The Daylight War

Jardir nodded. ‘It is inevera. But I would hear your counsel all the same.’

Abban sighed. ‘I wish the Par’chin had never made this challenge. I wish he had taken my advice and run to the ends of Ala and beyond. But I saw in his eyes he means to fight you, Domin Sharum or no. If that is so, you are better off with a private battle over one held before all with untold thousands of bystanders ready to join the slaughter.’

‘This is why we have Domin Sharum,’ Jardir said. ‘For when wishes come to naught. I will go, and I will fight the Par’chin with all I have, and he me. One of us will walk away, and upon his shoulders rest the fate of humanity. Let Everam decide who it shall be.’

Jardir looked at Inevera as she lay waiting for him in their bedroom. They had not spent a night apart since they had reconciled, weeks ago. His other wives clamoured for his attention, but Inevera’s power over them was absolute, and none dared come to his pillow chamber uninvited.

Jardir could see the love and passion radiating from his wife, and steeled himself for what was to come. He could only hope she would forgive him.

‘The Par’chin is alive,’ he said, blurting the words and letting them hang in the air much as the khaffit had done.

Inevera straightened in an instant, her aura losing its warmth and invitation as she stared at him. ‘Impossible. You told me you put your spear between his eyes and left his body on the dunes.’

Jardir nodded. ‘That was all true, but it was the butt of the spear. He was alive when we dumped him on the dunes.’

‘He was what?!’ Inevera shouted so loudly Jardir wondered if even her sound-blocking hora magic could keep it from echoing throughout the palace. The anger in her aura was terrifying to behold, like looking over the edge of Nie’s abyss.

‘I told you I would not murder my friend,’ Jardir said. ‘I took the spear as you said, but had mercy on the Par’chin, leaving him alive to face the coming night on his feet that he might die a warrior’s death on alagai talons.’

‘Mercy?’ Inevera was incredulous. ‘The dice made clear you will not take your place until he is dead. How many thousands of lives will we pay for that “mercy”?’

‘Take my place?’ Jardir asked. The words tickled something in his memory, and he probed deeper with his crownsight. ‘Of course. The Par’chin.’

‘Eh?’ Inevera asked.

‘You lied to me when you said I was the only man with the potential to be the Deliverer. I had thought you hiding an heir, but it was the Par’chin, wasn’t it? Did the dice command I kill him at all, or was that simply you?’

She did not need to open her mouth for him to see it was so.

‘No matter,’ he said. ‘He is alive, and has challenged me to Domin Sharum. I have already accepted.’

‘Have you gone mad?’ Inevera demanded. ‘You accepted without even letting me cast the dice?’

‘To the abyss with your dice!’ Jardir snapped. ‘It is inevera. Either I am the Deliverer, or I am not. The alagai hora are no different from Abban’s tallies, tools for educated guessing.’

Inevera hissed, and he could see he had gone too far. She might lie to him about their meanings, but in her heart the dice were the voice of Everam.

‘And perhaps they were right,’ he conceded. ‘Perhaps the Par’chin is the Shar’Dama Ka. The Sharum in the Maze followed him without question when he first brandished the Spear of Kaji. A spear he bled and risked his life for. A spear he used to kill the most powerful demon Krasia had ever known, one that had brought short the lives of thousands of dal’Sharum. It was he that found the holy city of Kaji, not me.’

‘You are Kaji’s heir,’ Inevera said.

Jardir shrugged. ‘Kaji took Northern wives when he conquered the green lands. I have seen his blood run true in places like Deliverer’s Hollow. After three thousand years, the son of Jeph could be as much Kaji’s heir as I. Perhaps my part in Everam’s great plan is simply to bring the unified armies of Krasia to him, and then die.’

Inevera leapt from the bed, wrapping him in her arms. ‘No. I refuse to believe it.’ And she did. He could see her will preventing the very idea from taking hold. ‘It is you,’ she said. ‘It must be you.’

Jardir put his arms around her, nodding. ‘I think so, too. But I need to be sure. Can you understand that, my Jiwah Ka? It must be true, or the blood at my feet is for nothing.’

32

Domin Sharum

333 AR Autumn

‘Tell me again how you know this isn’t a trap?’ Thamos asked as they left the contingent of Cutters and Wooden Soldiers behind to ride up the steep rock face. Behind the count rode Leesha and Wonda, followed by Rojer and Amanvah, with Gared bringing up the rear. Renna rode at Arlen’s right, the count, his left.

‘Your own scouts have confirmed there are only eight people up there, one a woman and one an old man,’ Arlen said.

‘There could be others in hiding,’ Thamos said. ‘The scouts also say they have a full company of men camped a mile to the south.’

Arlen pointed to the cliff face they approached. There was only one narrow path up the sheer slope, the rock bare and cold. ‘Where do you think these others might be hidden, Highness? Will they drop on us from the clouds?’

Thamos frowned, and Arlen realized he was costing the man too much face before Leesha, Gared, and the others. If this continued, he would become an increasing hindrance, if only to show his own strength.

‘I know Ahmann Jardir, Highness,’ Arlen said. ‘He would sooner throw himself off that cliff than violate Domin Sharum.’

‘This is the same man stabbed you in the back, ay?’ Renna asked.

‘Figuratively,’ Arlen said, sparing her an annoyed glance. She grinned in the face of it, and he wanted to laugh. ‘In truth, he had the stones to look me in the eye.’

‘Makes it so much better,’ Renna muttered.

Arlen could see Thamos remained unconvinced. He sighed, lowering his voice. ‘You don’t need to risk yourself, Highness. There is still time for you to turn back and send Arther or Inquisitor Hayes in your stead.’

He of course wanted no such thing, but the challenge to the count’s courage worked where other tactics failed. Thamos straightened in his saddle, his aura becoming steady and confident once more.

‘We should all turn back,’ Leesha said. ‘This whole ritual is barbaric. A bunch of meaningless rules to give the illusion of civility to murder.’

‘Ent murder when the other man sees it coming and means to kill you, too,’ Arlen said. ‘And the rules have meaning. Seven witnesses, so all those affected by the outcome can see the truth of it. A remote location difficult to stage an ambush. A fight right before dusk, when all men set aside their differences and become brothers, to force peace on the witnesses when it is done.’

‘None of which makes it civilized,’ Leesha said.

‘Would you rather thousands die on the field?’ Arlen asked. ‘So long as men eat and shit and grow old and die …’

‘… we will never truly be civilized,’ Leesha finished, surprising him. ‘Don’t quote philosophers at me when you’re about to force your friends and family to watch you two try and kill each other.’