The Daylight War

If you know the son of Jeph, if you can get word to him, tell him to run to the end of the world and beyond, because that is how far Jardir will go to kill him. There can only be one Deliverer.

Whatever he had done to her, Arlen was a good man. A good man these men had tried to murder, and very nearly succeeded. A shameful part of her wanted to see them hurt, and to spare the anaesthetic when she splinted their broken bones.

The two Sharum were positioning for another pass when a piercing ululation filled the air. They froze as Amanvah shouted, ‘Stop this at once!’ in Krasian.

Kaval and Coliv stayed their next attacks, but they did not stand down. The drillmaster spared a glance to the dama’ting, keeping one eye on Arlen. ‘Holy Daughter, there is much about this one you do not know. He is a blood traitor, laying false claim to the title of Shar’Dama Ka. Honour demands his death.’

Coliv nodded. ‘The drillmaster speaks true, Holy Daughter.’

Arlen smiled. ‘Tell me, Sharum, if Everam exists, how will He punish your lies?’

Amanvah turned to regard him. ‘So you do not claim to be the Deliverer?’

‘The Deliverer is all of us,’ Arlen said. ‘Everyone who stands tall in the night instead of hiding behind their wards … or underground.’ He looked at her pointedly.

‘My people no longer do that, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said.

‘Nor do mine,’ Arlen said. ‘All of us work to deliver humanity from the alagai.’

‘Holy Daughter, do not listen to this lying chin,’ Kaval said. ‘Justice and your father’s safety demand that we kill him now.’

‘As if you could,’ Arlen growled. ‘We have a blood debt, true, but it is you who owe. I could have collected today, but I kill only alagai.’

‘Why is this man such a threat?’ Amanvah asked Kaval. ‘From his own lips, he makes no claim on my father’s title.’

‘He diminishes it with his words,’ Kaval said. ‘Leaching your father’s honour with his heathen talk while he bides his cowardly time, waiting for the moment to strike.’

Amanvah’s face was unreadable. ‘It is you who attacked first, Drillmaster. My father used to speak often of the Par’chin, and never as anything except a man of honour.’

‘His honour was lost when he betrayed your father in the Maze,’ Kaval said.

Arlen stepped forward, his eyes seething. ‘Shall we speak of the Maze, Kaval? Shall I tell all gathered what happened that night, and let them judge who lost their honour?’

The drillmaster did not answer, exchanging a look with Coliv. Amanvah stared at him. ‘Well, Drillmaster? What have you to say?’

Kaval cleared his throat. ‘It is not a matter we may speak of. We have sworn an oath of silence to the Shar’Dama Ka. You must trust my judgement in this.’

‘Must?’ Amanvah asked, her voice a quiet lash. ‘Dal’Sharum, do you presume to tell a Bride of Everam what she must or must not do?’ The men stiffened, but still they held their aggressive posture, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

‘Please, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Enlighten us about the night of which you speak.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘You want to know? Ask the Spears of the Deliverer. Ask your father. And if they won’t tell you, perhaps you ought to wonder why.’

Amanvah squinted at him, then turned to Kaval. ‘Stand down and heel me. You will pursue this matter no further without my blessing, and I do not give it now.’ When the men still hesitated, she added, ‘I will not ask again.’

There was a finality in her tone that shook even the warriors, and they complied at last, weapons disappearing as they glided to stand at the young dama’ting’s back.

‘It appears your new neighbours will keep you entertained, Miss Paper,’ Thamos said, and Leesha couldn’t help but feel that perhaps his smug tone was justified.

Arlen came over to stand next to Leesha, his voice dropping to a murmur. ‘Glad to see you back safe.’

‘And you,’ Leesha said.

‘Ought to talk,’ Arlen said. ‘Tonight after dusk. Just the four of us at your cottage.’

‘Four?’ Leesha asked before she could stop herself. Clandestine meetings with Arlen were nothing new, but it had always been three. Herself, Arlen, and Rojer.

It was a pointless question, only confirming what she already knew. ‘Renna and I are promised. Where I go, she goes.’

She was surprised to find the words, though expected, still cut at her. ‘Rojer and Amanvah are married,’ Leesha noted. ‘Yet you would deny his bride the same right?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s your house, Leesha. You keep whatever company you like, but you want the whole story, it’s just us four.’

Leesha gestured at Renna with her chin. The young woman caught the look, her eyes fierce. ‘Didn’t you beg me not to paint blackstem wards on anyone?’

Arlen sighed. ‘Ent the first time I been wrong about somethin’, Leesha Paper. Don’t reckon it’s the last, either.’

‘How far to your palace?’ Amanvah asked, as their carriage trundled along the road into Deliverer’s Hollow.

‘Palace?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah bowed. ‘Forgive me, husband, I forget you have no palaces in the North. Your … manse?’

‘Ah …’ Rojer said. ‘I don’t exactly have one of those, either. I live at Smitt’s.’

‘I do not know this word,’ Amanvah said. ‘What is smitz?’

‘Smitt,’ Rojer said. ‘Is a person. He owns the inn.’

‘And you live at this … roadhouse Waxing and Wane?’ Amanvah was incredulous.

‘What?’ Rojer asked. ‘They change the sheets for me once a week and I never have to cook a meal.’

‘Unacceptable,’ Amanvah said.

‘Well it’s going to have to be,’ Rojer snapped, ‘because it’s all I’ve got! I told your father I had no money, and I meant it. Bad enough you picked a fight with the count, but now you need to piss on how I live?’

Amanvah bowed. ‘Apologies, husband. It was not my intent to offend. I meant only that one so touched by Everam should live in a home worthy of his greatness.’

Rojer smiled. It was hard to argue with that.

Much of the town had gathered by the time they reached the inn, but Rojer paid them little mind. He wanted his wives settled as soon as possible so he could meet the Painted Man after dusk and find out just what in the Core was going on.

‘Going to need a few extra rooms,’ he told Smitt.

Sikvah took his hand, gently pulling him back. ‘Please, husband. Such transactions are beneath you. If you will allow me …’ She stepped ahead of him, beginning to negotiate in much the same manner Shamavah had on the road. Smitt looked shocked at first, then exasperated, then conciliatory. In the end, Sikvah counted out a number of gold coins into his hand, and Smitt turned, calling to one of his sons. Haggling seemed to be something Krasians had in their blood.

‘The merchant must eject some of his residents and prepare our rooms,’ Sikvah said on her return. ‘We are invited to wait here or in our husband’s old room.’