Peter Brett - The Daylight War

‘Come downstairs with me,’ Rojer said. ‘I’m off to rummage under the bar and see if anything stronger than tea escaped the local dama ’s glare.’ Gared grunted and stood. Rojer collected the cards with practised speed, snapping and shuffling them as he headed down the stairs.

The taproom was empty save for the innkeep, Darel, who was sweeping the floor. As at all the inns they had visited on the Messenger road through Everam’s Bounty, the other guests had been ejected for the night to accommodate Leesha’s caravan. She and her family, Gared, Wonda, Rojer, and his wives were all given their own rooms, as were the full dal’Sharum and their wives. The women, children, and kha’Sharum slept in the carts circled outside.

Darel was a fit man, but well past fighting age, with more grey in his beard than his natural sand colour. ‘Honoured masters.’ He bowed. ‘How may I serve you?’

‘Cut that demonshit, for starters,’ Rojer said. ‘Just us chin here.’

The man relaxed visibly, heading behind the bar as Rojer and Gared took stools. ‘Sorry. Never know who’s watching, these days.’

‘Honest word,’ Gared said. ‘Like worrying you got a ward wrong somewhere.’

‘Got anything real to drink?’ Rojer asked. ‘I’ve a powerful thirst, and not for water. Been so long, a bottle of disinfectant will do.’

Darel hawked into a clay spittoon. ‘ Dama smashed all my wine casks the day they came to town. Used the stronger stuff to make a pyre to burn everything “sinful” in town. Took my granddaughter’s stuffed doll. Said its dress was indecent.’ He spat again. ‘Girl loved that doll. Lucky they din’t take her, too, I guess.’

‘It bad as all that?’ Rojer asked.

The innkeeper shrugged. ‘First week was rough. Dama came with a paper from the demon of the desert that said the town belonged to his tribe now. Some folk disagreed, and the Sharum put ’em down hard. Most fell in line after that.’

‘So you just let ’em take over?’ Gared growled.

‘We ent fighters like you Hollow folk,’ Darel said. ‘I saw the biggest man in town have his arm broke like a twig by a dama half his size, just for refusing to bow. Needed to look after me and mine, and couldn’t do that dead.’

‘No one’s blaming you,’ Rojer said.

‘S’not so bad once you learn the rules,’ Darel said. ‘Most of the Krasian holy book is the same as in the Canon, and like us, some of them are preachier than others,’ he cracked a smile as his voice dropped to a whisper, ‘and some are hypocrites.’ With that, he produced a small clay flask and two tiny cups. ‘You boys ever try couzi?’

‘Huh-uh,’ Gared grunted.

‘Heard stories,’ Rojer said.

Darel chuckled. ‘For all their talk of the sin of spirits, them sand folk brew a drink that’ll take the varnish off your porch.’

Rojer and Gared took the cups he offered, looking at them curiously. Even in his crippled hand, Rojer could hold his easily. The one Gared held looked like something a child might use to serve tea to a doll. ‘It’s barely a mouthful. Do you taste it or toss it?’

‘Toss the first couple,’ Darel advised. ‘Gets easier after that.’ They touched cups and threw them back, eyes widening. Rojer had been drinking since he was twelve and thought himself used to the worst burn alcohol could bring to bear, but this was like drinking fire. Gared started coughing.

Darel just smiled, filling their cups again. Once more they tossed them back, and this time, as he said, it was easier. Or maybe their tongues and throats were just numb.

Gared sipped the third cup thoughtfully. ‘Tastes like …’

‘… cinnamon,’ Rojer finished, swishing the liquid in his mouth.

‘The Krasians are like couzi,’ Darel pulled at his whiskers, ‘or this corespawned itchy beard they make all the men grow. Take some getting used to, but not so bad after a while. They let me keep my business so long as I pay my taxes and keep to the rules, and if I arrange a marriage for my granddaughter by the time she bleeds, I don’t have to worry about the white witches arranging one for her.’

He paled suddenly, looking sharply at Rojer.

Rojer smiled and held up his scarred hand. ‘Keep your pants dry. I may have married a dama’ting , but that doesn’t mean they’re any less scary to me. Might want to get out of the habit of calling them white witches, though. “An act practised in private will eventually be seen”, as my master used to say.’

‘Ay,’ Darel agreed. ‘Fair and true.’

‘You were saying?’ Rojer prompted. ‘Krasians aren’t so bad?’

‘Find that hard to swallow,’ Gared said. ‘Like saying it’s not so bad having a boot on your back.’

Darel poured himself a cup of couzi, tossing it back with a practised quickness. ‘Ent saying I don’t miss the old days, and plenty have it worse than me, but generally, you remember when to bow and keep your nose clean, the Krasians leave you be. You have a dispute with your neighbour, it still goes to the Town Speaker first, and then he takes it to the dama if it ent something he can settle on the spot. The dama are generally fair, but they take all that ear-for-an-ear business in the Canon literally. Know a feller lost a hand for stealing a chicken, and another who raped a girl, and had to watch the same done to his sister.’

Gared balled a fist. ‘And that ent so bad?’

Darel threw back another cup. ‘It’s bad, ay, but I don’t steal chickens and rape girls. Reckon there’ll be a lot less of that in the future, too. Evejan law is harsh, but can’t deny it gets results.’

‘And them taking all the boys?’ Gared asked. ‘I had a son, I wouldn’t stand for that.’

Darel swished his third cupful in his mouth, swallowing thoughtfully. ‘Got a grandson they took. Ent happy about it, but they let him come home every month on new moon. Waning, they call it. Boys’re getting it rough, coming home with bruises and broken bones, but no worse’n the Krasian boys. They’re picking up the language and rules quicker than the rest of us, and the dama says that the ones who earn the black will be full citizens, with all the rights of a Sharum lord. And the ones who don’t are kicked out as khaffit .’ He smiled, scratching his neck. ‘Which ent too different from my lot, ’cept without the itchy beard.’

Rojer sipped his fourth — or was it his fifth? — cup of couzi. His head was beginning to spin. ‘How many boys did they take from … where are we, anyway?’

‘Used to be Appleton,’ Darel said. ‘Now it’s some long bunch of sand words. We just call it Sharachville, ’coz that’s our tribe now. There were thirty boys here the right age for Hannu Pash or whatever.’

Rojer had to steady himself on Gared as they climbed back up the steps. He had drunk a big mug of fresh water and chewed a sourleaf, but he doubted his wives would be fooled if he stumbled over his own feet on the way to bed. Fortunately, Rojer was Arrick Sweetsong’s apprentice and had a lot of practice pretending to be sober when he was anything but.

‘They’re building an army bigger than all the Free Cities combined,’ he said quietly. ‘Lakton doesn’t have a chance.’

‘Gotta do something,’ Gared said. ‘Find the Painted Man, fight, something. Can’t just sit back and let ’em take everything south of the Hollow.’

‘First thing is to warn folk in Lakton what’s coming,’ Rojer said. ‘Got some ideas about that, but I need a night’s sleep and maybe a pot to sick up in first.’

It took all his mummer’s skills and acrobatics to keep steady as he walked by Enkido. If the giant eunuch took any notice of him, he did not show it. Inside, Amanvah was still in her private chamber, the evil glow of wardlight shining from under the door. He made his way into bed without a problem. Sikvah was waiting for him, but she said nothing as he collapsed face-first into the pillows. He felt tugging as she pulled off his boots and clothes, but while he did not resist, neither did he have strength to assist. She stroked his back gently, cooing as he fell fast asleep.