Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The other demons of the reap hesitated momentarily in confusion, but now they gathered themselves, readying a charge that would surely overwhelm Asome.

Asome saw it, too, chopping his hand in the air at them. “Acha!”

With that, Asukaji and the other dama gave piercing battle cries, raising their weapons and charging past Asome into the fray, leaving husband and wife standing together.

Ashia turned to Micha and Jarvah. “Inform the Damajah of what you have seen. Now. Do not deviate or slow until our mistress has heard your account.”

The women looked at each other, then bowed deeply to Ashia, running at speed back toward the city.

Asome looked at her curiously.

“Many oaths conflict this night, husband,” Ashia said. “But I will keep them all, if I can.”

Asome bowed. “Of course, wife. I would ask nothing less of you. But you should have waited.” He winked. “The best is still to come.”

They turned together, looking out on the field as the clerics waged alagai’sharak. Asukaji waded into a knot of demons, whip staff seeming to strike them all at once. Flashes of magic sparked and popped around him as he spun.

The younger brothers distinguished themselves as well. Though they were but fifteen, they had been trained in sharusahk since they could stand, each marked by the distinctive fighting style of his tribe. Maji, trained by grand master Aleverak, used no weapon save warded nails and silvers. He let the demon he faced do most of the work, powering the heavy blows that rocked it back.

Dama were denied blades by Evejan law, including the broad-bladed arrows and throwing knives Mehnding Sharum favored. Mehnding dama used bolas instead, and Savas was no exception. A slender warded chain connected two heavy balls of warded silver. Savas took the legs from a field demon, immobilizing it as he beat it senseless with his silvers.

Hallam, the Sharach brother, used the alagai -catcher favored by his tribesmen, its metal cable warded. He caught a demon by the neck, tightening the loop until the magic popped its head off. Tachin and Mazh, the Krevakh and Nanji brothers, had small wooden pegs hammered into their staves, like the rungs of a ladder. Ashia watched Tachin run up the side of his staff to leap ten feet in the air, somersaulting over a charging demon to land behind it. As the creature whirled about in confusion, he landed a flurry of explosive blows with his silvers.

They ranged through the night, Hoshkamin and his warriors following his older brother as Asome led his dama brothers to glory.

As it had been for several months, there was no sign of Alagai Ka, but it was Waning, and the alagai were stronger and more numerous. And there was something else.

“They are attacking strategic positions,” Ashia said. The demons lacked the precision they had under the control of the minds, but they clustered in places were defenses were weakest, attacking wardposts to increase their range.

Asome nodded. “Perhaps Father stands at the cusp of the abyss as Mother foretold, holding Nie’s princelings at bay, but She has kai, as well.”

“The changelings,” Ashia said, tightening her grip on her spear.

“Melan foretold we would find one in the night,” Asome agreed. He looked at Ashia. “For this test, wife, we must fight side by side.”

Ashia nodded eagerly. A mimic had taken Enkido, and she would show this one the sun in her master’s honor. “Your glory is boundless this night, husband. I am proud to stand with you.”

An hour later, the attack came without warning as a large wood demon surrounded by fighting dama lashed out, its arm becoming a great horned tentacle. The blow knocked half a dozen men back. The wards embroidered in silver thread on their robes deflected the worst of it, but all were stunned, shaking heads and placing hands on the ground as they tried to push up even to sitting position.

Hoshkamin rushed in to protect his dama brothers. The shields of his warriors were better at turning the mimic’s blows, but the demon spun, lashing through the thin gap between the shields and the ground. Sharum screamed in agony as they collapsed, many with severed feet.

Ashia was relieved to see Hoshkamin had escaped that fate. Dama’ting magic could heal much, but even they could not grow back that which was cut away. She gave a cry as she rushed in, hoping to distract the creature from her brothers in the night as they regrouped.

Asome followed, but her husband had absorbed no magic in the night’s battle, and could not keep pace. It was good. Asome had surpassed all expectations, but without so much as a warded nail, this foe was beyond him.

Tentacles whipped at her, but Ashia was ready. She dodged the first, leapt over the second, and caught a third on her shield, never slowing her advance. Two more lashed out as she drew in close, and she dropped her shield in order to dive between them.

She hit the ala in a roll, bouncing back to her feet and using the momentum to add power to her two-handed thrust into the demon’s heart.

Magic exploded with the blow, shocking up Ashia’s arms and filling her with power such as she had never felt. The changeling’s black eyes widened in shock, and Ashia stared back hard, wanting to see its unholy life melt away. “Everam burn you in the name of Enkido!”

The demon shrieked at her and she tried to pulled the spear free and thrust again, but found it held fast. Still staring into the creature’s dark eyes, she understood her mistake.

A rock demon’s arm grew from the mimic’s chest, knocking the wind from her as it clutched her tightly and bore her to the ground, talons scraping against the plates of warded glass woven into her robes. The claws did not pierce, but it mattered little as Ashia felt her ribs crack.

Her spear, punched clear through the demon’s torso, melted free like a spoon through hot resin, sloughing onto the ground just out of reach. There were other weapons concealed in her robes, but Ashia could not reach them while held in the crushing grip.

Everam, I am ready, she thought. She had served Him in all things, and would die on alagai talons, as her Sharum blood demanded. There was no dishonor. This was a creature like the one that had killed her master, like the one that fought the Deliverer on even terms. It was a good death.

As the changeling drew back for a killing blow, Asome leapt past her. She wanted to cry out, to tell him to flee, but even if she had the breath, she would not dishonor him so.

We will walk the lonely path together, Ashia thought. What more could any couple ask for? Everam had joined them in life. It seemed only fitting they should also die as one.

But then Asome struck, and there was a flare of magic so bright it burned Ashia’s warded eyes. As if she had looked at the sun, the image stayed with her a few moments, even as she blinked and shook her head. The talon that held her eased its grip as the creature was rocked by explosions of magic, then pulled away entirely.

Ashia clenched her eyes tight for a moment, then opened them.

Asome held the demon’s arm in a grip that smoked and burned, bright with magic. Her husband had stripped to a simple white bido, discarding even his sandals and the wrappings that had covered his hands.

She saw now why he had hidden his hands these last days. His fists—his entire body—was covered in raised scars. Like his father, Asome had cut wards into his flesh, that his very touch be anathema to the children of Nie.

His glow had been dim before, when he fought without the aid of the symbols, proving himself before Everam and the Sharum. But now the wards were written in fire across his skin, and he glowed so brightly that there was a halo around him all could see, warded sight or no.