Peter Brett - The Daylight War

They had survived.

Some of us , Leesha amended, looking at the shrouded bodies lying all over the Corelings’ Graveyard. The battle hadn’t ended when Arlen and Renna collapsed. Reinforcements had come from the other boroughs when it was clear the demons were making a full press for the centre of the Hollow and battle had been joined directly. Arlen and Renna had destroyed most of the larger demons by then, and denied ammunition to the rest. It became an open melee, tooth and talon against warded steel, with Gared and Thamos leading assault after assault.

There were so many wounded she had been forced to begin laying them out in the square, and then on the streets. There was death everywhere, but she had neither the time nor the help to move the bodies, and they were left where they lay. Thousands of dead and wounded mixed together. Even those on their feet looked half dead. No one had slept in days.

She looked sadly at the Holy House where they had made their last stand in the Battle of Cutter’s Hollow, its roof now caved by several boulder strikes. Perhaps it was well after all that Inquisitor Hayes was building his cathedral to replace it. New Rizon had been nearly levelled, as well as the now ironically named Sweet Succour, but the defences had held in the other boroughs.

Horns and flamework had signalled Thamos and his mounted soldiers through the night, sending them along the border as the demons probed for weak spots and tried to break the greatward. Rojer’s Jongleurs drove back the demons and confused them as the Cutters struck, and Coliv and the remaining Sharum were found wherever the fighting was thickest.

She went to her office in the hospit to check on Rojer. He lay propped up on her desk, his head wrapped in bandages as Amanvah and Sikvah took it in turns talking to him and asking questions, trying to keep him awake and alert. Amanvah had used the last of her hora to close the wound, but he had still taken a heavy blow to the head, and if he passed out, there was still a chance he might not awaken.

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘He will recover,’ Amanvah said. ‘The dice tell me Everam still has need of him.’

Leesha nodded. ‘He needs us all.’

‘My people think the chin weak,’ Amanvah said, ‘but my father spoke of the Hollow tribe’s strength. In this, as in all things, he was right. Your people have honoured the Creator this Waning. You will rise stronger than ever.’

Leesha shook her head. ‘We can’t keep taking losses like this. We’ll need to deepen and strengthen our greatwards, and get people off the streets on Waning. Dig basements, tunnels, sewers …’

‘You must build an Undercity,’ Amanvah said.

‘Good start,’ a voice said behind her, ‘but it won’t be enough.’

Leesha turned, and her eyes widened. ‘Arlen!’ she cried, throwing her arms around him before she could help herself. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing, and for the first time in days, she felt a touch of hope. ‘Thank the Creator you’re all right. We won’t survive another new moon without you.’

Arlen looked at her sadly. ‘May have to. I’m why the minds have come. It’s all my fault.’

‘That’s not-’ Leesha began.

‘Demons were in my head, Leesha,’ Arlen cut her off. ‘Heard their plans — and worse, they heard mine. Know everything I do, including my plans for Jardir, and for taking the offensive against them. Everything I’ve been devising, made worthless in an instant.’

He looked up, meeting Amanvah’s eyes. ‘Need to do something they won’t expect.’

333 AR Summer

14 Dawns Before Waning

‘How dare you spin your lies in the court of the Deliverer,’ Damaji Qezan of the Jama tribe accused.

‘Lies?!’ Damaji Ichach of the Khanjin cried, his face growing red. ‘You are the one whose tongue drips with false witness. You know full well …’

Ichach and Qezan, neither the fittest to begin with, had put on even more weight in recent months. Virtually every Krasian had since they conquered the abundant green lands, but few so grossly.

Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, Shar’Dama Ka and the most powerful man in the world, looked at the squabbling clerics and had to suppress the urge to blood his spear with the both of them. The Jama and Khanjin were ever at each other’s throats.

Jardir felt stronger than ever in his life, muscles brimming with energy, yet he had never felt so weary as he did now, watching fat old men argue the latest bit of political nonsense even as the battle lines of Sharak Ka were being drawn.

It wasn’t just the Jama and Khanjin. The tribes had been united for years and were wealthy as never before, yet still they found reasons to offend one another, stealing wells and women just to burn rivals. The Damaji could have put a stop to it, but the cycle of vengeance on the council of Damaji was no better than that among the most incensed tribesmen. These men were zahven , and the only thing that truly mattered to them was their standing among one another.

He noticed the Damaji looking at him, and realized he’d stopped paying attention. They were awaiting a decree, and he had no idea what for. Some bit of contested land …

Jardir looked to Jayan, standing at the foot of his dais. ‘Jayan my son, what think you of this great crisis between the Jama and Khanjin?’ He made no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice.

Jayan bowed deeply. ‘The Jama have a legitimate claim to injury, Father.’ Jardir saw Damaji Qezan puff up. ‘But so, too, do the Khanjin.’ Ichach straightened at that.

Jardir nodded. ‘And how would you deal with it in my place?’ Both Damaji turned in surprise to look at the young Sharum Ka. Traditionally, the Sharum Ka was the servant of the council, not the other way around, and Jayan was only nineteen. With the exception of Ashan, there was not a man on the council under sixty.

Jayan bowed again. ‘Both tribes have proven they are unworthy of the land. I would confiscate it for the war effort.’

Of course you would , Jardir thought. Jayan had not been happy with the three million draki he had been given, but Jardir had seen Jayan’s clumsy accounting of how he had spent the war tax, and read between the lines. The only one of my sons to have his own palace, and already it must be grander than any other.

He looked to Asome, standing beside Damaji Ashan and Dama Asukaji. ‘And you, Asome? Do you agree with your brother?’

Asome bowed. ‘The land is meaningless, Father, and will not solve the true problem.’

‘And what is that, my son?’ Jardir asked.

‘That Sharak Ka is nigh, yet the Damaji continue to waste the Deliverer’s time with petty matters even children could settle among themselves.’

There was a burst of chatter among the Damaji at this. Jardir thumped his spear on the marble dais. ‘Silence!’

The room quieted immediately. Jardir kept his eyes on Asome. ‘And your solution to this problem?’

‘Let the Damaji settle it among themselves.’ Asome turned, eyeing the two Damaji as his voice grew cold. ‘And give Damajis Qezan and Ichach three lashes of the alagai tail each for incentive.’ He dropped a hand to the barbed whip he carried on his belt. Every dama owned one — a symbol of the new power given when they took the white — but carrying them on one’s person had fallen from fashion over the centuries, only to be brought back by Asome. Now more and more dama carried the weapons with them at all times.

For a moment, there was utter silence, but then the entire court broke out in angry shouting.