Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

He breathed deeply to calm himself before he did something rash. Jardir kept his guard up, but his aura showed he had no desire to fight. They both knew what was at stake.

“I made a promise to you that night as I left you on the dunes, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “I threw you a waterskin and promised I would find you in the afterlife, and if I had not kept true and made the Ala a better place, we would have a reckoning.”

“Well it’s come early,” Arlen said. “Hope you’re ready for it.”

Jardir looked at the sky as they exited the tower, trying to deduce where they were from the position of the stars. South and west of Everam’s Bounty, but that told him little. Millions of untamed acres lay between the great city and the desert flats. He might manage to find his way back on his own, but Everam only knew how long it would take.

He didn’t need to ask the Par’chin his purpose in leading them from the tower. It was written clearly on his aura, mirrored in Jardir’s own. The hope that fighting side by side against the alagai, as they had done so many times before, could begin to eat away at the anger and mistrust that lay between them still.

Unity is worth any price, the Evejah said. Kaji had called it the key to Sharak Ka. If he and the Par’chin could find unity of purpose, then they stood a chance.

If not …

Jardir breathed deep of the night air. It was fitting. All men are brothers in the night, Kaji had said. If they could not find unity before the alagai, they were unlikely to find it elsewhere.

“They’ll catch our scent soon enough,” the Par’chin said, reading his thoughts. “First thing to do is recharge your crown.”

Jardir shook his head. “The first thing is for you to return my spear to me, Par’chin. I have agreed to your terms.”

The Par’chin shook his head. “Let’s start slow, Ahmann. Spear’s not going anywhere just yet.”

Jardir gave him a hard look, but there was nothing for it. He could see the Par’chin would not budge on the point, and it was useless to argue further. He raised his fist, knuckles scarred with wards Inevera had cut into his skin. “The crown will begin to recharge when my fist strikes an alagai. ”

The Par’chin nodded. “No need to wait, though.”

Jardir looked at him. “You suggest I take more from you?”

The Par’chin gave him a withering look. “Caught me off guard the once, Ahmann. Try that trick again and you’ll regret it.”

“Then how?” Jardir asked. “Without an alagai to Draw from …”

The Par’chin cut him off with a wave of his hand, gesturing at their surroundings. “Magic’s all around us, Ahmann.”

It was true. In crownsight, Jardir could see as clearly at night as in day, the world awash in magic’s glow. It pooled at their feet like a luminescent fog, stirred by their passage, but there was little power in it, any more than smoke had the power of flame.

“I don’t understand,” Jardir said.

“Breathe,” the Par’chin said. “Close your eyes.”

Jardir glanced at him, but complied, his breathing rhythmic and even. He fell into the warrior’s trance he had learned in Sharik Hora, soul at peace, but ready to act in an instant.

“Reach out with the crown,” the Par’chin said. “Feel the magic around you, whispering like a soft breeze.”

Jardir did as he asked, and could indeed sense the magic, expanding and contracting in response to his breath. It flowed over the Ala, but was drawn to life.

“Gently Draw it,” the Par’chin said, “like you’re breathing it in.” Jardir inhaled, and felt the power flow into him. It was not the fire of striking an alagai, more like sunlight on his skin.

“Keep going,” the Par’chin said. “Easy. Don’t stop with your exhales. Just keep a steady pull.”

Jardir nodded, feeling the flow continue. He opened his eyes, seeing magic drifting to him from all directions in a steady current, like a river heading to a fall. It was a slow process, but eventually the chasm began to fill. He felt stronger.

Then his elation cost him his center, and the flow stopped.

He looked to the Par’chin. “Amazing.”

The Par’chin smiled. “Just gettin’ started, Ahmann. We’ve got a lot more to cover before we’re ready to face a court of mind demons.”

“You do not trust me with the Spear of the Kaji, but you give me the secrets of your magic?”

“Sharak Ka comes before all else,” Arlen said. “You taught me war. Only fair I teach you magic. The rudiments, anyway. Spear’s a crutch you’ve leaned on too long.” He winked. “Just don’t think I’m teaching you all my tricks.”

They spent several more minutes thus, the Par’chin gently coaching him in how to Draw the power.

“Now hold the power tight,” the Par’chin said, producing a small folding knife from his pocket. He opened it and flipped the blade into his grip, passing the handle to Jardir.

Jardir took the small blade curiously. It wasn’t even warded. “What am I to do with this?”

“Cut yourself,” the Par’chin said.

Jardir looked at him curiously, then shrugged and complied. The blade was sharp, and parted his flesh easily. He could see blood in the cut, but the magic he’d absorbed was already at work. The skin knit together before it could begin to well.

The Par’chin shook his head. “Again. But keep a tighter grip on the power. So tight the wound stays open.”

Jardir grunted, slicing his flesh again. The wound began to close as before, but Jardir Drew the magic from his flesh into the crown, and the healing stopped.

“Healing’s great when your bones are in the right place and you’ve got power to spare,” the Par’chin said, “but if you’re not careful, you can heal twisted, or waste power you need. Now let out just a touch, sending it straight where it’s needed.”

Jardir let out a measured trickle of magic, and watched the cut seal away as if it had never been.

“Good,” the Par’chin said, “but you might’ve done with less. Two cuts, now. Heal one, but not the other.”

Holding tight to the power, Jardir cut one forearm, and then the other. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, releasing a fraction as much magic as before and willing it to his left arm alone. He could feel the tingle run along the limb, and opened his eyes to see the cut slowly sealing, the other still oozing blood.

There was a howl not far off, the sound of field demons. Jardir looked in that direction, but the alagai were still too far off.

“Draw power from that direction,” the Par’chin said. “Take it in through your eyes.”

Jardir did so, and found that even though there was no direct line of sight, he could see the creatures in the distance, running hard for their position.

“How?” he asked.

“All living things make an imprint on the ambient magic,” the Par’chin said, “spreading out like a drop of dye in water. You can read the current, and see beyond the limits of your eyes.”

Jardir squinted, studying the approaching creatures. A full reap, more than a score of demons. Their long, corded limbs and low torsos glowed fiercely with power.

“They are many, Par’chin,” he said. “Are you certain you do not wish to return the spear to me?” He scanned the sky. There were wind demons beginning to circle as well, drawn to the glow of their power. Jardir reached for his Cloak of Unsight, ready to pull it close, but of course the Par’chin had taken that, too.

The son of Jeph shook his head. “We can’t take them with gaisahk alone, then we got no business in Anoch Sun.”

Jardir looked at him curiously. The meaning of the word was clear enough, a conjunction of the Krasian gai, meaning “demon,” and sahk, meaning “unarmed,” but he had never heard it before.