The Core

‘Good news,’ Hasik said. ‘I may not need to cut anything off you for my supper.’

‘I fear you would find it all marble and little meat in any event,’ Abban said.

Hasik chuckled as he turned his charger onto the dirt path leading into the woods. Trees were thick on either side, and even in daytime they rode in shadow deep enough to have Abban wary of alagai.

They encountered several farms along the way, oases of cleared land amid the forest. Each was a wreckage, burned out and abandoned, livestock taken and fields picked clean.

Abban was not surprised. Thousands of dal’Sharum, Jayan’s finest, were lost in the slaughter at the gates of Fort Angiers. When the defeat became known, the chi’Sharum turned on their masters or fled, and the remains of Jayan’s army, perhaps ten thousand Sharum, scattered to the wind. Everam only knew if they would re-form into any sizeable force, but there were doubtless enough deserters to plague the chin lands for years.

‘The chin flame weapons allowed them to hold the gate,’ Hasik said, ‘but they do not have the strength to guard their lesser wells.’

‘Yet,’ Abban said.

‘Today is all that matters, khaffit,’ Hasik said. ‘Tomorrow I may yet see how much meat is truly on your bones.’

The next farm they came upon was not deserted. Abban smelled smoke, but it was not the acrid stench of all-consuming flame. This was sizzling fat and Northern spices, wood smoke from a warm hearth.

But it was not Northerners they encountered. At least not entirely. Two Sharum moved along the fences protecting the fields and yard, keeping the wards clear of snow. Others stood over a handful of chin working in the yard. They leaned casually on their spears, but the greenlanders were wise enough not to test how quickly they could be put to use. There was noise from the house and the stables.

‘They look to be settling in,’ Abban said.

‘We were not made for these Northern winters, khaffit,’ Hasik said, though Abban had never seen him show the slightest bother at the cold.

‘Perhaps it would be wise to …’ Abban began, but Hasik ignored him, kicking his charger into a trot.

Hasik had opened the gate and ridden into the yard before there was a shout. Nine Sharum came running out to surround his horse, a circle of spears pointed inward.

Hasik spat on the ground. ‘No one on watch. Who leads this rabble?’

‘We’ll have your father’s name first, warrior,’ one of the Sharum said. He was bigger than the others and had an air of command about him, though the veil around his neck was as black as any other.

‘I am Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji.’

‘Jayan’s dog,’ the lead warrior said, ‘left with no one to heel.’ The others laughed.

Hasik joined their laughter. ‘True enough, though I have my own dog now.’ He swept a hand over Abban.

All eyes glanced his way, and Abban wilted further under the collective stare. No doubt the men had only just noticed him. Sharum focused foremost on potential threats.

‘The Deliverer’s khaffit,’ the first warrior said. ‘Not so proud any more. Is it true he can turn sand and camel shit to gold?’

‘Indeed he can,’ Hasik said. ‘He can sell water to the fish men, and wood to cutters.’

The warrior tilted his head, meeting Abban’s eyes. ‘It did not save him.’

Hasik showed his teeth. ‘Nothing could, on my day. Now we have given our names. I ask again for yours.’

‘Orman asu Hovan am’Bajin,’ the man said. ‘Welcome to my csar. It is no prince’s palace, but there are slaves and food is plentiful.’

‘The Bajin are not returning to Everam’s Reservoir?’ Hasik asked.

‘Not these Bajin,’ Orman said. ‘Who leads there, now? Qeran? I’ve no desire to become a privateer and spend my life on the water.’

‘The monastery, then,’ Hasik said. ‘Dama Khevat still rules there?’

Orman shook his head. ‘For now, perhaps, but he hasn’t the men to hold it. The fish men will be eager to reclaim the monastery with Jayan’s forces broken. It is the key to striking at Everam’s Reservoir. Why spend a week walking that freezing, demon-infested highway to join a hopeless battle when there is warmth and comfort here? The green lands are soft and ripe for plunder.’

‘Wise words.’ Hasik glanced about the yard. ‘Do you have pigs?’

Orman nodded. ‘The chin slaves eat them. Need to feed your khaffit?’

‘He can feed off his fat,’ Hasik said. ‘I thought I would taste one, myself.’

‘If that is your wish,’ Orman said, ‘providing you can pay. We have women, as well. Chin women, not much to look at, but under the veils one is as good as any other, yes?’

One of the men whispered in Orman’s ear. The warrior tossed his head and barked a laugh, then met Hasik’s eyes. ‘They remind me Jayan’s dog was gelded. Women not much good to you, are they?’

Abban tsked, shaking his head. ‘You will regret that, son of Hovan.’

The man glanced at him. ‘What …?’

But then he was gasping and doubling over, grasping at the handle of the knife Hasik had thrown, embedded now in his crotch.

The other warriors surged in. They speared Hasik’s charger in the throat, but Hasik wore armour of warded glass beneath his robes, and their weapons skittered off. He was rolling off the beast, spear in hand, even as it reared. Abban was thrown clear, landing heavily on the ground in a blast of pain.

Hasik was a blur amid the warriors. Then the warriors were a blur.

Then everything went dark.

Abban woke on a hard wood floor. A fire burned in the hearth a few feet away, stealing the numbness from his wounds and bringing back the pain afresh. There was a woman bent over him, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth.

‘You’re alive.’

‘I am alive,’ Abban agreed. ‘Though at the moment I wish otherwise.’

‘Well I thank the Creator for it,’ the woman said. ‘The new master said any who die will be guided on the lonely path by my family.’

Abban squinted in the light. ‘New master? Hasik?’

The woman nodded. ‘He killed three of the Bajin. Cut the stones from the rest.’ She spat. ‘No less than they deserve.’

‘The change in rule may seem a relief now,’ Abban said, ‘but you may come to think the Bajin a blessing by comparison.’

‘There are no blessings left for us,’ the woman said, ‘in this age of false Deliverers. All we can hope for is to survive.’

‘There is always hope in survival,’ Abban said. ‘I have glimpsed the lonely path more than once, but here I lie, still breathing on Ala.’

‘The master says you are his chef,’ the woman said. ‘The men will slaughter a pig for you to roast. A celebration for his new tribe.’