the loss of the limb I used to strike her.’

Jardir nodded, looking to Inevera and her mother. Manvah’s face was streaked with tears to match her husband’s. Inevera’s eyes were dry, but pain streaked her aura as clearly as tears would her face. This wound had been open too long.

He looked back to Kasaad. ‘Everam’s mercy is infinite, Kasaad son of Kasaad. No crime is unforgivable. I can see in your heart you understand and regret your actions, and the loss of your son has punished you more over the years than the loss of your leg and honour combined. You have not strayed since from Everam’s path. If you wish it, I will return your blacks to you, and you may die with honour.’

Kasaad looked sadly at his wife and daughter, then shook his head. ‘I thought there was shame in being khaffit, Deliverer, but in truth I have never been happier, nor seen Everam’s path more clearly. I am crippled and cannot serve you in Sharak Ka, so I beg you let me die as khaffit, that I might strive to be better in my next life.’

Jardir nodded. ‘As you wish. Everam makes the souls of khaffit wait outside Heaven until they have gained the wisdom to return to the Ala with a chance to be better men. I will pray for you, but I do not think the Creator will make you wait long when your time comes.’

Kasaad’s aura changed then, a weight lifting. The web among the three changed, but it was still without proper harmony for a family in Everam’s grace.

He turned to Manvah, peering into her heart as well. ‘You have not been as man and wife since the crime, unable to bear the touch of the man who killed your son.’

Manvah’s calm, focused aura had gone cold with fear and awe. She, too, got down on her knees and put her head to the floor. ‘It is so, Deliverer.’

‘Even the wife of a khaffit must be a wife,’ Jardir said. ‘And so you must decide now. Either find forgiveness in your heart, or I will dissolve your marriage.’

Manvah looked at her husband, and Jardir could see she was peeling back the years, remembering the man he had been and comparing it with who he was now. Slowly, tentatively, she reached her hand out. She shivered when it touched Kasaad’s hand, and he took it squeezing tightly. ‘I do not think that will be necessary, Deliverer.’

‘I swear,’ Kasaad said, ‘with the Deliverer as my witness, that I will be worthy of your touch, wife.’

‘You already are, son of Kasaad,’ Jardir said. ‘I am sorry that the cost of your path to wisdom brought so much pain to you and those around you, but wisdom is no small thing to be bargained for like a basket in the bazaar.’

He looked at the aura the two now shared and nodded, satisfied. He turned to Inevera. ‘Your mourning does Soli honour, beloved, but remember that you mourn not for him but for yourself. I regret I could not know him, but if your brother was half the man he is in your heart, he is twice the man Everam asks we be to join Him in Heaven. Likely Soli asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji has already supped at the Creator’s table and been returned to the Ala to aid our people in their time of need.’

He looked back to Kasaad, indicating he rise. The khaffit did so, slowly, and then opened his arms. Slowly at first, Inevera drifted towards them, but she closed the last steps in a rush, and they embraced tightly. Manvah threw her arms around them both.

Jardir watched as their auras became one, finally flowing together as a family should.

After a moment, Inevera looked up at him. He could see the love burning in her, but also her question before she could even utter it. ‘How did you know?’

To his surprise, it was Manvah who answered, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. ‘He is the Deliverer, daughter. Kaji could see into the hearts of men, and he has been born again in Ahmann Jardir. The time for doubt is over.’

Jardir gritted his teeth as he entered his throne room, seeing Kajivah and Hanya waiting with Ashan and Shanjat. He could see the rage and indignation in their auras, and assumed he was in for another lengthy debate on the merits of Sharum’ting.

‘Everam’s balls, is a minute of peace too much to ask?’ Inevera muttered as she followed at his back. Jardir chuckled, but then Hanya turned to face him, and he saw her eye.

He was across the room in an eyeblink, cupping her chin firmly but gently as he examined the bruise. It was a dark, angry colour, but nothing compared with the darkness of his own anger.

‘Who struck you, sister?’ he asked quietly.

Hanya sobbed and did not answer. ‘Her worthless husband,’ Kajivah said for her. His sister’s aura confirmed it. Jardir turned to Shanjat.

‘He is already in custody, Deliverer,’ Shanjat said. ‘We found him in his quarters in the palace. He was lying in a pool of his own piss, drunk on couzi.’

Jardir drew a deep breath, embracing all his rage and letting it fall away as he climbed the steps to the Skull Throne. He did not trust himself in striking distance of the man. ‘Bring him before me. Now.’

Inevera squeezed his shoulder briefly in support before taking her place on the pillows beside his throne. He could feel the strength of her support, and drew upon it heavily.

Hasik was dragged into the room like an animal, held fast by two Sharum with alagai-catchers. His arms were chained to a metal band around his waist, with a spear shaft threaded through his elbows behind his back. His ankles were connected by a short length of chain. A bit kept his teeth open and his tongue pushed back, held in place with a tight leather strap. He was hungover, his aura bright with pain and impotent rage. Beneath that was shame, and fear. He knew what he had done, and what it meant. It was all Jardir could do not to kill him on sight.

‘Sister,’ he commanded instead. ‘Tell me everything that happened.’

Hanya was still sobbing, but with soothing from Kajivah, she managed to draw strength enough to look up and meet her brother’s eyes. ‘I do not understand it myself, brother. Hasik has been vexed with me before, but he has never drunk couzi, or struck me. But these last few days, he changed. He began sneaking bottles into our chambers, drinking too much and weeping to himself when he thought he was alone. I tried to offer comfort as a wife should, but all my efforts were rebuffed. Then, last night as he slept, I decided to … surprise him.’ Her aura grew hot with shame.

Jardir regretted forcing her to recount the story in open court, but what was done was done. ‘What happened then?’

Hanya’s aura was bright with pain and confusion to match her shame. ‘His manhood … it was gone.’

‘Gone?’ Jardir asked.

‘Cut away,’ Hanya said. ‘There was only a scar in its place, and a tiny metal tube.’ Ashan and Shanjat’s auras told him they had already heard this news, but he could see the discomfort the topic gave them still. Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably, Jardir included. Only Inevera and the Damaji’ting, used to eunuch servants, were unperturbed.

Hanya’s aura told him the rest, though he could easily have guessed it. ‘Hasik woke, saw that you had seen his shame, and struck you.’

Hanya nodded, and Jardir turned back to Hasik. ‘Show me.’

The humiliation in Hasik’s aura was a scream in the air, but he stood slumped, not resisting as one of the guards pulled down his pantaloons, revealing that he had indeed lost his manhood. Jardir nodded to the guard, and he undid the strap, pulling the bit from Hasik’s teeth.

‘What happened to you, Hasik?’ Jardir demanded.

Hasik did not respond right away, his eyes still on the floor. ‘I thought it might grow back.’

‘Eh?’ Jardir asked.

‘If I killed enough alagai,’ Hasik said. ‘If I bathed in their magic, I thought it might grow back.’

Inevera nodded. ‘It does not work that way, Sharum. What is severed cannot be regrown. You only closed the wound.’ Hasik slumped again.

‘Who did this to you?’ Jardir asked. ‘You will still answer for striking my sister, but you are my brother-in-law and one of the Spears of the Deliverer. Any assault upon you is one upon me, as well.’

Hasik looked at him, but his shame and fear were overwhelming, and he did not speak.

‘The Deliverer asked you a question, dog!’ Ashan barked. Shanjat punched Hasik hard in the face, knocking him to the floor. Still, the giant Sharum was silent.

He would rather die than tell me, Jardir realized. Fortunately, for a Sharum there were worse fates than death.

‘Strip his blacks, and burn them,’ Jardir said. ‘Cut off the hand he struck my sister with and throw him out in tan. I will dissolve his marriage and he can live out his days a crippled khaffit, denied Heaven for all eternity.’

‘No, please!’ Hasik cried in anguish. ‘I have served you loyally! It was Abban! Abban the cursed khaffit!’ His aura said he was telling the truth, and upon hearing it, Jardir was not surprised that Hasik would have been ashamed to admit it.

Still, it presented him with a difficult problem. He looked to Shanjat. ‘Take a dozen men and find the khaffit. Bring him to me untouched. If there is so much as a hair out of place before I question him, it will be paid for ten thousandfold.’

Shanjat bowed, leaving quickly. Before long, he returned with Abban in tow. Hasik remained chained and noosed, but he had been allowed the dignity of his clothes once more. When Abban appeared, he recovered something of himself, seeming to slump as he prepared himself to spring. Jardir could see ghostly visions of him leaping at Abban as he planned the strike. If he could break free and kill the khaffit, the guards might slay him while he still wore his blacks.

Jardir looked to the men holding the alagai-catchers. These were Spears of the Deliverer, and no fools. They were prepared, pulling tight as Hasik sprang and choking him to the ground.

He turned back to regard Abban, probing deeply with his crownsight. The khaffit had already guessed the purpose of the summons, but his aura was calm. He was indeed guilty, but expected to talk his way out of this unscathed. Normally, Abban was skilled at masking his emotions, but here his arrogance was without end. He looked at Hasik flatly, but his aura was one of utter disdain and more than a little satisfaction.

‘Did you castrate Hasik?’ Jardir asked, wasting no time on pleasantries. His anger was only growing. He might be left with no choice but to kill his bodyguard and most favoured advisor both.

‘No, Deliverer,’ Abban said. It was truth, but not the whole truth.

‘Did you order your kha’Sharum to do it?’ he asked, losing patience.

Abban nodded. ‘Yes, Deliverer.’

The men in the room all began angry muttering, but Jardir thumped his spear, and they fell silent. Abban still stood there, calm.

‘I gave you those warriors to protect your business and facilitate trade, not to assault my warriors,’ Jardir said.

‘And so I have,’ Abban said. He turned to Hasik, lifting his crutch to point at the chained man. ‘That one, frustrated with your decree that I not be harmed, has been taking out his ire in my pavilion. You send him to me frequently as your errand boy, and without fail, he takes the opportunity to steal, or break precious merchandise for the pleasure of it.’

‘And for this, you sever his cock?!’ Jardir demanded.

Abban shook his head. ‘Trinkets and baubles are easily replaced, Deliverer. My daughter’s virginity is not. Nor the honour of my wives.’

‘The khaffit lies, Deliverer!’ Hasik shouted. ‘I never …!’

Jardir gave a curt gesture, and one of the guards tightened his noose, cutting off his words. ‘I am Shar’Dama Ka, Hasik, and can see your heart. The next lie that escapes your lips will cost you your life, your honour, and your place in Heaven.’

Hasik’s eyes widened, and his aura went cold.

‘Did you rape Abban’s daughter, Hasik?’ Jardir asked softly.

Hasik was weeping openly now. He did not have the strength to answer, but he nodded. Hanya began sobbing again. Kajivah pulled her daughter in close, catching the tears on her breast while she glared daggers at Hasik.

‘And his wives?’ Jardir asked. Again, a defeated nod.

‘Nevertheless, this cannot be allowed to stand, Deliverer,’ Ashan said. ‘If khaffit — even kha’Sharum — can kill dal, then all civilization crumbles.’

‘Your pardon, Damaji,’ Abban said, ‘but neither I nor my men have killed anyone.’ He gestured to Hasik. ‘As you can see, the Deliverer’s bodyguard is very much alive and able to continue his part in Sharak Ka.’

Jardir glared at him. ‘Why did you not come to me with this?’

Abban bowed as deeply as his crutch would allow. ‘The Shar’Dama Ka has more pressing matters than giving constant reprimands to overzealous Sharum and dama seeking to find loopholes to bully me without breaking your decree.’

Jardir did not miss the change in Shanjat’s and Ashan’s auras at those words. They, too, were guilty of the crime, if not so unsubtly as Hasik. He would have to deal with them in turn.

But then he looked back at Abban, and wondered. Abban was asking, nay, demanding, the right to defend himself. The khaffit stared at him calmly, daring him to take the Sharum’s side over his. If you are fool enough to turn on me over this, then my loyalty has been misplaced, his aura said.

Jardir sighed loudly. ‘Time and again, I have told men in this very hall that Abban is not to be harmed. He is my property, and any harm that comes to him will be from me alone.

‘Every man has the right to stop his daughter’s rape, or avenge it if he can. Even khaffit. Even chin. If Hasik was too weak to defend himself, then he was not worthy of the prize. His cock has gotten him in trouble for the last time. He has sons and daughters to carry on his name, and as the khaffit says, he is still fit for sharak.’

He looked to Hasik. ‘You have paid your due to Abban. The price for striking my sister is divorce, not only from your Jiwah Ka, but your other wives as well. I will not have my sister married to half a man. Hanya will keep her sister-wives, all your property and children.’ He could see how he was crushing Hasik’s spirit, but he did not pity the man. He still remembered what Hasik had done to him, all those years ago in the Maze.

‘You,’ he pointed his spear at the chained warrior, ‘will keep your spear, your shield, and your blacks. You are expelled from the Spears of the Deliverer, but Jayan will find you a new unit to fight for. None here will speak of your injury, and if discovered, you may say it was an alagai wound. Continue to win glory in the night, and you may yet see Heaven. Break Everam’s law again, with even so much as a cup of couzi, and I will see you cast into Nie’s abyss.’

He looked to Ashan and Shanjat. ‘I trust the lesson is clear to you, as well?’

Both men looked chastened, and nodded. ‘Good,’ Jardir said. ‘Make sure the other Sharum and dama know this as well. I will not repeat it.’

Inevera went immediately to her Chamber of Shadows when the audience was over. After the scene with her parents, she had wanted nothing more than to have some time alone with her husband, but it was not to be. The usual mass of courtiers and petitioners were lining up to make their pleas before the Skull Throne, and she had no patience to sit through it all.

She had hoped to save the blood taken from Abban’s kerchief for the right moment, but with his power — and boldness — growing, she could no longer afford to wait. She had not known Ahmann had given the khaffit warriors of his own, and it explained much. Still, she could not believe any kha’Sharum a match for her eunuch Watchers, trained by Enkido himself. They had killed Damaji’s wives in their beds while the men slept beside them.

Hasik had deserved his fate, and so, perhaps, had her Watchers, if they had been fool enough to be caught. But still the trend disturbed her. Already, the khaffit had tried to supplant her. How long before he attempted to strike at her again?

She had leached the blood from the cloth while it was still fresh, storing it in a sealed vial. She took this now, pouring it over her dice. ‘Almighty Everam, give me knowledge of Abban asu Chabin am’Haman am’Kaji. Can he be trusted to serve the Deliverer? Will he continue to strike at me?’ She felt the dice grow warm as she shook, and then cast them to the floor, staring at the brightly glowing symbols.

As always, she was prepared to follow their guidance, but she was not prepared for the answer.

— The khaffit is loyal to the Deliverer. Your fates are intertwined. Harm to one is the same as harm to the other.-