The Core

by Peter V. Brett

  Was Sharak Ka worth her life? Even Kaji’s? Of course. But if the choice to sacrifice Kaji for success came to her, she could not, would not, betray her son. Instinctively, she clutched him closer.

  “Where are you now?” the Damajah asked.

  “Aboard ship, headed for the Eunuch fortress,” Ashia said. “In two days I will be dropped outside their patrol perimeter and will begin penetrating their layers of defense. I will infiltrate the monastery, confirm the khaffit is alive, and if so effect an escape.”

  “He is alive.” No doubt the dice told the Damajah more than that, but Inevera was never one to volunteer more of their futures than served her purpose.

  How many had her escaping with Kaji and the khaffit alive?

  How many ended with any of them alive at all?

  The Damajah would never say.

  “And what of the lost cousin?” Inevera asked.

  “I believe I have found him,” Ashia said. “But I do not believe he can be trusted, and do not see how he would be able to assist us.”

  “Tell me quickly.” There was a terse quality to the Damajah’s normally patient tone. Reaching out hundreds of miles with her magic truly was taxing.

  “Briar asu Relan am’Damaj am’Kaji,” Ashia said. “His father was…”

  “My second cousin Relan,” Inevera hissed. “When he disappeared, we believed he died on alagai talons and was carried off.”

  “He was a deserter,” Ashia said. “He came north with a Messenger, and died in a fire with his family a decade ago. One son is said to have survived. He works as a spy for the chin resistance.”

  “The half-breed Qeran spoke of in his reports,” Inevera guessed.

  “The same,” Ashia agreed. “I encountered him on the road. He was following me. I confronted and tried to subdue him, but he…evaded capture.”

  “And now sees through your disguise,” Inevera noted.

  Ashia felt her face heat. She was not accustomed to reporting failure. “Yes, Damajah. But during our brief bout of sharusahk, his…scent was unmistakable.”

  “What scent?” Inevera asked.

  “Alagai’viran,” Ashia said. “Demon root.”

  Again, Inevera was silent for a time, though no doubt every moment she held open the connection was taxing. “It is a sign from Everam.”

  “A sign of what? I left him behind on the road. I would not know how to find him if I wanted, and still do not see a reason.”

  There were whispers through the connection that Ashia could not make out, followed by the clatter of dice.

  “You need not seek him,” Inevera said. “He is close, even now.”

  “And when I encounter him again?”

  “I…cannot say,” the Damajah told her.

  Cannot, or will not? Ashia wondered.

  “You must use your own judgment, niece,” the Damajah said. “Like you, he has a part to play in what is to come. Do not kill him until he has played it.”

  —

  Caring for poor Kaji throughout the night kept her from meditating, and even Ashia drifted off to sleep before dawn.

  She woke shortly after sunrise with a jolt as something hit the ship, knocking her and Kaji out of the captain’s pillow bench. Instinctively she secured her son and hit the moving deck in a roll, assessing the threat.

  The door to her room remained barred from the inside, and there was no scent of smoke or hint the ship was taking on water. But shouts of alarm echoed through the lower decks, along with sounds of battle.

  They were under attack.

  She danced as the deck rolled, keeping balance until the boat stabilized with a heavy thump. The porthole went dark.

  Quickly she donned her disguise and got Kaji into her pack. He was pale and listless, needing rest and water, but there was no time for such things.

  “Be brave, my son,” Ashia whispered.

  “Bave,” Kaji agreed weakly.

  Her spears were left hidden in his pack, but Ashia had other weapons—knives and throwing glass, along with other tools, subtler but no less lethal.

  She opened the door to peek out, only to pull it quickly shut again as several of the dal’Sharum crew ran past. She could hear the commotion out on the main deck.

  When the sailors passed, Ashia slipped out behind them. The walls and ceiling were too close and low for her to move with any cover, but a group of Sharum on the way to battle provided distraction enough for her to follow unnoticed.

  There was open fighting on the deck. A Laktonian vessel had latched on to their ship, boarding them with perhaps fifty spear-wielding chin warriors. From the far rail, chin archers swept the deck, softening resistance.

  Ashia glanced up, recognizing the vessel’s flag. It was a woman’s silhouette, looking off into the distance while a Sharum stood aflame at her back.

  Sharum’s Lament, led by the infamous Laktonian pirate Captain Dehlia.

  Ashia stayed just inside the cabin as the Sharum rushed out onto the deck and into the bowfire. Eyes scanning, it didn’t take long to find the pirate princess.

  Dehlia wore a colorful scarf on the crown of her head, but it did nothing to hide her face, or her hair, spilling out to fall down her back in sandy waves.

  She was flanked by two bodyguards, tall men with longer spears designed to help keep a protective zone around their mistress, who led the attack personally.

  Dehlia skittered barefoot on the rolling deck, as balanced as on a training room floor. The blade of her short fencing spear was curved, allowing her to leave deep slashes on her opponents in close quarters. Her free hand held a similarly curved knife, blade glistening red. Two of the dal’Sharum crew already lay dead at her back.

  Ashia knew now the tales of this woman were not exaggerated. If nothing, they failed to do justice. Her glory was boundless.

  But Captain Rahvel, easily recognizable by the red night veil loose around his chin, was no less glorious. He batted away enemy fire with his shield and cut down every chin that drew near. His armor turned what few blows he allowed past his defenses.

  The crew had rallied behind him, trained dal’Sharum who met the enemy charge and made the chin pay for every inch with blood. If not for the archers they might have held against twice their number, but as it was, it seemed inevitable they would be overrun despite their superior fighting skill.

  Like a spear in flight, Rahvel made directly for Captain Dehlia, killing chin warriors who tried to slow him without missing a step.

  No coward, the chin captain turned to meet him. “He’s mine!”

  “I am Rahvel asu Najan am’Desin am’Kaji!” Rahvel cried in return. His Sharum spread out, knowing better than to interfere. Ashia wondered if she were about to witness the end of the infamous pirate captain.

  Rahvel’s short spear was not curved like Dehlia’s, but he moved it like a seamstress’ needle—quick and precise. It was all Dehlia could do to parry the first few thrusts and skitter back from the assault. She spun her weapon into a series of deft attacks, but Rahvel picked them off, continuing to advance. She was fast and agile, no novice fighter, but Rahvel controlled the battlefield, herding her into a pool of slick blood on the deck. She stumbled, and he was upon her, readying a killing blow.

  But he was stopped short as one of the chin bodyguards abandoned his honor, leaping forward to thrust his long spear. It was turned by Rahvel’s armor, but it caught the drillmaster by surprise. Dehlia had declared single combat, and Rahvel had introduced himself. It tarnished her glory for the warrior to interfere and deny her an honorable death.

  But it seemed the chin did not see it that way. Rahvel turned, catching the spear shaft in his shield hand and pulling the bodyguard close enough for the drillmaster to open his throat. Even as he did, the other bodyguard leapt at him. When Rahvel turned to meet him, Dehlia sprang forward, hooking the edge of his shield with her spear and pulling it wide as she put her knife into his eye.

  Rahvel heel-kicked her away, but the other bodyguard found a seam in
his armor, stabbing deep into the drillmaster’s side with his spear. He took Rahvel’s spear in the lung in return, and the drillmaster pulled the chin weapon free, spinning it defensively as he gripped the handle of Dehlia’s knife and slowly pulled it out of his eye.

  The two crews, frozen in the face of their battling leaders, resumed combat, with a new flight of arrows raining into the Sharum ranks. Dehlia circled Rahvel, poking at his defenses as blood poured from his face and side. All around them the fighting was fierce.

  Ashia considered getting involved. There was still time for her to get to Rahvel’s side, to kill the pirate captain.

  But it would make little difference in the end. She might kill Dehlia, but it would be the end of her. Of her mission. Of Kaji.

  She could not fight, nor could she secure one of the dinghies without being seen. She could swim, but they were deep in the waters—no land in sight. It was tantamount to suicide for her and Kaji.

  And so she waited, as the chin slaughtered or subdued the remaining Sharum. As Dehlia gave Rahvel an inglorious death.

  She rushed out onto the deck then, wailing in anguish. The chin pirates froze at the sight of an unarmed mother and child, and she made it all the way to the drillmaster, falling to her knees beside him. “Everam!” she cried. “Guide my husband, your honored drillmaster, Rahvel asu Najan am’Desin am’Kaji, on the lonely path, that he may stand before your divine judgment!”

  Whether he was truly upset or simply in tune with his mother, Kaji gave a cry as well, screaming as Ashia hugged the corpse.

  Captain Dehlia hesitated, then took a tentative step forward. Ashia caught the move and flinched back.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Dehlia said. “We won’t harm you, or your son. You’ll be taken to Lakton and treated fairly. Perhaps better than you’re accustomed to. You won’t have to cover yourself anymore.”

  Ashia carefully kept the fearful, tearful look on her face as she watched the honorless woman approach. Did they think Krasian women such fools they would take the word of someone who killed without honor? Just like the rest of the chin savages, she thought the scarf Ashia wore for modesty before Everam was some shackle to be freed of.

  The safest path for her and Kaji would be to surrender to the pirate, but going to the chin city on the water would not allow Ashia to complete her mission.

  In a moment, Dehlia would be close enough for Ashia to strike. She had already plotted the sharukin to disarm the pirate and put her in a submission hold before she even registered a threat. Then she would flick the blade from her sleeve and put it at the woman’s throat for her crew to see.

  Ashia had seen the loyalty of the Sharum’s Lament crew. Their captain meant more to them than honor before the Creator. They would not risk her life. She could use that to secure transport for herself and Kaji to the mainland. Just another step…

  “Cap’n Dehlia,” a voice said.

  Ashia flicked her eyes to the sound, seeing Briar Damaj vault the rail. Had he been hiding there all this time?

  Dehlia turned as well, and her face lit up with surprise and delight. “Briar!” She gave a great whoop and rushed across the deck, sweeping the boy into such a great hug his feet left the boards. “Briar! Briar! Briar! Thank the Creator you’ve returned!”

  Ashia had been prepared to kill Dehlia, and owed Briar a beating at least, but the reunion left an ache in her heart. Had anyone in her life ever been so pleased to see her? Only her spear sisters, and they were as sand scattered in the wind.

  “What are you doing here?” Dehlia asked.

  “Qeran sent the ship on a secret mission.” Briar’s voice was throaty, the words a growl.

  “What mission?”

  Briar’s eyes met Ashia’s, just for an instant. “Dunno. Stowed away to see.”

  One of Dehlia’s lieutenants returned from a search of the ship, whispering in his captain’s ear.

  “Nothing interesting in the hold,” Dehlia said. “Only a handful of fighters, no strong armament. Do you know where they were headed?”

  “Monastery,” Briar said.

  “Past the blockade?”

  Briar shook his head. “Were gonna put a boat ashore before they reached the blockade.”

  “Why?” Dehlia asked.

  Ashia tensed, but Briar only shrugged. “Don’t know. Was waiting to see who they put ashore.”

  Dehlia grinned. “Sorry to muck up your sneaking about, Briar, but it’s worth it to have you back. Any guesses about what they were up to? I thought even Docktown wouldn’t deal with the dickless monster that rules there.”

  Briar shrugged again, pointedly not looking at Ashia. “Only the cap’n knew, and he’s dead.”

  Dehlia glanced at Ashia. “Perhaps his wife knows something.”

  “Won’t tell,” Briar said. “Killed her husband. All she’ll do is try’n kill ya, get too close.”

  The pirate eyed Ashia. “She might try. I think we might persuade her.”

  Arrogance. Even with Briar’s warning, Dehlia underestimated her. Even now, Ashia could put a throwing glass through Dehlia’s eye from across the deck before anyone could move. It would be fitting, after what the woman did to Rahvel.

  “Like we persuaded Prince Icha?” Briar demanded.

  Dehlia seemed taken aback at the words. “Briar, that was different.”

  “Ent,” Briar said. “Any hint she might know somethin’, they won’t stop until she talks.”

  “She’s a woman with a child,” Dehlia said. “I won’t let them—”

  “Won’t be up to you,” Briar cut in. “Dockmasters’ll give her to the little man with the screws.”

  Dehlia crossed her arms. “They’ve done far worse to us, Briar. You know it better than any.”

  “Ay,” Briar agreed. “An’ you’re always sayin’ we’re better’n that. Ent we?”

  “Fine,” Dehlia said. “We’ll just call her a prisoner.”

  “And send her to Prison Isle?” Briar demanded. “Only woman on an island with two hundred starving Sharum?”

  “What am I supposed to do, Briar? Sail her all the way back to Docktown?” Dehlia threw her hands protectively in front of her face. “Oh, don’t shoot, Qeran! We have a woman on board! We’re bringing her back so you can cover her up and keep treating her like a slave!”

  “Course not,” Briar said. “Cap’n Rahvel had a horse to carry her and the babe in the hold. Put us on shore. I can get her home, then signal for a boat.”

  Ashia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. How much did Briar Damaj know? Whose side was he on, if anyone’s but his own?

  “What, we’re giving her a horse, now?!” one of Dehlia’s crew exclaimed, to murmurs of assent.

  “Shut it, Vick,” Dehlia barked, and the man stiffened. Her eyes swept over the crew. “That goes for the rest of you, too! Ever want your opinions I’ll kick you in the balls till they pop out!”

  She looked back at him. “I like that idea least of all. You’ve only just returned to us…”

  “Just a run to Docktown.” Briar waved dismissively, as if penetrating the defenses of Everam’s Reservoir was no great feat. “Back before you know it.”

  —

  Briar eyed the Krasian woman uneasily as they waited. He didn’t know her. Not really. But he had lied to Captain Dehlia, one of his few true friends, for her.

  “Why?” she asked in Krasian, so the others would not understand.

  The words of his father’s tongue were thick in his mouth. “Seen enough torture.” Briar nodded to the boy. “Deserves better’n growin’ up surrounded by folk who hate him for things his people done. Know what that’s like, even before the war.”

  “If you’ve been following me, you know I am not bound for Everam’s Reservoir,” she said.

  “Ay,” Briar agreed. “Got business in the monastery. Can get you there.”

  “Why?” she asked again. “Why are you helping me? Why would I not kill you the moment we’re set ashore?”

  “
Someone trapped there, ay?” Briar asked. “Goin’ to sneak ’em out? Good at that.”

  “Do you know who it is they have?”

  Briar shrugged. “What’s it matter? No one deserves to be a prisoner.”

  The woman raised an eyebrow. “Even Abban the khaffit?”

  Briar froze. He knew the name. Everyone in Lakton knew it. The khaffit whispered poison in the Krasian leaders’ ears. It was said he engineered the annexing of Lakton’s mainland, and their naval defeat in the Battle of Docktown.

  He should tell Dehlia. He should do it now. But he remained frozen. Nothing had changed. Now more than ever, they would give her to the torturers. That hunched old acolyte, daring to wear robes of the Creator even as he turned his awful screws.

  But could he trust her? Briar didn’t know. He’d thought he could trust Stela, but she, too, had proven more dangerous than she appeared. “Don’t even know your name.”

  The woman’s eyes crinkled, but with the veil in place, he could not guess her expression. “Ashia vah Asome am’Jardir am’Kaji. My son is Kaji.”

  “Vah Asome…” Briar said.

  Ashia nodded. “The wife and child of the current leader of all Krasia. Valuable prisoners.”

  “Why’re you tellin’ me?” It was like she was goading him.

  “Because I think if you were to betray me, you would have done it by now,” Ashia said. “But I do not think you have it in you.”

  “Don’t know me,” Briar growled.

  “No.” Ashia shook her head. “I do not. But I know Everam has brought us together, cousin.”

  “Cousin?” Briar was confused.

  “My mother-in-law, the Damajah, is Inevera vah Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji,” Ashia said. “Your father’s cousin. You are strange, son of Relan. Too much a greenlander, but with a Sharum’s fighting spirit, and a savagery I do not understand.”

  She reached out, taking his hand. Briar flinched, but he did not pull from her grasp. “But you and my son share blood, and I would know you better.”

  It took a moment to make sense of the words. Mother-in-law cousin of his father? What did that make them? Did it make them anything?

  You and my son share blood.

  The words echoed in his head as he looked at the boy, hanging pale and listless in her sling. He needed rest. He needed water. He needed protection.