The Core

They cut a swathe through the fish men, never slowing as they broke through their lines and ascended the hill. The chin had built progressive fortifications, but all were aimed at an assault from the monastery walls, not one from behind. Soon the Eunuchs controlled the road fully, guarding Hasik’s back as he, Jesan, Orman, and Abban rode up to the gate.

Hasik drew a breath, but it was unnecessary. With a great clatter of chain and counterweight, the portcullis was raised to admit Hasik’s forces.

Dama Khevat and Kai Icha were waiting in the courtyard. Both were bloodied, the dama’s white robes stained red. If the old cleric had been drawn into the fighting, things were dire, indeed.

Khevat gave the shallow, superior bow of a dama to a Sharum. ‘Everam sent you in our darkest hour, son of Reklan …’

Hasik ignored him, turning to Orman and pointing. ‘Put a hundred fresh men on the walls. Another fifty to secure the courtyard.’

‘I need men in the basements, as well,’ Icha said. ‘There are chin gathered in the caverns below, forcing at the door …’

‘Another fifty to the basement,’ Hasik told Orman, not sparing him a glance. ‘Ready the rest to ride out again now that we control the gate.’

Icha clenched a fist. ‘We will crush them at dawn.’

Hasik deigned to look at him. ‘No, boy, we will crush them now, while they are scattered and bloody. Now, before they can flee with their supply, or dig in and hinder our rear guard.’

‘It is night …’ Khevat began.

Abban rolled his eyes. ‘Dama, please. You’ve already lost this argument once.’

Khevat’s eyes flicked to Abban, quivering with rage. ‘Why is this piece of offal still alive? I would have expected you to kill him long ago.’

‘You have always been low in your expectations,’ Hasik said.

‘He cut off your cock,’ Khevat growled.

‘And I ate his,’ Hasik agreed. ‘And then I cut the cocks from all my men, that none might think himself my better.’

Khevat paled. ‘That is an abomination …’

Hasik smiled, drawing his curved knife. ‘Pray to Everam you get used to it, Dama.’

9 (#ulink_f5d6d716-b4d4-53ec-89e2-27e7ce614d56)

The Majah (#ulink_f5d6d716-b4d4-53ec-89e2-27e7ce614d56)

334 AR

‘The blood, Damajah.’

Inevera took the uncorked vial Ashia offered, decanting a few precious drops onto the dice in her palm. She closed her fingers, rolling the smooth, polished bones with practised skill to coat them evenly.

Kept sealed and cold, away from sunlight, the thick fluid still held a touch of magic, a fragrance of the owner’s soul. Enough to focus her dice and perhaps pry a few secrets from Everam, helping put order to the swirling chaos of futures before her.

It was a ritual Inevera performed daily, in the full dark before sunrise. Some futures were unknowable, too many convergences and divergences for her to glean a sense of likelihood. Others cut off abruptly, signifying her own death.

‘May I ask a question, Damajah?’ Ashia asked.

Inevera’s eyes flicked to the girl in annoyance. Ashia had changed in the weeks since Prince Asome’s coup – the Night of Hora. Having her own brother try to strangle her while her husband watched was enough to change any woman’s perspective on the world.

Even standing guard in her mistress’ pillow chamber, the Sharum’ting Ka wore her infant son, Kaji, slung across her belly. She would not be parted from the child for any reason, even in her sacred duty.

It was no great hindrance to performance, Inevera had learned. The bodies Ashia left in her wake during the coup attested to that. Like his mother, Kaji could be preternaturally silent when he wished. Inevera had looked into his aura and seen how the slowing of his mother’s heart affected his own. He would be a great Watcher one day.

At times of his choosing, though, Kaji could make his voice known throughout the Damajah’s chambers. His laughter made feet laden with duty step lighter, and his screams could jar even Inevera from her centre.

But even as he took on some of his mother’s traits, she was taking on his. Ashia would never have dared interrupt Inevera’s casting ritual before.

‘Ask,’ Inevera said. Ashia had risked everything in bringing Kaji and his grandmother Kajivah to her on the Night of Hora. Inevera’s eunuchs and spear sisters were perhaps the only people in Krasia she trusted completely, and Ashia knew it. With her child’s fate tied to her own, it was not surprising she had begun to assert a voice in it.

‘Why do you waste time seeking the khaffit when enemies mount in this very palace?’ Ashia asked.

Because my husband is dead, Inevera thought, but didn’t say. Nie had piled many stones atop her, but all of them came from the foundation broken by Ahmann’s fall. The Par’chin’s unforeseen challenge had created such a divergence as to throw decades of careful planning to the dogs. Inevera had tied her fate too closely to Ahmann, certain that he was the Deliverer. Certain that, in the end, he could not fail. Together, their power had been absolute.

Now he was dead, along with so many others. Now there were spears everywhere, pointing at her heart, the heart of everything she and Ahmann had built.

Even her Jiwah Sen could no longer be trusted. All save Belina now had their sons in direct control of their respective tribes. They had their own wealth, their own power. They had become wilful, and Inevera’s tools to bring them in line were few.

—Your fates are intertwined— the dice said of Inevera and Abban. They needed to pool their strength to bend with the wind of Ahmann’s passing.

‘Because Everam does not care what weights we bear,’ Inevera said. ‘Everam cares about one thing, and one thing only.’

Ashia nodded. ‘Sharak Ka.’

‘Something your husband has forgotten,’ Inevera said. ‘His efforts in the night were for political gain. He has the throne, but no strategy in the First War. Someone must keep focus on that. The khaffit is an advantage, and every advantage must be seized. If Abban does not return soon, I fear he will find his nephew has taken everything from him and given it to Asome.’

And with that, she closed her eyes and whispered her prayer to Everam, feeling the alagai hora warm her fingers as their power was called forth, tuned to Abban’s aura.

She threw, watching the wards of prophecy flare, twisting the dice into a glimpse into the unknowable.

—The man who is not a man has him.—

Inevera breathed, keeping her centre. If Hasik had Abban, the khaffit’s prospects were grim, but Hasik took no greater pleasure than in the suffering of others. He would not want to kill Abban right away. He would hurt him, over and over, until Abban bled out from a thousand cuts.

Perhaps there was time.

‘Hasik,’ Inevera said. Ashia needed no further instruction, moving quickly to the cold room where Inevera stored the blood of almost every man, woman, and child of note in Krasia.

Normally, Inevera would cleanse the dice between throws, but since Abban’s and Hasik’s fates were now tied, she left his essence to help the spell. Ashia returned with Hasik’s blood, and Inevera fell into her breath, relaxing as she freshly coated the sticky dice.

‘Everam, giver of light and life,’ she prayed. ‘Your children need answers. I beg you for knowledge of Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji, former brother-in-law to Shar’Dama Ka. Where can he be found?’

—Spreading like poison in the North.—

—Nie’s power grows in him.—

—He has turned from Sharak Ka.—