The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 7 MORE SACK THAN SENSE 333 AR AUTUMN

Jardir gaped at the Par’chin, seeking signs of deceit—or madness—in his aura. But the Par’chin was calm, focused, and very serious.

Jardir opened his mouth, then closed it again. The Par’chin laughed.

“If this is some jest, Par’chin, it will be the end of my patience …”

The son of Jeph remained relaxed, waving him down. In a show of trust, he backed away till his back struck the window, then slid down to sit on the floor amidst the broken bits of his chair. “No jest. Know it’s a lot to wrap your thoughts around. Plenty of questions, ay? Take your time, and start throwing them when you’re ready.”

Jardir stiffened, unsure. The heat of battle was fading, but his muscles were bunched for action, knowing the Par’chin could be upon him the moment he let down his guard.

But in his heart, he did not believe it. The Par’chin was many things, but he was not a liar. His casual posture reminded Jardir of the countless hours had they spent interrogating each other, talking about everything under the sun as they fought to understand each other’s language and culture. The Par’chin’s relaxed demeanor had always put Jardir at ease in a way he never was with his own people.

He looked to the bed, but like the chair it was a wreckage, broken by the force of his leap. Instead he backed to the window opposite the Par’chin, sliding to the floor to mirror him. He remained alert to attack, but the Par’chin was right. There was nothing to be gained in fighting each other before dawn came to even the odds.

Rivalries must be put aside when night falls, the Evejah said.

“How can we get to the abyss?” Jardir asked, picking a question at random out of the many swirling in his thoughts. “You can mist as the alagai do, but I cannot.”

“Don’t need to,” the Par’chin said. “There are land routes. The minds take human captives and keep them alive in the Core.” He spat on the floor. “Keeps their brains fresh.”

“We must journey to the underworld to save those lost souls,” Jardir guessed. “Then Everam will …”

The Par’chin sighed loudly, rolling his eyes. “If you’re going to make a fresh guess at ‘Everam’s plan’ every time I tell you something new, we’re going to be here a long time, Ahmann.”

Jardir scowled, but the Par’chin had a point. He nodded. “Continue, please.”

“Dunno if there’s much worth saving in any event.” The Par’chin’s eyes were sad and distant. “The minds consider empty brains a delicacy. Imagine dozens of generations, living and dying in darkness, eating moss and lichen, cattle for the slaughter. Denied clothes or even language. Ent human anymore. Become something else. Dark, twisted, and savage.”

Jardir suppressed a shudder.

“Point is,” Arlen said, “there are a number of routes we can follow to the Core, but it’s a long, winding trail. Lots of forks, dead ends, pitfalls, and dangerous crossings. Not something we could ever do on our own. Need a guide.”

“And you want that guide to be one of Alagai Ka’s princelings,” Jardir said. The Par’chin nodded. “How will we make it betray its own kind and guide us?”

“Torture,” the Par’chin said. “Pain. Demons have no sense of loyalty, and rail against captivity. We can use that.”

“You sound unsure,” Jardir said. “How can we trust a prince of lies in any event?”

“It’s a weak point in the plan,” the Par’chin admitted. He shrugged. “Need to catch one, first.”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Jardir asked. “I’ve killed two. One I took by surprise, and had help from Leesha Paper and my Jiwah Ka with the other. They are formidable, Par’chin. Given a moment to act, they can—”

The Par’chin smiled. “What? Turn into mist? Draw wards in the air? Heal their wounds? We can do these things, too, Ahmann. We can set a trap even Alagai Ka could not escape.”

“How can we even find one?” Jardir asked. “After I killed one the first night of Waning, its brothers fled the field. They kept their distance the following nights, moving quickly.”

“They fear you,” the Par’chin said. “They remember Kaji, the mind hunter, and the many he killed with the crown and spear and cloak. They will never come within miles of you willingly.”

“So you admit Kaji was the Deliverer, and I am his heir,” Jardir said.

“I admit Kaji was a general the mind demons feared,” the Par’chin said, “and when you faced them with his spear and crown, they came to fear you, too. Doesn’t make you heir to anything. If Abban wore the crown and held the spear, they’d piss themselves and run from him, too.”

Jardir scowled, but it was pointless to argue. Despite his doubtful words and the Par’chin’s disrespect, he felt hope kindling in his breast. The Par’chin was building to something. His plan was madness, but it was glorious madness. Madness worthy of Kaji himself. He embraced the barb and pressed on. “How can we know where to set wards to trap one?”

The Par’chin winked at him. “That’s the thing. I know where they’re going on new moon. All of them.

“They’re going to Anoch Sun.”

Jardir felt his blood go cold. The lost city of Kaji, where the Par’chin’s theft of the spear had set everything in motion. “How can you know this?”

“You’re not the only one who’s fought minds, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “While you struggled with one in your bedroom, I fought its brother north of the Hollow. Would’ve had me, if not for Renna.”

Jardir nodded. “Your jiwah is formidable.”

The Par’chin accepted the compliment with a nod, but sighed deeply. “Maybe if I’d listened to her, I wouldn’t have been caught with my bido down by three of them last month.” His eyes dropped to the floor, and his aura colored with shame. “Got inside my head, Ahmann. Couldn’t stop them. Rooted around my memories like a rummage trunk. Most of all, they wanted to know where I found the wards …”

“Raise your eyes, son of Jeph,” Jardir said. “I have never met a man who fought the alagai harder than you. If you could not stop them, they could not be stopped.”

Gratitude flushed in the Par’chin’s aura as he lifted his chin. “Wasn’t all bad. Even as they looked into my thoughts, I got a glimpse into theirs. They mean to return to the lost city and do what three thousand years of sandstorms could not. Dunno if it’s fear the city has secrets yet to divulge, or a wish to shit upon their ancient foes, but they will exhume the sarcophagi and raze the city.”

“We must stop them at any cost,” Jardir said. “I will not have my ancestors profaned.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Arlen snapped. “Throw away all strategic advantage over a handful of dusty corpses?”

“Those are heroes of the First War, you faithless chin,” Jardir snapped. “They carry the honor of mankind. I will not suffer them to be sullied by the alagai.”

The Par’chin spat on the floor. “Kaji himself would command you leave them.”

Jardir laughed. “Oh, you claim to speak for Kaji now, Par’chin?”

“I’ve read his treatise on war, too, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “No thing is more precious than victory. Kaji’s words, not mine.”

Jardir balled his fists. “You’re free with the holy scripture when it suits you, son of Jeph, and quick to dismiss it as fantasy when it does not.” His crown began to glow fiercely. “Kaji also commanded we honor the bones of those who have given their lives in alagai’sharak above all others, and let none profane them.”

The Par’chin crossed his arms, the wards on his flesh flaring to match the crown. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you will give up our one chance to take the fight to the demons just to preserve the honor of empty shells whose spirits have long since gone down the lonely path.”

Our cultures are a natural insult to each other, Par’chin, Jardir had once said. We must resist the urge to take offense, if we are to continue to learn from each other.

The son of Jeph’s aura was plain. He believed he was in the right, but had no wish to fight over the matter.

“You are not wrong,” Jardir admitted, “but you are a fool if you think I will stand idle and watch a demon shit upon the bones of Kaji.”

The Par’chin nodded. “And I do not ask you to. I ask that if it comes to it, you watch them shit upon Isak. Maji. Mehnding. Even Jardir, should they find him.”

“They will not,” Jardir said, relieved. “My holy ancestor is interred in the Desert Spear. We can move the body of Kaji there.” Still, the thought of letting the alagai desecrate the bodies of the great leaders of the Evejah horrified him. Even with all Ala at stake, he did not know if he could witness such a thing and not act to stop it.

“And what advantage do we gain by this … sacrifice?” Jardir asked through bitter tones.

“We do not steal Kaji away,” the son of Jeph said. “The first Shar’Dama Ka will serve his people once more, baiting the trap we will set upon his tomb. Anoch Sun is enormous. We cannot predict precisely where the mind demons will strike, save that one crypt, seen so clearly in my memory. They are coming there, Ahmann. They are coming in force. And we will be there to meet them, hidden in Cloaks of Unsight. When they enter the chamber, we will capture one, kill as many as we can while surprise holds, and flee.”

Jardir crossed his arms, looking skeptical. “And how are we supposed to accomplish this?”

“We use the crown,” the Par’chin said.

Jardir raised a brow.

“The Crown of Kaji’s warding field can repel any demon, even an army of them, up to half a mile,” the Par’chin said.

“I am aware of this,” Jardir said. “It is my crown.”

The Par’chin smiled. “Are you also aware that you can raise the field at a distance? Like a bubble, keeping demons out, or as in the Maze …”

“… keeping them in,” Jardir realized. “If we get in close …”

“… you can trap them in with us,” the Par’chin said.

Jardir clenched a fist. “We can destroy Nie’s generals before the first sallies of Sharak Ka even begin.”

The Par’chin nodded. “But it won’t do much good if their queen can lay more.”

Jardir looked at him. “Alagai’ting Ka. The Mother of Demons.”

“Just so,” the Par’chin said. “Kill her, and we’ve a shot at winning the war. If not, they’ll come back again, even if it takes another three thousand years. Eventually, they’ll wear us down.”

“What if I do not agree to this plan, Par’chin?” Jardir asked. “Will you steal the crown and try alone?”

“Half right,” Arlen said. “Minds are coming to Anoch Sun on new moon and I’ll be there with or without you. If you can’t see the value in that, then you’re not the man I thought you were. Take your crown, slink back to your ripping throne, and leave Sharak Ka to me.”

Jardir grit his teeth. “And the spear?”

“The spear is mine,” Arlen said. “But you swear by the sun to do this with me, I’ll give it to you free and clear and call it a bargain. If not, I’ll take it to the Core and put it through the demon queen’s heart myself.”

Jardir stared at him a long time. “That will not be necessary, Par’chin. It grates me to be given what is already mine, but what kind of ajin’pal would I be if I let you walk such a road alone? You may think Everam a lie, Par’chin, but truly He must love you, to grant you such courage.”

The Par’chin smiled. “My da always said I had more sack than sense.”

Arlen bustled about the kitchen, his hands a blur as he worked. He had never been a great cook, but years spent alone on the road had made him efficient enough at boiling potatoes and pan-frying meat and vegetables. He used no fire; heat wards etched into the pots and pans did the work, powered by his touch.

“May I assist?” Jardir asked.

“You?” Arlen asked. “Has the self-proclaimed king of the world ever even touched unprepared food?”

“You know me well, Par’chin,” Jardir said, “but not as well as you think. Was I not nie’Sharum once? There is no menial task I have not bent my back to.”

“Then bend your back to setting the table.” The banter was familiar, something Arlen hadn’t realized he had missed all these years. It was easy to fall into their old patterns, brothers in all but name. Jardir had stood with Arlen on his first night in the Maze, and in Krasia, that was as great a bond as blood. Greater.

But Jardir had been willing to kill him for power. He had not done it with malice, but he had done it all the same, and even now, Arlen had to wonder if he would do it all over again if he had the chance … or if the chance came again in the future. He searched Jardir’s aura for a clue, but he could discern little without Drawing magic through him and Knowing him fully—an intrusion Jardir would no doubt sense, and have every right to take offense to.

“Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said.

“Ay?” Arlen asked, surprised.

“I can see the question that gnaws at your spirit,” Jardir said. “Ask, and let us have it done.”

Arlen nodded. “Soon enough. Some things are best done on a full stomach.”

He finished preparing the meal, waiting patiently as Jardir said a prayer over the food before they set to eating. A single serving was enough for Arlen, but Jardir had suffered serious wounds in their battle on the cliff, and while magic could heal them in an instant, it couldn’t make flesh and blood from nothing. He emptied three bowls and still reached for the fruit plate while Arlen cleared the table.

When he returned he sat quietly, watching Jardir gnaw the bowl down to stem, seed, and core.

“Ask, Par’chin,” Jardir said again.

“Did you decide to kill me in the heat of the moment that night in the Maze,” Arlen asked, “or was our friendship a lie from the start?”

He watched Jardir’s aura carefully, taking some small pleasure as hurt and shame colored it for an instant. Jardir mastered himself quickly and looked up, meeting Arlen’s eyes as he let out a long exhale, nostrils flaring.

“Both,” he said. “And neither. After she threw the bones for you that first night, Inevera told me to embrace you like a brother and keep you close, for I would one day need to kill you if I was to take power.”

Something tightened in Arlen, and unbidden, the ambient magic in the room rushed to him, making the wards on his flesh glow.

“That don’t sound like both,” he said through gritted teeth. “Or neither.”

Jardir could not have missed the glow of his wards, but he gave no indication, keeping his eyes fixed on Arlen’s. “I knew nothing of you then, Par’chin, save that the Sharum and dama nearly came to blows over your request to fight in the Maze. You seemed a man of honor, but when your rock demon broke the wall, I did not know what to think.”

“You talk like One Arm was a piece of livestock I tried to sneak past the gate,” Arlen said.

Jardir ignored the comment. “But then, as the alagai poured through the breach and despair took hold in the hearts of the bravest men, you stood fast and bled at my side, willing to give your life to capture the rock demon and put things right.

“I did not lie when I called you brother, Par’chin. I would have given my life for you.”

Arlen nodded. “Nearly did more’n once that night, and Creator only knows how many times since. But it was all a show, ay? You knew you’d live to betray me one day.”

Jardir shrugged. “Who can say, Par’chin? The very act of foretelling gives us chance to change what is seen. They are glimpses of what might be, not what will. What would be the point, otherwise? If I thought myself immortal and began to take foolish risks I would otherwise have avoided …”

Arlen wanted to argue, but there was little he could say. It was a fair point.

“Inevera’s prophecies are vague, and often not what they seem,” Jardir went on. “I spent years pondering her words. Kill, she had said, but the symbol on her die had other meanings. Death, rebirth, conversion. I tried to convert you to the Evejah, or find you a bride and tie you to Krasia, in hope that if you ceased to be a chin and were reborn as an Evejan, it would fulfill the prophecy and allow me to spare you.”

Almost every man Arlen knew in Krasia tried to find him a bride at some point, but none so hard as Jardir. He never would have guessed it was to save his life, but there was no lie in Jardir’s aura.

“Reckon it came true after a fashion,” Arlen said. “Part of me died that night, and was reborn out on the dunes. Sure as the sun rises.”

“When you first presented the spear, I knew it for what it was,” Jardir said. “I sensed its power and had to force down my desire to take it from you then and there.”

Arlen’s lip curled, showing a hint of teeth. “But you were too much a coward. Instead you conspired and lured me into a trap, letting your men and a demon pit do the dirty work for you.”

Jardir’s aura flared, a mix of guilt and anger. “Inevera too told me to kill you and take the spear. She offered to poison your tea if I did not wish to sully my hands. She would have denied you a warrior’s death.”

Arlen spat. “As if I give a demon’s piss. Betrayal’s betrayal, Ahmann.”

“You do,” Jardir said. “You may think Heaven a lie, but if you were given to choose your death, you would face it with a spear in your hand.”

“Didn’t have a spear when death came for me, Ahmann. You took it. All I had were needles and ink.”

“I fought for you,” Jardir said, not rising to the bait. “Inevera’s dice have ruled my life since I was twelve years old. Never before or since have I so defied them, or her. Not even over Leesha Paper. Had Inevera not proven so … formidable, I would have hurt her when my arguments failed. I left for the Maze determined. I would not kill my brother. I would not rob him.”

Arlen tried to read the emotions in Jardir’s aura, but they were too complex, even for him. This was something Jardir had wrestled with for years, and still not come to terms with. It did little to ease his sense of betrayal, but there was more, and Arlen wanted to hear it.

“What changed?” he said.

“I remembered your words,” Jardir said. “I watched from the wall as you led the Sharum to clear the Maze, the Spear of Kaji shining bright as the sun in your hands. They shouted your name, and I knew then they would follow you. The warriors would make you Shar’Dama Ka, and charge Nie’s abyss if you asked it.”

“Afraid I’d take your job?” Arlen asked. “Never wanted it.”

Jardir shook his head. “I did not care about my job, Par’chin. I cared about my people. And yours. Every man, woman, and child on Ala. For they would all follow you once they saw the alagai bleed. I saw it in my mind’s eye, and it was glorious.”

“Then what, Ahmann?” Arlen asked, losing patience. “What in the Core happened?”

“I told you, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “I remembered your words. There is no Heaven, you said. And I thought to myself, Without hope of Heaven, what reason would you have to remain righteous when all the world bowed to you? Without being humble before the Creator, what man could be trusted with such power? Nie corrupts what She cannot destroy, and it is only in our submission to Everam that we can resist Her whispers and lies.”

Arlen gaped at him. The truth of the words was written on Jardir’s aura, but his mind boggled at the thought. “I embody everything you hold dear, willing to fight and die in the First War, but you’d betray me because I do it for humanity, and not some figment in the sky?”

Jardir clenched a fist. “I warn you, Par’chin …”

“Corespawn your warnings!” Arlen brought his fist down, the limb still thrumming with power. The table exploded with the blow, collapsing in a spray of splinters. Jardir leapt back from the broken boards and shrapnel, coming down in a sharusahk stance.

Arlen knew better than to attempt to grapple. Jardir was more than his match at hand-fighting. He’d fought dama before, and been lucky to escape with his life. Jardir had studied for years with the clerics, learning their secrets. Even now, when Arlen was faster and stronger than anyone alive, Jardir could take him like a boy to the woodshed. Much as Arlen wanted to meet Jardir on even terms, there was nothing to be gained, and everything to lose.

Jardir’s superior sharusahk skill was irrelevant in any event. His understanding and control over his magic was rudimentary at best, self-taught and unpracticed. It would be some time before he was in full control of his abilities, and even then he could not match with hora relics what Arlen, who had made magic a part of him, could do. If he wanted to kill Jardir, he could.

And doom them all. Arlen might be able to make the crown work without Jardir, but there wasn’t much chance he could escape Anoch Sun alive without help, and he’d never make it to the mind court alone. The Core would call to him, its song more insistent the closer he drew.

Nie corrupts what she cannot destroy. Words of faith, but there was wisdom in them all the same. Every child had heard the proverb in the Canon that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The Core offered absolute power, but Arlen dare not touch it. He would lose himself, absorbed and burnt away like a match thrown into a Solstice bonfire.

He breathed deeply to calm himself before he did something rash. Jardir kept his guard up, but his aura showed he had no desire to fight. They both knew what was at stake.

“I made a promise to you that night as I left you on the dunes, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “I threw you a waterskin and promised I would find you in the afterlife, and if I had not kept true and made the Ala a better place, we would have a reckoning.”

“Well it’s come early,” Arlen said. “Hope you’re ready for it.”

Jardir looked at the sky as they exited the tower, trying to deduce where they were from the position of the stars. South and west of Everam’s Bounty, but that told him little. Millions of untamed acres lay between the great city and the desert flats. He might manage to find his way back on his own, but Everam only knew how long it would take.

He didn’t need to ask the Par’chin his purpose in leading them from the tower. It was written clearly on his aura, mirrored in Jardir’s own. The hope that fighting side by side against the alagai, as they had done so many times before, could begin to eat away at the anger and mistrust that lay between them still.

Unity is worth any price, the Evejah said. Kaji had called it the key to Sharak Ka. If he and the Par’chin could find unity of purpose, then they stood a chance.

If not …

Jardir breathed deep of the night air. It was fitting. All men are brothers in the night, Kaji had said. If they could not find unity before the alagai, they were unlikely to find it elsewhere.

“They’ll catch our scent soon enough,” the Par’chin said, reading his thoughts. “First thing to do is recharge your crown.”

Jardir shook his head. “The first thing is for you to return my spear to me, Par’chin. I have agreed to your terms.”

The Par’chin shook his head. “Let’s start slow, Ahmann. Spear’s not going anywhere just yet.”

Jardir gave him a hard look, but there was nothing for it. He could see the Par’chin would not budge on the point, and it was useless to argue further. He raised his fist, knuckles scarred with wards Inevera had cut into his skin. “The crown will begin to recharge when my fist strikes an alagai.”

The Par’chin nodded. “No need to wait, though.”

Jardir looked at him. “You suggest I take more from you?”

The Par’chin gave him a withering look. “Caught me off guard the once, Ahmann. Try that trick again and you’ll regret it.”

“Then how?” Jardir asked. “Without an alagai to Draw from …”

The Par’chin cut him off with a wave of his hand, gesturing at their surroundings. “Magic’s all around us, Ahmann.”

It was true. In crownsight, Jardir could see as clearly at night as in day, the world awash in magic’s glow. It pooled at their feet like a luminescent fog, stirred by their passage, but there was little power in it, any more than smoke had the power of flame.

“I don’t understand,” Jardir said.

“Breathe,” the Par’chin said. “Close your eyes.”

Jardir glanced at him, but complied, his breathing rhythmic and even. He fell into the warrior’s trance he had learned in Sharik Hora, soul at peace, but ready to act in an instant.

“Reach out with the crown,” the Par’chin said. “Feel the magic around you, whispering like a soft breeze.”

Jardir did as he asked, and could indeed sense the magic, expanding and contracting in response to his breath. It flowed over the Ala, but was drawn to life.

“Gently Draw it,” the Par’chin said, “like you’re breathing it in.” Jardir inhaled, and felt the power flow into him. It was not the fire of striking an alagai, more like sunlight on his skin.

“Keep going,” the Par’chin said. “Easy. Don’t stop with your exhales. Just keep a steady pull.”

Jardir nodded, feeling the flow continue. He opened his eyes, seeing magic drifting to him from all directions in a steady current, like a river heading to a fall. It was a slow process, but eventually the chasm began to fill. He felt stronger.

Then his elation cost him his center, and the flow stopped.

He looked to the Par’chin. “Amazing.”

The Par’chin smiled. “Just gettin’ started, Ahmann. We’ve got a lot more to cover before we’re ready to face a court of mind demons.”

“You do not trust me with the Spear of the Kaji, but you give me the secrets of your magic?”

“Sharak Ka comes before all else,” Arlen said. “You taught me war. Only fair I teach you magic. The rudiments, anyway. Spear’s a crutch you’ve leaned on too long.” He winked. “Just don’t think I’m teaching you all my tricks.”

They spent several more minutes thus, the Par’chin gently coaching him in how to Draw the power.

“Now hold the power tight,” the Par’chin said, producing a small folding knife from his pocket. He opened it and flipped the blade into his grip, passing the handle to Jardir.

Jardir took the small blade curiously. It wasn’t even warded. “What am I to do with this?”

“Cut yourself,” the Par’chin said.

Jardir looked at him curiously, then shrugged and complied. The blade was sharp, and parted his flesh easily. He could see blood in the cut, but the magic he’d absorbed was already at work. The skin knit together before it could begin to well.

The Par’chin shook his head. “Again. But keep a tighter grip on the power. So tight the wound stays open.”

Jardir grunted, slicing his flesh again. The wound began to close as before, but Jardir Drew the magic from his flesh into the crown, and the healing stopped.

“Healing’s great when your bones are in the right place and you’ve got power to spare,” the Par’chin said, “but if you’re not careful, you can heal twisted, or waste power you need. Now let out just a touch, sending it straight where it’s needed.”

Jardir let out a measured trickle of magic, and watched the cut seal away as if it had never been.

“Good,” the Par’chin said, “but you might’ve done with less. Two cuts, now. Heal one, but not the other.”

Holding tight to the power, Jardir cut one forearm, and then the other. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, releasing a fraction as much magic as before and willing it to his left arm alone. He could feel the tingle run along the limb, and opened his eyes to see the cut slowly sealing, the other still oozing blood.

There was a howl not far off, the sound of field demons. Jardir looked in that direction, but the alagai were still too far off.

“Draw power from that direction,” the Par’chin said. “Take it in through your eyes.”

Jardir did so, and found that even though there was no direct line of sight, he could see the creatures in the distance, running hard for their position.

“How?” he asked.

“All living things make an imprint on the ambient magic,” the Par’chin said, “spreading out like a drop of dye in water. You can read the current, and see beyond the limits of your eyes.”

Jardir squinted, studying the approaching creatures. A full reap, more than a score of demons. Their long, corded limbs and low torsos glowed fiercely with power.

“They are many, Par’chin,” he said. “Are you certain you do not wish to return the spear to me?” He scanned the sky. There were wind demons beginning to circle as well, drawn to the glow of their power. Jardir reached for his Cloak of Unsight, ready to pull it close, but of course the Par’chin had taken that, too.

The son of Jeph shook his head. “We can’t take them with gaisahk alone, then we got no business in Anoch Sun.”

Jardir looked at him curiously. The meaning of the word was clear enough, a conjunction of the Krasian gai, meaning “demon,” and sahk, meaning “unarmed,” but he had never heard it before.

“Sharusahk was designed for men to kill one another.” The Par’chin held up a warded fist. “Needed to change it up a bit to bring the wards to bear properly.”

Jardir crossed his fists before his heart and gave a shallow bow, the traditional bow of sharusahk pupil to master. The move was perfectly executed, but doubtless the Par’chin could see the sarcasm in his aura.

He swept a hand at the rapidly approaching field demons. “I eagerly await my first lesson, Par’chin.”

The Par’chin’s eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of smile on his lips. His face blurred momentarily, and his clothes fell away, leaving him in only his brown bido. It was the first time Jardir had truly seen what his friend had become. The Warded Man, as the Northerners called him.

It was easy to see why the greenlanders thought him the Deliverer. Every inch of his visible flesh was covered with wards. Some were large and powerful. Impact wards. Forbiddings. Pressure wards. Like Jardir, a demon could not touch the Par’chin, but that he willed it, and his punches, elbows, and kicks would strike the alagai like scorpion bolts.

Other wards, like those than ran around his eyes, ears, and mouth, were almost too small to read, conveying more subtle powers. Midsized ones ran up and down his limbs. Thousands in all.

That in itself was enough to amaze, but the Par’chin had always been an artist with warding. His patterns, simple and efficient, were rendered with such beauty they put Evejan illuminators to shame. Dama who had spent a lifetime copying and illustrating sacred text in ink made from the blood of heroes.

The wards Inevera had cut into Jardir’s flesh were crude by comparison. She would have needed to flay him alive to approach what the Par’chin had done.

Magic ran along the surface of those wards, crackling like static on a thick carpet. They pulsed and throbbed, brightening and dimming in a hypnotizing rhythm. Even one without wardsight could see it. He didn’t look like a man anymore. He looked like one of Everam’s seraphs.

The field demons were close now, racing hard at the sight of prey. They stretched out in a long line, a few loping strides apart. Too long spent fighting the first would have the second upon him, and on and on, till he was fighting all of them. Jardir tensed, ready to race to his friend’s aid the moment he began to be overwhelmed.

The Par’chin walked boldly to meet them, but it was warrior’s bravado. No man could fight so many alone.

But again his friend surprised him, slipping in smoothly to grab the lead demon and turn its own momentum against it in a perfect sharusahk circle throw. Cracked like a whip, the field demon’s neck snapped a split second before the Par’chin let go. His aim was precise, crashing the dead alagai into the next in line, sending both tumbling to the ground.

The Par’chin glowed brightly now. In the seconds of contact, he had drained considerable magic from the first demon. He charged in, stomping down on the living demon’s head with an impact-warded heel. There was a flare of magic, and when the Par’chin turned to meet the next in line, Jardir could see its skull had been crushed like a melon.

A crash and shriek stole Jardir’s attention. While he had been focused on the Par’chin, a wind demon had dived at him, hitting hard against the warding field that surrounded Jardir’s crown for several paces in every direction. Including up.

Everam take me for a fool, Jardir scolded himself. In his younger days, he would never have been so reckless as to lose track of his surroundings. The Par’chin feared that the spear had made him lax—and perhaps it had—but the crown was more insidious. He’d begun to drop his guard. Something that would cost him in Anoch Sun. The demon princelings had shown at Waning there were still ways they could strike at him.

Jardir collapsed the field, dropping the wind demon heavily to the ground. It struggled to rise, more dazed than harmed, but as Drillmaster Qeran had taught so many years before, wind demons were slow and clumsy on the ground. The thin bone that stretched the membrane of its wings bowed, not meant to support the demon’s full weight, and at rest the creature’s hind legs were bent fully at the knee, unable to straighten fully.

Before it could manage to right itself, Jardir was on the demon, kicking its limbs out and using his own weight to knock the breath from it once more. The wards scarred onto Jardir’s hands were not as intricate as the Par’chin’s, but they were strong. He sat on the demon’s chest, too high for it to bring its hind talons to bear, and pinned its wings with his knees. He held its throat with his left hand and the pressure ward cut into his palm glowed, building in power as he punched it repeatedly in the vulnerable bone of its eye socket, just above the toothed beak. Impact wards on his knuckles flashed, and he felt the bone crack and finally shatter.

Then, as the Par’chin had shown him, he Drew, feeling the alagai’s magic, absorbed deep in center of Ala, flood into him, filling him with power.

Another wind demon dove for him while he was engaged, but this time Jardir was ready. He had learned in lessons long ago that wind demons led their dive with the long, hooked talons at the bend in their wings. They could sever a head with those talons, then spread their wings wide, arresting their downward momentum as they snatched their prey in their hind talons and launched back skyward with a great wingstroke.

Flush with magic, Jardir moved impossibly fast, catching the demon’s wing bone just under the lead talon. He pivoted and threw himself forward, preventing the demon from spreading its wings and throwing it to the ground with the full force of its dive. Bones shattered, and the demon shrieked, twitching in agony. He finished it quickly.

Looking up, he saw the Par’chin fully engaged now. He had killed five of the field demons, but the rest, more than three times that number, surrounded him.

But for all that, he did not appear to be in danger. A demon leapt at him and he collapsed into mist. The alagai passed through him and crashed into one of its fellows, the two going down in a tangle of tooth and claw.

An instant later he reformed behind another of the beasts, catching it under the forelegs and locking his fingers behind its neck in a sharusahk hold. There was an audible snap, and then another demon came at him. He misted away once more, reforming a few feet away, in place to kick a demon in the belly. Impact wards on his instep flashed, launching the alagai several feet through the air.

Jardir was the greatest living sharusahk master, and even he could barely hold his own against the Par’chin’s mist-fighting. Against the alagai, with their powerful bodies and tiny brains, it was devastating.

“You cheat, Par’chin!” Jardir called. “Your new powers have made you lax!”

The son of Jeph had caught an alagai’s jaws in his hands, and was in the process of forcing them open well past their limit. The demon let out a high-pitched squeal, thrashing madly, but it could not break his hold. He looked over to Jardir, amusement on his aura. “Says the man hiding behind his crown’s warding field. Come and show me how it’s done, if you’ve had your rest.”

Jardir laughed, pulling open his robe. The Par’chin’s body was wiry and corded like cable, a sharp contrast to the heavy bulk of Jardir’s muscles, a broad canvas Inevera had painted with her knife. He pulled the crown’s warding field in close and strode into the press. A field demon leapt at him, but he caught its foreleg and snapped it with an effortless twist, dropping it in time for a spin-kick that took the next demon at the base of its skull. The impact ward on his instep was enough to break its spine, killing it instantly.

The other demons, their ravenous fury turned to a more cautious aggression after their battle with the Par’chin, circled, issuing low, threatening growls as they looked for an opening. Jardir glanced at the Par’chin, who had stepped back to observe. His wards of forbiddance glowed fiercely, and Jardir could see the edge of the warding field they formed. It bordered several feet in every direction around the Par’chin, like an invisible bubble of impenetrable glass.

His own warriors had been ready to name the Par’chin Deliverer that night in the Maze. Jardir had thought it due only to the Spear of Kaji at the time, but it seemed the Par’chin was destined to power. It was inevera.

But destined to power did not mean he was Shar’Dama Ka. The Par’chin balked at the final price of power, refusing to take the reins his people thrust at him. There was still much he had to learn.

“Observe, Par’chin,” Jardir said, making a show of setting his feet as he took one of the most basic dama sharusahk stances. He breathed in, taking in all his surroundings, all his thoughts and emotions, embracing them and letting them fall away. He looked at the demons with calm, relaxed focus, ready to react in an instant.

He lowered his guard, pretending distraction, and the alagai took the bait. The ring around him burst into motion as all the field demons moved at him together with all the precision of a push guard.

Jardir never moved his feet, but his waist, supple as a palm frond, twisted and bent as he dodged the attacks and turned them away. He seldom needed more than the flat of his hand to redirect tooth or talon, slapping at paws or the side of a field demon’s head just enough to keep them from touching him. The creatures landed in confused tumbles, dazed, but unharmed.

“You fighting, or just playing with them?” the Par’chin asked.

“I am teaching, Par’chin,” he replied, “and you would be wise to attend the lesson. You may have skill with magic, but the dama would laugh at your sharusahk. There is more than dogma taught in the catacombs beneath Sharik Hora. Gaisahk has merit, but you have much to learn.”

Jardir sent a pulse of power through the crown, knocking the alagai back in a tumble as if from the press of a shield wall. They shook themselves off, growling and beginning to circle once more.

“Come,” Jardir beckoned, making a show of setting his feet “Plant your feet and let us begin the lesson.”

The Par’chin melted into mist, reappearing right at his side, feet set in a perfect imitation of Jardir’s stance. Jardir grunted his approval. “You will fight without misting. Sharusahk is the eternal struggle for life, Par’chin. You cannot master it if you do not fear for yours.”

The Par’chin met his gaze, and nodded. “Fair’s fair.”

As the demons came back at them, Jardir gave the Par’chin a mocking wink. “But do not think I am teaching you all my tricks.”

Jardir watched the sun strike the bodies of the alagai they had used as sharusahk practice dummies. Demons more powerful than field and wind had arrived as the night wore on, drawn to the sound of battle. In the end he and the Par’chin had been forced to drop their easy pretense and fight hard to take them with gaisahk alone.

But now their foes lay broken at their feet, and he and the Par’chin stood to show them the sun.

If Jardir lived to be a thousand, he would never tire of the sight. The demons’ skin began to char instantly, glowing like hot coals before bursting into bright fire, casting a flush of heat over his face. It was a daily reminder that, no matter how dark the night, Everam would always return in strength. It was the one moment of every day when hope overpowered the burden of his task to free his people of the alagai. It was the moment when he felt as one with Everam and Kaji.

He looked to the Par’chin, wondering what his faithless ajin’pal saw in the flames. His crownsight was fading as shadows fled, but there was still a hint of his ajin’pal’s aura, and the hope and strength of purpose that filled it in that moment.

“Ah, Par’chin,” he said, drawing the man’s gaze. “It is so easy to remember our differences, I sometimes forget the similarities.”

The Par’chin nodded sadly. “Honest word.”

“How did you find the lost city, Par’chin?” Jardir asked.

Arlen could not read Jardir’s aura in the daylight, but the sharp, probing look in his eyes told him this was no random question. Jardir had been holding it, biding his time, waiting until Arlen was relaxed and unsuspecting.

And it had worked. Arlen knew his face in that instant told Jardir much he would have preferred to keep secret. His thoughts offered up a dozen lies, but he shook them away. If they were to walk this road together, it must be as brothers, honest and with trust, or their task was doomed to failure before it even began.

“Had a map,” he said, knowing it would not end there.

“And where did you get this map?” Jardir pressed. “You could not have found it out in the sands. Such a fragile thing would have long since crumbled away.”

Arlen took a deep breath, straightening his back, and met Jardir’s eyes. “Stole it from Sharik Hora.” Jardir’s nod was calm, the act of a disappointed parent who already knows what his child has done.

But despite his posture, Arlen could smell his mounting anger. Anger no wise person would ignore. He readied himself, wondering if he could defeat Jardir in the light of day if it came to blows.

Just need to get the crown off him, he thought, knowing it sounded far simpler than it was. He’d rather climb a mountain without a rope.

“How did you accomplish this?” Jardir asked with that same tired tone. “You could not have penetrated Sharik Hora alone.”

Arlen nodded. “Had help.”

“Who?” Jardir pressed, but Arlen simply inclined his head.

“Ah,” Jardir said. “Abban. He’s been caught bribing dama many times, but I did not think even he could be so bold, or that he could have lied to me for so long without being discovered.”

“He ent stupid, Ahmann,” Arlen said. “You’d have killed him, or worse, done some barbaric shit like cutting out his tongue. Don’t you deny it. Wasn’t his fault, anyway. He owed me a blood debt, and I wanted the map in payment.”

“That makes him no less accountable,” Jardir said.

Arlen shrugged. “What’s done is done, and he did the world a favor.”

“Did he?” Jardir asked. His calm façade dropped as he glared at Arlen, striding in till they were nose-to-nose. “What if the spear was not meant to be found yet, Par’chin? Perhaps we were not ready for it, and you denied inevera by bringing it back before its time? What if we lose Sharak Ka over your and Abban’s arrogance, Par’chin? What then?”

His voice grew in power as he went on, and for a moment Arlen felt himself wilt under it. Stealing the scroll had never seemed right, but even now, he would do it again.

“Ay, maybe,” he agreed. “And it’s on me and Abban if it’s so.”

He straightened, leaning back in and meeting Jardir’s glare with one of his own. “But maybe our best chance to win Sharak Ka was three hundred years ago, when humanity numbered millions, and your ripping dama kept the fighting wards from us by locking those maps up in a tower of superstition. Who bears the weight of arrogance then? What if that was what denied Everam’s ripping plan?”

Jardir paused, losing a touch of his aggressive posture as he considered the question. Arlen knew the sign and stepped back quickly. He stood arms akimbo, offering neither aggression nor submission. “If Everam’s got a plan, he ent shared it with us.”

“The dice—” Jardir began.

“—are magic, and no denying,” Arlen cut him off. “That don’t make them divine. And they never told Inevera to have you stop me going to Anoch Sun. They just told you to use me when I got back.”

The anger further left Jardir’s scent as he considered this new possibility. His old friend could be a fool over his faith, but he was an honest fool. He truly believed, leaving him forever hamstrung as he tried to reconcile the hypocrisies of the Evejah.

Arlen spread his hands. “Got two choices here, Ahmann. Either we stand around arguing abstractions, or we fight Sharak Ka the best we can with what we’ve got and sort out who’s right after we win.”

Jardir nodded. “Then there is only one choice, son of Jeph.”

The days passed, and their tentative accord held. Jardir felt more in control of his magic than ever before, stunned at the breadth of power at his fingertips, and his previous narrow vision of it.

But for all their progress, Waning drew closer by the hour. He and the Par’chin could run at great speed when the magic filled them, but even so, Anoch Sun was not close, and they still had to lay their traps.

“When will we leave for the lost city?” he asked one morning, as they waited to show the night’s kill the sun.

“Tonight,” the Par’chin said. “Lesson time’s done.”

With those words, he melted away into mist. Jardir watched closely with his crownsight as he slipped down into one of the many paths that vented magic onto the surface of Ala. Everam’s power of life, corrupted by Nie.

He was gone for but an instant, but when he rose back out of the path, the current of magic that came with him told Jardir he had traveled a long way, indeed.

In his hands, he carried two items: a cloak and a spear.

Jardir was reaching for the spear before the Par’chin had fully solidified. His hand passed through it at first grasp, but he snatched again, and took hold at last, pulling it from the Par’chin’s hands.

He held the spear before him, feeling the thrum of its power, and knew it was the genuine Spear of Kaji. Without it, he had felt empty. A shell of himself. Now it was returned, and at last his heart eased.

We shall not be parted again, he promised.

“You’ll be needing this, too.” Jardir looked up just as the Par’chin tossed Leesha Paper’s Cloak of Unsight to him. His arm darted out to catch it before the edge touched the ground.

He eyed the Par’chin in annoyance. “You insult Mistress Leesha by treating her wondrous cloak so disrespectfully.”

Leesha’s gift did not have the hold over his fate the spear did, but he could not deny that the feel of the fine cloth, and the invisibility it gave him against even the most powerful alagai, made him feel their mad plan might have a chance.

“How will you hide, when the alagai come to Kaji’s tomb?” he asked when the Par’chin gave no reply. “Have you a cloak as well?”

“Don’t need one,” the Par’chin said. “I could trace the wards of unsight in the air, but even that’s too much trouble.”

He held out his arms, wrists turned outward. There, on his forearms, were tattooed the wards of unsight.

The wards began to glow, even as the others on the Par’chin’s skin remained dark. They became so bright Jardir lost sight of the individual symbols as the son of Jeph faded, much as when he became insubstantial—translucent and blurry. Jardir felt dizzied at the sight of him. Something urged him to look away, but he knew in his heart that if he did, he would not be able to find the Par’chin when he looked back, even if the man did not move.

A moment later, he returned to focus. The glow faded from the wards, and they became readable once more. Jardir’s eyes danced over them, and his heart caught in his throat. Warding was like handwriting, and these were traced in the distinct looping script of Leesha Paper, embroidered in detail all over his cloak.

Normally it made his heart sing to see the art of his beloved’s warding, but not here.

“Did Mistress Leesha ward your flesh?” He did not mean the question to come out as a growl, but it did. The idea of his intended touching the Par’chin’s bare skin was unbearable.

To Jardir’s relief, the Par’chin shook his head. “Warded them myself, but they’re her design, so I copied her style.” He stroked the symbols almost lovingly. “Keeps a part of her with me.”

He wasn’t telling all. His aura practically sang with it. Jardir probed deeper with his crownsight, and caught an image that burned his mind’s eye. Leesha and the Par’chin naked in the mud, thrusting at each other like animals.

Jardir felt his heart thudding in his chest, pounding in his ears. Leesha and the Par’chin? Was it possible, or just some unfulfilled fantasy?

“You took her to the pillows,” he accused, watching the Par’chin’s aura closely to read the response.

But the Par’chin’s aura dimmed, the power Drawn beneath the surface. Jardir tried to probe, but his crownsight struck an invisible wall before it got to his ajin’pal.

“Just ’cause I let you read my surface aura now and then don’t give you the right to break into my head,” the Par’chin said. “Let’s see how you like it.”

Jardir could feel the pull as the Par’chin Drew magic through him and absorbed it, Knowing him as intimately as a lover. He tried to stop the pull, the Par’chin caught him unaware, and by the time he could raise his defenses, it was done.

Jardir pointed the spear at him. “I have killed men for less insult, Par’chin.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m more civilized,” the Par’chin said, “’cause the first insult was yours.”

Jardir tightened his lips, but he let it go. “If you have been with my intended, I have a right to know.”

“She ent your intended, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Heard her tell it to your face on the cliff. She’ll be corespawned before she becomes your fifteenth wife, or even your First.”

The Par’chin was mocking him. “If you heard those private words, Par’chin, then you know she carries my child. If you think for a moment you have a claim to her …”

The Par’chin shrugged. “Ay, she’s a fine woman and I shined on her a bit. Kissed her a couple times, and once, something more.”

Jardir’s grip tightened on the spear.

“But she ent mine,” the Par’chin said. “Never was. And she ent yours, either, Ahmann. Baby or no. If you can’t get that, you’ll never have a chance.”

“So you no longer desire her?” Jardir asked incredulously. “Impossible. She shines like the sun.”

There was a sound of galloping hooves, and the Par’chin smiled, turning to watch his Jiwah Ka riding hard in the predawn light. She rode bareback on an enormous mare, leading four similarly huge horses. Their hooves, bright with magic, ate the distance at more than twice the speed of a Krasian racer.

“Got my own sun, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Two is asking to be burned.”

He pointed to Jardir as he strode out to meet his wife. “You already got enough sun to turn the green lands into another desert. Think on that.”

Renna flew from the saddle, and Arlen caught her in his arms, returning her kiss. He concentrated, activating the wards of silence on his shoulders. Jardir would see the magic and know they were masking their words, but Arlen didn’t think he would say anything. A man was entitled to private words with his wife.

“All well in the Hollow?” he asked.

Renna saw the magic, too, and kept her face buried in his chest as she spoke to hide the movement of her lips. “Well as can be expected. Hope you’re right about this being a light moon. They ent ready for much more, especially without us.”

“Trust me, Ren,” Arlen said.

Renna thrust her chin at Arlen, but he could tell she was gesturing past him, at Jardir. “You tell him yet?”

Arlen shook his head. “Was waiting for you to come back. Tell him soon as the sun comes up.”

“Might regret giving him the spear back first,” Renna said.

Arlen shrugged and gave her a smile. “This ent Domin Sharum with a bunch of rules on fighting fair. Got Renna Bales at my back if things go sour, don’t I?”

Renna kissed him. “Always.”

Jardir averted his eyes, giving the Par’chin and his jiwah privacy in their greeting. Her arrival with the horses meant their trip to face the alagai princes was nigh, and Jardir was eager for the test, but there was disappointment, as well. Alone, he and the Par’chin had begun to find accord at last. The addition of his unpredictable Jiwah Ka could upset that precarious balance.

The sun crested the horizon at last, and Jardir breathed deeply, falling into his morning meditation as the bodies of the alagai began to smoke and burn. Everam always returned things to balance. He must keep faith in inevera.

When the flames had died down, they took the horses to the stable beside the hidden tower. Up close, the animals were enormous, the size of camels. The wild mustang that roamed the green lands had grown powerful in their nightly struggle with the alagai. His Sharum had captured and managed to train hundreds of them, but these were magnificent specimens, even so.

The black stallion that nuzzled the Par’chin’s hand, its body covered in warded armor and its head adorned with a pair of metal horns that could punch through a rock demon, could only be his famed horse Twilight Dancer. His jiwah’s piebald mare was almost of a size with it, wards painted on its spots and cut into its hooves. A simple leather girth wrapped its belly to help her keep her seat.

There were two other stallions and a mare, all of them with warded saddles and hooves. Powerful beasts—it was surprising even Twilight Dancer could keep them all in line. They stamped and pranced, but followed the lead into the stalls.

“Why are there five horses, if there are only three of us?” he demanded. “Who else have you taken upon yourself to invite to undertake this sacred journey, Par’chin? You claim to need my help, but you keep me blind to your plans.”

“Plan was for it to be the three of us, Ahmann, but it hit a snag. Hoping you’ll help me get it unstuck.”

Jardir looked at him curiously. The Par’chin sighed and nodded to the back of the stable. “Come with me.”

He lifted an old rug out of the way, shaking off a camouflage of dust and hay. Underneath was a pull-ring to a trapdoor. He lifted the trap and descended into the darkness below. Jardir followed warily, aware that the Par’chin’s jiwah followed behind. Jardir did not fear her, but the strength of her aura told him she was powerful. Enough to give the Par’chin a telling advantage should they come to blows.

His crownsight returned as they slipped back into darkness, but the Par’chin’s wards began to glow anyway, sending the shadows fleeing as he led them to a heavy door, banded with steel and etched with powerful wards.

The Par’chin opened the door, casting light on the man and woman, clad only in their bidos, imprisoned within.

Shanjat and Shanvah looked up from their embrace, squinting in the sudden light.