Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

334 AR WINTER

Heart pounding, Briar ran fast and low, using cover wherever he could find it. Still clad in his stolen blacks, the darkness was a comforting blanket.

There were few cories in the area. Whatever else could be said of his father’s people, the Krasians had swept the lands around Docktown clean of demons, so much that even in the night there was little to fear.

But there were other predators out in the darkness.

Thamos had used the distraction of the Waning celebrations to move his forces in close, positioning them behind a small copse of trees near the base of Colan’s Rise. The count’s horse gave a start as Briar burst from the thicket right in front of them, rearing with a great whinny.

Briar froze, fearing the count would be thrown, but Thamos kept his seat, expertly bringing the animal back down.

“Night, boy,” the count growled, voice low and angry. “Are you trying to give our position away and get us all killed?”

“They know,” Briar said.

“Eh?” Thamos asked.

“Seen ’em,” Briar said. “ Sharum moving through the woods to get behind us. Know we’re here.”

“Corespawn it,” Thamos growled. “How many? Are they mounted?”

“Lots more than us,” Briar said. He was not good with numbers. “But most on foot.”

Thamos nodded. “Harder to move in secret on horseback. Are they in position?”

Briar shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”

Thamos turned to Lord Sament. “Ready the men. We proceed as planned.”

“You mean to ride right into the trap?” Sament asked.

“What would you have me do?” Thamos asked. “We won’t get another chance at this. Egar and his men are committed, and Lakton without winter supply. We must take that hill and position the archers to cover the Laktonian deployment. The enemy is on foot, and their avenue of attack is narrow. Once we have the high ground, they will have a bloody time getting us out.”

“But they will,” Sament said. “Once we’re on that hill, we’ll be trapped there.”

“If we can hold until the docks are taken, it may be we can break through with a charge of horse and escape.”

“And if not?” Sament asked.

“If not,” Thamos said, “we protect the docks until we die.”

Abban leaned on his crutch by the waterfront window of his warehouse, staring into the darkness. His office spanned the entire top floor with windows on all sides, affording a view in every direction.

Earless loomed nearby, but Abban remained ill at ease. The giant was stronger than anyone Abban had ever met, and well on his way to becoming a sharusahk master, but his presence did not lend the comfort of Qeran. The drillmaster was matchless in combat and respected by all, willing—eager, even—to advise and point out when Abban was about to do something foolish.

It was surprising how much he had come to depend on the drillmaster, a man he had once hated with every fiber of his being. The man who had kicked Abban off the Maze wall into a layer seething with demons, simply for failing to fold a net properly.

With his merchant’s eye, Abban understood. He had been a liability to his unit, endangering other Sharum with his incompetence at war. He accrued debt with no way of paying it back, like a chicken that could not lay. Better the slaughter, from Qeran’s perspective.

But Abban had other skills, ones that made him invaluable to the Shar’Dama Ka—and to his sons. It was his plan they executed tonight. If they were victorious, Jayan would claim credit and Abban’s part would be struck from history. If they failed, Abban’s life wouldn’t be worth the dust on his sandals.

Qeran was needed out there in the darkness.

A few feet away, Dama Khevat paced restlessly by the window, the old man taking no more ease than Abban. Only Asavi, kneeling on the floor on her perfect white casting cloth, projected serenity. She watched the men coolly as she sipped her tea.

The Krasians had been careful to appear as if nothing were out of the ordinary throughout the day. Khevat presided over Waning prayers as warriors spent the day eating, resting, and lying with women. Many of the Sharum had sent for their families to settle and help hold the town, and others had taken greenland brides when the town was sacked.

But when they mustered for alagai’sharak, as all Sharum must on Waning, they did not follow the usual path they took to sweep the alagai from the town environs, flitting invisibly in their black robes to places where they might ambush the coming chin.

“When fire shrieks thrice across the sky, you must strike,” Asavi had told Jayan that morning after reading the dice. The power of the alagai hora was shown once more as a line of fire whined into the sky with a shriek that could be heard for miles.

The chin flamework was mirrored by another streaking missile from the surface of the lake. A third lit the sky to the south where Sharu had taken his dal’Sharum.

In the distance, he heard the Horn of Sharak, and he felt a thrill pass through him. For better or worse, the battle had come.

On cue, roaring fires sprang up in the sling baskets of dozens of Laktonian warships moving swiftly for the shallows. Mehnding crews went to work immediately, but they were still getting the range when flames began to arc through the air. Khevat stopped his pacing to watch the streaking missiles, trepidation on his normally impassive face.

Abban was unconcerned. His engineers and Warders had secured the building, bricking alagai corpses into the walls to power the wards. A crude imitation of dama’ting hora magic, but effective enough. Boulders would bounce off the walls like pebbles, and no flame could touch them. Even smoke would turn to a fresh breeze before it drifted inside. The whole town could be laid to ruin, but his warehouse would remain unscathed.

He had barely entertained the thought before the Laktonians tried to make it reality. In the past they had restricted bombardment to the beaches and docks, but tonight’s missiles ranged farther, blasting through buildings and setting fires throughout town.

“The first night of Waning,” Khevat growled, “and they would burn women and children from their wards!”

“I suppose it is fitting,” Abban said. “We gave little thought to their holy day of first snow when we took the town, and I’ve seen what Sharum do to women and children.”

“ Chin women and children,” Khevat said. “Unbelievers outside Everam’s light.”

Abban shrugged. “Perhaps. Fools, in any event, if they believe there is profit attacking on Waning.”

Khevat grunted. “Even if they somehow manage to win the battle, the Damaji will not stand for it. They will empty Everam’s Bounty of warriors and kill a thousand chin for every Sharum lost.”

Briar watched as Thamos bent, putting match to the paper tube he stuck in the ground.

The archers had been ready for them, but there were not enough to stop the charge of Thamos’ armored cavalry. If the Krasians had positioned too many men atop the hill, they would have shown their hand too soon. They left the men on the hill to die.

The fuse sparked to life and the rocket took of with a great shriek, leaving a tail of red fire in the sky behind it. Briar’s eyes widened as he tracked its flight. His mother made toss bangs for festival days, but this was flamework like he had only heard tale of. To the south and east, other rockets rose in response, signaling the readiness of the forces to attack.

“They’re beautiful,” he said.

“Leesha Paper made them for a different new moon.” Thamos’ voice was distant, sad. “I’ve seen flamework fail many times, but not hers. Never hers.” He put two fingers into the seam of his breastplate as if to reassure himself something was there.