Peter Brett – The Core (страница 30)

The warriors shifted from kneeling to sitting with military skill. How many hours had they spent drilling it in sharaj? The chin stayed on their knees as Abban had instructed, setting them apart. The Bajin seemed mollified at this.

No place for me, Abban noted, pleased to be relegated to the kitchen, invisible. He sent the women back and forth, filling the table with steaming platters that held the attention of the hungry men. They inhaled deeply, tasting with their noses as mouths began to water.

At last they wheeled the animal out, still dripping on the spit. The melting fat pooled in a tray beneath the succulent beast.

‘Prepare your bellies for a wonder you have never dreamed of,’ Abban said, smiling at the looks the men cast the pig. Even mighty Sharum could be ensorcelled by the scent of pork. His own belly groaned and grumbled, desperate to partake.

‘Come and sit behind me at my left while I taste this wonder, khaffit,’ Hasik said.

‘The kai honours me,’ Abban said.

‘Nonsense,’ Hasik said. ‘I merely wish to ensure you continue your fast. You are too fat, Abban. You will see it is for your own good.’

Abban was so hungry he would have sacrificed another bone for a taste of pork, but it was pointless to argue. Orman, Hasik would settle for humiliating. If Abban questioned him in front of the men, Hasik would have no choice but to kill him.

Or worse, Abban thought. He took a deep breath. For now, he was worth less than a warrior, but once Hasik tasted the pig, Abban knew his value would soar.

Still Hasik did not give permission to eat. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes. The others at the table immediately did likewise.

‘Blessed Everam,’ Hasik said, ‘He who honours the strong. We thank you for the feast before us. It may be against your law to sup on the flesh of pigs, but you have shown me your laws are for the weak.’

He paused. ‘I was weak, once. Driven by pleasures of the flesh even when they brought pain and misfortune upon me again and again. I made the weakest part of me my ruler.’ He straightened. ‘Now that part of me is severed, and I am free at last. Free to see the world around me without weakness. I see for the first time the grains in the dunes, and know I am stronger for it.’

He looked at the Bajin. ‘No doubt you would all put a spear in me given the chance, but you will see now how you, too, are free. How we have become strong.’

He looked to Orman. ‘Are there other Sharum in the area?’

Orman nodded. ‘A dozen Khanjin have taken a farm down the road.’

‘You and your men will soon have a chance to visit your shame on your night brothers.’ Hasik smiled. ‘You will find nothing eases your torment like sharing it.’

The Bajin remained grim-faced, but Abban could see the words stoked a new hunger in their eyes. Hasik was not wrong.

Hasik looked at the chin, switching to their language. ‘Everam smiles on you, chin. In the new order, even you may claim honour. The choice is yours. You can be slaves, or you can learn to fight and join us.’

The younger men froze, turning to look at their patriarch. He hesitated, but only for a moment. He bowed as Abban taught him, placing his hands on the floor and touching his forehead between them.

‘We will fight.’

‘Then let us seal it with a feast!’ Hasik called. He lifted the haunch Abban had carved him, and the skin crackled as he bit into it and tore away a mouthful of flesh. His eyes widened, and then it was chaos as the men tore into the food.

Abban watched in pain as they stuffed themselves, but he kept his mask in place, giving Hasik a look pathetic enough to satisfy him as he mocked the starving khaffit with his glistening fingers and lips.

There was Northern ale, and it flowed freely as they ate. Soon the Bajin were laughing, and even the chin seemed to relax. When the plates had been emptied and filled and emptied again, they began to slow, eating more for pleasure than hunger. Hasik lounged back on his bed of pillows as they sang warrior songs.

At last the women cleared the empty bowls and carcass from the room, and Hasik looked at the chin.

‘You have eaten of my pig,’ he said. ‘There is only one more thing keeping you from joining the Eunuchs.’

The chin looked at one another in confusion as Orman laughed, drawing a knife.

8

Monastery

334 AR

‘A dozen fat slaves, dressed as me,’ Abban promised. ‘One delivered the first day of the month to torture until you kill them in a new and inventive fashion on Waning and begin anew.’

‘I admit, that is a good one,’ Hasik said.

‘Spare me, and I can make it reality,’ Abban said.

Hasik clicked his tongue. ‘There is where it fails, khaffit. What good is pretending vengeance for a year when true vengeance escapes?’

‘Then I will lease my life,’ Abban offered. ‘One slave dressed to look like me each Waning until you collect in full.’

Hasik pursed his lips. ‘The idea has merit. I will take a few months to consider.’

Then he swung the hammer, and Abban screamed.

The Eunuchs and slaves were used to it now, ignoring Abban’s wails and whimpers. Once, when a blood fever from his shattered bones had threatened to kill Abban, Dawn had begged on his behalf.

Hasik had warded Abban’s leg and smeared it with stinking alagai ichor. The demon blood activated the wards and healed Abban. His strength and vigour returned, sweeping away the pain, but the shattered bones of his leg and foot fused into a twisted ruin. Abban doubted even a healer as powerful as the Damajah could make him walk again.

Then Hasik cut the noses from Dawn and her daughters, a permanent warning to all that might take pity on him again.

Hasik was gone by the time Abban mastered his pain enough to crawl into his chair. The camp was full of activity as Abban wheeled to Hasik’s tent, slaves rushing to and fro to service the warriors.

In the past five weeks, the Eunuchs had swollen massively in number. First in fits and starts as Hasik hunted Sharum deserters, catching warriors sometimes in ones and twos, and other times in sizeable bands. The freshest recruits were always the most eager to capture and castrate new members, as if cutting off another man’s cock somehow helped their own healing.

They sacked farms and hamlets as their numbers grew, growing heavy with supply. Then, impossibly, men began to come to them. Sharum that had set off in search of plunder and found ill fortune begging to join, willingly surrendering their genitals in exchange for full bellies and the sense they were once again part of something powerful.

The growth had come with a positive change in Abban’s circumstances. Hasik healed him regularly now, needing Abban’s eyes sharp and his mind unclouded. Once relegated to cook, the khaffit was back on familiar ground, keeping Hasik’s ledgers and acting as quartermaster for his troops and caravan of slaves.

Hasik was lounging on the pillows in his pavilion, eating eggs and bacon.

‘Nie’s black heart, khaffit,’ Hasik said. ‘Had I known the flesh of pigs was so delicious, I would have turned my back on Everam’s law long ago.’

‘It is a great burden lifted,’ Abban agreed, ‘setting aside the Evejah to eat and drink as you please.’

Hasik tore another bite off the rasher, his lips shiny with grease. ‘Read me the tallies.’

Abban gritted his teeth, wheeling over to his writing desk. ‘You have … three kai’Sharum, one hundred and seventy-two dal’Sharum, eight hundred and seventeen kha’Sharum, two hundred and six chi’Sharum, and four hundred and thirty-six slaves. We have seven hundred and forty-two horses …’

Hasik put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as if listening to music. The tallies were a burden to a good leader, as Ahmann had been, but to a man like Hasik it read as a list of his personal wealth, and Abban could not deny that in a very short time that wealth had become considerable. So considerable that all the Eunuchs had a taste of the largesse. There were no hungry in the caravan, and all had proper clothes to ward off winter’s chill. The Sharum were well equipped and obedient. Even the chi’Sharum conscripts had weapons to go with their ongoing training.

The canvas flap opened, admitting Orman, now wearing the white veil of a kai’Sharum around his neck. Orman had remained Hasik’s second in command and was, so far as Abban could determine, quite loyal and competent. The Bajin was a small tribe, and Orman would likely never have risen as high there as he had in the Eunuchs.

Orman bowed. ‘Eunuch Ka, there is a messenger. He claims to know you.’

‘A messenger?’ Hasik asked. ‘From who?’

‘From Dama Khevat!’ a kai’Sharum boomed, pushing past the door guard.

Abban immediately recognized the man by the scars on his face, a faded remnant from the night a quarter century ago when he had taken a swipe of a sand demon’s claws in the village of Baha kad’Everam. Magic had kept the man young, but he was an honoured elder of their fathers’ generation.

Jesan, Hasik’s ajin’pal.

Among the Sharum, the bond between ajin’pal was as strong as family. For those near in age it was a sibling bond, but more often it was one of father to son. Nightfathers, they were sometimes called, with a relationship no less complicated than fathers and sons of blood. They were mentors and authority figures.