The Skull Throne

Abban shook his head, disappointed but unsurprised. ‘It is true you have found something I want. I do not deny this is something my heart has longed for.’

‘Then you accept?’ Inevera asked.

Abban drew a deep breath as if to speak, but held it instead. After a moment, he blew it out, seeming to deflate as he did. ‘My father used to say, Love nothing so much you cannot leave it at the bargaining table. I know enough of the ancient tales to know that magic always has its price, and that price is ever higher than it appears. I have leaned on my crutch for twenty-five years. It is a part of me. Thank you for your offer, but I fear I must refuse.’

Inevera was becoming vexed and saw no reason to hide it. ‘You try my patience, khaffit. If there is something you want, be out with it.’

The triumphant smile that came over Abban’s face made it clear this was the moment he had been waiting for. ‘A few simple things only, Damajah.’

Inevera chuckled. ‘I have learned nothing is simple where you are concerned.’

Abban inclined his head. ‘From you, that means everything. First, the protection you offer must extend to my agents, as well.’

Inevera nodded. ‘Of course. So long as they are not working counter to my interests, or caught in an unforgivable crime against Everam.’

‘And it must include protection from you,’ Abban went on.

‘I am to protect you from myself?’ Inevera asked.

‘If we are to work together,’ Inevera noticed he did not say that he would work for her, ‘then I must be free to speak my mind without fearing for my life. Even when it is not things you wish to hear. Especially then.’

She will tell you truths you do not wish to hear, the dice had once told Inevera of her mother. There was value in an advisor like that. In truth, there was little value in any other kind.

‘Done,’ she said, ‘but if I choose not to act on your advice, you will support my decisions in any event.’

‘The Damajah is wise,’ Abban said. ‘I trust she would not act wastefully once I have given her the costs.’

‘Is that all?’ Inevera asked, knowing it was not.

Abban chuckled again, refilling their teacups. He took a flask from the inner pocket of his vest and added a splash of couzi to the drink. It was a test, Inevera knew, for the drink was forbidden by the Evejah. She ignored the move. She hated couzi, thought it made men weak and foolhardy, but thousands of her people smuggled the tiny bottles under their robes.

Abban sipped at his drink. ‘At times I may have questions.’ His eyes flicked to the hora pouch at her waist. ‘Questions only your dice can answer.’

Inevera clutched the pouch protectively. ‘The alagai hora are not for the questions of men, khaffit.’

‘Did not Ahmann pose questions to them daily?’ Abban asked.

‘Ahmann was the Deliverer …’ Inevera caught herself, ‘… is the Deliverer. The dice are not toys to fill your pockets with gold.’

Abban bowed. ‘I am aware of that, Damajah, and assure you I will not call upon you to throw them frivolously. But if you want my loyalty, that is my price.’

Inevera sat back, considering. ‘You said yourself magic always comes with a price. The dice, too, can speak truths we do not wish to hear.’

‘What other truth has value?’ Abban asked.

‘One question,’ Inevera said.

‘Ten, at least,’ Abban said.

Inevera shook her head. ‘Ten is more than a Damaji has in a year, khaffit. Two.’

‘Two isn’t enough for what you ask of me, Damajah,’ Abban said. ‘I could perhaps manage with half a dozen …’

‘Four,’ Inevera said. ‘But I will hold you to your word not to use this gift frivolously. Waste the wisdom of Everam with petty greed and rivalries, and every answer will cost you a finger.’

‘Oh, Damajah,’ Abban said, ‘my greed is never petty.’

‘Is that all?’ Inevera asked.

Abban shook his head. ‘No, Damajah, there is one more thing.’

Inevera brought the scowl back to her face. It was art, but easy enough. The khaffit could try even her temper. ‘This bargain is beginning to outgrow your worth, Abban. Spit it out and have done.’

Abban bowed. ‘My sons. I want them stripped of the black.’

There was commotion in the Krasian camp when Abban limped away from the audience. Inevera caught sight of Ashan striding towards her rapidly.

‘What has happened?’ Inevera asked.

Ashan bowed. ‘Your son, Damajah. Jayan has told the warriors his father has disappeared. The Sharum Ka acts as if it is a foregone conclusion that he will sit the Skull Throne on our return.’

Inevera breathed, finding her centre. This was expected, though she had hoped for more time.

‘Bid the Sharum Ka to lead the search for his lost father personally, and leave a handful of warriors to maintain a camp. The rest of us must ride for Everam’s Bounty with all haste. Leave behind anything that may slow us.’

They pressed for home as fast as the animals would allow. Inevera sent Sharum to kill alagai as soon as the sun set and used their power-rich ichor to paint wards of stamina on the horses and camels to strengthen them enough to continue on in the night.

It was a risk, using hora magic so openly. The quick-minded might glean some of the mysteries the dama’ting had guarded for centuries, but it could not be helped. The dice advised she return as quickly as possible – and warned it might not be fast enough.

There were countless divergences over the coming days, a struggle that threatened to rend the fragile peace Ahmann had forged among the tribes and cast them back into chaos. How many feuds had been set aside on the Deliverer’s order, but still nursed in the hearts of families that had stolen wells and blooded one another for generations?

Despite her precautions, Jayan and the Spears of the Deliverer reached Everam’s Bounty before them. The fool boy must have given up the search early and ridden cross-country with his warriors, pushing their powerful mustang to their limits and beyond. Her trick with the ichor to strengthen the animals could be replicated by warriors who killed demons in the night, the wards on their spears and the steel-shod hooves of their mounts absorbing power even as they turned the alagai’s strength back on them.

‘Mother!’ Jayan cried in shock, turning to see Inevera, Ashan, Aleverak, and Asome storm into the throne room where he had gathered the remaining Damaji and his most trusted lieutenants.

Inevera’s group was followed by the twelve Damaji’ting, Qeva of the Kaji and Ahmann’s eleven wives from the other tribes. All were loyal to Inevera and her alone. Ashan was shadowed by his powerful lieutenants, Damas Halvan and Shevali, all three of whom had studied with the Deliverer in Sharik Hora. Ashan’s son Asukaji, speaking for the Kaji in his absence, waited with the other Damaji.

Abban limped into the throne room as fast as his crutch would allow, practically unnoticed in the commotion. He slipped quietly into a dark alcove with his bodyguard to observe.

It was good that she had pushed her entourage. Jayan had clearly expected more time to rally the Damaji to his favour. He had barely been in the Bounty a few hours, and had not yet had the audacity to climb the seven steps to sit the Skull Throne.

It would not have been claim enough if he had, with the Deliverer’s inner council and the most powerful Damaji absent, but he would have been far more difficult to unseat without open violence. Inevera loved her son for all his faults, but she would not have hesitated to kill him if he’d dared such a blatant grab at power. Ahmann had curtained off the great windows of the throne room that he might use his crownsight and give Inevera access to her hora magic in the day. The electrum-coated forearm of a mind demon hung from her belt, warm with pent energy.

‘Thank you for gathering the Damaji for me, my son,’ Inevera said, striding right past his gaping face to ascend the steps and take her customary place on the bed of pillows beside the Skull Throne. Even from a few feet away, the great chair throbbed – perhaps the most powerful magic item in existence. Below, the holy men and women assembled as they had for centuries, the Damaji to the right of the throne, and the Damaji’ting to the left. She breathed a bit of relief that they had arrived in time, though she knew the coming struggle was far from over.

‘Honoured Damaji,’ she said, drawing a touch of power from a piece of warded jewellery to carry her voice through the room like the word of Everam. ‘No doubt my son has informed you that my divine husband, Shar’Dama Ka and Everam’s Deliverer, has disappeared.’

There was a buzz of conversation at the confirmation of Jayan’s tale. Ashan and Aleverak were nodding, though they were not foolish enough to give any detail until they learned what exactly Jayan had said.