The Daylight War

by Peter V. Brett

  The sun was still low in the sky when Jardir paused and looked out over the mown field. Inevera had found a basket weaver in the bazaar to deliver a cartload, and she herself led the work of harvesting the wheat, carrying a full basket as she directed women and children like she had been working the fields her entire life.

  She was beautiful in the morning light, almost demure in opaque linen pants and a tight vest, maroon trimmed with gold. The khaffit and chin looked at her with worship in their eyes, and bent their backs all the harder at seeing her toil.

  He looked out over the fields, seeing dama and Sharum working side by side with the lesser castes. It was an inspiring sight, a taste of the unity Kaji dreamed of, the common cause that would allow mankind to throw back the alagai and win Sharak Ka.

  He prayed it would be enough.

  ‘… complete destruction of the Mehnding apple orchards,’ Abban said, ‘and over two thousand acres of pasture.’

  Jardir sat the Skull Throne, stinking of the greasy ash that covered his clothes and smudged his skin. The burns were already healed, but he listened with a heavy heart to Abban’s private morning report after the third night of Waning.

  His fears proved true the second night as the alagai princes, their original plan thwarted and unwilling to attempt it again lest they meet him on the field, moved instead to destroy his people through starvation.

  The many rivers and streams throughout his fertile lands had proven natural firebreaks, and he had led warriors to destroy the flame demons and fight fires wherever they might appear, but even his powers were not infinite, and the depredations were devastating. Jardir lost count of the tonnage as Abban read list after list.

  Abban turned over the next sheet. ‘In the Krevakh lands, there was a loss of …’

  Jardir felt as if he might burst out of his skin if he had to sit and listen another moment. He stood abruptly, striding down the steps to pace the court floor. ‘Just tell me, khaffit,’ he growled. ‘How bad is it?’

  Abban shrugged. ‘If the loss is done, then your people will survive, Deliverer.’ He met Jardir’s eyes. ‘But if the loss continues, month after month, half the people of Everam’s Bounty will lie dead before the winter snows recede, all without the alagai raising a claw.’

  Jardir put his face in one of his hands.

  ‘You do have two advantages, however,’ Abban said.

  Jardir looked up at him. ‘Advantages?’

  ‘Your people see you as the true son of Everam now,’ Abban said. ‘Even the chin whisper your name with awe, spreading the tales of your efforts to protect them, day and night. Working in the fields alongside them was a masterstroke.’

  ‘I didn’t do it to win hearts,’ Jardir said.

  ‘It does not matter why you did it, my friend,’ Abban said. ‘With that gesture, and the body of the alagai prince to parade before the Damaji, they will follow you, Krasian and greenlander alike.’

  ‘Follow me where?’ Jardir asked.

  ‘Why, to Lakton,’ Abban smiled. ‘The fields in the chin lands to the east of Everam’s Bounty are still ripening.’

  The Royal Consort waited in the cave as dawn approached. The dark was still enough to leave the surface stock blind, and the lesser drones could hunt for hours more, but to the coreling prince, used to the utter blackness of the mind court, the sky was brightening at an alarming rate.

  He had waited purposely until the last moment to summon the others as the last night of Waning drew to a close. They would be forced to materialize outside the cave, weakening in the light as they approached. The consort had drawn powerful wardings around the cave and the fissure at its rear, focusing the magic venting from the Core and ensuring no other could Draw upon it.

  Two of the six minds he had brought with him to the surface were dead – the most powerful, no less, but it was still wise to take every precaution when facing so many of his brethren so far from the Queen’s influence.

  It was an advantage to be rid of two potential rivals, but not worth drawing the Queen’s displeasure this close to a laying. The other four minds seemed heroes by comparison, fighting on even as his plans failed, sapping the enemy’s strength. The experience and prestige they gained positioned them well to take the place of his lost rivals.

  He Drew hard on the vent as the four approached, holding as much power as he could bear. He made no effort to mask the energy, letting the others see and fear it. His mimics surrounded him, but a simple forbiddance kept the rival mimics outside the cave.

  The day star approaches, brother, one of the demons thought.

  We should return to court and report to the Queen, another agreed.

  The consort hissed. You will report first to me.

  We have given you our reports, one of the princes sent to the North argued. He was older than the other, and stronger. His will had grown considerably since coming to the surface. He masked his aura well, but the consort could sense his tension.

  At a thought, one of his mimics lashed out, wrapping a tentacle around the prince’s throat and hauling him in close. The consort did not change his stance, but he readied his power. If they were to strike in unison, it would be now.

  But the others stood frozen. They might hate the consort even more than the day star, but they hated one another as well, and none would risk his own life without assurance of victory.

  The consort caressed the knobbed skin of the prince’s cranium. You have given your reports, but have not told all. Did you think me a fool?

  The young mind struggled, no match for the mimic’s strength. His cranium pulsed, attempting to seize control of the drone, but the consort’s will was second only to that of the Queen herself. The mimic tightened the tentacle around the prince’s throat, and his efforts to escape ceased.

  What happened the night your brother died? the consort asked.

  We captured the unifier, the prince admitted, drawing a hiss from his cohort. The princes sent south tensed at the words, craniums pulsing as they conversed.

  Then why is your brother gone while the unifier continues to kill drones and draw humans to serve him? the consort demanded.

  We walked his mind to learn of his power, the prince thought, but he escaped before we could bring him to you.

  A second lie? the consort asked. The prince’s lidless eyes widened, but he had no time to protest before the mimic slashed a talon, opening his cranium wide. The consort reached inside, tearing bits of the prince’s mind, feeding as the others watched with horror and jealousy mingled in their auras.

  As he fed, the memories and will of the prince transferred to him, and he learned in an instant everything they had taken from the unifier’s mind. The consort was nearly overwhelmed by the pleasure and power of it. He had feasted on the minds of his brethren numerous times over the millennia, and it never failed to leave him dizzy with strength. Outside, the prince’s mimic shrieked and began to lose cohesion.

  The consort looked to the other prince that had shared in the deception. He stood frozen with fear, no doubt wondering if he would share his brother’s fate.

  Go, the consort ordered, and the prince did not question his fortune, backing quickly out of the cave and fleeing to the Core, taking his mimic with him.

  The other two princes stood motionless as the consort digested the memories of their brother. One licked his teeth, looking at the broken cranium.

  The consort was shocked to learn that the unifier had stolen much of his power by consuming drones. He had not known it was possible for the surface stock to store Core magic in their bodies and learn to Draw. It seemed as impossible as a rock drone debating philosophy, but there was no denying it.

  And now he knew, too, the answer to the question that had drawn them all to the surface in the first place. The fighting wards had been found buried in the sand to the south.

  The Northern unifier has stolen a bit of our power, but I have his measure now, he thought to the others. There is nothing he can do we cannot. We must si
mply devise the right lure to draw him off his greatwards.

  No mind would be so foolish, one of the princes thought.

  This one has foolishness to spare, the consort assured him. He is not nearly as evolved as he thinks, and he has led us to the source of the uprising. He sent a mental image of the lost city of the last unifier.

  We must go there on the next cycle and grind every last stone to powder, the consort thought. I will shit on the unifier’s corpse myself, for the trouble he caused us.

  The other minds gave their agreement, and the consort met their eyes, letting them see him in the fullness of power.

  Open your minds to me, he ordered. It was not something he would dare back in the mind court, but these princes knew well that they would never see the court again if they did not comply, and it was a better fate by far than having their minds consumed. As one, they lowered their defences, letting the consort sift their memories of the last three nights.

  They had been in contact with their brother when the heir appeared, wearing the cursed crown and driving his vicious weapon into the prince’s chest.

  The consort felt a chill of fear as he relived the memory. The Northerner was powerful, but his power was no more than the weakest of princelings. The heir had done what he feared most and unlocked the full power of the artefacts.

  He had become the mind hunter, like the withered corpse out in the desert.

  How many of the consort’s brethren and ancestors had fallen before that one? The Queen herself had not been alive then, but he was. He had been juvenile and weak, surviving more by luck than cunning, but he remembered well the terror that permeated the air of the mind court.

  The consort dismissed the others with a nod, letting them flee the surface before gathering his mimics and riding the currents of the vent back to the Core.

  The heir must be killed quickly, before he could set up a dynasty.

  29

  Eunuch

  333 AR Autumn

  ‘I have taken the alagai princes’ measure,’ Ahmann said, ‘and found them wanting.’ He pointed to the foot of the dais. The curtains of his throne room had been pulled tight and the room lit by oil lamps that he might display the bulbous head of the demon prince, staked there. He had ordered Abban to commission masons to brick the windows permanently.

  His counsellors had taken it in turn to stare into the huge bulbous black eyes of their enemy, each hiding his revulsion behind a forced scoff of derision. Abban could not blame them. The demon was not nearly so large or full of teeth and claws as many of its other brethren, but its otherworldly stare was unnerving. Its high conical head, vestigial horns, and almost gentle features were not those of a mindless killer. It was a thinker. A planner.

  Not for the first time, Abban thanked Everam that he was a crippled khaffit and denied the night.

  He adjusted his camel crutch into a more comfortable position as his friend gave the speech the two of them had so carefully prepared. Though he often stood on the dais where he could advise his master, they had agreed that for this decree Abban should remain on the floor, that none should suspect his involvement. Ahmann would get his way regardless, but the clerics would fall into line much more quickly if they thought the plans were coming from the Shar’Dama Ka and not a spineless khaffit.

  They think me spineless, but I can make them dance like puppets. He kept his eyes respectfully down, but he had learned to see much in periphery watching the clerics as Ahmann spoke.

  ‘But we must not grow complacent,’ Ahmann went on. ‘The return of the sons of Alagai Ka signals the beginning of Sharak Ka, and Sharak Ka cannot be won until Sharak Sun is brought to a close. The alagai cannot break our defences, but they can wear them down, burning fields and killing livestock until we are too weak to fight, even as the greenlanders gird themselves against us. To win both wars, we must continue to expand, bringing the Northern cities one by one under Evejan law, levying their men and confiscating their resources.’

  Damaji Aleverak nodded. ‘The Daylight War must be won, and we grow soft in Everam’s Bounty.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Ashan said. Technically he spoke for the council, but all knew he was Ahmann’s puppet. Aleverak was the oldest and most venerated of the Damaji, the only man who had fought Ahmann for the Skull Throne and lived to speak of it. All treated the ancient cleric with deference, and his words were given enormous weight.

  This was why Ahmann, when he met with them privately earlier in the day, ordered Aleverak to speak first, and Ashan second.

  Ahmann thumped the butt of his spear on the dais. ‘We will attack Lakton in two months.’ On cue, Abban furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

  ‘You frown, khaffit,’ Ahmann said. ‘Do you doubt the wisdom of my plan?’

  All eyes turned to Abban, and he pretended to wilt under their glare. No doubt everyone in the room was praying for him to say something foolish that would cost him his favour with the Shar’Dama Ka.

  It was, Abban had to admit, a valid concern. He knew full well that should he ever publicly fall from Ahmann’s favour, every man in the room – not to mention the Damajah herself – would move immediately to dominate or kill him.

  ‘The Deliverer’s wisdom exceeds my own,’ Abban said, adding just the right bit of snivelling to his tone. ‘But your forces are stretched thin attempting to hold the land you have already taken. The cost—’

  ‘Do not listen to the cowardly words of this pig-eating khaffit, Father,’ Jayan cut in. ‘He spoke against your attack on Everam’s Bounty, as well.’ The other Damaji nodded, muttering their agreement.

  Pig-eating khaffit is redundant, you idiot, Abban thought. Khaffit literally meant ‘pig-eater’, for the Evejah forbade the eating of pork, and poor khaffit could often afford no other meat. Abban’s lip twitched imperceptibly as he resisted the urge to smirk. No man in this room had the slightest idea what they were missing. Pigs were such delicious animals, denied to all men simply because Kaji’s half brother had poisoned a suckling and set it before the Deliverer three thousand years ago. Kaji’s legendary strength had resisted death, but he had – most likely in a moment of pique after spending hours on the commode – declared pig unclean, denying countless generations of fools their sweet, tender meat.

  His mouth watered. He would have suckling pig tonight, and then have one of his wives spill his seed in some manner the clerics had seen fit to forbid.

  He looked at Jayan, unsurprised at the eager look in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. The boy was little more than an animal, enjoying conquest and plunder too much, and ruling too little. Killing men was far easier than killing alagai, and killing soft greenlanders easiest of all. Easy victories to add to his quite lacking list of accomplishments.

  He resisted the urge to shake his head. An accident of birth had dropped all the power and opportunity anyone could ever dream of in Jayan’s hands, and all he could think of was the size of his palace, and new ways for his toadies to flatter him.

  Asome and Asukaji kept their faces blank, but the two men had a language all their own – an elaborate mixture of subtle stances and gestures the lovers had no doubt concocted in the pillows – that allowed them to hold whole conversations without anyone around them knowing.

  Abban, after watching them for months, had only deciphered a fraction of the code, but he could guess the current content well enough. There were advantages and disadvantages to being left behind while his father and brother went off to war. Ashan would speak for the council, the Damaji ruling in concert with the Damajah in the Deliverer’s absence, but while the glory would go to those in the field, there was much Asome could do to increase his own power while they were gone.

  ‘And you, Asome?’ Jardir asked.

  Asome bowed ever so slightly in his elder brother’s direction. ‘I agree, Father. The time to strike is now. The khaffit’s concerns are not without merit, but they are small things in Everam’s great plan. You have lost much of the harvest to the alagai, and those losses will mou
nt. Taking more territory will mitigate this.’

  Ahmann turned to the other ten Damaji, and Abban studied them while their eyes were directed at the throne. The men stood in precise order based on the number of Sharum in their tribes, no matter that the difference was negligible in many cases. The line changed slightly every few months.

  After Ashan and Aleverak was Enkaji of the Mehnding. The Damaji had grown fat over the years, now that the path to the Skull Throne was beyond his reach. Ahmann still bore a grudge after Enkaji’s attempt to hide the Crown of Kaji from him, but Abban could not blame the man for that. He wouldn’t have just handed the thing over for free, either. Enkaji had survived since by marching in lockstep with Ashan and Aleverak, at least in court.

  ‘The Daylight War is the purview of Shar’Dama Ka,’ Enkaji said. ‘Who are we to question?’ He looked to the men standing next to him, the Damaji of the Krevakh and Nanji tribes. The Watcher Damaji wore night veils, even in the day, hiding their true identities to all save the leaders of the tribes they served and the Deliverer himself.

  As always, the men bowed and said nothing.

  Abban barely spared the other Damaji a glance. Ever since the lesson Ichach and Qezan had been given, the lesser Damaji had become even more obsequious than Enkaji. Only Kevera of the Sharach spoke out, meeting Ahmann’s eyes. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions on your wise plan, Deliverer, but it is true my tribe cannot spare men for a new assault and continue to hold what we have taken.’

  ‘Stay behind, then!’ Chusen of the Shunjin barked. ‘More spoils for the rest of us!’ Some of the other Damaji chuckled at that, but all of them wilted at the glare Ahmann threw them.

  ‘I am Sharach,’ Ahmann said, ‘by blood and marriage. I am Shunjin as well, and every tribe between. When you insult one another in my presence, you insult me.’

  Asome stroked the handle of his alagai tail, and Damaji Chusen paled. He fell to his knees, pressing his head against the floor. ‘I apologize, Deliverer. I meant no disrespect.’