Ahmann nodded. ‘That is good. You will leave behind men to guard the Sharach lands in Everam’s Bounty as they march to claim more in the land of the lake men.’
Abban wanted to laugh aloud at the stricken look that crossed Chusen’s face. Every warrior he left behind would mean less spoils for his tribe, and might mean Damaji Fashin of the Halvas passing him in the order from the Skull Throne. He glanced at Fashin, and saw the Damaji smiling openly at the decree, though he was wise enough to say nothing.
Abban’s mind began to wander as Ahmann went over the details of the plan with them – at least, the details they needed to know. The meat of the plan, including the exact timing and location of their strike, would be given when there was no chance for the fools to bungle it.
He eyed the Skull Throne, wondering what the point of covering it in electrum had been. It seemed such an enormous waste.
Abban had given the Damajah the entire mine’s electrum as commanded. He’d expected the metal to disappear, put to some secret purpose, or at the least to reappear as a suit of armour for Ahmann. Instead, it had been dumped over his throne, a meaningless show of power.
Or was it? He snuck a glance at the Damajah. The woman was not given to empty displays. There were few who could display better, but it was never meaningless.
It mattered little. Abban had delivered the metal, but he had not been idle in locating more, starting with the mine where Rennick first encountered the alloy – a gold mine marbled with veins of silver that still yielded a fair bit of electrum each year. Abban had bought the mine through an intermediary, and throughout Everam’s Bounty his agents were tracking and buying the jewels and coins made from it. Already, he had amassed a considerable amount of the precious metal, using it to replace the retractable blade on his crutch and hammering some into filigree for the weapons and armour of his most trusted kha’Sharum.
The audience was soon over. Ahmann was first to leave, followed quickly by Jayan, Asome, and the Damaji. Abban turned to follow in their wake.
‘Abban,’ the Damajah called, and Abban froze. Ahead, Hasik closed the great doors and stood in front of them with his arms crossed, blocking his path.
Abban turned to watch Inevera descend from the Skull Throne’s dais, his eyes quickly moving to avoid the hypnotic sway of her hips and lock on her eyes.
You have your own beautiful wives, he reminded himself. This one displays her wares openly, but the price of looking is too high.
He bowed. ‘Damajah. How may this humble khaffit be of service to you?’
Inevera drew close to him. She was too close for Hasik to overhear their words, but at her back was Shanvah. By all accounts the kai’Sharum’ting was every bit as deadly as Ahmann’s brutal bodyguard.
‘Have your metalworkers made any further progress?’ Inevera asked. ‘The last batch of alloy they sent was worthless.’
Abban shrugged. ‘Alloying the metals is simple enough, but finding the right mixture is a slow process. The fires of Ala may have introduced agents we have not anticipated.’
‘We need more,’ Inevera said.
‘I see that,’ Abban said. ‘Coating a throne requires a great deal of metal. Will you do the steps next?’
‘What I do with it is not your concern, khaffit,’ Inevera said. Her voice was serene, but there was a warning in it nonetheless.
Abban bowed. ‘As you say, Damajah. Nor is it my concern what you do with your eunuchs, though I am told by the city guard that three of them were found dead, washed up on the shore of the river.’ He smiled at her, and knew immediately he had taken the game too far.
At a gesture from Inevera, Shanvah stepped in. Her punch was little more than a flicker, but pain blossomed in his face and he found himself falling onto his back.
Abban clutched his nose, eyes widening at how quickly his hand was covered in blood. He pulled a kerchief from his vest pocket, but that, too, became saturated. ‘The Shar’Dama Ka has said he will kill any man that strikes me.’
‘Sharum’ting are not men, khaffit.’ Inevera smiled, her full lips turning up beneath her translucent veil as she swept a hand at the chamber doors. ‘But by all means, hobble out and tell Ahmann that you insulted me and I had Shanvah strike you. Let us see what he will do.’
When Abban did not move, she snatched the kerchief from his hand, holding the blood-drenched cloth before his eyes. ‘This is the least of what will happen the next time you are insolent with me.’
Abban swallowed as she and the warrior woman strode into her private pillow chamber. He might not fear the Damaji, but Ahmann’s First Wife was another matter entirely. His plot to install Leesha Paper as her rival had failed, and now he had made an enemy he would wish on no one.
When the door to the pillow chamber closed behind the women, Hasik honked a laugh. ‘Not so bold now, eh, khaffit?’
Abban looked at him coldly. ‘Open the door, dog, or I will tell Ahmann this bloodied nose came from you.’
Rage blossomed across Hasik’s face, soothing the pain in Abban’s own. Abban hid his smile as the huge warrior opened the door. Hasik would come soon to collect payment for the indignity, but this time Abban looked forward to it.
My metalworkers have made another attempt at reproducing the sacred metal, Abban wrote to Ahmann later in the day. Send a strong-backed messenger you trust to retrieve the Damajah’s sample at day’s end.
And Ahmann, as he often did, sent Hasik.
Abban’s daughter Cielvah was working alone in the front of his pavilion in the New Bazaar when the warrior was spotted coming their way. Curfew was looming and the bazaar nearly empty, most of the pavilions and storefronts closed for the night. Abban watched through a pinhole as Hasik entered the tent. Cielvah was young and beautiful, intelligent with skilled hands. She had a bright future, and Abban loved her dearly. Something Hasik had known when he raped her. It was never about Cielvah. It was about hurting Abban.
The girl gasped when she saw Hasik. She scurried behind the counter and down a short hallway where she disappeared through a canvas flap. Like a cat after a mouse, Hasik followed, leaping nimbly over the counter in pursuit and disappearing through the flap an instant after the girl.
Abban heard a door slam, and counted to ten before following, taking his time with the walk. His leg still pained him even after so many years, and he saw no need to tax it.
Hasik was still struggling when he entered the room, shutting the heavy door behind him. The pavilion abutted a large warehouse, and Hasik had unwittingly stepped inside. Two Sharach kha’Sharum had the situation well in hand with their alagai-catchers. The hollow poles were twice the length of Hasik’s arms, threaded with woven steel cable, the end loops tight around his neck. Hasik grasped one in each fist, trying to keep them from tightening, but it was useless against the skilled Sharach warriors. When he pulled they pushed, and vice versa, all the while tightening the cords. Abban watched in pleasure as Hasik’s struggles slowed, and he dropped to his knees, face reddening.
Cielvah came over to him, and Abban put an arm around her. ‘Ah, Hasik, how good of you to visit! I trust you remember my daughter Cielvah? You took her virginity last spring. I have promised her a front seat to what I do to you in return.’
Still unmarried, Cielvah did not have a veil to lift as she spat in the Sharum’s face. Hasik tried to lunge at her, but the Sharach held him fast, choking him back down to his knees. Abban raised a hand, and another of his kha’Sharum, standing invisibly in the shadows, came forward. The Nanji were renowned for their skill at torture, and the small man was no exception. He moved with easy grace, silent as death save for the ring of the sharp, curved blade he drew. Hasik’s eyes bulged at the sight, but he was not allowed air to protest.
The small man considered. ‘This would be easier if he were on his back.’ His voice was low and quiet, barely a whisper. ‘And his limbs held tight.’
Abban nodded, clapping his hands loudly. The Sharach twisted their poles, throwing Hasik flat onto his ba
ck as the doors opened and a number of black-clad women entered – Abban’s wives and daughters. Many wore marriage veils, while others, like Cielvah, had their faces uncovered. More than one of them had fallen prey to Hasik’s attentions over the years.
Four of the women carried alagai-catchers of their own, and in short order they had looped Hasik’s wrists and ankles, pulling tight. The Sharum was strong as only a warrior who regularly felt the magical rush of killing alagai could be, but the women had numbers and leverage, and he was held fast, even without the Sharach. The two kha’Sharum eased tension of their nooses, that all might better enjoy Hasik’s screams and frantic, impotent thrashing as the Nanji sliced open his pantaloons.
The women all laughed at the sight of Hasik’s limp member as it was revealed. Abban, too, chuckled, knowing the presence of the women multiplied Hasik’s pain and humiliation a thousandfold. ‘This pathetic thing is what my women fear when you visit my pavilion?’
‘Dogs have tiny members as well, Father,’ Cielvah said. ‘That does not mean I wish to be humped by one.’
Abban nodded. ‘My daughter has a point,’ he told Hasik. He nodded to the Nanji. ‘Cut it off.’
Hasik shrieked, thrashing again, but it did him no good as the women held him fast. ‘I am the Deliverer’s ajin’pal! He will not let you get away with this, khaffit!’
‘Tell him, Whistler!’ Abban laughed using the mocking nickname Hasik had been given after Qeran knocked out one of his teeth for calling Abban a pig-eater’s son when they were boys in sharaj. ‘Tell the whole world a khaffit cut your manhood away, and watch as they snigger at your back!’
‘I will kill you for this!’ Hasik growled.
Abban shook his head. ‘I am of more value to the Deliverer than you, Hasik.’ He gestured to the three kha’Sharum. ‘In his wisdom, he has given me warriors to see to my protection.’ He smiled. ‘And to protect the honour of my women.’
Hasik opened his mouth again, but Abban gestured and the Sharach choked off his words. ‘The time for talk is over, old friend. We were taught in sharaj to embrace pain. I hope you took the lessons better than I did.’
The Nanji worked quickly, skilled as a dama’ting as he wound a tight cord around shaft and sack both, cutting them away and dropping them onto a plate as he inserted a metal tube to drain waste and sewed up the wound with practised efficiency. When he was finished, he lifted the plate. ‘How shall I dispose of this, master?’
Abban looked to Cielvah. ‘The dogs have not yet been fed today, Father,’ she noted.
Abban nodded. ‘Take your sisters and see that they have something to chew on.’ The girl took the plate and the other women dropped their alagai-catchers to follow her out the door, all of them laughing and talking amiably among themselves.
‘I will encourage them to be discreet, my friend,’ Abban said, ‘but you know how women are. Tell a secret to one and soon they all hear of it. Before long, every woman in the bazaar will know to no longer fear Hasik, the man with a woman’s slit between his legs.’
He tossed a heavy leather sack at the warrior, eliciting a grunt of pain as it struck his stomach with a clink. ‘Take that to the Damajah on your way back to the palace.’
Jardir followed Inevera down the winding stair leading from their private quarters to the underpalace. He had never had need to visit the underpalace – he had not hidden in the night for over a quarter century – and was mildly fascinated as they descended. Wardlight lit their way, but Jardir’s crownsight was all he needed. He could see the eunuch Watchers hiding in the shadows as easily as he could in brightest day. Their auras were clean, intensely loyal to his wife. He was glad of this. Her safety was everything.
She led him through twisting tunnels, freshly hewn from the rock, and several more doors, leaving even the eunuch guards behind. At last, they arrived at a small private chamber where a man and a woman sat on pillows, sharing tea.
Inevera pulled the door closed behind them as the couple quickly got to their feet. The woman looked much as any other dal’ting, swathed in black robes that hid all but her eyes and hands. The man was in a khaffit’s tan and pushed hard on a cane as he rose. His aura ended abruptly halfway down one leg.
Cripple, Jardir noted, not having to ask who they were. Their auras told him everything, but he allowed Inevera the niceties all the same.
‘Honoured husband,’ she said. ‘Please allow me to present my father, Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, and his Jiwah Ka, my mother, Manvah.’
Jardir bowed deeply. ‘Mother, Father. It is an honour to meet you at last.’
The couple bowed in return. ‘The honour is ours, Deliverer,’ Manvah said.
‘A mother need not cover her face when alone with her husband and children,’ Jardir said. Manvah nodded, removing her hood and veil. Jardir smiled, seeing many of the features he loved in the woman’s face. ‘I can see where the Damajah gets her legendary beauty.’
Manvah dropped her eyes politely, but she was not truly moved by the words, sincere though they were. Her aura was sharp, focused. He could sense her pride in her daughter, and the respect Inevera gave her in return, but nevertheless there was discomfort in the room. Jardir could see it dancing in the auras of his wife and her parents, a discordant web of anger and fear and shame and love that doubled and redoubled on itself, all of it centring on Kasaad.
He looked at his khaffit father-in-law, peering deeper into his aura. The man’s body was covered in the telltale scars of a warrior, but the wound at his knee was not from the rending claws or tearing teeth of an alagai. It was even – surgical. ‘You were once a Sharum,’ he guessed, ‘but you did not lose your leg in battle.’ The words caused a spike in the man’s aura, yielding another flood of information. ‘You lost the black over a crime. The leg was removed as punishment.’
‘How did you …’ Inevera began.
Jardir looked at her, reading the waves of emotion connecting her to her father. ‘A crime your wife and daughter long to forgive you for, but dare not.’ He looked back to Kasaad. ‘What was this unforgivable crime?’
Shock registered in Inevera’s and Manvah’s auras, but it was worse for Kasaad, who paled in the wardlight, sweat running down the side of his face. He leaned heavily on his cane and lowered himself to his knees with as much dignity as he could manage, then put his hands before him and pressed his forehead into the thick carpet.
‘I struck my dama’ting daughter and murdered my eldest son for being push’ting, Deliverer,’ he said. ‘I thought myself righteous, defending Kaji’s law even as I broke it myself with drink and behaviour that brought far more dishonour to my family than anything my son could ever have done. Soli was a brave Sharum who sent many alagai back into the abyss. I was a coward who got drunk in the Maze and hid in the lower levels where alagai seldom wandered.’
He looked up, his eyes wet with tears, and turned to Inevera. ‘My daughter was within her rights to have me killed for my crimes, but she deemed it a greater punishment to let me live with my shame and the loss of the limb I used to strike her.’
Jardir nodded, looking to Inevera and her mother. Manvah’s face was streaked with tears to match her husband’s. Inevera’s eyes were dry, but pain streaked her aura as clearly as tears would her face. This wound had been open too long.
He looked back to Kasaad. ‘Everam’s mercy is infinite, Kasaad son of Kasaad. No crime is unforgivable. I can see in your heart you understand and regret your actions, and the loss of your son has punished you more over the years than the loss of your leg and honour combined. You have not strayed since from Everam’s path. If you wish it, I will return your blacks to you, and you may die with honour.’
Kasaad looked sadly at his wife and daughter, then shook his head. ‘I thought there was shame in being khaffit, Deliverer, but in truth I have never been happier, nor seen Everam’s path more clearly. I am crippled and cannot serve you in Sharak Ka, so I beg you let me die as khaffit, that I might strive to be better in my next life
.’
Jardir nodded. ‘As you wish. Everam makes the souls of khaffit wait outside Heaven until they have gained the wisdom to return to the Ala with a chance to be better men. I will pray for you, but I do not think the Creator will make you wait long when your time comes.’
Kasaad’s aura changed then, a weight lifting. The web among the three changed, but it was still without proper harmony for a family in Everam’s grace.
He turned to Manvah, peering into her heart as well. ‘You have not been as man and wife since the crime, unable to bear the touch of the man who killed your son.’
Manvah’s calm, focused aura had gone cold with fear and awe. She, too, got down on her knees and put her head to the floor. ‘It is so, Deliverer.’
‘Even the wife of a khaffit must be a wife,’ Jardir said. ‘And so you must decide now. Either find forgiveness in your heart, or I will dissolve your marriage.’
Manvah looked at her husband, and Jardir could see she was peeling back the years, remembering the man he had been and comparing it with who he was now. Slowly, tentatively, she reached her hand out. She shivered when it touched Kasaad’s hand, and he took it squeezing tightly. ‘I do not think that will be necessary, Deliverer.’
‘I swear,’ Kasaad said, ‘with the Deliverer as my witness, that I will be worthy of your touch, wife.’
‘You already are, son of Kasaad,’ Jardir said. ‘I am sorry that the cost of your path to wisdom brought so much pain to you and those around you, but wisdom is no small thing to be bargained for like a basket in the bazaar.’
He looked at the aura the two now shared and nodded, satisfied. He turned to Inevera. ‘Your mourning does Soli honour, beloved, but remember that you mourn not for him but for yourself. I regret I could not know him, but if your brother was half the man he is in your heart, he is twice the man Everam asks we be to join Him in Heaven. Likely Soli asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji has already supped at the Creator’s table and been returned to the Ala to aid our people in their time of need.’
The Daylight War Page 74