Amanvah bowed as deeply as he had ever seen, her head nearly touching the carpeted floor of the carriage. ‘Please accept my apologies, for taking so long presenting it to you. I began the work two weeks ago, thinking I would have months to prepare. The dice did not predict that you would move to speaking our vows so quickly.’
Rojer ran the three fingertips of his right hand over the smooth surface of the box, feeling the wards that had been burned into the wood before it was lacquered. Some were wards of protection, but most he did not know. Rojer had never had any skill at warding.
What’s inside? he wondered. What did the demon dice command her to make him? An image flashed in his mind of Enkido. If it’s a pair of golden shackles, I am grabbing my bag of marvels and going straight out the door, moving carriage or no.
He opened the box and his eyes widened. Inside, on a bed of silk, was a fiddle’s chinrest of polished rosewood with a moulded gold centre, affixed to a golden tail clamp. The piece was covered in wards, etched into the gold and cut sharply into the lacquer of the wood, filled with gold filigree. It was beautiful.
Like all modern instruments, Arrick and Jaycob’s fiddles had chinrests, but the ancient instrument Rojer had taken from the Painted Man’s treasure room did not, perhaps dating back to days before the innovation. A chinrest allowed the player to hold the fiddle in place with just his neck, freeing his hands for other things if necessary.
‘The piece comes from Duke Edon’s instrument maker, designed for the royal herald.’ Rojer reached out reverently to touch the object as Amanvah spoke. ‘It has taken me many nights to ward it and infuse it with hora.’
Rojer recoiled, snatching his hand back as if from a hot kettle. ‘Hora? There’s a demon bone in that?’
Amanvah laughed, a musical sound he heard all too infrequently. Is that real, Rojer wondered, or just part of the mask?
‘It cannot harm you, husband. The evil will of Nie dies with the alagai, but their bones continue to carry the magic of Ala, made by Everam long before Nie created the abyss to pervert it.’
Rojer pursed his lips. ‘Still …’
‘The bone is little more than a thin slice,’ Amanvah said. ‘Bound in wards and solid gold.’
‘What does it do?’ Rojer asked.
Amanvah smiled so widely Rojer could see it through her translucent veil, and even to his practised eye, it seemed truly genuine and sent a thrill through him.
‘Try it,’ Amanvah whispered, lifting his fiddle and handing it to him.
Rojer hesitated a moment, then shrugged and took the instrument, affixing the clamp to the tail piece where the resonance would be greatest. He turned the threaded barrels carefully to tighten it without damaging the wood, then set it beneath his chin, holding the instrument without the use of his hands. There was a slight tingle where it touched his chin, like a limb gone to pins and needles.
Rojer waited a moment. ‘What’s supposed to happen?’
Amanvah laughed again. ‘Play!’
Rojer took the bow in his crippled hand and the frets in the other, playing a quick tune. He was shocked at the resonance. The instrument had become twice as loud. ‘That’s amazing.’
‘And that is with most of the wards covered by your chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Lift away and the sound will only grow.’
Rojer cocked an eyebrow at her, then went back to playing. At first, he kept the wood covered, and the instrument seemed little louder than normal. Slowly, he lifted his chin, revealing some of the wards, and the volume began to increase. He lifted more, and the sound doubled, and doubled again, rattling his teeth even as his wives moved to cover their ears. Finally, he had to stop from sheer pain, with much of the rest still covered.
‘This will drown out your beautiful voices,’ Rojer said.
Amanvah shook her head, lifting her veil to show a golden choker with a warded ball at its centre, resting in the hollow of her throat. Sikvah revealed a similar bit of jewellery at her own neck. ‘We will match you, husband.’
Rojer shook his head, stunned. Perhaps bone magic and dice ent so bad after all.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he managed at last. ‘This is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me, but I haven’t anything to give in return.’
Amanvah and Sikvah laughed. ‘Have you already forgotten the song we just sang?’ Amanvah said. ‘It was your marriage gift before our holy father.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘We will sing it with you tonight for the chin.’
Rojer nodded, suddenly racked with guilt. They had no idea what the song would say to the Laktonians.
The village of Greenmeadow appeared deserted when their caravan arrived, fields empty of humans and livestock. The few fleeting glimpses of movement vanished quickly over hills and into the woods. They left the caravan on the Messenger road while the carriages headed into the village proper. Even then they saw no one.
‘I do not like this,’ Kaval said. Coliv said something to him in Krasian, and he grunted.
‘What’s that?’ Leesha asked.
‘He says the chin make only slightly less noise than thunder. They are all around us, watching from every window and around every street corner. I will dispatch him to scout our path …’
‘You won’t,’ Leesha said.
‘He is a Krevakh Watcher,’ Kaval said. ‘I assure you, mistress, the greenlanders will never even know he is there.’
‘I’m not worried about them,’ Leesha said. ‘I want him where I can see him. These people have reason for caution, but we aren’t going to do anything to threaten them.’
A moment later the town square came into view, surrounded by homes and shopfronts. There were five men waiting on the inn steps, two with nocked hunting bows, and two more with long pitchforks.
Leesha called a halt and stepped out of her carriage. Immediately she was joined by Rojer, Gared, Wonda, Amanvah, Enkido, Shamavah, and Kaval. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Leesha said as they approached the inn.
‘They do not appear interested in talking, mistress,’ Kaval said, nodding to both sides, where she saw bowmen at every window around the town square.
‘They will not shoot unless we give them cause,’ Leesha said, wishing she was as confident as her words. She spread her pocketed apron so that all could see she was a Herb Gatherer. Rojer’s patchwork cloak announced him as a Jongleur – another point in their favour.
Rojer and Enkido placed themselves between the bows and Amanvah, with Gared in turn protecting Rojer. Leesha was similarly surrounded by Kaval and Wonda.
‘Ay, the inn!’ Rojer cried. ‘We mean no harm, seeking only safe succour, for which we can pay. May we approach?’
‘Leave your spears right there!’ one of the men cried.
‘I’ll do no such—’ Kaval began.
‘Your spear or yourself, Drillmaster,’ Leesha cut in. ‘It’s a fair request, and they could as easily drop you where you stand.’ Kaval let out a low growl, but he bent and laid down his spear, as did Enkido.
‘Who’re you, then?’ the lead man asked when they made it to the porch.
‘Leesha Paper,’ Leesha said.
The man blinked. ‘Mistress of the Hollow?’
Leesha smiled. ‘The same.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you doing so far south? And with the likes of them?’ He nodded at the Krasians.
‘We are returning from a meeting with the Krasian leader,’ Leesha said, ‘and wish to spend the night in Greenmeadow.’
‘Since when do Herb Gatherers go on diplomacy missions?’ the man asked. ‘That’s Messenger work.’
Rojer stepped forward, extending a hand with a sweep of his motley cloak. ‘I am the herald of Deliverer’s Hollow. Rojer Halfgrip, former apprentice to Arrick Sweetsong, one-time herald of Duke Rhinebeck of Angiers.’
‘Halfgrip?’ the man asked. ‘The one they call the fiddle wizard?’ Rojer smiled widely at that, nodding.
‘You have our names, but have not given yours,’ Leesha said.
‘I’m guessing you are Havold, the Town Speaker?’
‘Ay, how d’you know that?’ the man demanded.
‘Your Herb Gatherer, Mistress Ana, once wrote to me for advice on curing your daughter Thea of the gasping cough,’ Leesha said. ‘She is well, I take it?’
‘That was ten years ago,’ Havold said. ‘She has children of her own now, and I don’t care for the thought of them sleeping not half a mile from a bunch of murdering Krasians. We heard the stories from those that passed through last winter, running from them.’ His bearded lip curled at Kaval and Enkido, showing the tip of one of his canines.
Leesha prayed the drillmaster would not rise to the bait, and breathed a sigh when he remained silent. ‘I cannot speak for the people as a whole, but I can vouch for the men in my caravan. If left alone, they will keep to themselves and harm no one. Most will remain in their carts on the road, but my parents are elderly and I would dearly appreciate a few beds for the night. As my herald told you, we can pay, in both gold and entertainment.’
Havold’s mouth was a hard line, but he nodded.
Leesha sat in the taproom with her parents, Gared, Wonda, Kaval, and Enkido as Rojer tuned his fiddle. He sat in a plain hard-back chair in a dimly lit corner, Amanvah and Sikvah kneeling on clean cloth to either side of him. Leesha could tell the drillmaster and eunuch were uneasy with Amanvah and Sikvah on the stage – such things were unheard of in Krasia – but they kept their peace after a few harsh whispers from the dama’ting. The other tables and bar stools were packed with Meadowers, with more standing at the back. A Jongleur would draw a crowd in any event, but Leesha could see as many eyes on the Krasians at her table as on the stage, not all of them friendly. The general din kept her from making out details, but there was angry murmuring throughout the room.
At least until the music began.
Rojer had done nothing to warm the crowd as he had the day before. No acrobatics or juggling, no magic tricks, jokes, or stories. With his wives on stage, he played and nothing more.
As he had in Ahmann’s dining hall, Rojer began with a slow, quiet melody, building in complexity and volume until the sound filled the room, wrapping everyone in its spell. The crowd fell silent, eyes glazing. In her heart, Leesha knew his playing was not truly magic, but the way human and demon both were moved by it belied that fact. He had a gift none could deny.
When the music built to a crescendo, Amanvah and Sikvah began to sing, wordlessly at first, but then in perfect Thesan:
Everam the Creator
Saw the cold blackness of Nie
And felt no satisfaction
Creating Blessed Ala
He sparked sun and moon for light
And men in His own image
Everam was satisfied
Nie was vexed by Creation
Marring Her perfect dark void
She reached out to crush Ala
When Everam stayed Her hand
Nie spat blackness on His world
The Mother of all demons
Alagai’ting Ka uncurled
Everam blew a great breath
Spinning all His Creation
The Demon Queen fled before
The holy sun and moonlight
Cursing Alagai’ting Ka
Slipped into the dark abyss
At the centre of Ala
But Ala turned and night fell
Heralding Nie’s dark children
Get of Alagai’ting Ka
The destroyers, alagai
Everam against Nie’s might
Bade man to defend himself
Steadfast in the cold moonlight
Moonlight is always Waning
Alagai power growing
And when the moonlight falls dark
Alagai Ka walks Ala
Ward your mind when Waning teems
Lest the father of demons
Devour your thoughts and dreams
Everam Great and Mighty
Sent His children one last gift
Gave us the Deliverer
Shar’Dama Ka leads the way
To glory and Heaven’s light
Unite Everam’s children
To purge the Demon Queen’s blight
Shar’Dama Ka is Coming
To unite mankind as one
Kneel to him and Everam
Or be levied with the spear
To bathe in alagai gore
Joining glorious battle
Of Sharak Ka, the First War
Leesha felt an ache in her hand, and realized she had been clutching her teacup so hard her knuckles showed white. She forced herself to relax and glance around a room holding its collective breath. At the last verse she expected the Krasians to suddenly produce weapons – though those had all been left in their rooms – or the Meadowers to riot. Instead, all burst into a cacophony of sound. Kaval and Enkido roared and stomped their feet, sending bits of dust drifting down from the rafters. The clapping of the Thesans was like an entire box of festival crackers.
Not for the first time, she had underestimated Rojer. He seemed a boy, eighteen summers old, with only the barest whisper of hair on his face. Often his actions made him seem younger still – petulant, impetuous, and downright foolhardy. Leesha was forever fretting when he ignored her advice, sure she knew better than he, sure she could solve all his problems if he would only listen and do as he was told.
But Rojer had done more with a song than she could have ever imagined, telling the Meadowers everything they needed to know about the Krasians and their beliefs, warning them about the danger of the coming new moon, and telling them in no uncertain terms that Ahmann’s army was coming their way.
Most of all, he had done it right under the Krasians’ noses, revealing nothing their dama did not shout from their pedestals and minarets. He might as well have said the sky was blue. Amanvah and Sikvah thought they were singing their father’s glory, when in fact they were telling folk to pack their things and run as fast and far as they could.
Leesha was accustomed to knowing best, but suddenly it was she who felt directionless, and Rojer the one who could see the net for its wards.
‘That was beautiful, Rojer,’ she said, rising as they took their bows and returned to the table. Kaval and Enkido were on their feet instantly, moving to surround the women protectively.
‘Thank you,’ Rojer said, ‘but it was a group effort. I could never have done it without Amanvah and Sikvah.’
‘My husband is too modest,’ Amanvah said. ‘We taught him a song everyone knows, and helped him understand the meaning of its words, but it was he who put it in your language, finding rhymes and words we could never have hoped to.’
Leesha smiled. ‘I think you, too, are being modest, Amanvah.’ She looked at Rojer. ‘But it’s true Rojer added … subtle touches that were nothing short of brilliant.’
Just for an instant, Rojer shot her a glare, too fast for the others to notice. Amanvah looked at her curiously, and Leesha realized Rojer wasn’t the only one she was underestimating. The dama’ting might be young, but she was no fool.
Havold came over after the performance, and Leesha taught him the mind demon ward, and how to make headbands with it for use on new moon.
‘You mean those things are real?’ Havold gaped.
‘Every threat in that song is real, Speaker,’ Leesha said. ‘Every one.’
Rojer woke the next morning at the gentle rebound of the feathered mattress as Amanvah and Sikvah slipped to the floor. They were making an effort not to wake him, but after many nights among the skilled pickpockets of the Jongleurs’ Guild, he had learned to sleep lightly.
He kept his breathing even, pretending to shift in his sleep to give himself a better view as the women lit oil lamps and began their morning ritual. It was not yet dawn, and Rojer could likely sleep another hour before needing to rise and rejoin the caravan, but some things were preferable to sleep.
Watching his wives exercise was one of them.
Amanvah and Sikvah were clad only in loose diaphanous pants and tops, leaving little to the imagination as they moved through their sharusahk poses. Rojer felt himself stiffen and shifted under the blankets to put a bit of pressure on himself, swallowing a groan of pleasure as he mused about how lucky he was.
As always, the women seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to his arousal. They turned to regard him, and Rojer was not quick enough to close his eyes. Immediately, they ceased their exercise and moved towards him.
‘No, please,’ Rojer said. ‘Don’t let me interrupt. I enjoy watching.’
Sikvah looked to Amanvah, who shrugged, and the women resumed their posing.
‘Your sharusahk is nothing like what Gared and Wonda are learning from Kaval,’ Rojer noted.
Amanvah snorted. ‘Sharum sharusahk is like wolves howling at the moon. Even the dama are only a cricket’s song. This,’ she fell into a series of poses, ‘is music.’
Rojer concentrated, thinking of Darsy Cutter, the homely Herb Gatherer of Deliverer’s Hollow. He undressed the woman in his mind’s eye until his arousal faded, then rose from the bed, moving over to face Amanvah, imitating her as she shifted from stance to stance.
It was surprisingly difficult, even for one trained to the stage. Rojer could walk on his hands, tumble, flip, and dance every dance from royal ballrooms to country reels, but the sharukin tested muscles he didn’t even know he had, forcing him to hold more balance than it took to walk a ball while fiddling.
Sikvah laughed. ‘That is quite good, husband.’
‘Don’t lie to me, jiwah,’ Rojer said, smirking to let her know it was only teasing. ‘I know it was awful.’
‘Sikvah does not lie,’ Amanvah said, moving to adjust his pose. ‘Your form is good, it is only your centre that is off.’
‘My centre?’
‘Imagine yourself a palm tree, swaying in the wind,’ Amanvah said. ‘You bend, but do not break.’
‘I would,’ Rojer said, ‘but I have never seen a palm tree. You might as well tell me to imagine myself a fairy pipkin.’
The Daylight War Page 36