Peter Brett – The Skull Throne (страница 11)

Ashan looked at the ancient Damaji sadly. ‘It was an honour to face you, Damaji. Your fame among the masters of sharusahk is well earned. But tradition does not demand I kill you. Only that I clear you from my path.’

He began to turn away, but Aleverak’s aura flared, as close to a loss of control as Inevera had ever seen. He clutched the hem of Ashan’s robe with quivering fingers.

‘Maji is still in his bido!’ Aleverak coughed. ‘Kill me and let Aleveran have the black turban. No harm will come to the Deliverer’s son.’

Ashan glanced up to Inevera at this. It was a tempting offer. Maji would be safe from the foolish vow Ahmann had made, but in exchange the Majah would have a younger Damaji who might rule for decades to come. She gave a slight shake of her head.

‘Apologies, Damaji,’ Ashan said, pulling his robe free of the old man’s grasp, ‘but the Deliverer still has need of you in this world. It is not yet your time to walk the lonely path. And should any harm come to the Deliverer’s Majah son apart from an open challenge in court on the hour of your natural death, my respect for you will not stop me from having your entire male line killed.’ He turned again, striding for the seven steps leading to the Skull Throne.

Asome met him there, blocking the path.

Inevera hissed. What was the fool boy doing?

‘Apologies, Uncle.’ Asome gave a formal sharusahk bow. ‘I trust you understand this is not personal. You have been as a father to me, but I am the eldest dama son of the Deliverer, and have as much right as any assembled to challenge you.’

Ashan seemed genuinely taken aback, but he did not dispute the claim. He bowed in return. ‘Of course, nephew. Your honour is boundless. But I would not leave my daughter a widow, nor my grandson without his father. I ask this once that you step aside.’

Asome shook his head sadly. ‘Nor would I leave my cousin and wife without a father. My aunt without a husband. Renounce your claim and allow me to ascend.’

Jayan leapt to his feet. ‘What is this?! I demand …!’

‘Silence!’ Inevera shouted. There was no need to enhance her voice this time, the sound echoing around the room. ‘Asome, attend me!’

Asome turned, climbing the steps swiftly to stand before Inevera’s bed of pillows. There was a flare in his aura as he passed by the throne. Was it covetousness? Inevera filed the information away in her mind as she manipulated polished stones on a small pedestal beside her, covering some wards and uncovering others. She could use the stones to control a number of effects, powered by hora placed around the room, and now placed a wall of silence around her pillows, that none save her son should hear her words.

‘You must give up this foolish claim, my son,’ Inevera said. ‘Ashan will kill you.’ Having seen Asome’s sharusahk, she wasn’t certain this was true, but now was not the time to flatter the young man.

‘Have faith, Mother,’ Asome said. ‘I have waited my entire life for this day, and I will prevail.’

‘You will not,’ Inevera said. ‘Because you will not continue your challenge. This is not what Everam wants. Or your father. Or I.’

‘If Everam does not wish me to take the throne, I will not,’ Asome said. ‘And if He does, then it should be Father’s and your wish as well.’

‘Wait, my son,’ Inevera said. ‘I beg you. We have always meant the jewelled turban for you, but it is too soon. Jayan will drive the Sharum into revolt if you take it now.’

‘Then I will kill him, too,’ Asome said.

‘And rule over a civil war with Sharak Ka on our heels,’ Inevera said. ‘No. I will not allow you to kill your brother. If you persist, I will cast you down myself. Recant, and you will have the succession on Ashan’s death. I swear it.’

‘Announce it now,’ Asome said. ‘Before all assembled, or cast me down as you say. My honour will be appeased with nothing else.’

Inevera drew a deep breath, letting it fill her, and flow back out, taking her emotions with it. She nodded, sliding the stones on her pedestal to remove the veil of silence.

‘Upon Ashan’s death, Asome will have the right to challenge the Damaji for the jewelled turban.’

Jayan’s aura swirled with emotion. The anger was still present, but he seemed mollified for the moment. There was no telling what he would have done if his younger brother had been given the chance to fight for a throne that sat higher than his. But seeing Asome thwarted had always brought Jayan pleasure. Ashan was not yet forty, and would stand between Asome and ascension long enough for Jayan to claim his father’s crown.

He stamped his spear loudly on the marble, and turned without leave to exit the throne room. His kai’Sharum followed obediently behind, and Inevera could see in them, and many of the Damaji, a belief that the Deliverer’s eldest son had been robbed of his birthright. The Sharum worshipped Jayan, and they outnumbered the dama greatly. He would be a growing danger.

But for the moment he was dealt with, and Inevera felt the wind ease as Ashan at last climbed the dais to sit the Skull Throne. He looked out at the assembled advisors and said the words Inevera had instructed, though she could tell they were sour on his lips.

‘It is an honour to hold the throne for the Shar’Dama Ka, blessings be upon his name. I will keep the Deliverer’s court much as he left it, with Damaji Aleverak speaking for the council, and Abban the khaffit retaining his position as court scribe and master of logistics. As before, any that dare hinder or harm him or his interests will find no mercy from the Skull Throne.’

Inevera twitched a finger to Belina, and the Majah Damaji’ting stepped forward with hora to heal Aleverak. Soon the Damaji was rising shakily back to his feet. The disorientation would soon pass, leaving him even stronger than before. His first act was a bow of submission to the Skull Throne.

Satisfying as that submission was, it was nothing compared to the flick of Ashan’s eyes to her, obviously asking if this scene was at its end. She gave a subtle nod and Ashan dismissed the Damaji and moved to meet with Asukaji and Asome, as well as his advisors, Halvan and Shevali.

‘Little sisters,’ Inevera said, and the Damaji’ting remained as the men filtered out, clustering at the base of the dais to take private audience with her.

‘You did not tell all, Damajah. My dice foretell that Ahmann may never return.’ Belina kept her voice steady, but her aura was like a raw nerve. Most of the Damaji’ting appeared the same. They had lost not only a leader, but a husband as well.

‘What has happened? Truly?’ Qasha asked. Less disciplined than Belina, the Sharach Damaji’ting could not keep her voice steady. The last word cracked with a whine like a flaw forming in glass.

‘Ahmann spared the Par’chin in secret after claiming the spear,’ Inevera said, disapproval in her tone. ‘The man survived and challenged him to Domin Sharum.’

The women began to chatter at this. Domin Sharum literally meant ‘two warriors’, the name given to the ritual duel first fought by Kaji himself against his murderous half brother Majah three thousand years ago. It was said they battled for seven days and nights atop Nie’s Breast, the tallest of the southern mountains.

‘Surely there is more to the tale than that,’ Damaji’ting Qeva said. ‘I have trouble believing any man could defeat the Shar’Dama Ka in fair combat.’

The other women voiced their assent. No man nor demon they could imagine could stand against Ahmann, especially with the Spear of Kaji in his hands.

‘The Par’chin has covered his skin in inked wards,’ Inevera said. ‘I do not understand it fully, but the symbols have given him terrifying powers, not unlike a demon himself. Ahmann held sway in battle and would have won, but as the sun set the Par’chin began misting like an alagai rising from the abyss, and the Shar’Dama Ka’s blows could not touch him. The Par’chin cast them both from the cliff, and their bodies were never found.’

Qasha gave out a wail at that. Damaji’ting Justya of the Shunjin moved to comfort her, but she, too, had begun to sob. All around the semicircle of women, there was weeping.

‘Silence!’ Inevera hissed, her enhanced voice cutting through the sobs like a lash. ‘You are Damaji’ting, not some pathetic dal’ting jiwah, weeping tear bottles over dead Sharum. Krasia depends on us. We must trust that Ahmann will return, and keep his empire intact until he can reclaim it.’

‘And if he does not?’ Damaji’ting Qeva asked, her words a calm breeze. She alone of the Damaji’ting had not lost a husband.

‘Then we hold our people together until a suitable heir can be found,’ Inevera said. ‘It makes no difference in what we must do here and now.’

She looked out over the women. ‘With Ahmann missing, the clerics will try to leach our power. You saw the magic I displayed to the Damaji. Each of you has combat hora you have been husbanding against need. You and your most powerful dama’ting must find excuse for displays of your own. The time to hide our strength is over.’

She looked around the semicircle of women, seeing determined faces where a moment ago there had been tears. ‘Every nie’dama’ting must be put to preparing new hora for spells, and all should be embroidering their robes with the Northlander’s wards of unsight. Abban will have spools of gold thread sent to every dama’ting palace for the task. Any attempts to prevent us walking in the night should be ignored. If men dare hinder you, break them. Publicly. Kill alagai. Heal warriors near death. We must show the men of Krasia we are a force to be feared by man and demon alike, and not afraid to dirty our nails.’