Peter Brett: The Skull Throne

The next minutes were a blur. Inevera was forced to focus almost entirely on defense as the women pressed her from both sides. They had come prepared, their auras continuing to glow brightly even as Inevera’s dimmed and she began to slow.

More, Asavi and Melan had been fighting together their entire lives, designing their own sharukin to fight in perfect harmony. Blocking one opened Inevera to attacks from the other, and the women took full advantage.

Inevera found herself missing more and more blocks as her power waned, and the few counters she managed amidst the pummeling were easily blocked. It became clear they were toying with her, savoring the moment.

“Accept your fate,” Melan said, landing a kick to the side of the head that sent Inevera reeling.

“Everam has forsaken you,” Asavi said, kicking her back the other way.

“It is your own fault,” Melan said, punching Inevera in the jaw so hard it took her feet from under her.

Asavi was positioned to catch her as she fell, dropping to one knee and driving Inevera hard into it. Inevera coughed a spatter of blood as the air was blasted from her, and Asavi hurled her onto her back. “You have grown complacent in your power, coming into battle with little more than your dice, flawed since you coated them as the Evejah forbid.”

Was it true? Had the dice turned from her? Had she truly fallen from Everam’s favor? If so, what had been her failing? Not confirming the death of the Par’chin? Coating her dice? Allowing Ahmann into Domin Sharum ? What might she have done differently?

But then she remembered something, and her hand dropped to her hora pouch.

“They warned me,” she croaked.

“Eh?” Melan asked.

“The dice.” Inevera gasped as she reached into the pouch. “They warned me my power would be challenged. Everam has not forsaken me. This is just another test.”

It was forbidden in the Evejah to Draw on one’s dice for anything save light and foretelling, lest the hora might become so drained as to cause false foretellings. More, the items were the most precious thing a dama’ting owned. They were her key to the white, her guide through life, the heart of her power. No dama’ting would risk harm to her dice.

But Inevera had already lost her dice once, leaving her blind until she could carve a new set. The price was high, but she was stronger for paying it.

Now, she had dice carved from a mind demon’s bones, and coated in electrum. She closed her fingers about the seven dice, Drawing hard on their power for one last burst of strength and speed.

Melan and Asavi had not expected the move, but neither were they caught unaware. As Inevera came back, they moved in perfect sync, Asavi to block, and Melan to counter.

Faster than asps a moment ago, the women now seemed to move like plodding camels. Inevera’s kick connected with Asavi’s chest before her hands were in place to block, knocking her back with plenty of time to pivot and catch Melan’s attack, pulling her into a throw that sent her clear across the room.

At a safe distance, both women reached for their hora pouches once more, but Inevera was faster, raising the fist that clutched her dice and pointing a finger, her sharp nail tracing a cold ward in the air.

Asavi literally froze, a thin rime of white coating her skin. Inevera had not intended to kill her—yet—but she had not anticipated the raw power of the dice. The woman’s aura snuffed like a candle.

Melan shrieked, letting loose a blast of lightning, but Inevera turned, sketching a quick Drawing in the air. Her hand tingled as the energy was absorbed back into the dice.

Gaping, Melan fumbled with her hora pouch, pulling free another fistful of wind demon teeth. Propulsion wards activated as she threw, but Inevera traced the ward in reverse, and the teeth ripped back through the thrower.

Melan gave a sharp cry and fell back, groaning and laboring for breath, riddled with holes. Inevera kept her dice in hand, ready to ward, but the woman’s aura gave no sign that she might continue the battle.

“Killed … Asavi …” Melan said through clenched teeth.

“The same fate she wanted for me,” Inevera noted. “But you don’t fear cold, do you, Melan?” She drew quick wards in the air, and a bright flame hovered above her hand. “Fire has ever been your bane.”

Melan flinched, crying in pain as she curled reflexively, clutching her scarred hand close. “I will tell you nothing!”

Inevera laughed. “I have my dice, little sister. I need nothing you can tell me. Any value you might still hold vanished the moment you mentioned my mother.”

“Forgive our failure, Damajah,” Micha begged when Inevera revived her. Jarvah was only just stirring from the healing magic when one of Inevera’s earrings began to vibrate, signaling that someone had entered one of the secret passages the spear sisters used.

Be silent, Inevera’s hands signaled. She flicked her fingers, and Micha helped get Jarvah out of sight as Inevera raised her hora wand.

The hidden door opened silently, but it was no attacker. Instead she found Ashia, with Kajivah slung over her shoulder and a bundle strapped to her chest. The spear sister’s robes were torn and wet with blood, her white veil splotched red. She left bloody footprints behind her.

“Succor, I beg, Damajah.” Ashia laid Kajivah down and uncovered the bundle, revealing her infant son.

“What has happened?” Inevera demanded, moving to inspect the woman’s wounds. There were bruises and superficial cuts, but a spear had pierced her abdomen and come clear through. She was pale, her aura dim. She would need hora magic if she was to survive.

“Jayan is dead,” Ashia said, “his forces shattered.”

Inevera nodded. “I know.”

“The shar’dama killed their Damaji and took control of the tribes in response,” Ashia said. “All save Maji, who was defeated.”

This was news, and dire. It had been Inevera’s intention all along that Ahmann’s dama sons take control of the tribes, but at a time of her own choosing. The idiots risked everything, and she realized just how far her control of them had slipped.

“And Ashan?” she asked, already guessing the answer.

“My father is dead,” Ashia said. “Asome sits the Skull Throne.”

Worse, still. She had already lost Jayan. It would be devastating if she were forced to kill Asome, as well.

“I turned to Asukaji when the slaughter began,” Ashia said, “just in time to catch a chain around my throat as he tried to kill me.”

“Then your brother, too, is dead,” Inevera guessed.

Ashia nodded, coughing blood, then, and swayed on her knees. Inevera signaled and Micha and Jarvah were there in an instant. “Take the child.”

Jarvah reached out, but Ashia tightened her grasp reflexively and Kaji began to cry. Ashia squinted as if she did not recognize her spear sister, confusion and fear in her aura.

That more than anything frightened Inevera. When had she ever seen fear in Ashia’s aura? Not even when the alagai built greatwards around the city.

“By Everam and my hope of Heaven, I swear I will not harm him, sister,” Jarvah said. “Please. The Damajah must see to your injuries.”

Ashia shook her head, and some of the confusion left her aura. “I have walked the abyss to protect my son tonight, sister. I will not be parted from him.”

“You will not be parted,” Inevera said. “You have my word. But you may clutch too tightly when the magic takes you. Let your spear sister hold Kaji. They will not leave your side.”

Ashia nodded, relaxing her grip. Jarvah took Kaji, holding the thrashing infant beneath the armpits at arm’s length. She looked like she would prefer fighting a rock demon. The Sharum’ting , denied their own childhoods, had none of a mother’s instincts.