The Skull Throne

CHAPTER 31 WHISTLER 334 AR WINTER

Abban had never seen Sharum flee before. Everam his witness, he was not could not remember a time they ever had. It was an ugly, disorganized thing, born of panic.

Thousands of dal’Sharum, the elite of Jayan’s forces, had ridden into the city. Only a handful made it back out, screaming and bloody. Those who did abandoned the field entirely, racing their chargers back the way the army had come without anything approaching a plan. They left the rest of the forces—siege crews, kha and chi’Sharum, and Jayan’s personal guard—standing confused in the churned mud of their passing. Others took their cue, abandoning their posts and following.

“Everam’s beard,” Abban breathed as the enormity of the defeat began to dawn on him.

He turned to Earless. “Fetch my trunk.” As the mute kha’Sharum rushed from the tent, Abban turned to his other bodyguard, his son Fahki. “The maps and papers, boy, quickly. We must flee before—”

Just then the tent flaps burst open and Jayan stormed in, followed by Hasik and two kai’Sharum Spears of the Deliverer.

“So much for your bold plan, khaffit!” Jayan barked.

“My plan?” Abban asked. “I merely agreed with the wisdom of the Sharum Ka. It was the dama’ting who seemed to promise victory.”

“The chi’Sharum cowards are surrendering,” Hasik said, peeking through the tent opening. He stepped outside, and shouting and chaos filled the tent until the heavy flap fell back in place.

“Better than turning their spears on us,” Abban said. “Without spoils or dal’Sharum whips to propel them, there is nothing for them to gain in sharing our defeat.”

“I will kill that lying witch when we return to Everam’s Reservoir,” Jayan said.

“She did not lie, precisely,” Abban noted, still gathering papers and stuffing them into a satchel Fahki held. “She promised you would shatter the gates and enter the city, and indeed you did.”

“Leaving out that my men would be slaughtered moments later,” Jayan growled.

“I have never cared for dama’ting prophecies,” Abban said. “They never tell all.”

“Don’t they?” Hasik asked, entering the tent once more.

Jayan turned to him. “What’s that?”

“The dama’ting prophecies are not meant to tell us what we wish to hear,” Hasik said. “They are to tell us Everam’s will. I did not truly believe it before today.”

“Everam’s balls, Whistler!” Jayan shouted. “What you are babbling about?!”

“I asked Dama’ting Asavi if I would ever have my revenge on Abban the fat khaffit,” Hasik said. “She told me there would come a day of smoke and ruin, when the Sharum Ka would lose Everam’s favor.” He slipped a curved blade from his sleeve. “And on that day, none could stand against my wrath.”

“What are you doing?!” Jayan gave a shrill whistle. “Whistler! Heel!”

The two kai’Sharum were fast, moving instantly to stand side by side in front of Jayan, weapons at the ready.

Hasik charged in fearlessly, his face stone as he swatted away a spear thrust and kicked hard against the kai’Sharum’s shield, knocking him across the floor to crash into Abban’s table, landing in a flurry of papers.

Hasik stepped into the space before the other kai could adjust position. He pivoted, thrusting his curved knife into the armpit of the warrior’s shield arm where there was a small seam in the impenetrable glass armor all the Spears of the Deliverer wore.

Jayan launched his own attack before Hasik could withdraw the knife, a spear thrust for his unarmored throat. Hasik saw the move, ducking away from the thrust. It skittered off the helm under his turban instead, taking part of his ear with it.

Hasik laughed, grabbing the spear shaft just under the head and pulling it aside while he punched out hard, fist wrapped around the heavy knife handle. Jayan’s nose crumpled, and he fell back, senseless.

“Flee, Father!” Fahki cried, shoving the satchel into his hands and propelling Abban toward the exit. His intent was good, but the boy was still an idiot, continuing to push even as Abban’s crippled leg buckled. He fell to the floor, Fahki landing on top of him.

The surviving Spear of the Deliverer was back on his feet amidst a cloud of swirling reports. He had lost his spear, but drew a knife to match Hasik’s and moved in, shield leading.

The shield should have been a telling advantage in a knife fight, but Hasik feinted a thrust, then dropped his own knife, spreading his arms and locking his hands around the shield. He twisted, lifting with savage strength. The kai was thrown bodily over Hasik, and Abban heard the snap of his arm at the apex of his flight.

He landed on his back, and Hasik effortlessly broke his other wrist, taking the kai’s knife to replace his. With the man prone, he gripped his breastplate and yanked, snapping the fastenings and baring his chest for a knife thrust.

Abban’s leg screamed at him, but he ignored it, pulling hard on both Fahki and his crutch to get to his feet.

Jayan groaned, pushing himself onto one arm. “Whistler, what … ?”

Hasik leapt upon him, thrusting his knife into Jayan’s mouth. His face was a demon’s snarl as he pushed the curving blade up into the brain of the Deliverer’s first son.

“My name!” Hasik pulled the blade free and thrust it in again. This time it slid easily to the hilt. “Is not!” He yanked the blade out and stabbed a third time. “Whistler!”

It was then that Earless returned. The mute stood at the entrance to the tent holding Abban’s treasure trunk.

Abban said nothing, but raised his hand in the sign for kill, thumb pointed at Hasik.

Silently as a diving wind demon, Earless took three running steps forward. Filled with gold, the trunk weighed over two hundred pounds, but Earless easily raised it over his head and threw. It struck Hasik in the back, knocking him from Jayan’s lifeless body.

Protected by his own glass armor, Hasik was not seriously injured, but he stumbled to his feet, off balance as Earless closed the distance between them, grappling Hasik and bearing him down.

“Quickly, boy!” Abban shouted, limping toward the exit. “Come!”

The combatants rolled across the tent floor. Earless, heavier and in control, came out on top, pinning Hasik’s knife hand with a knee. He held Hasik’s other arm down at the wrist, pummeling him about the face with his free hand. They were powerful, terrible blows, but Abban had watched Hasik fight in the food lines since they were boys in sharaj and knew it would not end there.

One of the punches knocked Hasik’s head to the side, and he bit hard into the wrist of the hand Earless used to hold him prone. The giant could not speak, but his toneless roar of pain was all the more terrible for it, an animal cry bereft of humanity.

The moment the grip weakened, Hasik had his hand free, cutting off the mute’s cry with a punch to the throat. He surged, reversing the pin, and saw Abban drawing near the tent flap.

“Not this time, khaffit!” Hasik cried, throwing the knife.

Abban threw his arms up, but the blade was not aimed for his head or chest. It sank into the thigh of his good leg, and Abban fell again with a scream.

“Father!” Fahki cried, rushing to him.

“Flee now,” Abban told him. “Find warriors and tell them Hasik has killed the Sharum Ka.”

“I won’t leave you,” Fahki said, squatting to try and haul Abban to his feet. Hot blood ran down his leg but Abban grit his teeth and planted his foot, leaning heavily on his camel crutch. He cried for help, but in the chaos outside, no one heard him through the heavy canvas walls.

Hasik and Earless were on their feet now, trading blows meant to cripple and kill. Earless was holding his own—barely. Both men’s faces were bloodied and beginning to swell. One of Earless’ eyes was filling with blood, and Hasik’s nose was flat against his cheek, broken.

But he was smiling. Their army was destroyed, Jayan dead, and Hasik fighting for his life, but the brutal eunuch was smiling like Abban had never seen.

Abban tried to take a step, but even with Fahki to support him, the pain was unbearable.

Hasik managed to get inside Earless’ guard, catching him by the ears. He pulled hard as he drove the crown of his helmet into Earless’ face. His helmet spike tore a jagged hole in the mute’s forehead.

The giant shoved Hasik back hard, then gave a cry, clutching at his head.

“Looking for this?” Hasik laughed, holding up the ear he had torn free. “Now you truly are earless!”

The giant came back in, angry for the first time. His punches would have knocked out a camel, but Hasik batted them aside easily, getting in close and heel-kicking him in the stomach. Earless was knocked back into the central pole of the tent, cracking it in half and bringing the canvas roof down.

Abban grit his teeth and moved for the exit with all his strength. One step. Two. But it was not enough as Hasik appeared from the tangle of canvas.

“Behind me,” Abban said, gripping Fahki’s arm and pulling him out of Hasik’s path. “It’s me he wants.”

“I won’t let him—” Fahki began, moving to stand before his father.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Abban cut him off. “You are no match for him.”

“You should listen to your father.” Hasik was still smiling. “Run and leave your father to inevera.” His eyes flicked to Fahki’s spear. “Or I will fuck you with your own spear.”

“As Shar’Dama Ka did to you?” Abban asked.

The smile fell from Hasik’s face, and Abban thrust his camel crutch out, pressing the release that sprang a six-inch electrum from its tip. The blade was poisoned with tunnel asp venom, the deadliest poison known.

But Hasik moved faster than he thought possible, grabbing the camel foot at the base of the crutch and turning the blade aside. He yanked it from Abban’s hands, sending the khaffit sprawling, and broke the crutch over his knee.

Fahki gave a cry and charged, thrusting with his spear. His spearwork was fine, but he was only a boy, and Hasik one of the deadliest killers alive. He knocked the tip aside with the bladed half of the crutch, stomping hard on the side of Fahki’s knee. The boy screamed and dropped to one knee, using his spear for support.

Hasik kicked the spear from under him, guiding Fahki’s fall with kicks and whips of the crutch shaft to put the boy on his back.

Then Hasik thrust the electrum blade of the crutch up Fahki’s ass. The poison worked fast. Fahki began to convulse wildly, his mouth white with foam.

“You took my cock, but I still fuck in my way,” Hasik said to Abban as he stalked in. He was smiling again.

There was a rustle of canvas and a toneless cry as Earless freed himself from the tangle and tackled Hasik about the legs.

It was a momentary advantage only. Hasik had both arms free, and even as they fell he was driving extended knuckles into the mute’s eyes and neck. He landed heavier blows as they hit the floor, and at last the mute lay still.

“There will be no coming back from this,” Abban warned as Hasik rose for the final time. “The Damajah will find you. Your life is over.”

Hasik laughed. “Life? What life? I have nothing, khaffit. You have seen to that. Nothing but daily humiliation.”

He smiled. “Humiliation, and my revenge.”

“Then kill me, and have done,” Abban said.

Hasik laughed, drawing back a fist. “Kill you? Oh, khaffit. I’m not going to kill you.”