Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

A Sharak horn sat both men up straight. Abban looked out the window and saw the cause immediately. “ Sharum’s Lament. ”

Jayan hissed, grabbing his spear and running to the window as if he meant to try and throw it a quarter mile to the sleek fighting vessel that swept in from the north, using the fading light to hide its approach.

Captain Dehlia had renamed Gentleman’s Lament after taking it back from the Krasians. The flag still had a silhouette of a woman staring off into the distance, but the rejected suitor had been replaced with the silhouette of a Sharum on fire. The ship attacked regularly, testing their defenses and giving credence to its name. It had been Dehlia and the Sharum’s Lament that stole the scorpion, allowing the Laktonians to copy the design.

Every time Sharum’s Lament came in sight, it meant grief and loss for the occupiers, and impotent rage for Jayan. Most often the ship would pull up on the edge of range, loosing flamework from its slinger or a deadly hail of arrows—sailing off before the Mehnding could calibrate their weapons to return fire.

Jayan had tried moving chin to the docks and buildings closest to shore, but somehow the captain caught wind of the plan, attacking elsewhere to draw Jayan’s forces while other ships effected a daring rescue of their conveniently placed brethren.

Every time they attempted to prepare for or counter Sharum’s Lament, Captain Dehlia seemed to know their plans and change tactics. There was no telling now if she was simply sailing in to harry, or moving with cunning purpose.

Abban watched carefully as the ship sailed along the shoreline, just out of range. She would veer sharply inward only when approaching her target. All along the docks and shores, Mehnding scrambled and held their breath, knowing they would have only a few moments to target and fire. Jayan had promised a palace to the team that could sink the cursed ship.

But then the ship turned, and Abban felt his sphincter tighten. “Nie’s black heart.”

“Eh?” Jayan asked, turning to look at Abban even at the slinger arm came forward, launching a heavy missile their way.

“Sharum Ka!” Abban cried, throwing himself on the man.

Jayan was heavily muscled, but even he could do little to resist Abban’s bulk as he bore the man to the floor. He punched Abban as they struck the carpet, sending him rolling away. “How dare you lay your unclean hands upon me, you pig-eating camel scrotum! I will kill—”

At that moment there was a crash as something struck the great window. The warded glass Abban had installed held against the blow, but the entire building shook from the impact.

Jayan looked from the window and back to Abban, who managed to get his good knee under him. Again he looked at the window, clouded with bits of wood clinging to the surface, and back to Abban. “Why?”

The young Sharum Ka was not known for articulation, but Abban understood him well enough. Why would a cowardly khaffit risk his own life for someone who had abused and derided him for years?

“You are Sharum Ka,” Abban said. “Blood of the Deliverer, and the hope of our people while your father remains locked in battle with Nie. Your life is worth far more than mine.”

Jayan nodded, a rare thoughtful look about him.

The words were nonsense, of course. Abban would happily let the boy take a spear for him. More than once he had pondered having the fool killed himself. He might have, if not for the risk of the Damajah’s wrath.

But if the Sharum Ka were killed in his presence and Abban survived, Hasik would come for him. It might be that Qeran or Earless could stop him in time, but it wasn’t something Abban was willing to bet his life upon. Hasik would be all too willing to die if it meant he could take Abban with him, and that sort of man was not the kind to gamble against.

“You saved me, khaffit, ” Jayan said. “Continue to serve, and I will not forget, when I take my father’s throne.”

“I haven’t saved anyone yet,” Abban said, looking at the fluid and debris still clinging to the warded glass. “We must get out.”

“Bah!” Jayan said. “You did not lie when you said your warded glass was proof against any blow. What have we to fear?”

He turned, just as the Sharum’s Lament launched another projectile, a flaming stinger, from one of her starboard scorpions.

“We must get out!” Abban cried as the missile arced their way. He made a quick series of gestures to Earless, who leapt across the room, scooping Abban up in his arms.

There was a deafening boom and a flare of light to singe the eyes of even a desert dweller as the missile struck the liquid demonfire clinging to the window. Still the warded glass held, blunting the shock and heat of the blast.

Abban drew a ward in the air. “Everam be praised.” The logical part of his mind knew the glass was performing exactly as it should, but in his coward’s heart, it was a miracle. “Go!” he cried, swinging an arm toward the door. For all the strength in the glass, the building that held it in place was only wood. Already smoke was beginning to seep through the floorboards.

Earless put his head down, charging the heavy door and kicking it from its hinges. The door hit Hasik, who was racing for the scene, but Abban wasted no time on it, gesticulating for Earless to move with all speed. The deaf giant held Abban like a child as he raced down the steps and through the great room below to the back door.

“Fire!” Abban screamed as they raced through the great room. “Flee!”

It wasn’t until they were outside that Abban realized Jayan had been fast on their heels. Abban quickly gestured for Earless to let him down, realizing it must have seemed to all that they had cleared an escape path for the Sharum Ka.

Others joined them, including Khevat, Asavi, Jayan’s bodyguard, and Qeran. “You had Earless carry you?” the drillmaster asked in disgust, his voice too low for the others to hear. “Where is your shame?”

Abban shrugged. “Where my life is concerned, Drillmaster, I have none.”

“I will put my spear in that witch’s heart and fuck the hole!” Jayan cried.

“I will hold her down as you mount her,” Hasik agreed. There was blood in his hair, but he looked ready as ever for a fight.

“Why would I need you to hold her, idiot,” Jayan snapped, “if I had already put my spear in her heart?”

“I …” Hasik began.

“The Sharum Ka does not want your excuses, Whistler!” Abban cried, relishing the moment. “It should have been you, not a pair of khaffit, clearing the path for him.”

Hasik looked as if he wanted the ground to swallow him, and Abban wished the moment could last forever. But then it was gone, and Hasik was baring teeth at him.

“We are blind back here,” Jayan said. “Go to the docks and find out what’s happening.” He pointed, and Hasik ran off like a loyal dog.

“You and the clerics should not remain here, Sharum Ka,” Qeran said. “Please allow the Spears of the Deliverer to escort you to a safer location where you may direct …”

“There!” Asavi shrieked suddenly. All eyes turned to her as she pointed to a Sharum exiting the building amidst the smoke and confusion, his night veil raised against the fumes. There was a satchel over his shoulder, black like his robes. The warrior froze, along with everyone else, the moment seeming to last forever.

“Don’t just stand there!” the dama’ting shrieked. “Stop him or the streets will run with blood!”

That got people moving, but the warrior was quickest of all, shoving a dama aside and moving for the clearest path of escape.