The Core

Inevera slipped her wand from her belt. Made from the arm bone of a demon prince coated in electrum, it had power enough to blow the entire roof from the palace. Still clinging to the ceiling, she drew a quick series of wards in the air, Drawing and shaping her spell before flinging it toward the unsuspecting warrior.

Ahmann might forgive her killing his son if there were no choice, but Iraven was the last hope of bringing the Majah tribe back to heel. Inevera’s spell would put him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Yet the moment she cast the magic, the wards on Iraven’s armour flared bright with magic. Instead of passing out, he set his feet, holding his spear defensively.

‘Come out, servant of Nie!’ His eyes scanned the walls, searching.

Inevera gave him no time to find them or raise the alarm, dropping down to stand before her son-in-law.

‘You think the Damajah a servant of Nie?’

Iraven’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing unannounced in Shar’Dama Ka’s wing of the palace?’

‘A mother needs permission to visit her son?’ Inevera asked.

Iraven did not lower his weapon. ‘Visitors do not skulk along the ceiling and cast spells at guards. If you have business, state it.’

‘You know my business,’ Inevera said. ‘The Majah hostage your mother, my sister-wife Belina, yet here you stand, gaoler to my own.’

Iraven was unimpressed. ‘Your words would hold more weight, Damajah, if you yourself did not hold Tikka captive.’

‘It is my duty to protect the Holy Mother,’ Inevera said, ‘not let her be drawn into the crossfire of a political scheme to supplant me.’

Iraven was unconvinced. ‘No doubt Asome seeks to similarly protect your mother.’

‘We all want what is best for our mothers,’ Inevera said. ‘You should go to yours now, before she is taken from Everam’s Bounty.’

Iraven’s aura coloured at that. An image of Belina floated over the young man, tethered by countless strands of emotion, as any mother to her son.

‘I may no more see her than allow you entry here,’ Iraven said bitterly. ‘I cannot free her alone, and Asome will not commit to a rescue that would result in open war.’

‘Demon’s piss,’ Inevera said. ‘That is what Asome would have you believe.’

‘Then where is the Damajah’s support? Why are you here, and not in Aleveran’s palace rescuing your sister-wife?’ There was a spark in his aura. One she might fan to a flame.

‘Because it is a task for you, Iraven asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Majah,’ Inevera said. ‘Did your father cower before every problem he could not solve with his spear? The Damaji has taken your birthright, but that does not mean you cannot win it back.’

Iraven paused. The fire in him was growing, but cautiously. ‘How?’

‘Go to Aleveran,’ Inevera said. ‘Submit to his rule, and he will take you with him when the Majah depart Everam’s Bounty. Win glory, and the warriors will whisper your family name. One by one, they will follow you.’

A new image appeared over Iraven, an idealized version of himself standing tall as his pride grew with the fire in his heart.

But then he shook his head, dispelling the image. ‘My brother said words are your weapon, Damajah.’

‘I speak only the truth,’ Inevera said. ‘I pulled you from between your mother’s thighs myself, and cast your future before the cord was cut. There is glory still for you, if you are man enough to seize it.’

‘Perhaps,’ Iraven said. ‘But I seize no glory by turning from my duty this night. No doubt your Sharum’ting skulk about, ready to kill me if I refuse, but no words or threats will make me leave my post.’ With that, he slammed the butt of his spear down upon a warded tile, one Inevera knew would activate a wardnet running through the thousands of tiles around the doorframe, raising an alarm.

She raised her hora wand, Drawing the power away before the wards could activate. Iraven’s eyes widened.

‘Acha!’ he cried. ‘Intruders!’ The sound should have echoed in the stairs, but a few quick wards in the air stopped it as easily as the alarm.

Inevera advanced upon him. ‘I do not need Everam’s spear sisters to pass, Iraven. It is written in the Evejah that it is death to strike a dama’ting or hinder her in any way. How will Everam judge you if you strike the Damajah herself?’

Her senses afire with the magic coursing through her, Inevera smelled the sweat even before it broke on the boy’s brow. She pitied him, torn between duties – another innocent in the crossfire.

But her family was on the other side of those doors, and every second this continued, the danger to them was greater.

Iraven closed his eyes. ‘Everam forgive me.’

Then he struck.

Inevera met him head-on, diverting the thrust of his spear with a hooked wrist. She caught the shaft and pulled as she punched.

The inflexible plates of warded glass in Iraven’s robes were too rigid to cover the convergence point at the base of his neck. The flexible armour there was meant to turn a spear point, not block the single raised knuckle on Inevera’s fist. Her blow was a blur, aided in strength and speed by hora magic.

But Iraven seemed to know her target, turning his head to take the blow on his jaw, instead. He rolled with it, using the momentum to turn a circuit, spear swinging low to sweep her feet.

Inevera was surprised but never lost control, bending back and putting hands on the floor, kicking him in the jaw a second time as she avoided the spear and came back to her feet.

Iraven reeled, but he, too, kept control, spinning the spear behind him and coming back in. He glowed bright with magic, fast and strong. The spear like a feather in his hands. Ashia and her spear sisters dropped to the floor, but Inevera stayed them with a hiss and the back of her hand.

Inevera had never held much respect for Sharum fighting styles, but Iraven had been trained by her husband and Damaji Aleverak, the two greatest sharusahk masters in Krasia. He worked his weapon and feet in perfect harmony, giving her little free energy to turn against him as he picked off the most dangerous of Inevera’s return blows and let others skitter off his armour. All the while he herded her with his spear toward kicks and leg locks that could easily cripple.

Fast as he was, Inevera was faster, bending away from thrusts and kicks, diverting others with minimal contact. She ducked under a sweep of his spear, leg curling around to kick him in the back. He pitched forward, tripping as she hooked his ankle with her support leg.

That should have ended it, but again he surprised her, turning the fall into a somersault and redirecting that energy back in at her. Inevera caught his spear shaft, and he push-kicked her dead centre, slamming her back into the doorframe.

Inevera knew then she had been too merciful, meeting him with sharusahk instead of magic. Thousands of wards on the tiles of the doorframe came to life on contact with the hora about her person, filling the landing with light and setting off alarms throughout the palace.

Inevera snarled as Iraven thrust again, kicking the point of his spear down and running up the shaft to hook a leg around his throat, bearing him to the floor.

Still the warrior thrashed and fought, but Inevera accepted the minor blows, striking convergence points to break the lines of power in his limbs even as she cut off the blood to his brain.

‘Leave Everam’s Bounty with the Majah,’ she told him as his aura began to darken, ‘or I will have your head mounted above the city gate.’

‘Damajah, we must flee.’ Ashia reached out to help her to her feet when Iraven slumped unconscious to the floor.

Inevera ignored the words as she studied the magic flowing through the tiles. She drew an intricate script in the air, and the flare of the wards began to dim even as her wand brightened. She pointed at an inert tile. ‘Break it.’

Ashia did not hesitate, shattering the tile with a punch. Inevera drained two more wards for Ashia to break, then lifted her wand and drew an impact ward, blowing the doors from their hinges.

‘Kill any who stand in our way,’ Inevera commanded, and the Sharum’ting went for the short spears on their backs, warded glass infused with electrum, razor-sharp and indestructible.

Guards were rushing down the hall as the women darted through. Inevera reached into her hora pouch, flinging a handful of black marbles their way, the glass formed around bits of lightning demon bone. Sparks flew as the guards’ muscles seized, and her bodyguards knocked them down like game pieces. Their spears flashed, and Inevera knew the men would not rise.

Up ahead, a group of kai’Sharum clustered by the door to where her parents were being held. Behind them, two dama stood with staves glowing bright in Everam’s light.