The Daylight War

Inevera did not argue further, but her aura remained unconvinced.

‘Your mother was a weaver?’ he asked, trying to change the subject. ‘I assumed she was dama’ting.’

Inevera’s aura suddenly went wild. There was shock, and fear, and a secret. Enough to fill him with questions, but not enough to answer them. He wondered if this was what reading the alagai hora was like for her.

‘You never speak of your family,’ he pressed, watching closely.

Inevera’s aura showed her searching desperately for a way to evade the question and change the subject. She gave off the scent of a cornered animal that would rather flee than fight. But then her chest rose and fell several times in rhythm, and a wave of calm spread over her.

‘Most dama’ting are the daughters of our order,’ she said. ‘Some few others are called by the dice in Hannu Pash. We cut off all contact with our families when called, and they do not know our fate from the moment we are taken.’

It was fascinating. Every word she said was true, and yet it read on her aura as a lie. ‘But you did not.’

Inevera smiled. A practised distraction while she breathed herself into serenity. She was wondering how much he knew, if he had been spying on her. She was carefully choosing words to reveal nothing she did not wish.

Jardir was tiring of the game. ‘Jiwah, you will stop your dissembling.’

His tone was harsh, and he watched as she leapt on it, using the excuse to get angry as a way to avoid the topic. Her brows drew into the thundercloud she had practised to perfection.

He smiled. ‘Stop that, too.’ He moved to her, taking her in his arms. She stiffened, and there was a token resistance as he pulled her close. ‘Do you love me, jiwah?’

‘Of course, husband,’ Inevera said without hesitation.

‘And do you trust me?’

There was a spike in her aura, and the slightest delay. ‘Yes.’ It wasn’t a lie, not precisely, but neither was it truth.

‘I do not know what secret you hold about your family,’ Jardir said. ‘But I see that you hold one, and that dishonours me.’ Inevera pulled back and tried to speak, but he shook his head. ‘When we wed, it was more than a union between us. Your family became mine, and mine yours. Whatever it is, I have a right to know.’

Inevera stared at him a long moment, her aura so chaotic he could not guess what her response would be. But then it calmed once more. ‘My parents are alive and in Everam’s Bounty. They are a source both of pride and of shame to me, and I fear for them if our relation is revealed.’ She met his eyes and bowed. ‘It was wrong of me to keep this secret from you, beloved. For this, I apologize.’

Jardir nodded. ‘Accepted, on one condition.’

Inevera raised an eyebrow.

‘I want to meet them,’ Jardir said.

‘I do not think that is wise, husband,’ Inevera said. ‘They would be in danger …’

‘I am Shar’Dama Ka,’ Jardir said. ‘I have hundreds of relatives. You think I cannot protect them?’

‘Not without costing them the simple life they enjoy now, far from palace intrigue,’ Inevera said.

Jardir laughed. ‘You can engineer my nieces into the ranks of Sharum, but not plot a way for me to meet your parents away from prying eyes? We both know you can find a way if you wish it.’

Inevera regarded him, still wary. ‘And if I do not wish it?’

Jardir shrugged. ‘Then I will know I come third in your eyes, and not second after Everam, as you claim.’

The curtains were still drawn as the counsellors entered the throne room. A few oil lamps gave artificial light, preserving Jardir’s crownsight as he regarded Jayan and his twelve Damaji. At the side of each of the tribal leaders were his second sons, and in Ashan’s case his nephew. Save for Asome and Asukaji, both eighteen years old, all were fifteen. Not wholly boys, but not men, either, still in the white bidos of nie’dama, a strip of white cloth thrown over one shoulder.

He could see in their auras that the Damaji still resented the boys who had displaced their own heirs. Leadership of a tribe was not automatically hereditary as it was in the green lands, but it was functionally so, with the brothers, sons, and nephews of the Damaji holding every advantage.

More, he could see the ties that bound the men to him like threads in the air. The common Sharum and dama might truly believe Jardir divine, but the Damaji served out of fear.

If I die this night, he thought, my sons will be killed the moment it is known. Jayan might hold his grip on the white turban, perhaps, and Ashan would protect Asukaji and Asome, but the other Damaji would not hesitate to slaughter his nie’dama sons. Aleverak would not break his oath not to harm Maji, but that oath had a clause they knew well. The ancient Damaji would drink poison to allow one of his sons to do the deed.

The Damaji talked among themselves, but Jardir thumped his spear once, and they fell silent. ‘Waning is upon us, Damaji. Alagai Ka and his princelings will rise tonight to test our people as we have not been since the Return.’ He could see doubt in some of the men, and fear in others. Most, however, held the flat control of years of meditation. ‘Jayan,’ he looked to the boy, seeing in his aura an eager excitement and a hope to prove himself, ‘will lead the Sharum.’

There was a burst of chatter at that. Jardir thumped his spear again.

‘Forgive us, Deliverer,’ Damaji Aleverak said. ‘Jayan has done well as Sharum Ka, and we offer no disrespect, but is it not the place of Shar’Dama Ka to lead in Sharak Ka?’

Jardir nodded. ‘I will stand beside my son for as long as I may, but when the princes of Nie show themselves, I must be free to act.’

‘And what will our place be?’ Asome asked.

Jardir looked at his son, seeing the seething anger beneath his calm exterior. ‘The dama will beseech Everam’s favour in the coming battle. That is no small thing, my son.’ He could see immediately that Asome thought prayer less than nothing with demons at the walls, but hoped he was wise enough not to voice the feeling.

Asome was not so easily deterred. ‘Why do dama study sharusahk, Father?’

‘Eh?’ Jardir asked.

‘Since I took my first steps, I have been practising the sharukin,’ Asome said. ‘I know of none, dama or Sharum, who can stand against me.’

Jayan snorted. ‘You boast because you have never faced a real opponent. You would find the alagai more formidable than the empty air you fought in Sharik Hora.’

Asome turned to his elder brother and sneered openly. ‘Come at me then, O great killer of alagai, and we will see.’

Jayan growled and took a step forward.

‘You will do no such thing!’ Jardir shouted with a thump of the spear. He had forbidden all of his sons to fight one another, even in sparring, and the wisdom of that decree was never clearer. He could see in their auras that Jayan and Asome would not hesitate to kill each other to clear their own path to the Skull Throne. ‘I will not have my sons brawling like nie’Sharum in the gruel line!’

Asome turned back to him, bowing. ‘As you command, Father, but you have not answered my question. I am forbidden to fight my brother. I am forbidden to fight the alagai. You have abolished the title of Andrah, so there is no need to fight the Damaji for the throne. Why have I spent every day of my life learning to fight, if I must stand idly by as Alagai Ka walks the land?’