The Daylight War

Not for the first time, Abban thanked Everam that he was a crippled khaffit and denied the night.

He adjusted his camel crutch into a more comfortable position as his friend gave the speech the two of them had so carefully prepared. Though he often stood on the dais where he could advise his master, they had agreed that for this decree Abban should remain on the floor, that none should suspect his involvement. Ahmann would get his way regardless, but the clerics would fall into line much more quickly if they thought the plans were coming from the Shar’Dama Ka and not a spineless khaffit.

They think me spineless, but I can make them dance like puppets. He kept his eyes respectfully down, but he had learned to see much in periphery watching the clerics as Ahmann spoke.

‘But we must not grow complacent,’ Ahmann went on. ‘The return of the sons of Alagai Ka signals the beginning of Sharak Ka, and Sharak Ka cannot be won until Sharak Sun is brought to a close. The alagai cannot break our defences, but they can wear them down, burning fields and killing livestock until we are too weak to fight, even as the greenlanders gird themselves against us. To win both wars, we must continue to expand, bringing the Northern cities one by one under Evejan law, levying their men and confiscating their resources.’

Damaji Aleverak nodded. ‘The Daylight War must be won, and we grow soft in Everam’s Bounty.’

‘Agreed,’ Ashan said. Technically he spoke for the council, but all knew he was Ahmann’s puppet. Aleverak was the oldest and most venerated of the Damaji, the only man who had fought Ahmann for the Skull Throne and lived to speak of it. All treated the ancient cleric with deference, and his words were given enormous weight.

This was why Ahmann, when he met with them privately earlier in the day, ordered Aleverak to speak first, and Ashan second.

Ahmann thumped the butt of his spear on the dais. ‘We will attack Lakton in two months.’ On cue, Abban furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

‘You frown, khaffit,’ Ahmann said. ‘Do you doubt the wisdom of my plan?’

All eyes turned to Abban, and he pretended to wilt under their glare. No doubt everyone in the room was praying for him to say something foolish that would cost him his favour with the Shar’Dama Ka.

It was, Abban had to admit, a valid concern. He knew full well that should he ever publicly fall from Ahmann’s favour, every man in the room – not to mention the Damajah herself – would move immediately to dominate or kill him.

‘The Deliverer’s wisdom exceeds my own,’ Abban said, adding just the right bit of snivelling to his tone. ‘But your forces are stretched thin attempting to hold the land you have already taken. The cost—’

‘Do not listen to the cowardly words of this pig-eating khaffit, Father,’ Jayan cut in. ‘He spoke against your attack on Everam’s Bounty, as well.’ The other Damaji nodded, muttering their agreement.

Pig-eating khaffit is redundant, you idiot, Abban thought. Khaffit literally meant ‘pig-eater’, for the Evejah forbade the eating of pork, and poor khaffit could often afford no other meat. Abban’s lip twitched imperceptibly as he resisted the urge to smirk. No man in this room had the slightest idea what they were missing. Pigs were such delicious animals, denied to all men simply because Kaji’s half brother had poisoned a suckling and set it before the Deliverer three thousand years ago. Kaji’s legendary strength had resisted death, but he had – most likely in a moment of pique after spending hours on the commode – declared pig unclean, denying countless generations of fools their sweet, tender meat.

His mouth watered. He would have suckling pig tonight, and then have one of his wives spill his seed in some manner the clerics had seen fit to forbid.

He looked at Jayan, unsurprised at the eager look in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. The boy was little more than an animal, enjoying conquest and plunder too much, and ruling too little. Killing men was far easier than killing alagai, and killing soft greenlanders easiest of all. Easy victories to add to his quite lacking list of accomplishments.

He resisted the urge to shake his head. An accident of birth had dropped all the power and opportunity anyone could ever dream of in Jayan’s hands, and all he could think of was the size of his palace, and new ways for his toadies to flatter him.

Asome and Asukaji kept their faces blank, but the two men had a language all their own – an elaborate mixture of subtle stances and gestures the lovers had no doubt concocted in the pillows – that allowed them to hold whole conversations without anyone around them knowing.

Abban, after watching them for months, had only deciphered a fraction of the code, but he could guess the current content well enough. There were advantages and disadvantages to being left behind while his father and brother went off to war. Ashan would speak for the council, the Damaji ruling in concert with the Damajah in the Deliverer’s absence, but while the glory would go to those in the field, there was much Asome could do to increase his own power while they were gone.

‘And you, Asome?’ Jardir asked.

Asome bowed ever so slightly in his elder brother’s direction. ‘I agree, Father. The time to strike is now. The khaffit’s concerns are not without merit, but they are small things in Everam’s great plan. You have lost much of the harvest to the alagai, and those losses will mount. Taking more territory will mitigate this.’

Ahmann turned to the other ten Damaji, and Abban studied them while their eyes were directed at the throne. The men stood in precise order based on the number of Sharum in their tribes, no matter that the difference was negligible in many cases. The line changed slightly every few months.

After Ashan and Aleverak was Enkaji of the Mehnding. The Damaji had grown fat over the years, now that the path to the Skull Throne was beyond his reach. Ahmann still bore a grudge after Enkaji’s attempt to hide the Crown of Kaji from him, but Abban could not blame the man for that. He wouldn’t have just handed the thing over for free, either. Enkaji had survived since by marching in lockstep with Ashan and Aleverak, at least in court.

‘The Daylight War is the purview of Shar’Dama Ka,’ Enkaji said. ‘Who are we to question?’ He looked to the men standing next to him, the Damaji of the Krevakh and Nanji tribes. The Watcher Damaji wore night veils, even in the day, hiding their true identities to all save the leaders of the tribes they served and the Deliverer himself.

As always, the men bowed and said nothing.

Abban barely spared the other Damaji a glance. Ever since the lesson Ichach and Qezan had been given, the lesser Damaji had become even more obsequious than Enkaji. Only Kevera of the Sharach spoke out, meeting Ahmann’s eyes. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions on your wise plan, Deliverer, but it is true my tribe cannot spare men for a new assault and continue to hold what we have taken.’

‘Stay behind, then!’ Chusen of the Shunjin barked. ‘More spoils for the rest of us!’ Some of the other Damaji chuckled at that, but all of them wilted at the glare Ahmann threw them.

‘I am Sharach,’ Ahmann said, ‘by blood and marriage. I am Shunjin as well, and every tribe between. When you insult one another in my presence, you insult me.’

Asome stroked the handle of his alagai tail, and Damaji Chusen paled. He fell to his knees, pressing his head against the floor. ‘I apologize, Deliverer. I meant no disrespect.’