Rojer gave no outward sign, walking as casually as he would through a field of flowers, but he could feel his heart beating wildly as he passed the warriors. There would be no running from this room, no trick of smoke or fiddle that could spirit them past such a host. They would leave at Jardir’s sufferance, or not at all.
Abban led them through the warriors to a stair to the dais where sat the Damaji, Jardir’s sons and heirs, and various other ranking clerics. There was thick carpet on the floor and warm tapestries on the wall. They sat on silken pillows and ate delicately from rich food piled upon moulded silver wares served by women clad in black from head to toe.
The clerics watched with hate-filled eyes as the Hollowers passed and ascended above them to the next dais. There was no change in his casual stride, no hint of it on his face, but Rojer felt his chest constrict as if the air were being slowly squeezed from his lungs. He knew the skill with which the clerics fought, deadlier with open hands than a Cutter with an axe.
On the next and smallest dais, though still a huge space rich with thick carpet and gilded marble, sat Jardir’s own table. The pillows were embroidered in gold, like the gem-studded bowls, pitchers, and plates, which were served by Jardir’s own women, many of them black-veiled dama’ting. Rojer’s stomach twisted at the thought of eating at a table where almost every server was skilled in poisoning. They were all covered from head to toe, but Rojer nonetheless caught sight of Amanvah and Sikvah among them, their shapes and the graceful way they moved etched forever into his mind.
Jardir sat at the head of the table with Inevera at his right, the Damajah clad as ever in diaphanous silk that drew the eye, yet promised a painful death to any man whose gaze lingered too long. At the foot of the table sat Damaji Ashan and Aleverak, their heirs Asukaji and Maji, Jardir’s first- and secondborn sons, Jayan and Asome, kai’Sharum Shanjat, and, of course, Hasik.
Despite the obvious futility, Rojer felt a mad urge to run for his life. Subtly, he slid a finger between the buttons of his motley shirt to touch the cold metal of his medallion. As he did, he felt much of his tension ease.
The medallion was the highest award of bravery from the Duke of Angiers, given to Rojer’s adoptive father Arrick Sweetsong as reward for throwing him and his mother to the corelings and then later lying about it. Even Arrick had been unable to stomach that, and when he gathered his things before being expelled from the duke’s palace, he had left the medallion behind even as he took everything else of value he could get his hands on.
But where Arrick abandoned him, others stood fast that night. Geral the Messenger had thrown his mother a shield, and he and Rojer’s father interposed themselves between mother and child and the demons that poured through the ruin of their front door. They had died, much as Arrick many years later, protecting Rojer.
Leesha had etched the names of all who had given their lives for Rojer into the medal of valour, and it had become his talisman. It was a comfort when fear threatened to overwhelm him, but also a reminder that his remaining days were bought with the lives of everyone who had ever cared for him. He wanted to believe it was because there was something special about him, something worth saving, but in truth he had never seen much evidence that was the case.
Leesha took the pillow to Jardir’s left with Rojer after, followed by Elona, Erny, Gared, and Wonda. Abban took his customary place, kneeling a pace behind Jardir, almost invisible in the backdrop.
Sikvah immediately set a tiny cup of thick coffee in front of him, and as he caught her eye, she winked at him, her lashes thick and black. No one else caught the look, and it was a warm, artful gesture that sent a little thrill through Rojer. But he had practised such looks in front of a mirror enough times not to be taken in. Amanvah and Sikvah might be fond of him, and willing to be his brides, but they did not love him. Did not know him well enough for it to be true even if they believed it.
Neither did Rojer love them. They were brilliant, beautiful creatures, but beneath the surface they were still a mystery to him.
But there was something …
He thought back often on the night they seduced him, but it was not the lovemaking that he recalled. At least, not most often. It was the Song of Waning they had sung for him in duet. There was power in their voices. Power that Rojer, raised by arguably the greatest singer of his time, knew was rare and potent.
Inevera and Elona had done everything in their power to pressure Rojer into accepting the brides. Abban wanted him to dance around the promise. Leesha seemed to want him to turn them down on the spot, though she herself danced Abban’s dance like she was in the centre of a reel.
No one seemed at all interested in what Rojer himself wanted.
The meal seemed to drag forever, with endless prayers and formal pleasantries, often delivered through thinly veiled expressions of mistrust. Ahmann kept most of his attention on Leesha, to the obvious annoyance of the Krasians at the table. They were arguing again over how many Sharum would act as escort for their journey back to the Hollow.
‘We agreed to ten,’ Leesha said, ‘and not a one more. Gared tells me there are closer to thirty in the caravan.’
‘We agreed to ten dedicated dal’Sharum,’ Jardir agreed. ‘But you need men to drive the wagons with my gifts to the Hollow tribe, to hunt your food, care for the animals, prepare your meals, and wash your clothes. Those will not lift their spears unless the need is dire.’
‘Are those not jobs traditionally done by your women?’ Leesha asked. ‘Let your ten warriors bring their wives and children.’ She didn’t say as hostages, but Rojer heard it all the same.
‘Even so,’ Jardir said, ‘ten is insufficient to ensure your safety. My scouts tell me the roads to the Hollow have grown dangerous with chin bandits.’
‘Not chin,’ Leesha said.
‘Eh?’ Jardir asked.
Careful, Rojer thought.
‘You taught me that chin means “outsider”,’ Leesha said. ‘These are people living in the land they were born to, or driven from it by your army. You are the chin here.’
There were angry murmurs from the Krasians at that. Here in Everam’s Bounty, Jardir’s power was absolute, his slightest whim no different than law. In truth, his decrees could, and often did, supersede laws that had stood for thousands of years. No one, especially not a woman – and an outlander at that – dared speak so boldly to him in open court.
Jardir lifted a finger, and they fell silent. ‘A trick of words that changes nothing of the danger. Twenty warriors. Ten kha’Sharum and ten dal, including Drillmaster Kaval to continue the lessons to your own warriors, and my Watcher, Coliv. All will bring their first wives and one child of their blood.’
‘Half of them girls,’ Leesha said, ‘and not a one old enough for Hannu Pash. I don’t want twenty boys pulled from sharaj a day before they are to lose the bido.’
Jardir smiled and flicked a finger over his shoulder. ‘Abban, see to it.’
Abban touched his forehead to the floor. ‘Of course, Deliverer.’
‘Twenty-one,’ Inevera cut in. ‘A holy number. Amanvah is dama’ting and must have a dedicated eunuch guardian. I will send Enkido with her.’
‘Agreed,’ Jardir said.
‘It is not—’ Leesha began, but Jardir cut her off.
‘My daughter must be protected, Leesha Paper. I think your honoured father,’ he gestured to Erny, ‘can agree that this is not a negotiable point?’
Leesha glanced his way, but Erny gave her a stern look. ‘He’s right, Leesha, and you know it.’
‘Perhaps,’ Leesha said. ‘If she returns with us. There has been no agreement about that.’
Inevera smiled over the golden chalice she used to sip her water. ‘Another thing, daughter of Erny, that is not yours to decide.’
All eyes turned to Rojer, and he felt his guts clench tight. He focused his thoughts on the medallion, heavy against his chest, and drew a deep breath. He reached into his multicoloured bag of marvels, producing his fidd
le case.
‘Great Shar’Dama Ka,’ he said, ‘I have been practising a tune your daughter and her handmaiden taught me, the Song of Waning. You said music in praise to Everam was welcome in your court. May I play it for you?’
There were curious looks from around the table at the evasion, but Jardir waved a hand and nodded. ‘But of course, son of Jessum. We would be honoured.’
Rojer opened the case, removing the ancient fiddle the Painted Man had given him, a carefully preserved relic of the old world. The strings were new, but the lacquered wood was still strong, producing a rich resonance that surpassed any instrument Rojer had ever held. He paused carefully, then looked up as if a thought had just occurred to him. ‘Would it be appropriate to ask Amanvah and Sikvah to add their voices to the song?’
‘The Song of Waning is an honoured one,’ Jardir said, and nodded to the young women. They moved silently over to him like birds to the falconer’s wrist, coming to kneel on the pillows a step behind him.
As well I can’t see them, Rojer thought. Can’t afford distraction. Not here. Not now.
He took the fine horsehair bow in his crippled hand and closed his eyes, blocking out the taste of Krasian coffee from his mouth, the smell of food from his nostrils, the general din of the dining hall from his ears. He focused until there was nothing in the world but the feel of the instrument in his hands, and then he began to play.
He started slowly, a long improvisation around the opening notes of the tune. It was soft at first, but as he layered in more and more of the true melody, he let it grow louder until it filled Jardir’s dais, spread out over the Damaji’s level, and finally echoed through the entire hall. Rojer was dimly aware of the silence that fell over the crowd, but it was meaningless to him. Only the music mattered.
When the melody was complete, Rojer let the fiddle grow quiet again, and began assembling the notes anew. He gave no other signal, no nod or stroke of his bow as he might to his apprentices, but nevertheless Amanvah and Sikvah joined him instantly on the repeat, softly singing wordless notes to complement Rojer’s previous improvisation as he built the complexity and volume back to its former height and beyond.
Oh, the lungs, he thought, feeling the air thrumming with the strength of their voices. He felt a stiffening in his crotch, but ignored it like every other distraction. A good performance could have that effect. Fortunately, Jongleurs wore loose trousers.
This time when the melody was built again in full, the women began to sing. The words were still beyond Rojer’s very limited understanding of Krasian, but they were beautiful nonetheless – mournful but with a tone of warning. Amanvah and Sikvah had explained their meaning, but the women’s knowledge of Thesan, while fluent, was insufficient to translate the artistry and harmony that resonated between the music and the original Krasian lyrics.
It was a challenge Rojer was hungry for. There was power in the Song of Waning. Ancient power.
After each verse, there was a wordless chorus, a call to Heaven beseeching Everam for strength in the night. Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s voices blended into a union that made it nearly impossible to determine where one ended and the other began.
He played the first chorus exactly as the women had first shown him, but before the second verse ended, Rojer began to thread in a new variation, improvised around the original. It was a minor change, but a difficult one for a singer to follow. They did so effortlessly, changing their harmony to follow his playing. On the third chorus, he took them farther still, building the music into something that would stop a coreling in its tracks. Again they followed, as easily as if he led them down a garden path, arm in arm in arm.
The fourth verse spoke of Alagai Ka, the father of demons, who stalked the land when the moon was new. Rojer did not know if such a creature existed, but the demon prince that had tried to kill Leesha and Jardir on new moon a few nights past was terror enough. The music had a frightening tone, and when the next chorus was reached, Rojer turned the music into a piercing, discordant wail that would send even a rock demon fleeing beyond earshot.
And again, Amanvah and Sikvah, without practice, without prompting, followed.
Verse after verse, Rojer tested them, working his fiddle magic – if that was what this was – to its fullest, bathing the great dining hall in his power. They were with him every step of the way, even as he improvised a new closing to wend the music down into silence.
When the last resonance left the wood, Rojer lifted bow from string and opened his eyes. As if coming out of a deep slumber, reality was slow to focus. Everyone at the table, even Jardir and Inevera, sat in stunned silence, watching him. Rojer looked out farther, seeing the dozens of clerics at the table below similarly entranced, as well as the hundreds of Sharum on the floor proper.
Then, as if given a cue, the room burst into a roar of approval. The Sharum shouted and ululated, stomping their feet so hard the floor seemed to shake. The clerics were more controlled, but their applause was thunderous nonetheless. Gared slapped him on the back, nearly knocking the wind from him, and Leesha flashed him a smile that once would have stopped his heart in its tracks. Even Hasik clapped and stomped his feet, staring at his daughter with obvious pride.
Jardir and Inevera did not react, however, and soon all fell silent, eyes upon the Deliverer to see his response. The demon of the desert smiled slowly, and then, to the astonishment of all, bowed deeply to Rojer.
‘Everam speaks to you, son of Jessum,’ he said, and with that, the roars and clapping began anew.
Rojer bowed in return, as deep as the table before him would allow. ‘I wish to marry your daughter and niece, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji.’ Leesha let out a slight gasp, and Elona a satisfied huff.
Jardir nodded, gesturing with his right hand towards Inevera and his left towards Elona. ‘Our women will arrange …’
But Rojer shook his head. ‘I wish to marry them here. Now. There is nothing for the women to negotiate. I have no need or want of groom gifts, nor have I money for dower.’
Jardir steepled his fingers as he regarded Rojer, his face an unreadable mask that would do a master Jongleur proud. He looked as apt to order Hasik to crush him like a bug as to accept the offer. Indeed, his bodyguard had dropped a hand to his spear.
But Rojer had his audience now, and there was no fear in him as he pressed on. ‘But no gold or jewels could ever be worthy of Amanvah and Sikvah in any event. What are such things but baubles to Shar’Dama Ka? Instead, I will translate the Song of Waning into Thesan and play it for my people. If Sharak Ka is coming as you say, all should remember to fear the new moon.’
‘You think I will sell you my daughter for a song?’ Inevera said.
Rojer bowed her way. He knew he should fear her, but the rightness was on him, and he smiled instead. ‘Apologies, Damajah, but that is not yours to decide.’
‘Indeed,’ Jardir said, before Inevera could retort. She gave no outward sign of agitation, but there was a cold calculation in her eyes that frightened more than an outburst.
Rojer turned back to him. ‘You say Everam speaks to me. I cannot say if this is so or not, but if true, He is telling me there was real magic in your court just now. Magic older and deeper than warding. He is telling me that if I pursue that magic with your daughters, we may learn to kill alagai with song alone.’
‘He tells me the same, son of Jessum,’ Jardir said. ‘I accept.’
Hasik gave a whoop of delight that would have sent a chill down Rojer’s spine just a few minutes ago. There was more applause and stomping of feet from below, and congratulations from around the table.
‘You sly son of the Core,’ Gared said, grabbing Rojer’s shoulder in a great paw and giving him a teeth-rattling shake. Even Inevera seemed pleased with the result, though Rojer knew his slight to her would not soon be forgotten. The only sour look was from Elona, no doubt mentally cataloguing all the wealth he had just turned his back on.
But Rojer had no love of wealth save as a
means of survival, and he had gold enough for that already from the Painted Man. And even without, his fiddle had never failed in the past to bring him a full belly and a place to lie his head.
Jardir gestured to Amanvah, and she stepped forward, bowing. ‘Rojer, son of Jessum, I offer you myself in marriage in accordance with the instructions of the Evejah, as set down by Kaji, Spear of Everam, who sits at the foot of Everam’s table until he is reborn in the time of Sharak Ka. I pledge, with honesty and in sincerity, to be for you an obedient and faithful wife.’
Jardir turned to him. ‘Repeat my words, son of Jessum: I, Rojer, son of Jessum, swear before Everam, Creator of all that is, and before the Shar’Dama Ka, to take you into my home, and to be a fair and tolerant husband.’
Rojer reached into his shirt, producing his medallion and clutching it in his fist. ‘I, Rojer, son of Jessum, swear before the Creator of all that is, and before the spirits of my parents, to take you into my home, and to be a fair and tolerant husband.’
There were some murmurs of discontent at that. Rojer heard ancient Damaji Aleverak’s voice among them, but Jardir gave no sign that he even noticed the shift, though Rojer was not fool enough to think that the case. ‘Do you accept my daughter as your Jiwah Ka?’
‘I do,’ Rojer said.
The vows were repeated with Sikvah, and Amanvah reached for her, removing her black veil. ‘Welcome, sister-wife, beloved Jiwah Sen,’ she said, tying a veil of white silk in its place.
Hasik rose, spear and shield in hand. For a moment, Rojer was sure the giant dal’Sharum meant to kill him, but instead Hasik clattered his spear against his shield and gave out an ululating cry. Instantly, every warrior in attendance was doing the same, and the hall shook with their cacophony.
The Daylight War Page 29