Arlen looked at her sadly. ‘May have to. I’m why the minds have come. It’s all my fault.’

‘That’s not—’ Leesha began.

‘Demons were in my head, Leesha,’ Arlen cut her off. ‘Heard their plans – and worse, they heard mine. Know everything I do, including my plans for Jardir, and for taking the offensive against them. Everything I’ve been devising, made worthless in an instant.’

He looked up, meeting Amanvah’s eyes. ‘Need to do something they won’t expect.’

26

Sharum’ting
333 AR Summer14 Dawns Before Waning

‘How dare you spin your lies in the court of the Deliverer,’ Damaji Qezan of the Jama tribe accused.

‘Lies?!’ Damaji Ichach of the Khanjin cried, his face growing red. ‘You are the one whose tongue drips with false witness. You know full well …’

Ichach and Qezan, neither the fittest to begin with, had put on even more weight in recent months. Virtually every Krasian had since they conquered the abundant green lands, but few so grossly.

Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, Shar’Dama Ka and the most powerful man in the world, looked at the squabbling clerics and had to suppress the urge to blood his spear with the both of them. The Jama and Khanjin were ever at each other’s throats.

Jardir felt stronger than ever in his life, muscles brimming with energy, yet he had never felt so weary as he did now, watching fat old men argue the latest bit of political nonsense even as the battle lines of Sharak Ka were being drawn.

It wasn’t just the Jama and Khanjin. The tribes had been united for years and were wealthy as never before, yet still they found reasons to offend one another, stealing wells and women just to burn rivals. The Damaji could have put a stop to it, but the cycle of vengeance on the council of Damaji was no better than that among the most incensed tribesmen. These men were zahven, and the only thing that truly mattered to them was their standing among one another.

He noticed the Damaji looking at him, and realized he’d stopped paying attention. They were awaiting a decree, and he had no idea what for. Some bit of contested land …

Jardir looked to Jayan, standing at the foot of his dais. ‘Jayan my son, what think you of this great crisis between the Jama and Khanjin?’ He made no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice.

Jayan bowed deeply. ‘The Jama have a legitimate claim to injury, Father.’ Jardir saw Damaji Qezan puff up. ‘But so, too, do the Khanjin.’ Ichach straightened at that.

Jardir nodded. ‘And how would you deal with it in my place?’ Both Damaji turned in surprise to look at the young Sharum Ka. Traditionally, the Sharum Ka was the servant of the council, not the other way around, and Jayan was only nineteen. With the exception of Ashan, there was not a man on the council under sixty.

Jayan bowed again. ‘Both tribes have proven they are unworthy of the land. I would confiscate it for the war effort.’

Of course you would, Jardir thought. Jayan had not been happy with the three million draki he had been given, but Jardir had seen Jayan’s clumsy accounting of how he had spent the war tax, and read between the lines. The only one of my sons to have his own palace, and already it must be grander than any other.

He looked to Asome, standing beside Damaji Ashan and Dama Asukaji. ‘And you, Asome? Do you agree with your brother?’

Asome bowed. ‘The land is meaningless, Father, and will not solve the true problem.’

‘And what is that, my son?’ Jardir asked.

‘That Sharak Ka is nigh, yet the Damaji continue to waste the Deliverer’s time with petty matters even children could settle among themselves.’

There was a burst of chatter among the Damaji at this. Jardir thumped his spear on the marble dais. ‘Silence!’

The room quieted immediately. Jardir kept his eyes on Asome. ‘And your solution to this problem?’

‘Let the Damaji settle it among themselves.’ Asome turned, eyeing the two Damaji as his voice grew cold. ‘And give Damajis Qezan and Ichach three lashes of the alagai tail each for incentive.’ He dropped a hand to the barbed whip he carried on his belt. Every dama owned one – a symbol of the new power given when they took the white – but carrying them on one’s person had fallen from fashion over the centuries, only to be brought back by Asome. Now more and more dama carried the weapons with them at all times.

For a moment, there was utter silence, but then the entire court broke out in angry shouting.

‘How dare you, boy?!’ Qezan shouted.

‘Outrageous!’ Ichach growled.

Asome only smiled. ‘You see, Damaji? Already you agree on something.’ Qezan’s and Ichach’s faces grew so red, Jardir thought they might burst.

Careful, my son, he thought. You make powerful enemies.

Other clerics added outrage to the chorus. No Damaji had been whipped in centuries, and certainly not on the orders of a young dama not yet eighteen. They had become so secure in their power over the years they believed themselves above the laws that governed other men. Even Ashan, secure in the Deliverer’s favour and Asome’s uncle, looked at the boy in displeasure.

The Damaji’ting only looked on in silence.

‘Once again, my brother proves why he is heir to nothing,’ Jayan said with a smirk, but Asome did not flinch, his gaze cool. He did not have the look of an heir to nothing.

He has the look of an Andrah, Jardir thought. As if his appointment is a foregone conclusion.

Jardir considered. Asome had masterfully cornered him. If he followed Jayan’s solution, his second son would lose face, and indeed, the true problem would continue. But if he agreed …

Only Damaji Aleverak – once Jardir’s bitter enemy and now one of his most trusted advisors – was unperturbed. Aleverak gave Jardir his own share of frustration, but he was a man of honour and courage, a true leader to his people and not just a despot like many of his brethren on the council. He would never behave so foolishly as these men, and if he did, he would strip his robe and bend to receive the lash without losing a grain of dignity. But even Aleverak would not suggest a whipping in open council. Asome’s directness was a refreshing change.

Jardir glanced at Aleverak, and the ancient cleric gave a tiny nod, the gesture lost amid the chaos. He, too, carried an alagai tail.

‘The Damajah!’ came Hasik’s call from the door. All the men looked up, their conflict momentarily forgotten at the sight of Inevera.

She does take the breath away, Jardir thought, gazing at his First Wife as his council bowed to her.

Inevera nodded in acceptance of the honour, but made no effort to approach the throne. She caught Jardir’s eye and touched her hora pouch, then inclined her head slightly towards her pillow chamber. There was no missing the meaning behind the gesture.

Her new alagai hora were at last complete.

Jardir felt dizzied by the feelings that raised in him. For twenty-five years he had been a virtual slave to the alagai hora, the whole course of his life dictated by their throws. The last fortnight had felt freer than he imagined possible, unburdened by their yoke.

But with that freedom came uncertainty. The dice kept him captive in their way, but they gave him power, too. In those throws were truths he sorely needed if they were to win the Daylight War and Sharak Ka. The problem was that their truths were filtered through Inevera, and she kept her own counsel on which to share and which to keep.