The Skull Throne

by Peter V. Brett

  Two more charged at him, but Asome was ready, snatching the wrist of one and turning to pull its arm straight as he laid his free hand against its shoulder joint. Again he turned the demon’s momentum against it, twisting it to the ground and breaking its arm effortlessly as he put it into the path of the other.

  The second demon lost barely a moment clawing its way over the first, talons digging deep wounds as it tamped and pounced. But a moment was time enough for Asome to shift his stance and catch its wrists, pulling it off balance as he fell back. He hooked a leg around its neck, getting in too close for the demon’s jaws. They rolled in the dirt a moment, but Ashia knew her husband had the hold, and even alagai needed to breathe.

  Soon it lay still, and Asome rose. The other demon hissed at him, limping weakly on three legs. Asome hissed back, moving in.

  “Everam’s beard,” Hoshkamin whispered as the demon retreated to match Asome’s advance. The other Sharum echoed him, muttering oaths and drawing wards in the air.

  The other demons of the reap hesitated momentarily in confusion, but now they gathered themselves, readying a charge that would surely overwhelm Asome.

  Asome saw it, too, chopping his hand in the air at them. “Acha!”

  With that, Asukaji and the other dama gave piercing battle cries, raising their weapons and charging past Asome into the fray, leaving husband and wife standing together.

  Ashia turned to Micha and Jarvah. “Inform the Damajah of what you have seen. Now. Do not deviate or slow until our mistress has heard your account.”

  The women looked at each other, then bowed deeply to Ashia, running at speed back toward the city.

  Asome looked at her curiously.

  “Many oaths conflict this night, husband,” Ashia said. “But I will keep them all, if I can.”

  Asome bowed. “Of course, wife. I would ask nothing less of you. But you should have waited.” He winked. “The best is still to come.”

  They turned together, looking out on the field as the clerics waged alagai’sharak. Asukaji waded into a knot of demons, whip staff seeming to strike them all at once. Flashes of magic sparked and popped around him as he spun.

  The younger brothers distinguished themselves as well. Though they were but fifteen, they had been trained in sharusahk since they could stand, each marked by the distinctive fighting style of his tribe. Maji, trained by grand master Aleverak, used no weapon save warded nails and silvers. He let the demon he faced do most of the work, powering the heavy blows that rocked it back.

  Dama were denied blades by Evejan law, including the broad-bladed arrows and throwing knives Mehnding Sharum favored. Mehnding dama used bolas instead, and Savas was no exception. A slender warded chain connected two heavy balls of warded silver. Savas took the legs from a field demon, immobilizing it as he beat it senseless with his silvers.

  Hallam, the Sharach brother, used the alagai-catcher favored by his tribesmen, its metal cable warded. He caught a demon by the neck, tightening the loop until the magic popped its head off. Tachin and Mazh, the Krevakh and Nanji brothers, had small wooden pegs hammered into their staves, like the rungs of a ladder. Ashia watched Tachin run up the side of his staff to leap ten feet in the air, somersaulting over a charging demon to land behind it. As the creature whirled about in confusion, he landed a flurry of explosive blows with his silvers.

  They ranged through the night, Hoshkamin and his warriors following his older brother as Asome led his dama brothers to glory.

  As it had been for several months, there was no sign of Alagai Ka, but it was Waning, and the alagai were stronger and more numerous. And there was something else.

  “They are attacking strategic positions,” Ashia said. The demons lacked the precision they had under the control of the minds, but they clustered in places were defenses were weakest, attacking wardposts to increase their range.

  Asome nodded. “Perhaps Father stands at the cusp of the abyss as Mother foretold, holding Nie’s princelings at bay, but She has kai, as well.”

  “The changelings,” Ashia said, tightening her grip on her spear.

  “Melan foretold we would find one in the night,” Asome agreed. He looked at Ashia. “For this test, wife, we must fight side by side.”

  Ashia nodded eagerly. A mimic had taken Enkido, and she would show this one the sun in her master’s honor. “Your glory is boundless this night, husband. I am proud to stand with you.”

  An hour later, the attack came without warning as a large wood demon surrounded by fighting dama lashed out, its arm becoming a great horned tentacle. The blow knocked half a dozen men back. The wards embroidered in silver thread on their robes deflected the worst of it, but all were stunned, shaking heads and placing hands on the ground as they tried to push up even to sitting position.

  Hoshkamin rushed in to protect his dama brothers. The shields of his warriors were better at turning the mimic’s blows, but the demon spun, lashing through the thin gap between the shields and the ground. Sharum screamed in agony as they collapsed, many with severed feet.

  Ashia was relieved to see Hoshkamin had escaped that fate. Dama’ting magic could heal much, but even they could not grow back that which was cut away. She gave a cry as she rushed in, hoping to distract the creature from her brothers in the night as they regrouped.

  Asome followed, but her husband had absorbed no magic in the night’s battle, and could not keep pace. It was good. Asome had surpassed all expectations, but without so much as a warded nail, this foe was beyond him.

  Tentacles whipped at her, but Ashia was ready. She dodged the first, leapt over the second, and caught a third on her shield, never slowing her advance. Two more lashed out as she drew in close, and she dropped her shield in order to dive between them.

  She hit the ala in a roll, bouncing back to her feet and using the momentum to add power to her two-handed thrust into the demon’s heart.

  Magic exploded with the blow, shocking up Ashia’s arms and filling her with power such as she had never felt. The changeling’s black eyes widened in shock, and Ashia stared back hard, wanting to see its unholy life melt away. “Everam burn you in the name of Enkido!”

  The demon shrieked at her and she tried to pulled the spear free and thrust again, but found it held fast. Still staring into the creature’s dark eyes, she understood her mistake.

  A rock demon’s arm grew from the mimic’s chest, knocking the wind from her as it clutched her tightly and bore her to the ground, talons scraping against the plates of warded glass woven into her robes. The claws did not pierce, but it mattered little as Ashia felt her ribs crack.

  Her spear, punched clear through the demon’s torso, melted free like a spoon through hot resin, sloughing onto the ground just out of reach. There were other weapons concealed in her robes, but Ashia could not reach them while held in the crushing grip.

  Everam, I am ready, she thought. She had served Him in all things, and would die on alagai talons, as her Sharum blood demanded. There was no dishonor. This was a creature like the one that had killed her master, like the one that fought the Deliverer on even terms. It was a good death.

  As the changeling drew back for a killing blow, Asome leapt past her. She wanted to cry out, to tell him to flee, but even if she had the breath, she would not dishonor him so.

  We will walk the lonely path together, Ashia thought. What more could any couple ask for? Everam had joined them in life. It seemed only fitting they should also die as one.

  But then Asome struck, and there was a flare of magic so bright it burned Ashia’s warded eyes. As if she had looked at the sun, the image stayed with her a few moments, even as she blinked and shook her head. The talon that held her eased its grip as the creature was rocked by explosions of magic, then pulled away entirely.

  Ashia clenched her eyes tight for a moment, then opened them.

  Asome held the demon’s arm in a grip that smoked and burned, bright with magic. Her husband had stripped to a simple white bido, discarding e
ven his sandals and the wrappings that had covered his hands.

  She saw now why he had hidden his hands these last days. His fists—his entire body—was covered in raised scars. Like his father, Asome had cut wards into his flesh, that his very touch be anathema to the children of Nie.

  His glow had been dim before, when he fought without the aid of the symbols, proving himself before Everam and the Sharum. But now the wards were written in fire across his skin, and he glowed so brightly that there was a halo around him all could see, warded sight or no.

  He ducked and twisted, delivering powerful blows that knocked the demon back, parrying its return strikes, but even he seemed unable to do lasting damage. They fought for several moments, and instead of continuing to lose ground, the demon seemed to be strengthening, gaining firmer footing as it took Asome’s measure and adapted.

  Asome saw it, too. “Brothers! Form a ring! Nie’s servant must not be allowed to escape!”

  He barely got the words out before the demon struck hard, one of its flailing tentacles slipping past Asome’s defenses. Magic stopped the limb short of connecting, but the impact still sent him flying through the air.

  Ashia was already moving, diving into a roll and coming up with her spear in hand. She studied the mimic in her warded sight, but it was unlike any demon she had faced before. Every demon—every living thing—had lines of power. The essence of dama’ting sharusahk was breaking these lines by striking the points where they converged.

  But the demon’s lines were as amorphous as its body, growing and retracting, ever changing. She sensed a pattern in it all, but it was beyond her ability to grasp, her attention focused upon simply staying alive.

  The magic she had absorbed on her initial blow surged through her, making her impossibly fast and strong. Horned tentacles came at her from all sides, but she spun her spear, picking them off.

  The demon hawked and spat fire like a flame demon, but like a flame demon its eyes squeezed shut and in that instant she quickstepped around it to come from another angle. This time she made no effort to strike a killing blow, instead thrusting the spear rapidly back and forth to strike half a dozen shallow ones.

  Each wound flared brightly at first, the demon’s ichor giving off raw magic like smoke from a fire. But then the loss stemmed, and the area around the wound dimmed as the demon’s flesh knit back together.

  The changeling shrieked, and this time she wasn’t fast enough as it spat lightning at her. Pain like she had never imagined wracked her body, jolting limbs rigid as she was thrown through the air. She thought she would lose the spear, but when she struck the ground it remained locked in her frozen grasp. She could not have let go if she wanted.

  Then, as quickly as it came, the pain dissipated and her muscles unclenched. Her entire body burned, but there was still magic coursing through her, and already it was easing. She looked up to see Asome back in the fight, hammering at the mimic while his brothers struck at it from all sides.

  Savas caught two tentacles in his bola, and the warded chain held them fast, unable to melt away. Another was caught in Hallam’s alagai-catcher.

  But even these seemed minor inconveniences. The demon would writhe from the bolas soon enough, and it swung Hallam to and fro by his alagai-catcher pole. Others lent their strength to the task, but they were sorely pressed and out of the fight.

  Asome continued to pound at the demon, and as she retrieved her shield, Ashia could see a pattern beginning to emerge in the creature’s magic. Even this fiend had a limited supply, and she watched as it ebbed and flowed, healing its wounds, powering its blows, reshaping its body.

  With every blow he struck, Asome grew a fraction brighter, the demon, that much dimmer. If they could keep it at bay long enough, his victory was inevitable.

  Ashia moved back in, stabbing hard where the creature was held by the men at the catcher pole. She hacked the blade of her spear through a tentacle at its base, severing the limb. The demon repaired the damage, but the tentacle, and the magic it had contained, lay in the dirt, no longer part of the whole.

  The changeling grew eyes on its back, whipping horns and talons through the air to fend off the assailants, but Ashia could see its lines of power, and knew its attention was fixed on Asome. It knocked him sprawling, then opened a jaw that grew rapidly to gigantic size.

  Ashia didn’t know if it meant to bite him in half or swallow him whole, but didn’t give it the chance, accepting the lash of a tentacle to get in close and stab hard. The sharp horns tore her robe, ripping away armor plates and finding soft flesh beneath. She hit the ground spitting blood, praying to Everam that Asome had used the distraction to recover.

  Indeed the demon had hesitated, but Asome did not use the opportunity to flee. As the creature roared in pain through its impossibly wide jaws, Asome coiled up and sprang right into its mouth.

  The force of his leap took him past the rows of jaws and down the alagai’s throat. Ashia could see its lines of power shatter as it pulled in all its strength to heal the damage Asome’s warded skin was no doubt doing inside. Limbs melted back into the blob, save those the dama held trapped in warded silver.

  The amorphous pile bucked and thrashed. Choked, the demon could not shriek. Ashia could see it losing cohesion, and knew its end was inevitable, but would it take her husband with it? He was still alive, still fighting, but even he could not go forever without breath.

  Forcing herself to her feet, Ashia stumbled back in. The dama fighting around her were denied the blade, but her curved knife was long a foot long and sharp enough to shave the hairs from a spider’s leg. She stuck it to the hilt in the gelatinous mass, cutting a deep line.

  The wound bucked from the inside, spattering her with ichor, but she did not relent, slashing deeper. At last, one of Asome’s warded fists punched out into the night air, bright with power. His other hand appeared, the two gripping the wound and tearing it apart from the inside.

  Mouths broke across the surface of the demon, joining in one last cry before it collapsed, motionless.

  Asome stood there, covered in ichor and glowing like the sun. Like her blessed uncle.

  Like Kaji himself.

  His dama brothers and the remaining Sharum, including Hoshkamin and Asukaji, fell to their knees before him. Ashia felt it, too. She understood what had happened, but the instinct to kneel was strong. It was only by an act of will that she kept her feet.

  “Nie’s power grows again at Waning, brothers!” Asome called. “This is but the first of her kais to come. With my father chasing Alagai Ka to the edge of Nie’s abyss, it is not enough for the Sharum to hold the line against Her. Every man must fight, if Sharak Ka is to be won! My father made the weak khaffit into kha’Sharum! The chin into chi’Sharum! Even women, like my blessed Jiwah Ka, were called as Sharum’ting!”

  He swept a hand over the assembled dama. “Of all in Krasia, it is only we, the clerics, who waited to be called! But the wait is over, brothers! As my father called others to the fight, so do I call upon those in white to join in alagai’sharak! It is only fitting that it should be blood of the Deliverer to first step into the night. I name you shar’dama, warrior-clerics, and we will guide Krasia through its darkest hour!”

  There was a stunned silence, and then all the assembled men broke out in cheers. Even Hoshkamin, the Sharum Ka and Jayan’s creature, could not help himself as he punched a fist in the air, joining the cry.

  “Shar’dama! Shar’dama! Shar’dama!”

  Kajivah was asleep in the nursery as Ashia and Asome crept into their palace chambers. Asukaji and the other dama went to see the dama’ting for their injuries, but Ashia and Asome, flush with stolen magic, had already healed every scrape and bruise.

  There was no mistaking what Asome was about as he pushed into Ashia’s pillow chamber. She felt it, too, pulling him along with one hand as she pulled down her veil with the other to kiss him.

  The thrill of battle, the pride in each other, and the charge of battle whirl
ed in them both, an aphrodisiac neither could resist.

  Ashia tripped her husband, flinging Asome onto the bed and crawling atop him.

  “I am told these greenland beds have better uses than sleeping.” She kissed him again. Asome’s member stood in his robes like the pole of a tent.

  “I am still … push’ting.” He groaned as she squeezed it.

  “Tomorrow, perhaps,” Ashia said, pulling off her own robes. “Tonight, you are my husband.”

  CHAPTER 28

  SHAR’DAMA

  334 AR WINTER

  “You have broken my decree, and that of the Shar’Dama Ka,” Ashan said from his seat on the Skull Throne. The anger in his voice was apparent to all, and it was not an act. From her perch above the throne, Inevera could see it dancing on his aura. “Going into the night at Waning and fighting alagai’sharak. What have you to say for yourselves?”

  There was silence in the great hall as all held their breaths, waiting for an answer. The throne room was filled to capacity, with every dama in the city in attendance, as well as ranking Sharum and dama’ting. Word of the night’s battle had reached every ear in the city by now, talk of the shar’dama on everyone’s lips. Inevera doubted the djinn could be put back in the bottle now that it was out.

  Asome stood out in front, unrepentant, with Asukaji at his side. Behind them stood his dama half brothers with the Damaji of their respective tribes. Most of the old men were livid with rage, auras crackling. They had been forced to take Ahmann’s sons as their heirs, but with the Deliverer gone and a crime to pin at their feet, many were praying fervently that this might be their chance to rid themselves of the boys and regain direct control of their tribes.

  Inevera had wanted to settle the matter in private, but Ashan, in an uncharacteristic show of will, had refused. He wanted the distance of the throne, fearing he might throttle the boys if they stood close in private.