Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

The thrill of battle, the pride in each other, and the charge of battle whirled in them both, an aphrodisiac neither could resist.

Ashia tripped her husband, flinging Asome onto the bed and crawling atop him.

“I am told these greenland beds have better uses than sleeping.” She kissed him again. Asome’s member stood in his robes like the pole of a tent.

“I am still … push’ting. ” He groaned as she squeezed it.

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Ashia said, pulling off her own robes. “Tonight, you are my husband.”

“You have broken my decree, and that of the Shar’Dama Ka,” Ashan said from his seat on the Skull Throne. The anger in his voice was apparent to all, and it was not an act. From her perch above the throne, Inevera could see it dancing on his aura. “Going into the night at Waning and fighting alagai’sharak. What have you to say for yourselves?”

There was silence in the great hall as all held their breaths, waiting for an answer. The throne room was filled to capacity, with every dama in the city in attendance, as well as ranking Sharum and dama’ting. Word of the night’s battle had reached every ear in the city by now, talk of the shar’dama on everyone’s lips. Inevera doubted the djinn could be put back in the bottle now that it was out.

Asome stood out in front, unrepentant, with Asukaji at his side. Behind them stood his dama half brothers with the Damaji of their respective tribes. Most of the old men were livid with rage, auras crackling. They had been forced to take Ahmann’s sons as their heirs, but with the Deliverer gone and a crime to pin at their feet, many were praying fervently that this might be their chance to rid themselves of the boys and regain direct control of their tribes.

Inevera had wanted to settle the matter in private, but Ashan, in an uncharacteristic show of will, had refused. He wanted the distance of the throne, fearing he might throttle the boys if they stood close in private.

It was a feeling Inevera understood well. The balance of power in the city already shifted as if built on a foundation of sand. Ahmann’s dama heirs were only newly raised to the white, still too young and inexperienced to take and hold control of the tribes. The dice had told her of Jayan’s victory on the lake, and he would surely use the triumph to further his claim to the throne.

Yet for Inevera the deepest cut was Ashia. Her sons were expected to wrestle for power. The spear sisters’ loyalty should have been absolute. Micha and Jarvah had not known—it was clear on their auras when they came to her—but Ashia had stood before her, knowing her husband’s plans, and put Asome’s honor above her duty to her mistress.

But that was a problem for later. Inevera was pulled from her thoughts as Asome drew breath to speak. Unlike the tension and anger in the others, Asome’s aura was cool and even, convinced of the righteousness of his path, safe in the knowledge that Everam was on his side.

“Holy Andrah,” Asome said, bowing deeply before Ashan, “it is said amongst the Sharum who accompanied you and my father to meet with the Hollow tribe that you, yourself, fought alagai’sharak with them. Is this not so?”

There was a buzz through the room at that, dama gasping and whispering to one another.

Ashan’s eyes narrowed. “The Shar’Dama Ka commanded I follow him into battle and I obeyed, defending myself by tripping and throwing alagai into the path of Sharum spears. I did not take up warded weapons and kill.”

“And yet your honor was boundless,” Asome said. “I did not take up weapons, either. The first alagai I killed were by sharusahk alone, with no magic to aid me. It was only when Nie set her kai against us that I fought as my father did, turning their own power against them.”

Another buzz through the crowd.

“And yet it was that very thing your father forbade,” Ashan reminded him. “Here, in open court, he forbade you to fight at Waning.”

“My father made that decree to punish my arrogance,” Asome said, drawing looks of surprise. Indeed, all Ahmann’s sons were arrogant, though none to Inevera’s knowledge had ever admitted it. “My wife had gone into the night, killing alagai at the Damajah’s command.” He looked up, meeting Inevera’s eyes. “With no warning to me beforehand. What husband would not rage at such a sight? What man not feel the sting? I spoke out in anger, attempting to deny her the spear.”

Asome turned, taking in the assembled court. “But I was wrong! Wrong to deny the honor to any who wished to take arms against Nie and stand unified in Sharak Ka. For make no mistake, brothers and sisters, Sharak Ka is near! My mother has foretold that the Deliverer has gone to the edge of Nie’s abyss, and when he returns it will be with all Her forces at his heels! The armies of the Deliverer must stand ready when that day comes, strong at his back as he turns to face that fell horde and cleanse their taint from Ala once and for all!”

He turned back to Ashan. “Why do dama spend lifetimes studying sharusahk ? To bully Sharum and khaffit to our will? That is not Everam’s way. Not the way of Shar’Dama Ka. At every turn, my father added to his forces from unlikely places. Khaffit. Chin. Women. The creation of the shar’dama was inevitable, Holy Andrah. My father denied me honor to teach me this, but I have learned. I have grown. And now, with my father facing trials far from here, it is the duty of all dama to lead his people in his absence.”

Again his eyes swept the crowd. “And so on the second night of Waning, I call upon all dama to take up the fight, staining their white robes with demon ichor and sending a message to Nie’s generals that we of Krasia are not weak in the night. That we will stand not only when the Deliverer is with us, but when he needs us most to stand on our own. Every Sharum unit has a dama advisor. Go with them into the night and see firsthand the great work they do, the sacrifice they make. Join in alagai’sharak, and become what you were meant to be since the first time you stood in the bowels of Sharik Hora and began the sharukin !”

There was a roar at that, some dama and Damaji screaming in protest, but many more crying out in support, eager for the honor Asome offered.

“You must support him,” Inevera whispered into Ashan’s earring. She had said it before, but now there was no other choice. When Ahmann had first brought back the fighting wards and offered true battle against Nie, the Andrah and Damaji had resisted, fearing the loss of power. Sharum had defected in droves, flocking to the Maze and Ahmann’s call. If they resisted, it would only be a matter of time before Asome did the same.

Ashan was angry at his sons, but he was no fool and saw it, too. “There is wisdom in your words, my son. The blood of my brother Ahmann, Shar’Dama Ka, runs strong in you—all of you. You honor Everam with your words.” He rose from the Skull Throne. “And so I, too, will fight this night, and stain my robes.”

“As will I.” Ancient, one-armed Aleverak stepped forward. “Too long have the dama cowered like women in the Undercity while Sharum shed blood in the night.”

Others stepped forward, some in passion, and others, their auras told, out of fear of being seen as cowards. The wind blew, and none could resist it.