Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

“The dice—” Jardir began.

“—are magic, and no denying,” Arlen cut him off. “That don’t make them divine. And they never told Inevera to have you stop me going to Anoch Sun. They just told you to use me when I got back.”

The anger further left Jardir’s scent as he considered this new possibility. His old friend could be a fool over his faith, but he was an honest fool. He truly believed, leaving him forever hamstrung as he tried to reconcile the hypocrisies of the Evejah.

Arlen spread his hands. “Got two choices here, Ahmann. Either we stand around arguing abstractions, or we fight Sharak Ka the best we can with what we’ve got and sort out who’s right after we win.”

Jardir nodded. “Then there is only one choice, son of Jeph.”

The days passed, and their tentative accord held. Jardir felt more in control of his magic than ever before, stunned at the breadth of power at his fingertips, and his previous narrow vision of it.

But for all their progress, Waning drew closer by the hour. He and the Par’chin could run at great speed when the magic filled them, but even so, Anoch Sun was not close, and they still had to lay their traps.

“When will we leave for the lost city?” he asked one morning, as they waited to show the night’s kill the sun.

“Tonight,” the Par’chin said. “Lesson time’s done.”

With those words, he melted away into mist. Jardir watched closely with his crownsight as he slipped down into one of the many paths that vented magic onto the surface of Ala. Everam’s power of life, corrupted by Nie.

He was gone for but an instant, but when he rose back out of the path, the current of magic that came with him told Jardir he had traveled a long way, indeed.

In his hands, he carried two items: a cloak and a spear.

Jardir was reaching for the spear before the Par’chin had fully solidified. His hand passed through it at first grasp, but he snatched again, and took hold at last, pulling it from the Par’chin’s hands.

He held the spear before him, feeling the thrum of its power, and knew it was the genuine Spear of Kaji. Without it, he had felt empty. A shell of himself. Now it was returned, and at last his heart eased.

We shall not be parted again, he promised.

“You’ll be needing this, too.” Jardir looked up just as the Par’chin tossed Leesha Paper’s Cloak of Unsight to him. His arm darted out to catch it before the edge touched the ground.

He eyed the Par’chin in annoyance. “You insult Mistress Leesha by treating her wondrous cloak so disrespectfully.”

Leesha’s gift did not have the hold over his fate the spear did, but he could not deny that the feel of the fine cloth, and the invisibility it gave him against even the most powerful alagai, made him feel their mad plan might have a chance.

“How will you hide, when the alagai come to Kaji’s tomb?” he asked when the Par’chin gave no reply. “Have you a cloak as well?”

“Don’t need one,” the Par’chin said. “I could trace the wards of unsight in the air, but even that’s too much trouble.”

He held out his arms, wrists turned outward. There, on his forearms, were tattooed the wards of unsight.

The wards began to glow, even as the others on the Par’chin’s skin remained dark. They became so bright Jardir lost sight of the individual symbols as the son of Jeph faded, much as when he became insubstantial—translucent and blurry. Jardir felt dizzied at the sight of him. Something urged him to look away, but he knew in his heart that if he did, he would not be able to find the Par’chin when he looked back, even if the man did not move.

A moment later, he returned to focus. The glow faded from the wards, and they became readable once more. Jardir’s eyes danced over them, and his heart caught in his throat. Warding was like handwriting, and these were traced in the distinct looping script of Leesha Paper, embroidered in detail all over his cloak.

Normally it made his heart sing to see the art of his beloved’s warding, but not here.

“Did Mistress Leesha ward your flesh?” He did not mean the question to come out as a growl, but it did. The idea of his intended touching the Par’chin’s bare skin was unbearable.

To Jardir’s relief, the Par’chin shook his head. “Warded them myself, but they’re her design, so I copied her style.” He stroked the symbols almost lovingly. “Keeps a part of her with me.”

He wasn’t telling all. His aura practically sang with it. Jardir probed deeper with his crownsight, and caught an image that burned his mind’s eye. Leesha and the Par’chin naked in the mud, thrusting at each other like animals.

Jardir felt his heart thudding in his chest, pounding in his ears. Leesha and the Par’chin? Was it possible, or just some unfulfilled fantasy?

“You took her to the pillows,” he accused, watching the Par’chin’s aura closely to read the response.

But the Par’chin’s aura dimmed, the power Drawn beneath the surface. Jardir tried to probe, but his crownsight struck an invisible wall before it got to his ajin’pal.

“Just ’cause I let you read my surface aura now and then don’t give you the right to break into my head,” the Par’chin said. “Let’s see how you like it.”

Jardir could feel the pull as the Par’chin Drew magic through him and absorbed it, Knowing him as intimately as a lover. He tried to stop the pull, the Par’chin caught him unaware, and by the time he could raise his defenses, it was done.

Jardir pointed the spear at him. “I have killed men for less insult, Par’chin.”

“Then you’re lucky I’m more civilized,” the Par’chin said, “’cause the first insult was yours.”

Jardir tightened his lips, but he let it go. “If you have been with my intended, I have a right to know.”

“She ent your intended, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Heard her tell it to your face on the cliff. She’ll be corespawned before she becomes your fifteenth wife, or even your First.”

The Par’chin was mocking him. “If you heard those private words, Par’chin, then you know she carries my child. If you think for a moment you have a claim to her …”

The Par’chin shrugged. “Ay, she’s a fine woman and I shined on her a bit. Kissed her a couple times, and once, something more.”

Jardir’s grip tightened on the spear.

“But she ent mine,” the Par’chin said. “Never was. And she ent yours, either, Ahmann. Baby or no. If you can’t get that, you’ll never have a chance.”

“So you no longer desire her?” Jardir asked incredulously. “Impossible. She shines like the sun.”

There was a sound of galloping hooves, and the Par’chin smiled, turning to watch his Jiwah Ka riding hard in the predawn light. She rode bareback on an enormous mare, leading four similarly huge horses. Their hooves, bright with magic, ate the distance at more than twice the speed of a Krasian racer.

“Got my own sun, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said. “Two is asking to be burned.”

He pointed to Jardir as he strode out to meet his wife. “You already got enough sun to turn the green lands into another desert. Think on that.”

Renna flew from the saddle, and Arlen caught her in his arms, returning her kiss. He concentrated, activating the wards of silence on his shoulders. Jardir would see the magic and know they were masking their words, but Arlen didn’t think he would say anything. A man was entitled to private words with his wife.

“All well in the Hollow?” he asked.

Renna saw the magic, too, and kept her face buried in his chest as she spoke to hide the movement of her lips. “Well as can be expected. Hope you’re right about this being a light moon. They ent ready for much more, especially without us.”