The Desert Prince

by Peter V. Brett

  Demons can smell blood from great distance, Chikga taught, and will always go for the wounded first.

  I eye the spear lying just a few yards away, and take a sliding step along the wall toward it. “It will come for the Baiter. If you can hold it back for one pass, I can retrieve the spear.”

  Chadan nods. “Be swift.”

  The scent of blood is overpowering, even to me. The demon’s eyes are fixed on the Baiter as it tamps down, hindquarters wriggling in preparation to leap. Drool dripping from its jaws, the coreling ignores me completely as I take a second slow step toward the spear, and a third.

  But then the demon sniffs the air and turns its head, meeting my eyes with something frighteningly akin to recognition. The sick feeling in my stomach returns as the coreling shifts targets from the bleeding warrior to me.

  “Olive!” Chadan cries as it shrieks and charges, but I barely hear him, setting my feet and focusing on the sand demon as it leaps at me, claws leading.

  Let the terrain fight for you, Drillmaster Amaj taught. I grab the demon’s lead paw at the wrist and pivot, using the creature’s momentum to drive it into one of the lectric wards chiseled into the sandstone wall. Power shocks through the demon and into me as well.

  My limbs twitch and lock, no longer obeying my commands. I stumble and land on my backside as the stunned demon drops to the Maze floor, shaking itself vigorously as its internal magic works to heal this new injury.

  I struggle to rise as well, but the demon recovers first, leaping to bury its long, hooked foretalons in my flesh.

  But Chadan is there, interposing himself and catching the demon on the shield. He puts his shoulder into it, driving the coreling back into the lectric wards.

  This time I am ready as it drops away stunned, catching the thrashing creature and ignoring the scales and flailing talons that cut into my flesh. With a great heave I lift it over my head and I charge a few steps, throwing it into the center of the tarp covering one of the demon pits.

  The heavy cloth collapses, revealing wards designed to allow corespawn to pass in, but not back out. The sand demon disappears with a muffled shriek and a cloud of dust, hopelessly tangled as it hits the floor of the pit twenty feet below.

  I glance at the lacerations the demon gave me, but none of them are serious. I hurry to the injured Baiter. He has lost consciousness, but his heart is still beating. Chadan gapes as I lift him up, armor and all, and sling him across my shoulders, but he says nothing. He puts the Sharum’s spear through the loops of his shield and wears them on his back like a warrior as he scurries up the rope to help from the top as I climb with a man on my back.

  * * *

  —

  Other nie’Sharum, returning from their missions, have gathered as I make the walltop. Too stunned to help, they stare with wide eyes as I lay the warrior down and tend his wound while Chadan pulls up the remaining rope.

  Baiters, prone to injury and often needing to take cover alone while their compatriots ambush the demons at their heels, keep basic medical supplies in their belt pouches. In this man’s case, just forceps, some couzi, a needle and thread. I cleanse the wound as best I can, tying off the severed artery and veins in a manner I hope a more skilled healer can repair.

  “What did you do?” Thivan asks Chadan. “It is forbidden…”

  “You saw nothing!” Chadan barks, and the other boys take a step back at the ferocity of it.

  Gorvan slaps Thivan on the back of his head. “What did you see?”

  Thivan drops to his knees, hands on the walltop. “I saw nothing, Nie Ka.”

  The other boys all bow, nodding vigorously. “We saw nothing.”

  Chadan nods as if he expected nothing less. “Gorvan, report.”

  Gorvan looks down at the ambush pocket we’ve just climbed out of. “It wasn’t just here, Nie Ka. Traps all over the outer layers lie unsprung. The alagai seemed to know they were there, and the hidden warriors. Fighting has been fierce.”

  He’s here. The Krasians speak of the Father of Demons like a metaphorical being, but this is too much to ignore. Corelings are powerful, but the brightest aren’t known to be much smarter than an average hound. Certainly not enough to suddenly turn traps that have worked for hundreds of years on their builders.

  And that sand demon knew me.

  “Thivan,” Chadan says. “Rise and report.”

  “The majority of our forces evacuated in time, Nie Ka.” Thivan bows one last time before taking his hands off the ground and rising. “They are mustering behind the wall of the fourth layer, and will be ready when the Sharum Ka retakes the gate.”

  If he retakes it. I curse myself for the doubt, but it remains.

  “Return to the outer wall and assist the sling and scorpion teams,” Chadan orders. “Olive and I will bring this warrior to the dama’ting. Gorvan is Nie Ka until we return.”

  Chadan and I carry the injured Baiter along the walltops and down to the dama’ting pavilion just outside the Maze. Already it is filling with wounded, and I am surprised to see Belina herself leading the healers. She notices me, eyebrows lifting to disappear into her headscarf.

  “What happened?” she demands.

  I open my mouth, but Chadan speaks first. “This warrior was separated from his unit and injured. We threw him a rope and he managed to tie it around himself before passing out. We hauled him to the walltop and carried him here.”

  Belina looks skeptically at him for a moment, her eyes flicking to the lacerations on my flesh. Both of us are covered in the warrior’s blood, our white bidos soaked red, and I hope my blood will be taken for his.

  “Were you wounded?” Belina asks.

  “It is nothing, dama’ting,” Chadan says. “Shrapnel from a shattered stone dropped by a wind demon.”

  Belina stares a moment longer, then grunts, turning her attention to the Baiter’s wound. “Whose work is this?”

  “Mine,” I say, before Chadan can speak again. “I used his veil as a tourniquet and tied off the femoral artery and veins as best I could, but he has lost a great deal of blood.”

  Belina blinks as some of the other dama’ting look up at my words. “Where did you learn this?”

  “Gatherers’ University in Hollow,” I say. “I studied under Headmistress Darsy and Dama’ting Favah before I was…brought here.”

  “Favah,” I hear one of the other priestesses breathe, and they begin whispering to one another. It seems even here, half a world away among the tribe of her enemies, my ancient teacher has a reputation.

  Belina eyes me, and nods. “Favah has taught you well. You saved this man’s leg, and probably his life.” Like Mother’s rare praise, I am surprised and disgusted at how Belina’s words please me. “Go now, return to your duty. The night will be long, still.”

  * * *

  —

  “You lied to Belina.” I’m careful not to meet Chadan’s eyes as we head back to the Maze. I can tell he’s angry, even if he’s careful not to let it show. I just don’t understand why.

  “A second sin to cover the first,” Chadan says. “Twice, tonight, I’ve had to save you from yourself.”

  “That warrior would be dead otherwise,” I say. “You said yourself it was our duty to go where the fighting was thickest. To what end, if not to help?”

  “You may not believe in Everam, but I do,” Chadan says. “The Evejah forbids the unblooded to set foot in the Maze.”

  “Then why did you follow?” I demand. “You were willing to let the warrior die. Why break the law for me?”

  Chadan spreads his hands. “Because we’re brothers.”

  “No, we’re not!” I snap. “This is your home. The nie’Sharum are your brothers. I was kidnapped and dragged here against my will to be your ripping bride. I’m not one of you. Not Majah or Evejan, and I don’t need to follow your rules.”
/>
  “Then why did you leap into the Maze to save a Majah warrior?” Chadan demands. “If we’re your goalers, why risk yourself for one of us?”

  “Because I’ll be corespawned before I stand by and let a demon eat someone when I could stop it.” The last words come out in a growl. I feel my heart pounding, my anger building. I meet Chadan’s eyes now, and wonder if the time has come to challenge him once and for all.

  He sees the challenge in my eyes, but raises his hands, palms open. “And that’s why I followed. Brother or no, your honor was boundless, Olive asu Ahmann am’Paper am’Hollow. What kind of man would I be if I let you face the alagai alone?”

  The words break through my anger. I see in his eyes he means them. That sand demon nearly killed me. Chadan saved my life in the Maze, then lied to save it again. Why am I arguing with him?

  “Rules are like a privy, my Tikka says,” I tell him. “They keep us feeling civilized, but they get too full of shit if you don’t empty the pot now and again.”

  Chadan laughs, and something of the tension between us eases. “Just how strong are you?”

  I’m not expecting the question, and it cuts too close to my other secrets. Micha warned me of this. “I don’t know. How strong are you?”

  Chadan stops walking, and I am forced to stop and look at him. “I’m not a fool, son of Ahmann. Your father is Shar’Dama Ka, and your strength is…inhuman. I felt it the first time we fought. You leap off twenty-foot walls and throw sand demons like children.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know if it was my father or my mother. She used hora magic while I was in her womb. Perhaps too much. I’ve always been stronger than the other children, but not as strong as a demon. It was thrashing so hard, I don’t think I could have held on if there hadn’t been a pit to throw it in.”

  Chadan resumes walking, long fast strides meant to return us quickly to the wall. “A useful trait for a warrior.”

  I hurry to match his pace. “I don’t think it’s much different from the charge warriors get when they spear a demon and absorb some of its magic.”

  I feel his eyes upon me again, but I keep my gaze ahead. As we reach the wall, we hear the horns signaling Iraven has retaken the gate, and both of us break into a run.

  The remainder of the night is spent running the walltops, calling out positions to warriors on the ground, delivering fresh spears and shields, evacuating wounded, and helping the fire teams reload.

  Wind demons attempt to take out the artillery with more dropped stones, but the fire teams have their measure now, slings filling the air with warded stones that punch through wings and crush the demons’ hollow bones, when the scorpions don’t simply blast them from the sky. The lone lightning demon does not appear again.

  Whatever my feelings about Iraven, I cannot deny he is a good leader to his men. He leads the most dangerous charges personally, his armor spattered with demon ichor.

  They sweep layer after layer of the Maze until every demon is dead or trapped in a pit to await the sun. The sands beyond the city still swarm with demons when the sky begins to purple, then they dissipate, slipping back down into the Core before the light can burn them away.

  “They’ll be back tomorrow night,” Drillmaster Chikga says.

  Iraven nods. “But we won’t be fooled this time.”

  30

  GREENBLOODS

  I smell the cookpots as we return to the barracks at dawn, but it isn’t gruel Tikka has over the fires. I inhale, and my dry mouth begins to water.

  “You did the work of men last night,” Chikga says, “and so you will eat like men. Soft couscous, piled with vegetables and spiced meat dripping with fat, as much as you can eat.”

  There is a moment of stunned hesitation, and then we are all hurrying to take a bowl, with the swiftest feet determining order, rather than rank. For perhaps the first time in his life, Faseek eats first.

  “There will be no family visits today,” Chikga announces. “It will be back to the walltops tonight. For now, eat and sleep. Those who wish a few hours of liberty can leave the grounds this afternoon.”

  Tikka fills my bowl, thrusting a pair of eating sticks to stand upright in the couscous. The sticks remind me of home, of Krasian Studies and Micha’s cooking. I pick them up expertly, taking a precise portion of couscous and bringing it to my mouth without spilling a grain.

  The flavor is like nothing I’ve ever tasted. Perhaps the weeks of gruel play a part, but the food seems to come alive in my mouth, salt and fat and filling starch, rich with hava. I take a bit of meat, lifting it to take a delicate bite.

  “You won’t do your princess reputation any good eating like that,” Chadan says, coming to join me. I look around and see he’s right. The other boys hold the tilted bowls right to their lips, using the sticks to simply shovel the food into their mouths.

  Chadan smiles, deftly spinning the sticks in his hand before lifting his own bowl to his lips and using them like a blunt instrument. I’m so hungry I don’t argue, joining the others in savaging the meal.

  Gorvan is the first to finish his bowl. The burly boy could break Tikka in half, but he approaches her as warily as he would a sand demon. We all watch, half expecting such largesse to be snatched away, but when Tikka wordlessly refills his bowl, a second line quickly forms.

  We retreat inside as the sun begins to heat the yard. My mind is still racing with the events of the previous night. The air is already warming as I lie on the stone floor. I think sleep will be difficult to find, but I am so tired, and my belly so blessedly full, that it comes as soon as I rest my head on my arms.

  In my dreams, I again see the sand demon turn its head to stare at me in recognition. This time I flee, racing along the walltops, but the coreling gives chase, calling my name.

  * * *

  —

  I wake with a start, bathed in sweat, and see that I am not alone. Thivan thrashes in his sleep, groaning as if in some illusory pain. Konin sits hugging his knees and staring at nothing, mind trapped in some horror of its own conjuring.

  All around the room, there are others in a similar state. We are all of us haunted by what we saw in the Maze. The drillmasters spoke at length of the infinite glory of alagai’sharak, but they never did justice to its horror.

  I glance around for Chadan, but he is nowhere to be found. The ban on family Waning visits obviously does not apply to the Damaji’s grandson.

  But I am Nie Domin, the second of none. If the Nie Ka isn’t here, it is my responsibility to lead the sharaj until he returns. I want to offer the boys comfort, but I am in sore need of it myself. I have no words to soothe their fears and pain.

  The best leader leads by example, Mother used to say, as often to coerce me into eating my vegetables at state dinners as to advise on governance. Still, as with many of Mother’s irritating lessons, I look back and realize she was right.

  I glance at the windows. It feels like I slept only minutes, but the angle of the light tells me it is midday. I inhale, and the scent of fresh, hava spiced meat is on the air. My stomach grumbles in response.

  I look at the other nie’Sharum, clinging to restless sleep, pacing, staring into space, and clap my hands as loud as I can, sending a resounding crack through the room. Boys start awake, or snap their heads around and crouch as if under attack.

  “Lunch is hot,” I say loudly. “Tikka will be unforgiving if we let it go cold. First come, first served, and every bowl will be full.”

  That shines a light through the bars of whatever mental prisons they were building. I crack my hands a second time to break them free. “Now.”

  I turn and start walking as the others scramble to line up behind me. Moments later, we are back in the sun, and Tikka’s great cauldron has everyone’s attention, keeping their minds in the present.

  Again we eat quickly, as if expecting the food to be snatche
d away. The speed causes belching, and before long the boys make foul contest of it, roaring with laughter as they see who can sustain the longest, or bring forth the most noxious smell. Princess Olive would have been horrified, but I find myself laughing along.

  “Some of us are going into the city,” Faseek says over his bowl. “You should come.”

  I can hardly believe it, but Chigka and the other drillmasters are at the gate, handing each boy a few draki as we leave the training grounds. “For food,” he growls. “You don’t want to be hungry tonight. Don’t waste it on heasah, and anyone caught with couzi will be whipped and have the spirits poured on their bloody back.”

  Gorvan rubs the draki in his palm together. “Hardly enough for either, unless we want to share a greenblood push’ting.” The other boys laugh, paying Chikga’s threat no mind, but I remember my own whipping all too well, and the sting of Belina’s disinfectant.

  Still, while I have little interest in couzi or…heasah, my ears perk up. “Push’ting?”

  Gorvan laughs. “Of course Princess Olive would take note at that!”

  The others join his mirth, but it dies down as my eyes narrow. “Have any of you even met a push’ting?” I ask.

  Most drop their eyes at that, but Gorvan is still smiling. “My father says every brothel has push’ting, for those with tight purse strings.”

  There is laughter again, but I have their measure, now. Boys are all for raucous talk, but they are parroting their elders rather than speaking from experience or malice. I don’t want to see a brothel, but it might be worth it for the chance to learn more. I have questions about myself that perhaps push’ting are better suited to answer.

  I’m quickly taken in by the sights and sounds of the city. Desert Spear is vast, with buildings dating back hundreds or even thousands of years. Some are grand palaces, but many of the low, sturdy buildings the commoners live in carry as much age and history.