Inevera stared at the symbols. Wisdom was not easily found in the armies of the Deliverer.
“What do they tell you?” Abban asked.
Inevera ignored him, gathering the dice. “This still leaves us with a rebellion on our hands, and a risk that Jayan will return with increased glory and an even stronger claim to the throne.”
Relief flooded Abban’s aura. He believed her convinced. “You will have an easier time rooting out the rebels with Jayan far away. A chance to secure your own power.” He grinned. “Perhaps we will be lucky, and he will catch a stray arrow.”
Inevera slapped him, her nails drawing blood as the fat khaffit was knocked from the pillows. He held his face in pain, eyes wide with fear.
Inevera pointed at him, calling a harmless but dramatic flare of wardlight from one of her rings. “However he may vex me, have a care when you speak of my oldest son, khaffit.”
Abban nodded, rolling to his knees with a wince and putting his forehead on the floor. “I apologize, Damajah. I meant no offense.”
“If I regret this decision even a little, khaffit, you will regret it ten thousandfold. Now be gone from here. The council will meet soon, and I will not have you seen skulking from my chambers.”
The khaffit gathered his crutch and limped from the room as quickly as his lame leg would allow.
When the door closed behind him, she bent to the dice again. She had not cast for her husband’s fate in over a day, but it would have to wait longer still. With this latest attack and Abban’s mad plan, it was easy to forget it was the first day of Waning. If it was anything like the last, her people would be lucky to survive without Ahmann.
“Everam, Creator of Heaven and Ala, Giver of Light and Life, your children need guidance. What will Waning bring to Everam’s Bounty this night, and how can we prepare?”
She shook and threw, reading the meanings behind the symbols as easily as words on a page.
—Alagai Ka and his princelings will not come to Everam’s Bounty this Waning.—
Curious. Her eyes scanned the rest of the symbols and she started. For the first time in weeks, the one day she had not cast for Ahmann’s fate, the dice gave her a glimpse.
And her world collapsed.
—They go to defile the corpse of Shar’Dama Ka.—
Abban watched the Andrah’s closed circle of advisors—Asome, Asukaji, Aleverak, and Jayan—from the safety of his small writing desk in the shadow of the Skull Throne. The open circle, including all twelve Damaji, would not be called until Inevera took her place and the internal debate finished. Already Abban could hear them bickering in the hall.
Both circles tended to ignore Abban unless he spoke, and some of them even then. Abban was wise enough to encourage this, speaking only when spoken to, a rare thing now that Ahmann was gone.
Inevera had been in her chamber a long time. What in Nie’s abyss could be keeping her? There were riots in the streets, and the Damaji were close to losing control.
“First they strike us at night,” Aleverak shouted, “and now on the first day of Waning, profaning the bones of our heroes and the very temple of Everam! It is outrageous!”
“No thing happens, but Everam wills it.” Damaji Asukaji’s forearms had disappeared up the wide opposite sleeves of his robes, clutching his elbows as he had taken to doing now that he and Asome were forced to stand apart. Leader of the largest tribe in Krasia, his smooth faced betrayed a boy of but eighteen. “It is a sign we must not ignore. The Creator is angry.”
“This is what comes of being gentle with the chin after their cowardly attacks on the sharaji!” Jayan said. “Our show of weakness has only emboldened them to further aggression.”
“For once, I must agree with my brother,” Asome said. “The attack on Sharik Hora cannot go unanswered. Everam demands blood in response.”
Everam, Abban prayed as he penned their words, set a cup of couzi before me now, and I will give one of my wives to the dama’ting.
But as ever, the Creator did not listen to Abban. All of them, Jayan, Asome, Asukaji, were children forced into roles beyond their experience. They should have had Ahmann’s guiding hand for decades to come. Instead, the fate of the world might rest upon their shoulders.
He suppressed a shudder at the thought. “He shall have a lake full of it.” None had noticed the Damajah exit her private chamber. Even Abban had been unaware, though she stood mere feet from him. He only glanced at her a moment, but it was long enough to note she had applied fresh makeup, though it did not mask entirely the puff around her eyes.
The Damajah had been weeping.
Everam’s beard, he thought. What in Heaven, Ala, and Nie’s abyss could make that woman weep? Had she been a lesser woman, he might have attempted to offer comfort, but he respected the Damajah too much for that, and turned back to his parchment, pretending not to notice.
The others, oblivious, had no need to pretend. “Have you found the rebels at last, Mother?” Jayan asked.
Abban did not have Ahmann’s ability to see into hearts, but such skills were hardly necessary to read the eager gleam in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. Jayan stood to win threefold this day. Once for appearing right when all his rivals were wrong, once for the glory he stood to gain when he quelled the rebellion, and once for his brutal nature, which already relished the prospect of inflicting pain and suffering on the chin.
“The rebels are puppets.” Inevera rolled her dice thoughtfully in her hand. “Vermin placed in our silos by our true enemies.”
“Who, Mother?” Jayan could not hide the eagerness in his voice. “Who is to blame for these cowardly attacks?”
Inevera called a touch of power from the dice, causing them to glow. They cast her face in an ominous light that lent the will of Everam to her answer. “Lakton.”
“The fish men?” Ashan gaped. “They dare strike at us?”
“They were warned by Leesha Paper,” Inevera could not keep the venom from her voice at the name, “that we might attack as soon as spring. No doubt the dockmasters seek to sow discord to keep our armies at home.”
It was perfectly plausible, if patently false—at least so far as Abban knew. He suppressed a smile as the others accepted the accusation without question.
“I will crush them!” Jayan clenched a fist in the air. “I will kill every man, woman, and child! I will burn—”
Inevera rolled the dice in her fingers, manipulating the symbols, and their soft glow became a flare of light that cut Jayan’s words short as he and the others turned away, blinking spots from their eyes.
“Sharak Ka is coming, my son,” Inevera said. “We will need every able man that can lift a spear before it is done, and food for their bellies. We cannot afford to punish all in their lands for the actions of Lakton’s foolish princelings. You will keep to the Deliverer’s plan.”
Jayan crossed his arms. “And what plan is that? Father told us he meant to march just over a month from now, but no plan was ever discussed.”
Inevera nodded to Abban. “Tell them, khaffit.”
Jayan and the others turned incredulous looks his way.
“The khaffit?!” Jayan demanded. “I am Sharum Ka! Why does this khaffit know of battle plans when I do not? I should have been advising Father, not some pig-eater.”
“Because Father spoke to Everam,” Asome guessed, “and did not need your ‘advice.’ ” He glanced to Abban. “He only needed the tallies.”
Something about the cold assessment of Asome’s stare frightened Abban in ways Jayan’s aggression did not. He used his crutch to stand, then left it leaning on his desk. The men would give more weight to his words if he stood on his own two feet to deliver them. He cleared his throat, molding the clay of his face into a look of nervous deference to put his “betters” at ease.
“Honored Sharum Ka,” Abban said. “The losses to our food stores during the last Waning are greater than the Deliverer wished known. Without a fresh supply, Everam’s Bounty will starve before spring begins to bud.�
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That got everyone’s attention. Even Ashan leaned toward Abban now, rapt. “Sixteen days from now is the date the Laktonians observe the chin holy day first snow. The beginning of winter.”
“What of it?” Jayan snapped.
“It is also the day the chin deliver their harvest tithe to the dockmasters of Lakton,” Abban said. “A tithe that would keep our army fed until summer. The Deliverer made a bold plan to capture the tithe and the chin lands in one move.”
Abban paused, expecting an interruption at this point, but the closed circle remained silent. Even Jayan hung on his next words.
Abban signaled Qeran, who pulled out the carpet Abban’s wives had carefully woven to match the maps of the chin lands to the east, setting the run on the floor and unrolling it with a kick. Abban limped over as the others moved to stand around it.
“It was Shar’Dama Ka’s intention to send the Sharum Ka and the Spears of the Deliverer, along with two thousand dal’Sharum, overland in secret,” he traced a path over the open territory with the tip of his crutch, avoiding the Messenger road and chin villages, “to take the village of Docktown, here, the morning of first snow.” He tapped the large town at the lake’s edge with his crutch.
Jayan’s brow furrowed. “How will capturing a single village give us the city on the lake?”
“This is no simple village,” Abban said. “Closest to the city proper, seventy percent of Lakton’s docks are in Docktown, and all will be brimming with ships waiting to be loaded with the tithe once the talliers have counted it. Take the city on first snow, and you can take the tithe, the fleet, and the closest landfall to the city. Without the stores, or ships to go in search of more, the fish men will be ready to offer you the head of their duke, and his dockmasters besides, in exchange for a loaf of bread.”
Jayan clenched a fist at the thought, but he was not satisfied. “Two thousand dal’Sharum is enough to take any chin village, but not enough to hold and guard any length of shoreline through the cold months. We will be surrounded by enemies that outnumber us greatly.”
Abban nodded. “This is why the Deliverer, in his wisdom, planned to send a second force of five thousand dal’Sharum up the main road a week after to conquer the Laktonian villages one by one, levying them for Sharak Ka. They will act as spearhead, clearing the path for forty dama and their apprentices, ten thousand kha’Sharum, and twenty thousand chi’Sharum who will settle the land in their wake, sending for their families and assisting the local dama in instituting Evejan law. Before any true snow falls, you will have seven thousand of your finest dal’Sharum at hand.”
“Enough to smash anyone fool enough to stand against us,” Jayan growled.
Asukaji slipped his hands from his sleeves and he and Asome began speaking rapidly in their personal sign language. Normally the code was so subtle it could easily be missed by someone staring right at them, but now there was too much to say, and too little time. Fortunately, the others in the room were distracted.
Abban could not begin to follow the conversation, but he could easily guess its content. They were debating the relative advantages and disadvantages of having Jayan out of Everam’s Bounty fighting Sharak Sun for an extended time, and whether they could stop it in any event.
They must have decided not, for the two men, the most likely to oppose the plan, remained silent.
Aleverak turned to Ashan. “What says the Andrah to this plan? It is wise to send the bulk of our forces on the attack when we have a growing rebellion at home?”
Ashan’s eyes flicked to Inevera’s. They, too, had a silent language, but he caught the slightest hint of her lips moving, and knew that she had given him a hora ring as well.
“The dice have spoken, Damaji,” Ashan said. “The dockmasters have been financing the attacks to keep us from taking the offensive against them. We must show them the futility of this strategy.”
“In the meantime, Waning is upon us,” Inevera said. “Alagai Ka and his princelings will walk the Ala tonight. Even the chin know what that means. Put them under curfew and muster every able warrior, including the Sharum’ting. The dice tell me the First Demon will turn his eyes elsewhere this cycle, but we must not relax our guard. Even the least of his princes can turn the mindless alagai into a cohesive force.”
There was none of the usual arrogance in Jayan’s bow, even at the command to include women in the fighting. He was wise enough to keep quiet when all was going better than he could possibly have imagined. “Of course, Mother. It will be done.”
“If every able body is needed, I propose the dama be allowed to fight, as well,” Asukaji said.
“I agree,” Asome said immediately, a rehearsed scene if ever Abban had seen one.
“Preposterous!” Aleverak sputtered.
“Out of the question,” Ashan said.
“So we are in such dire need of warriors that you will take women over those trained in Sharik Hora?” Asome demanded.
“The Deliverer forbid it,” Ashan said. “The dama are too important to risk.”
“My father forbid it last Waning,” Asome corrected, “and only for that cycle. He forbid the Sharum’ting then as well, but tonight they will muster to the Horn of Sharak. Why not the dama?”
“Not all the dama are young, strong men as you and my son, nephew,” Ashan said.
“None should be forced to fight,” Asukaji amended, “but those who wish it should not be denied Everam’s glory in the night. Sharak Ka is coming.”
“Perhaps,” Ashan said. This time, he did not so much as glance at Inevera. “But it is not here yet. The dama will remain behind the wards.”
Asome pressed his lips together, and again, Abban was reminded how young he was. Jayan cast a hint of smirk his way, but Asome arched his back, holding hard to his pride and pretending not to see.
“It is decided,” Inevera said. “On the first dawn following Waning, Jayan and his warriors will depart to strike a crushing blow in Everam’s name.”
Jayan bowed again. “Docktown will the ours and Lakton in a submission hold before they even know we are close.”
Inevera nodded. “Of that I have no doubt. We will need a strict accounting of all your expenses, however, and of the captured harvest.”
“Eh?” Jayan asked. “Am I a khaffit, to be spending my time with ledgers and lattices when my men are shedding blood?”
“Of course not,” Inevera said. “That is why Abban will accompany you.”
“Eh?” Abban asked, feeling his stomach drop into his balls.
CHAPTER 11
DOCKTOWN
333 AR WINTER
“Damajah, there must be some mistake,” Abban said. “My duties here—”
“Can wait,” Inevera’s voice in his ear cut him off. That she had refused to see him, deigning only to speak via hora ring, said more than any words about the finality of the decision.
“You have made your case too well, khaffit,” the Damajah continued. “We must have the Laktonian tithe to keep our forces strong, and we both know Jayan is more likely to shit in the Laktonian grain for spite than he is to tally and ship it back to Everam’s Bounty. You must see to that.”
“Damajah, your son hates me,” Abban said. “Out beyond your reach …”
“It may be you who catches a stray arrow and does not return?” Inevera asked. “Yes, that is true. You will need to take care, but so long as you handle the aspects of war he does not wish to, Jayan will see the value in letting you live.”
“And his bodyguard Hasik, who my own men castrated?” Abban asked.
“It was you let out that djinn, khaffit,” Inevera replied. “It is up to you to find a way to close it. Hasik’s passing would fill no tear bottles.”
Abban sighed. With Qeran and Earless at his side at all times, Hasik was unlikely to strike at him, and he could make himself useful enough to Jayan to ingratiate for a short time. Undoubtedly, there was a fortune to be made in Lakton. Many fortunes, for one with a sharp eye.
“So I may return with the tithe?” he asked. He could last a few weeks, surely.
“You may return when Lakton flies a Krasian flag, and not before,” Inevera said. “The dice say wisdom will be needed in the taking, and of that, my son’s court has little. You must guide them.”
“Me?” Abban gaped. “Conduct war and give orders to the Deliverer’s son? These things are above my caste, Damajah.”
Inevera laughed at that. “Khaffit, please. Do not insult us both.”
As Inevera had predicted, Waning had brought no unusual levels of attack from the alagai, but even the rebels amongst the chin were not fool enough not to weaken the defenses in the dark of new moon. Dawn after the third night came all too soon.
“As soon as the road is secure, I want daily updates on every operation,” Abban told Jamere.
Jamere rolled his eyes. “You’ve told me that seven times now, Uncle.”
“A dama should know that seven is a holy number,” Abban said. “Holier still is seven times seventy, and that is how many times I will tell you, if that is what it takes to penetrate your thick head.”
There were few dama in the world a khaffit could take such a tone with—lacking a wish to journey the lonely path—but Jamere was Abban’s nephew. He had become arrogant and insufferable since being raised to the white, but Abban would never have taken the boy in if he had not been clever. Clever enough to understand his life of ease was entirely dependent on keeping his uncle happy. He would leave the running of the business to the women of the family, Abban’s sisters and wives, and act as a figurehead to sign papers and threaten any who dare encroach on Abban’s territory in his absence.
“By Everam and all that is holy, I swear I shall send you missives daily,” Jamere said with a cocksure bow.
“Everam’s balls, boy,” Abban chuckled. “I trust that promise least of all!”
He hugged the boy, as close to a son as any of his own spawn, and kissed his cheeks.
“Enough filling tear bottles like wives at dusk,” Qeran snapped. “Your new walls are strong, Abban, but they will be put to the test if the Sharum Ka must come and collect you.”
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