The Daylight War

by Peter V. Brett

  ‘Who are you, to speak so familiarly of my holy father?’ Amanvah demanded.

  Arlen turned to the dama’ting, dipping a shallow bow and switching smoothly to Krasian so flawless he sounded like a native. ‘He is my ajin’pal. I am Arlen asu Jeph am’Bales am’Brook, known to your people as …’

  ‘Par’chin!’ Kaval growled. He turned to Coliv and made a quick gesture across his throat.

  The Watcher reacted instantly, reaching into his black robes and flinging out an arm, sending a spray of sharpened metal triangles flying at Arlen. Leesha feared he would be killed, but Arlen didn’t even flinch or step aside. His arm was a blur as he batted the spinning blades away as easily as leaves borne on a gentle breeze. They clattered to the ground harmlessly, but the drillmaster and Watcher were already moving to attack him from opposite flanks. Both had produced hidden weapons – Coliv a sickle with a long, weighted chain attached, and Kaval two short staves.

  ‘I taught you to fight, Par’chin,’ Kaval said. ‘Do you honestly think yourself the match of true Sharum?’

  Arlen smiled as he set his feet in a fighting stance. ‘I’ve come a long way since the last time you and Coliv tried to murder me, Drillmaster. And you had more men then.’

  Murder? Leesha thought, but before the full weight of it sank in, Coliv hurled the weighted end of his chain at Arlen from behind. It wrapped around one of Arlen’s wrists, but Arlen grabbed it and yanked hard, pulling Coliv off balance. Kaval attempted to use the distraction to launch his own attack, spinning the staves in a blur of motion, but Arlen had grabbed a length of chain in his free hand, pulling it taut to block the first two blows. The third he caught fast in a twist of chain and heel-kicked the drillmaster onto his back.

  Leesha heard ribs crack with the blow, but the drillmaster rolled to his feet instantly, tossing the remaining staff to his left hand as he pulled a knife with his right.

  ‘Stop this madness!’ Leesha shouted, but no one was listening. Thamos’ guards looked ready to intervene, but the count gave no command, watching the battle with great interest. Gared and Wonda, too, looked on in dumbfounded amazement.

  Coliv had managed to keep his feet, detaching the sickle from its chain and using a short punch-dagger in his free hand. His attacks were quick and precise, full of feints and reversals, but Arlen blocked them casually, toying with him as Kaval moved back into the fight, knife leading for Arlen’s back.

  Renna rushed to stop him, but she passed too close to Amanvah, and Enkido moved to intercept her. He grabbed at her but she was too quick, slipping out of reach then coming back in fast with a roundhouse kick that connected solidly with his solar plexus.

  The eunuch made no sound and never lost control, rolling with the blow and spinning to place himself back-to-back with her. He caught her trailing braid and pulled it hard over his shoulder.

  Leesha thought the fight would end there, but the young woman surprised her, springing with the pull to somersault right over the eunuch, placing them face-to-face again as she punched him in the gut.

  This time Enkido gave a slight grunt, but he did not release his grip on her braid, yanking her head into his fist, sending a spray of blood from her mouth. Before she could recover, he stabbed stiffened fingers into a nerve cluster that collapsed her leg. He caught her wrists and twisted hard, forcing her down to one knee.

  Both Leesha and Enkido thought it done, but Renna Tanner was full of surprises. She let out a feral growl, arresting her downward momentum. Leesha would have sworn she would not be able to use her leg again for several minutes and Enkido outweighed her more than twice over, but, gritting her teeth, Renna slowly forced herself to her feet against his straining muscles. The eunuch’s cold eyes widened in disbelief as their positions reversed and he was the one forced back, his spine bending like a bow and his legs quivering with strain.

  She has powers in daylight, Leesha realized. Like Arlen.

  Suddenly Renna twisted her arms, easily breaking Enkido’s grip on her wrists. She caught one of his, so thick her hand could not close even halfway, and yanked the man towards her, grabbing his belt. The eunuch landed a few more flailing blows as she lifted him clear over her head, but the girl ignored them, hurling him across the room to smash through one of the wood-panelled walls. Dazed, he struggled to rise from the wreckage.

  The battle between Arlen and the Sharum continued to rage. Kaval and Coliv attacked as fiercely as Leesha had ever seen, but Arlen dodged and blocked easily, his expression one of calm focus. Occasionally, he returned a blow, simply to show he could do so with impunity. He took the knife from Kaval, slapping the drillmaster on the side of his head with the flat of the blade, knocking him into Coliv. When the Watcher next came at him, there was a brief tussle that ended with Coliv’s own punch-dagger stuck in his buttock as Arlen danced out of reach.

  Leesha didn’t pretend to understand how warriors thought, but she knew enough of Krasian culture to understand that Arlen was intentionally humiliating the men. To charge into battle against a more powerful foe and be killed with honour was the dream of every warrior. But to be defeated and survive was the stuff of nightmares. She could feel the shame and helpless rage radiating off them, and felt almost pity.

  Almost.

  But they had tried to murder Arlen. She had it from his lips now, and despite her other doubts, this she knew to be true.

  The Painted Man was born on the Krasian desert, four years ago, Arlen had told her, when she asked his age on the road last year.

  And the man beneath the wards? Leesha had asked. How old was he when he died?

  He was killed, Arlen said, though he had never said by whom.

  Leesha watched as Arlen fought the two Sharum, and knew she was looking at two of the killers. Two of the men who had kicked him onto the path that led to the madness of warding his own flesh. Had Ahmann been one as well? Probably, if Abban’s warning had been true.

  If you know the son of Jeph, if you can get word to him, tell him to run to the end of the world and beyond, because that is how far Jardir will go to kill him. There can only be one Deliverer.

  Whatever he had done to her, Arlen was a good man. A good man these men had tried to murder, and very nearly succeeded. A shameful part of her wanted to see them hurt, and to spare the anaesthetic when she splinted their broken bones.

  The two Sharum were positioning for another pass when a piercing ululation filled the air. They froze as Amanvah shouted, ‘Stop this at once!’ in Krasian.

  Kaval and Coliv stayed their next attacks, but they did not stand down. The drillmaster spared a glance to the dama’ting, keeping one eye on Arlen. ‘Holy Daughter, there is much about this one you do not know. He is a blood traitor, laying false claim to the title of Shar’Dama Ka. Honour demands his death.’

  Coliv nodded. ‘The drillmaster speaks true, Holy Daughter.’

  Arlen smiled. ‘Tell me, Sharum, if Everam exists, how will He punish your lies?’

  Amanvah turned to regard him. ‘So you do not claim to be the Deliverer?’

  ‘The Deliverer is all of us,’ Arlen said. ‘Everyone who stands tall in the night instead of hiding behind their wards … or underground.’ He looked at her pointedly.

  ‘My people no longer do that, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said.

  ‘Nor do mine,’ Arlen said. ‘All of us work to deliver humanity from the alagai.’

  ‘Holy Daughter, do not listen to this lying chin,’ Kaval said. ‘Justice and your father’s safety demand that we kill him now.’

  ‘As if you could,’ Arlen growled. ‘We have a blood debt, true, but it is you who owe. I could have collected today, but I kill only alagai.’

  ‘Why is this man such a threat?’ Amanvah asked Kaval. ‘From his own lips, he makes no claim on my father’s title.’

  ‘He diminishes it with his words,’ Kaval said. ‘Leaching your father’s honour with his heathen talk while he bides his cowardly time, waiting for the moment to strike.’

  Amanvah’s fac
e was unreadable. ‘It is you who attacked first, Drillmaster. My father used to speak often of the Par’chin, and never as anything except a man of honour.’

  ‘His honour was lost when he betrayed your father in the Maze,’ Kaval said.

  Arlen stepped forward, his eyes seething. ‘Shall we speak of the Maze, Kaval? Shall I tell all gathered what happened that night, and let them judge who lost their honour?’

  The drillmaster did not answer, exchanging a look with Coliv. Amanvah stared at him. ‘Well, Drillmaster? What have you to say?’

  Kaval cleared his throat. ‘It is not a matter we may speak of. We have sworn an oath of silence to the Shar’Dama Ka. You must trust my judgement in this.’

  ‘Must?’ Amanvah asked, her voice a quiet lash. ‘Dal’Sharum, do you presume to tell a Bride of Everam what she must or must not do?’ The men stiffened, but still they held their aggressive posture, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

  ‘Please, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Enlighten us about the night of which you speak.’

  Arlen shook his head. ‘You want to know? Ask the Spears of the Deliverer. Ask your father. And if they won’t tell you, perhaps you ought to wonder why.’

  Amanvah squinted at him, then turned to Kaval. ‘Stand down and heel me. You will pursue this matter no further without my blessing, and I do not give it now.’ When the men still hesitated, she added, ‘I will not ask again.’

  There was a finality in her tone that shook even the warriors, and they complied at last, weapons disappearing as they glided to stand at the young dama’ting’s back.

  ‘It appears your new neighbours will keep you entertained, Miss Paper,’ Thamos said, and Leesha couldn’t help but feel that perhaps his smug tone was justified.

  Arlen came over to stand next to Leesha, his voice dropping to a murmur. ‘Glad to see you back safe.’

  ‘And you,’ Leesha said.

  ‘Ought to talk,’ Arlen said. ‘Tonight after dusk. Just the four of us at your cottage.’

  ‘Four?’ Leesha asked before she could stop herself. Clandestine meetings with Arlen were nothing new, but it had always been three. Herself, Arlen, and Rojer.

  It was a pointless question, only confirming what she already knew. ‘Renna and I are promised. Where I go, she goes.’

  She was surprised to find the words, though expected, still cut at her. ‘Rojer and Amanvah are married,’ Leesha noted. ‘Yet you would deny his bride the same right?’

  Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s your house, Leesha. You keep whatever company you like, but you want the whole story, it’s just us four.’

  Leesha gestured at Renna with her chin. The young woman caught the look, her eyes fierce. ‘Didn’t you beg me not to paint blackstem wards on anyone?’

  Arlen sighed. ‘Ent the first time I been wrong about somethin’, Leesha Paper. Don’t reckon it’s the last, either.’

  ‘How far to your palace?’ Amanvah asked, as their carriage trundled along the road into Deliverer’s Hollow.

  ‘Palace?’ Rojer asked.

  Amanvah bowed. ‘Forgive me, husband, I forget you have no palaces in the North. Your … manse?’

  ‘Ah …’ Rojer said. ‘I don’t exactly have one of those, either. I live at Smitt’s.’

  ‘I do not know this word,’ Amanvah said. ‘What is smitz?’

  ‘Smitt,’ Rojer said. ‘Is a person. He owns the inn.’

  ‘And you live at this … roadhouse Waxing and Wane?’ Amanvah was incredulous.

  ‘What?’ Rojer asked. ‘They change the sheets for me once a week and I never have to cook a meal.’

  ‘Unacceptable,’ Amanvah said.

  ‘Well it’s going to have to be,’ Rojer snapped, ‘because it’s all I’ve got! I told your father I had no money, and I meant it. Bad enough you picked a fight with the count, but now you need to piss on how I live?’

  Amanvah bowed. ‘Apologies, husband. It was not my intent to offend. I meant only that one so touched by Everam should live in a home worthy of his greatness.’

  Rojer smiled. It was hard to argue with that.

  Much of the town had gathered by the time they reached the inn, but Rojer paid them little mind. He wanted his wives settled as soon as possible so he could meet the Painted Man after dusk and find out just what in the Core was going on.

  ‘Going to need a few extra rooms,’ he told Smitt.

  Sikvah took his hand, gently pulling him back. ‘Please, husband. Such transactions are beneath you. If you will allow me …’ She stepped ahead of him, beginning to negotiate in much the same manner Shamavah had on the road. Smitt looked shocked at first, then exasperated, then conciliatory. In the end, Sikvah counted out a number of gold coins into his hand, and Smitt turned, calling to one of his sons. Haggling seemed to be something Krasians had in their blood.

  ‘The merchant must eject some of his residents and prepare our rooms,’ Sikvah said on her return. ‘We are invited to wait here or in our husband’s old room.’

  ‘Old?’ Rojer asked. ‘I loved that room. Best acoustics in the whole ripping inn.’

  ‘It was not fitting, husband,’ Sikvah said, and Rojer sighed. This was not an argument he could hope to win.

  The front door opened, and a group of Jongleurs entered, easily visible by their instrument cases and bright motley. A young woman was with them, and the sight of her filled him with a horrible guilt. Kendall, his apprentice who had nearly lost her life to his stupidity.

  A memory flashed in his mind, Gared carrying Kendall, cut and bloody, from the battlefield. He shook his head to clear it.

  ‘Rojer!’ Kendall cried, rushing over to him and wrapping him in a hug. ‘They said you were back! We were so worrieAUGH!’

  She was pulled away from him, and Rojer saw Sikvah twisting the young woman’s wrist with two fingers, immobilizing her as easily as she might an impudent toddler. ‘Who are you, to lay hands on my husband?’

  Kendall looked at her, and even through her grimace of pain, a look of surprise took her. ‘Husband?’

  ‘Sikvah!’ Rojer snapped. ‘Release her! This is Kendall, one of my apprentices.’

  Sikvah let go of Kendall’s wrist immediately and the young woman snatched it back, rubbing. Sikvah and Amanvah began circling her like wolves, appraising her from every angle.

  ‘You greenlanders allow your slaves great liberty,’ Amanvah noted, ‘but she seems fit enough. How many others do you own?’

  ‘Ent his slave,’ Kendall snapped. ‘Nobody owns me.’

  ‘She’s right,’ Rojer said. ‘She and the other apprentices are all free folk, and Kendall is the most talented of the lot.’

  His wives continued to circle the girl as the other Jongleurs came over. Rojer knew them all by reputation if not personally. Their leader was Hary Roller. Once, early in his career, Hary had played while standing upon a great ball. He hadn’t done the trick since, but the name Roller had forever stuck.

  Hary was old now, retired from performance and teaching, but he was respected both as a composer and a cellist. Guildmaster Cholls had promised masters, but it seemed the established ones had little interest in risking themselves in the Hollow. Sly Sixstring was even older, the guitar over his shoulder worn and weathered. Rojer had seen him perform once and was stunned at the nimbleness of Sly’s wrinkled fingers, but that was a decade ago at least.

  The others were younger, performers Rojer had been competing with for street corners little more than a year ago. Wil Piper had still been an apprentice then. Rojer wondered if he’d been elevated just for agreeing to this assignment.

  Hary shook Rojer’s hand. ‘We’re happy to see you returned, Master Halfgrip. In your absence, I have been following your agreement with the guildmaster and teaching sound signs to your apprentices. They were … undisciplined, but I have made some progress …’

  Undisciplined. Rojer snorted. That was one way to put it. They were a bunch of bumpkins he had sat in a circle and taught to play by ear. There had been none of the
formal training of the guild, something Roller was known to be a stickler for.

  But those days were coming to a close.

  ‘Forget all that,’ Rojer said, reaching into his satchel for the pages of music he had prepared, outlining the Song of Waning. He slapped them against the man’s chest, and Roller reflexively took them. ‘New song I need everyone to learn. Ask your apprentices to make lots of copies.’

  Roller looked at the pages, startled. ‘A theory …?’

  ‘Tested,’ Rojer said. ‘Worked for my trio. Let’s see if it works for others.’

  Rojer’s room was just as he’d left it, but after so much time in the Palace of Mirrors and the best rooms of every inn from here to the Bounty, he saw it in a new light. It was small and cramped, just a bed to flop on and a sundry trunk.

  Always keep your bags packed, Arrick used to say.

  Rojer went to the trunk and began rummaging in it, but Sikvah put a hand on his arm. ‘Please, husband. Let the servants handle that. Your labour shames us.’

  ‘Don’t have servants,’ Rojer said.

  ‘Then I will have Smitt’s people move your things when the new rooms are prepared.’ Sikvah pulled at him until he relented and went to sit on the bed.

  He looked at Amanvah. ‘What did you mean, “As it should be”?’

  ‘Eh?’ she asked.

  ‘Back in the count’s hall,’ Rojer said. ‘When I said I had no patron, and needed none.’

  Amanvah bowed. ‘I have cast the bones since our … disagreement, husband. They tell me you must be free of fealty if your power is to remain pure. I apologize for doubting you. Sikvah and I are yours now. Whatever path you take in your battle with the alagai, we will follow. This is why my father wed us to you, and we will no longer forsake you. If you command we strip to our coloured silk and sing in the night, we will do this.’

  ‘And if I command you sing The Battle of Cutter’s Hollow?’ Rojer asked.

  ‘We will do as you command, and find ways to make you regret it.’ Amanvah winked. ‘We are your wives, not slaves.’