Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“I will, Damajah,” Ashia said. “On my love of Everam and my hope of Heaven, I swear it.”

Inevera continued to scrutinize her, and it was all Ashia could do to hold her center. At last, the Damajah nodded. “Return to your chambers and spend the remaining hours until muster with your son.”

Ashia bowed. “I will, mistress. Thank you, mistress.”

Ashia held young Kaji close as she watched Asome and Asukaji prepare for the coming night.

Her own preparations were quick and efficient, the result of years of training. Her weapons and armor were oiled and laid out in precise fashion. Though she lounged in a plain robe of silk in their private chambers, she could be armored and ready to fight in moments.

Her brother and husband, however, paced and preened like pillow wives. Their hands were wrapped tightly in white silk, only the first knuckles exposed. Much like Ashia and her sisters, Asome had painted fighting wards on Asukaji’s finger and toe nails, layering clear polish over the symbols to harden and protect them.

Asukaji clenched his fists, moving through a series of sharukin with the precision of a master, flexing his fingers to bring different combinations of wards into play.

“Try it with the silvers,” Asome said, and Asukaji nodded, going to a lacquered wood case on his vanity. Inside were two pieces of polished, warded silver, shaped to be slipped over the fingers. They rested comfortably to protect his top knuckles, giving her brother fists that would strike the alagai like thunderbolts.

Asukaji went through his sharukin again, layering in moves to make the most of the new weapons.

“Now the staff,” Asome said, taking Asukaji’s whip staff from its stand and throwing it to him.

The whip staff was a glorious weapon—six feet of flexible Northern goldwood, carved with wards of power and capped on either end with warded silver. Asukaji caught the staff, spinning it into a blur he incorporated into his sharukin. The whip staff moved faster than the eye could see, and in the hands of a master, the supple wood could bend to strike around defenses that would deflect a rigid weapon.

Ashia looked to Asome, wearing only his alagai tail, the weapon all dama carried. The barbed tips of its prongs were no doubt warded, but it seemed like little compared to the myriad weapons her brother was preparing to bring into the night.

“What of you, husband?” Ashia asked. “You have not so much as painted your nails. What dama weapon will you bring to alagai’sharak ?”

Asome pulled the whip from his belt, hanging it on its hook on the wall. “None. Tonight I fight as you did on the night the Sharum’ting revealed themselves.”

Ashia hid her surprise. “You will fight spear and shield, like your honored father?”

Asome shook his head. “ Dama are forbidden the spear, and a shield would slow me, when I must be fast.”

Ashia looked at him, understanding slowly dawning on her. “Husband, you cannot mean to fight with sharusahk alone.”

“My father did it, when he was only a kai, ” Asome said.

Ashia knew the story. One of the first legends of the Shar’Dama Ka’s rise. “Your honored father had spent years in the Maze by then, husband, and his own retelling had it an act of last resort. To go unarmed into Waning is …”

“Madness,” Asukaji agreed, but Asome glared at him, and he dropped his eyes.

“Anyone can kill alagai with weapons,” Asome said. “My Sharum brothers do it every night. It is not enough if I am to win glory to match my brother.”

He clenched one of his bandaged hands into a fist. “Either Everam wills me to succeed, or He does not.”

They went into the night wrapped in black cloaks, Asukaji and the dama sons of the Deliverer. Only Asome walked boldly in the night in his white robes. Sharum looked at him with apprehension, remembering the Shar’Dama Ka’s forbiddance that clerics to go out at the night. But they recognized Asome, blood of the Deliverer himself, and none dared hinder him.

There were no alagai close to the city proper, held back by walls, wardposts, and regular patrols. They had to range far before the sounds of battle came to them. At last they came to Hoshkamin, Asome’s younger brother, wearing the turban of Sharum Ka as he directed men culling field demons on a wide plain.

Hoshkamin looked at them in surprise. “You should not be out in the night, brother! It is forbidden!”

Asome stood before him, slender where Hoshkamin was thick with muscle; clad only in silk, where Hoshkamin wore the finest armor; weaponless where Hoshkamin carried spear and shield of warded glass.

And yet it was Asome who dominated, Ashia saw immediately. There were but two years between them, but that was vast for men not yet twenty. Asome leaned in, and Hoshkamin took a step back.

“The Deliverer is not here to stop me,” Asome said quietly. “Nor is our elder brother.” His smile was dangerous, predatory. “Will you try?”

He didn’t raise his voice, or make a threatening gesture, but Hoshkamin paled visibly. He glanced at his men, no doubt imagining the shame if his elder brother were to beat him in front of them while he wore the white turban.

Hoshkamin took two steps back, giving Asome a respectful bow. “Of course not, brother. I only meant that it is dangerous in the night. I will assign you a bodyguard …”

Asome whisked a hand dismissively. “I have all the bodyguard I need.”

With that, Damaji Asukaji and Asome’s dama brothers cast aside their cloaks, their white robes bright in the flames and wardlight. Hoshkamin and the Sharum stared, speechless, as they strode into the field of battle.

Asome went first, striding toward a reap of field demons being harried by a unit of dal’Sharum, their shields locked in a V-formation.

He walked right up to the apex of the V, brushing aside the Sharum at point with a gesture. Surprised at the sight of a dama, the Deliverer’s son, they fell back instinctively. Ashia and her spear sisters followed with Asukaji and the others.

One of the demons was quicker to take advantage of the break in formation than its fellows, leaping at Asome with a roar. Ashia tensed, ready to charge and interpose herself should the alagai prove too much for her honored husband.

She needn’t have worried. Asome flowed easily around the jaws and talons, catching the demon by the horns and turning a full circle that converted all the energy of the demon’s leap into a twist that cracked its neck like a whip. Trained Sharum jumped at the sound, and hopped back as Asome threw the demon’s lifeless body at their feet.

Two more charged at him, but Asome was ready, snatching the wrist of one and turning to pull its arm straight as he laid his free hand against its shoulder joint. Again he turned the demon’s momentum against it, twisting it to the ground and breaking its arm effortlessly as he put it into the path of the other.

The second demon lost barely a moment clawing its way over the first, talons digging deep wounds as it tamped and pounced. But a moment was time enough for Asome to shift his stance and catch its wrists, pulling it off balance as he fell back. He hooked a leg around its neck, getting in too close for the demon’s jaws. They rolled in the dirt a moment, but Ashia knew her husband had the hold, and even alagai needed to breathe.

Soon it lay still, and Asome rose. The other demon hissed at him, limping weakly on three legs. Asome hissed back, moving in.

“Everam’s beard,” Hoshkamin whispered as the demon retreated to match Asome’s advance. The other Sharum echoed him, muttering oaths and drawing wards in the air.