Peter Brett - The Daylight War

And Ahmann, as he often did, sent Hasik.

Abban’s daughter Cielvah was working alone in the front of his pavilion in the New Bazaar when the warrior was spotted coming their way. Curfew was looming and the bazaar nearly empty, most of the pavilions and storefronts closed for the night. Abban watched through a pinhole as Hasik entered the tent. Cielvah was young and beautiful, intelligent with skilled hands. She had a bright future, and Abban loved her dearly. Something Hasik had known when he raped her. It was never about Cielvah. It was about hurting Abban.

The girl gasped when she saw Hasik. She scurried behind the counter and down a short hallway where she disappeared through a canvas flap. Like a cat after a mouse, Hasik followed, leaping nimbly over the counter in pursuit and disappearing through the flap an instant after the girl.

Abban heard a door slam, and counted to ten before following, taking his time with the walk. His leg still pained him even after so many years, and he saw no need to tax it.

Hasik was still struggling when he entered the room, shutting the heavy door behind him. The pavilion abutted a large warehouse, and Hasik had unwittingly stepped inside. Two Sharach kha’Sharum had the situation well in hand with their alagai- catchers. The hollow poles were twice the length of Hasik’s arms, threaded with woven steel cable, the end loops tight around his neck. Hasik grasped one in each fist, trying to keep them from tightening, but it was useless against the skilled Sharach warriors. When he pulled they pushed, and vice versa, all the while tightening the cords. Abban watched in pleasure as Hasik’s struggles slowed, and he dropped to his knees, face reddening.

Cielvah came over to him, and Abban put an arm around her. ‘Ah, Hasik, how good of you to visit! I trust you remember my daughter Cielvah? You took her virginity last spring. I have promised her a front seat to what I do to you in return.’

Still unmarried, Cielvah did not have a veil to lift as she spat in the Sharum ’s face. Hasik tried to lunge at her, but the Sharach held him fast, choking him back down to his knees. Abban raised a hand, and another of his kha’Sharum , standing invisibly in the shadows, came forward. The Nanji were renowned for their skill at torture, and the small man was no exception. He moved with easy grace, silent as death save for the ring of the sharp, curved blade he drew. Hasik’s eyes bulged at the sight, but he was not allowed air to protest.

The small man considered. ‘This would be easier if he were on his back.’ His voice was low and quiet, barely a whisper. ‘And his limbs held tight.’

Abban nodded, clapping his hands loudly. The Sharach twisted their poles, throwing Hasik flat onto his back as the doors opened and a number of black-clad women entered — Abban’s wives and daughters. Many wore marriage veils, while others, like Cielvah, had their faces uncovered. More than one of them had fallen prey to Hasik’s attentions over the years.

Four of the women carried alagai- catchers of their own, and in short order they had looped Hasik’s wrists and ankles, pulling tight. The Sharum was strong as only a warrior who regularly felt the magical rush of killing alagai could be, but the women had numbers and leverage, and he was held fast, even without the Sharach. The two kha’Sharum eased tension of their nooses, that all might better enjoy Hasik’s screams and frantic, impotent thrashing as the Nanji sliced open his pantaloons.

The women all laughed at the sight of Hasik’s limp member as it was revealed. Abban, too, chuckled, knowing the presence of the women multiplied Hasik’s pain and humiliation a thousandfold. ‘This pathetic thing is what my women fear when you visit my pavilion?’

‘Dogs have tiny members as well, Father,’ Cielvah said. ‘That does not mean I wish to be humped by one.’

Abban nodded. ‘My daughter has a point,’ he told Hasik. He nodded to the Nanji. ‘Cut it off.’

Hasik shrieked, thrashing again, but it did him no good as the women held him fast. ‘I am the Deliverer’s ajin’pal ! He will not let you get away with this, khaffit !’

‘Tell him, Whistler!’ Abban laughed using the mocking nickname Hasik had been given after Qeran knocked out one of his teeth for calling Abban a pig-eater’s son when they were boys in sharaj . ‘Tell the whole world a khaffit cut your manhood away, and watch as they snigger at your back!’

‘I will kill you for this!’ Hasik growled.

Abban shook his head. ‘I am of more value to the Deliverer than you, Hasik.’ He gestured to the three kha’Sharum . ‘In his wisdom, he has given me warriors to see to my protection.’ He smiled. ‘And to protect the honour of my women.’

Hasik opened his mouth again, but Abban gestured and the Sharach choked off his words. ‘The time for talk is over, old friend. We were taught in sharaj to embrace pain. I hope you took the lessons better than I did.’

The Nanji worked quickly, skilled as a dama’ting as he wound a tight cord around shaft and sack both, cutting them away and dropping them onto a plate as he inserted a metal tube to drain waste and sewed up the wound with practised efficiency. When he was finished, he lifted the plate. ‘How shall I dispose of this, master?’

Abban looked to Cielvah. ‘The dogs have not yet been fed today, Father,’ she noted.

Abban nodded. ‘Take your sisters and see that they have something to chew on.’ The girl took the plate and the other women dropped their alagai- catchers to follow her out the door, all of them laughing and talking amiably among themselves.

‘I will encourage them to be discreet, my friend,’ Abban said, ‘but you know how women are. Tell a secret to one and soon they all hear of it. Before long, every woman in the bazaar will know to no longer fear Hasik, the man with a woman’s slit between his legs.’

He tossed a heavy leather sack at the warrior, eliciting a grunt of pain as it struck his stomach with a clink. ‘Take that to the Damajah on your way back to the palace.’

Jardir followed Inevera down the winding stair leading from their private quarters to the underpalace. He had never had need to visit the underpalace — he had not hidden in the night for over a quarter century — and was mildly fascinated as they descended. Wardlight lit their way, but Jardir’s crownsight was all he needed. He could see the eunuch Watchers hiding in the shadows as easily as he could in brightest day. Their auras were clean, intensely loyal to his wife. He was glad of this. Her safety was everything.

She led him through twisting tunnels, freshly hewn from the rock, and several more doors, leaving even the eunuch guards behind. At last, they arrived at a small private chamber where a man and a woman sat on pillows, sharing tea.

Inevera pulled the door closed behind them as the couple quickly got to their feet. The woman looked much as any other dal’ting , swathed in black robes that hid all but her eyes and hands. The man was in a khaffit ’s tan and pushed hard on a cane as he rose. His aura ended abruptly halfway down one leg.

Cripple , Jardir noted, not having to ask who they were. Their auras told him everything, but he allowed Inevera the niceties all the same.

‘Honoured husband,’ she said. ‘Please allow me to present my father, Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, and his Jiwah Ka , my mother, Manvah.’

Jardir bowed deeply. ‘Mother, Father. It is an honour to meet you at last.’

The couple bowed in return. ‘The honour is ours, Deliverer,’ Manvah said.

‘A mother need not cover her face when alone with her husband and children,’ Jardir said. Manvah nodded, removing her hood and veil. Jardir smiled, seeing many of the features he loved in the woman’s face. ‘I can see where the Damajah gets her legendary beauty.’