Peter Brett: The Daylight War

The son of Jeph shook his head. ‘Ala is too small for us two.’

333 AR Autumn

‘Shar’Dama Ka, the khaffit is here to speak with you.’

Jardir nodded, dismissing the guard as Abban limped into his map room. The khaffit wove unsteadily towards one of the soft chairs. He stumbled, but managed to guide his fall into the seat. He gave a sigh of relief.

Jardir’s nose knew the cause even before he could look into his friend’s aura. ‘Nie’s black heart, you dare come before me drunk on couzi?’

Abban looked at him flatly. ‘The Par’chin is alive, Ahmann.’

The words, and the truth he could see behind them, cut off all other thoughts. Jardir shook his head slowly, turning away while he embraced his feelings.

‘I had suspected,’ he admitted. ‘Months ago when we first heard of this “Painted Man”.’

Abban nodded. ‘We all did.’

‘But I told myself it was ridiculous. We left him for dead in the dunes.’ He looked back at Abban. ‘How did he survive? Did he shelter in one of the khaffit villages?’

‘I did not ask,’ Abban said. ‘What does it matter? It was inevera .’

Jardir conceded the point with a wave. ‘What did he want?’

Abban produced a simple roll of parchment, tied with rough cord. ‘He asked me to give you this.’

Jardir took the paper, slipping off the string and reading quickly.

Greetings, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, in this year of our Creator, 333 AR-

I testify before Everam that you, my ajin’pal, have broken faith and robbed me on the sacred ground of the Maze, in the night when all men are brothers.

In accordance with Evejan law, I demand you meet me in Domin Sharum, an hour before dusk on the autumnal equinox, when Everam and Nie are in balance.

As the aggrieved, the location will be a place of my choosing. You will be given its location one week in advance, and allowed to arrive first, ensuring there is no trap. We will each bring seven witnesses, no more and no less, to honour the seven pillars of Heaven. We will settle our differences as men, and let Everam judge.

The alternative is for our men to meet in the field, shedding red blood in the day instead of black ichor at night. I hope you will see there is no honour in this.

I await your response,

Arlen asu Jeph am’Bales am’Brook

Jardir shook his head. Domin Sharum . Literally it meant ‘two warriors’, referring to trial by single combat as prescribed in the Evejah, based on the rules agreed upon by Kaji and his treacherous half brother before they fought to the death.

‘Autumnal equinox,’ Abban said. ‘One month to the day before we invade Lakton. It’s as if he knew.’

Jardir smiled wanly. ‘My ajin’pal is no fool, and knows our traditions well. But though he speaks of Everam and Heaven, he does not believe their truth in his heart.’ He shook his head. ‘The “aggrieved”, he calls himself. As if taking back what he stole from my ancestor’s grave was common robbery.’

The question had gnawed at him for years. ‘Was it?’

Abban shrugged. ‘Who can say? I’ve done worse to men; even lied to the Par’chin for my own profit. But for all that, I was fond of him. He was very true. When I was around him, I felt …’

‘How?’ Jardir asked. They had both known the man well, but in very different ways.

‘Like I once did around you, when we were boys in sharaj ,’ Abban said. ‘That he would stand in an instant between me and any harm, as he did when you called us before the Spear Throne so many years ago. He made me feel safe.’

Jardir nodded. The way they had known him was not so different after all. ‘And now?’

Abban’s aura became unreadable and he sighed, taking a small clay bottle from his vest and pulling the stopper.

‘Do not …’ Jardir began.

Abban cut him off with a roll of his eyes. ‘The blood of thousands pools at your feet, Ahmann. Are you truly about to lecture me about drinking couzi like I’m a drunken Sharum in the Maze?’

Jardir frowned, but he did not protest further as Abban took a thoughtful pull, his eyes distant. The khaffit looked back at him, holding the bottle out. ‘Drink with me, Ahmann. Just this once. These are things best discussed with lips of cinnamon.’

Jardir shook his head. ‘Kaji forbids-’

Abban threw back his head and laughed. ‘He forbade it because his men were slaughtered in Rusk by a force they outnumbered five to one after spending the night before celebrating a battle that had not yet been won! It was a decree meant for uneducated sheep with weapons, not two men sharing a cup during the day at the centre of their stronghold.’

Jardir looked at Abban sadly. He could see in the man’s aura that he not only did not understand, he thought Jardir the fool in this exchange. ‘This, my friend, is why you are khaffit .’

‘Why?’ Abban asked. ‘Because I do not treat every single utterance of Kaji as the direct word of Everam? You are Shar’Dama Ka now, Ahmann, and I’ve known you a long time. You are a brilliant man, but you have said and done many a stupid and naïve thing over the years.’

Such words might have got him killed in open court, but Ahmann could see his friend spoke from his heart, and could not fault him for that. ‘I make no claims to divine infallibility, Abban, mine or Kaji’s. You are khaffit because you are unable to see that the reasons for Kaji’s decree do not matter. What matters is your obedience and submission. Your sacrifice.’

He pointed to the cup. ‘Everam will not damn me to Nie’s abyss if I drink that, Abban, nor Kaji’s spirit grow restless. But remembering the lesson of the defeat at Rusk is well worth the sacrifice of couzi, just as remembering the betrayal of Kaji’s half brother is worth the taste of pig, no matter how succulent you claim it to be.’

Abban looked at him a moment, shrugged, and drank again. ‘The Par’chin is the man I knew, and he is not. I never felt for a moment he would harm me, or let harm come to me, but he was nonetheless … unsettling.’

‘The rumours are true?’ Jardir asked. ‘He has warded his flesh with ink?’

Abban nodded. ‘Much as you have with scars.’

Jardir shook his head. ‘My wards are made of my own flesh. I have not profaned the temple of my body with-’

‘Please,’ Abban said, holding up a hand to cut him off while rubbing his other hand against his temple. ‘My head hurts enough already.

‘The Par’chin did not spare his face, as you did,’ Abban continued, ‘but he was never handsome as you. I suppose even the Damajah has a limit to how much she will … sacrifice.’

Jardir felt his jaw tighten. ‘I have been most tolerant of you today, Abban, but there is a limit.’

Abban’s aura went cold, and he bowed as much as he could without rising. ‘I apologize, my friend. I meant no dishonour to you or your Jiwah Ka .’

Jardir nodded, whisking a hand to dismiss the matter. ‘You once told me that if one of us were the Deliverer, it was the Par’chin. Do you still think it so?’

‘I do not know that there is such a thing as a Deliverer at all.’ Abban drank again. ‘But I have looked into the eyes of thousands of hagglers, and in all my years met only two men I judged to be true. One of them was the Par’chin, and the other, Ahmann, was you.

‘Ten years ago, our people were splintered. Weak. Unable to control even our own city. Great warriors, perhaps, but fools, also. Spending and spending, but never turning a profit. Our numbers were dwindling, women had no rights to speak of, and khaffit were beneath contempt.’ He held up his couzi cup. ‘Drinking couzi could get you executed.