Peter Brett - The Daylight War

Still, the heavily laden carts moved at a crawl that seemed to chafe at the jet-black chargers of the dal’Sharum and even the sturdy garrons Gared and Wonda rode. Leesha remembered Ahmann’s warning of bandits and bit her lip. Even in Krasian lands, there were many who would wish her dead. Beyond, the cartloads of food and clothing in the caravan might make them too much to resist for those who had lost everything when the Krasians came and took their homes. The Sharum would deter smaller bands, but there were women and children to hostage, and Leesha knew well that bandits would exploit such weaknesses.

‘Of course.’ Shamavah’s Thesan was almost as flawless as her husband’s. ‘There is a village, Kajiton, just over the next hill, and riders have already been sent to prepare a proper reception.’

Kajiton . The name of the Krasian Deliverer with a Thesan suffix. It said much about the state of Rizon … or Everam’s Bounty, as she had best get used to calling it. Ahmann had given land to his tribes like a man slicing a birthday cake for his family, and while the hamlets had not been taken as brutally as Fort Rizon itself, it was clear from Leesha’s carriage window that the tribes had dug in, and Evejan law taken a firm hold.

There was no sign of any men of fighting age, save for those weak or infirm, and the Thesan women toiling in the fields did so in dresses of dark, sombre colour that covered them from ankle to neck, hair wrapped carefully in scarves. When the dama sang the call to prayer, or even came in sight, they were quick to prostrate themselves. The smell of hot Krasian spices drifted on the air, and a pidgin, part Krasian and part Thesan mixed with hand signs and facial expressions, was emerging.

The duchy she had known was gone, and even if the Krasians were somehow driven off, it was doubtful it would ever return.

‘Proper reception’ turned out to be almost everyone in the village bowing and scraping as they rode past, and the town inn emptied save for the staff. While thousands of people had fled the Krasian advance, forming refugee groups that swelled every hamlet and city north and east of Everam’s Bounty, it was clear that far more stayed behind, or were captured and herded back. There were hundreds of Thesans still in Kajiton alone. The land in Rizon was fertile, and the population was greater than all the other duchies combined.

As they rode into the town square, Leesha saw a large stake at its centre with a woman hanging limply from wrists chained high above her head. She was obviously dead, and the marks on her naked body, as well as the small stones that lay scattered about her, made clear the cause. A sign atop the stake had a single word in flowing Krasian script, but Leesha needed no translator, having seen it often enough in the Evejah.

Adulterer.

The pain in her head flared again, and she thought she might throw up in the carriage. She fumbled in the pockets of her apron, taking a root and a handful of leaves, popping them into her mouth without bothering to brew them into something palatable. They chewed into a bitter cure, but it settled her stomach. It would not do to show the Krasians her weakness.

They pulled up, and children scattered flower petals from the carriage doors to the steps of the inn, acting as if there were not a rotting corpse a few dozen feet away.

‘Children can adapt to anything,’ Bruna used to say, and it was true enough in Leesha’s experience, but no child should have to adapt to this.

The local dama awaited them, looking like he was carved from solid oak. His beard was iron grey and his eyes the blue of slate. Kaval, leading the procession, reined and leapt from his horse with an agility that belied the grey streaks in his beard, bowing to the dama and exchanging a few words. The cleric gave a shallow bow as Leesha stepped down from her carriage.

‘So this is the Northern witch who has beguiled Shar’Dama Ka,’ he muttered to Kaval in Krasian.

The scent of the petals under her feet did not cover the smell of death, and pain and outrage made her feel murderous. Now he presumed to judge her as well? It was all Leesha could do not to pull the knife from her belt and bury it in his throat.

Instead she gave him the imperious stare she had learned from Inevera. ‘The Northern witch understands you, Dama,’ she said. ‘What is your name, that I may tell Ahmann of your words of welcome?’

The cleric’s eyes widened in shock. In Krasia, unmarried women spoke only when spoken to, and would not dare take such a tone with a dama , who could — and often would — kill them for such an affront.

But Leesha had spoken the words in Krasian, showing she knew their ways, and her use of the Deliverer’s given name showed a familiarity that would make all but the most powerful Damaji wet their robes.

The dama hesitated, pride and the instinct for self-preservation at war on his face. In the end he bowed again, this time so deeply his long beard swept the dust. ‘Dama Anju. Apologies, Holy Intended. I meant no disrespect.’

‘In my land, those who mean no disrespect remember to speak respectfully,’ Leesha said. She kept her words simple, her Krasian far from fluent. ‘Now remove that woman’s body and return it to her family to lay to rest according to their own custom. This is the wedding day of the Deliverer’s eldest daughter to Rojer asu Jessum am’Inn am’Hollow, and its presence is an offence.’

She was not entirely within her rights to speak for Rojer, but by calling him ‘am’Hollow’ — rather than the proper ‘am’Bridge’ for his birth city of Riverbridge — she had named him as Hollow tribe, which made them family in the eyes of the Krasians.

Dama Anju’s eyebrows began to twitch. Only dama’ting dared take such a tone and order dama about, and then only because it was clearly stated in the Evejah that it was death and a denial of Heaven to harm or physically hinder one in any way. Leesha was no dama’ting , but her tone made it clear she believed her position as holy intended accorded her the same rights.

The dama stopped breathing, and Leesha knew she had pushed him too far. She watched his face redden as his anger built and reached into her apron for a pinch of Bruna’s blinding powder. He would come at her in a moment, and she would put him down before everyone.

Anju began to move his feet.

‘Do not,’ Kaval warned, his voice a soft murmur.

The dama looked to the drillmaster and saw Kaval’s hand was on his spear. There were other sounds, and Anju turned to see the dal’Sharum of Leesha’s escort had done the same. Wonda had her bow trained on him, and Gared had his axe and machete in hand.

Anju eased into a more submissive posture, but his face was swollen and his breath quick and shallow. Leesha could not resist twisting the knife, meeting his eyes boldly. ‘To honour this holy occasion, it would please the son of Jessum if you released seven chin slaves, one for each pillar of Heaven.’

The impotent rage she saw in the dama ’s slate eyes was bittersweet. The barest taste of what you deserve , she thought.

Leesha swept away before Anju could respond further, heading for the inn. In her wake, she heard her orders being carried out, and kept her face serene, showing nothing of what she felt.

She was learning.

‘Here we go again,’ Leesha groaned as the singing stopped.

Rojer and his wives were a week married, but still the sounds from Rojer’s carriage were a constant pendulum between the young women’s singing and their wails of passion.

Sikvah began to cry out not long after, and Amanvah soon joined her. Leesha put her head in her hands, massaging her temples. The headache cycle had continued all week. The pain had receded, but there was tightness in the muscles around her left eye, a constant threat that it could return in force at any moment. ‘Night, can’t those tramps shut it for five minutes?’