The Daylight War

And they were honest. Arlen missed his khaffit merchant friend deeply, but Abban had proven many times that while he could occasionally be trusted, he could never be trusted. He lied when needed, but more often there was simply something he wasn’t telling you. Usually something important.

Arlen had replayed the events of his last visit to Krasia ten thousand times in his mind, always with a lingering sense of doubt. It was Abban, after all, who procured the map that took Arlen to the ruins of Anoch Sun and the tomb of Kaji, where he had found the warded spear. He had revealed the prize to Abban first, verifying its authenticity. Later that night, Jardir, once Abban’s best friend, tried to kill him for it.

And now they were working together. Even if Marick hadn’t confirmed it months ago, much of the Krasian conquest had Abban’s stamp on it. This was better than the alternative, as Abban was never so brutal or wasteful as Jardir. After the initial crushing of Fort Rizon, huge swathes of the southland were conquered with houses and fields and daughters left intact, keeping the trade routes open, if under dama rule and Evejan law. That was Abban whispering mercy in Jardir’s ear, if only for profit’s sake.

Whose side are you on, Abban? he wondered. Do you not know your friend tried to murder me? Simply accept it? Or was it your idea all along?

He sighed. Did it even matter? There was no point wasting thought on it now. Soon, he would confront both men and learn the truth. But first, they had to survive new moon.

The line of well-wishers resumed the moment they returned to the party. The next to come before them was an older woman, leading a middle-aged man along beside her. His white clouded eyes staring off at nothing. There was something familiar about them, and Arlen saw in the woman’s aura that she had met him before, and felt she owed him a debt.

‘Lorry Shepherd, Mr and Mrs Bales,’ the woman said with a stiff bow. ‘This is my son, Ken. We have nothing to give but our respects and our thanks, but hope you’ll accept them. Corelings took the rest of our family on the road while we fled the Krasians. Would have taken me and Kenny, too, if you hadn’t come.’ She patted the man’s arm. ‘Things ent been easy, but the Hollow opened its heart to us when you brought our caravan in, and we ent been cold or hungry, even though Kenny can’t work. We’re grateful for that.’

‘Whole Hollow deserves the credit for that,’ Arlen said. ‘And you, for being so strong when times were tough.’

He looked at Ken Shepherd, standing silently by his mother’s side. The man’s aura was one of quiet shame, hating himself for his dependence on his aging mother, and for his inability to help his family. But she leaned on him a bit in her dotage, and in that there was a spark of pride. ‘You always been blind?’

Ken nodded. ‘Ay, since before I can remember.’

‘’Twas a fever took his eyes, while he was still in swaddling,’ Lorry said.

Arlen drew a breath of magic through him, Knowing Ken’s eyes and finding the source of disharmony. He reached out instinctively, drawing a touch of power from the greatward as he traced wards with a finger along the man’s forehead and around his eyes.

There were gasps as the clouds left Ken’s eyes and they became a vibrant hazel, widening as he sputtered, swinging his head this way and that. His aura flared brightly with joy for an instant, then shifted to disorientation and a crushing fear. Finally he squeezed his eyes shut tight, putting his hands over them as his entire body shook.

Arlen put a steadying hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll get a bit easier every day, Ken Shepherd. Honest word. Know exactly what you’re going through.’

Soon after the hubbub over the Shepherds moved off, a lone kha’Sharum arrived. He did not hesitate in his approach, but Arlen could see fear in his aura. Fear and shame. He caught Amanvah’s sharp intake of breath, too low for anyone else to hear, and her aura flashed anger a moment before returning to dama’ting calm.

The warrior knelt before Arlen, pressing his forehead to the cobbles. Arlen didn’t need to Know the man to understand what he was feeling. He’d spent enough time with Sharum to know when he was being insulted, and not by the poor kha’Sharum forced to deliver it.

No doubt Drillmaster Kaval thought it a masterful political statement to send a khaffit warrior to make obeisance and present the first gift to Heaven. It was a passive insult that conveniently kept the so-called Spears of the Deliverer – men who had all helped Jardir pull Arlen down and rob him of the Spear of Kaji – far away from him.

But the sight of a khaffit warrior was no insult to Arlen. How many times had he seen khaffit mistreated in Krasia, denied any rights or social mobility? It had been thus since the Return, but within a few short years of his reign, Jardir had changed that. Was this more whisperings from Abban – a quick way to gain warriors – or was his traitorous ajin’pal growing a conscience?

The kneeling warrior set a pair of wood demon horns at Arlen and Renna’s feet. Arlen could see the magic slowly leaching from the item to feed the greatward’s power.

‘Jaddah.’ Arlen drew the symbol for the first pillar of Heaven in the air. Amanvah looked at him in surprise, but he ignored her, smiling at the warrior.

‘Jaddah,’ the warrior agreed. His eyes flicked to Amanvah, and his fear intensified.

‘Rise and stand tall,’ Arlen said in Krasian. When the man did, Arlen bowed. ‘Have no fear, brother. Kaval may not see the irony of sending a khaffit to deliver an insult he fears to bring in person, but it is not lost on me. The kha’Sharum bring honour to the dal’Sharum, not the other way around.’

The warrior bowed deeply, and the shift in his aura was beautiful to behold, shame becoming pride and fear becoming elation. ‘Thank you, Par’chin.’ He bowed again to Renna, and last to Amanvah, then turned and ran back into the night.

Six pillars to come.

‘I will discipline Kaval,’ Amanvah said when the warrior was gone. ‘Please understand his insult is not mine.’

‘Spoke honest word,’ Arlen said. ‘Ran with Sharum in the night, but never had much patience for ones apt to start a blood feud over every slight. Kaval only insults himself.’

Amanvah tilted her head at him, and her aura gave off a sense of respect, though her eyes said nothing. He gave a shallow nod in return.

A moment later Wonda Cutter arrived, laying out the long curved horn of a wind demon, still with its dorsal wing membrane attached. ‘Woulda been first, but these things are harder to carve than they are to kill.’

Arlen smiled. Her aura was one of fierce pride, but with a touch of fear. He probed deeper, Knowing her. She was going to ask him for something. Something selfish that she was afraid he might not be able to – or worse, might not want to – give.

‘Blessings upon you, Wonda Cutter,’ Amanvah said, ‘first of the Sharum’ting.’

Sharum’ting? Arlen was startled. Jardir was giving rights to women now, as well? Would the wonders ever cease?

‘Proud of you, Wonda,’ Arlen said, raising his voice so others could hear. ‘Being the first woman warrior in Krasia is no small deed. There’s ever a thing I can do for you, you just name it.’

Wonda smiled, and relief washed over her aura. ‘They say you gave Ken Shepherd his eyes back.’