Peter Brett - The Core

Orman nodded. ‘The chin slaves eat them. Need to feed your khaffit ?’

‘He can feed off his fat,’ Hasik said. ‘I thought I would taste one, myself.’

‘If that is your wish,’ Orman said, ‘providing you can pay. We have women, as well. Chin women, not much to look at, but under the veils one is as good as any other, yes?’

One of the men whispered in Orman’s ear. The warrior tossed his head and barked a laugh, then met Hasik’s eyes. ‘They remind me Jayan’s dog was gelded. Women not much good to you, are they?’

Abban tsked, shaking his head. ‘You will regret that, son of Hovan.’

The man glanced at him. ‘What …?’

But then he was gasping and doubling over, grasping at the handle of the knife Hasik had thrown, embedded now in his crotch.

The other warriors surged in. They speared Hasik’s charger in the throat, but Hasik wore armour of warded glass beneath his robes, and their weapons skittered off. He was rolling off the beast, spear in hand, even as it reared. Abban was thrown clear, landing heavily on the ground in a blast of pain.

Hasik was a blur amid the warriors. Then the warriors were a blur.

Then everything went dark.

Abban woke on a hard wood floor. A fire burned in the hearth a few feet away, stealing the numbness from his wounds and bringing back the pain afresh. There was a woman bent over him, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth.

‘You’re alive.’

‘I am alive,’ Abban agreed. ‘Though at the moment I wish otherwise.’

‘Well I thank the Creator for it,’ the woman said. ‘The new master said any who die will be guided on the lonely path by my family.’

Abban squinted in the light. ‘New master? Hasik?’

The woman nodded. ‘He killed three of the Bajin. Cut the stones from the rest.’ She spat. ‘No less than they deserve.’

‘The change in rule may seem a relief now,’ Abban said, ‘but you may come to think the Bajin a blessing by comparison.’

‘There are no blessings left for us,’ the woman said, ‘in this age of false Deliverers. All we can hope for is to survive.’

‘There is always hope in survival,’ Abban said. ‘I have glimpsed the lonely path more than once, but here I lie, still breathing on Ala.’

‘The master says you are his chef,’ the woman said. ‘The men will slaughter a pig for you to roast. A celebration for his new tribe.’

‘A tribe of eunuchs.’ Abban attempted to sit up. ‘I don’t suppose you have something I can use to poison the meat?’

‘If we had, I’d have used it long ago.’ The woman held out a hand to pull him to a sitting position. ‘I’m Dawn.’

‘A beautiful name,’ Abban said. ‘I am Abban asu Chabin am’Haman am’Kaji. I’ll need your help if I am to prepare a feast. I fear I will not be able to stand without crutches, and poorly even then.’

‘We have a chair with wheels my grandfather used before he passed,’ Dawn said.

‘Creator be praised,’ Abban said. ‘If you can help me into it, I would thank you. If Hasik wants a feast, we would be wise not to keep him waiting.’

Dawn nodded, leaving the room briefly and returning with the wheeled chair. It was handmade and crude, but sturdy enough to hold Abban’s considerable bulk.

‘How many warriors does Hasik have now?’ Abban asked as she wheeled him to the kitchen. Three women, one older and two younger, were already at work preparing the evening meal. A few had bruises, and all kept their eyes down.

‘Six still able to fight,’ Dawn said, ‘though all walk tenderly now. Two more with broken bones. Three left out in the snow.’

A shriek and a flash of light drew Abban’s attention to the window. It was dark, with snow blown up against the panes. No doubt the Sharum were out clearing the area of demons, eager for the healing magic to soothe their wounded groins.

They won’t grow back, Abban wanted to tell them. Magic would heal the wounds and broken bones, but it would not grow back what was severed.

‘And your family?’ Abban asked.

‘Seven.’ Dawn nodded to the other women. ‘My mother and daughters, my son-in-law, my husband and father-in-law.’

‘Did the Bajin kill anyone?’ Abban asked, reaching out to sniff at the spices on the rack.

Dawn shook her head. ‘They didn’t speak a word of Thesan, but it was clear they wanted slaves, not killing.’ One of the younger women sobbed at that, and her sister moved to comfort her.

‘Survival is hope,’ Abban said.

‘You’re not like the others,’ Dawn said. ‘You and the new master speak our language, and they treat you …’

‘I am khaffit ,’ Abban said. ‘A coward. In the eyes of warriors, I am worth no more than you. It will be all our lives if the feast is not satisfactory. Let us look at the pigs.’

Abban shivered as Dawn wheeled him out into the evening snow, crossing the lamplit yard to the slaughterhouse. Sharum flitted about in the darkness beyond, illuminated here and there in a flash of wardlight.

The Bajin had killed most of the other animals, but the pigs they disdained. There were seven of them, fat and healthy. Abban’s mouth watered at the sight.

These will sell for a thousand draki apiece, to the right buyer. He shook his head at the useless thought. The bazaar was far away, and it was inevera whether Abban would ever see it again.

Live in the now, he reminded himself, or there will be no future.

Three chin men were in the slaughterhouse, all of them bruised and moving stiffly. Two were in their prime, the other older but still sturdy.

‘That one.’ Abban pointed to the best of the lot. The plump young hog squealed as the chin men slaughtered it. Abban left the men to the work, Dawn pushing him back to the kitchen that they might plan a menu.

Hasik found them in the yard. ‘It is good to see you awake, khaffit. I have not forgotten your promise to me.’ He seemed almost jovial, as if every man he gelded lessened his own shame that much more.

‘I always keep my promises,’ Abban said. ‘It will take a night and a day to roast the pig properly.’

Hasik nodded, touching the diamond in the centre of his kai’Sharum turban. There was a kernel of demon bone within, and when next he spoke, his voice boomed through house, yard, and barn. ‘The Eunuch tribe fasts until sunset! Any caught touching food before I give word at tomorrow’s feast will lose his tongue as well as his cock.’

‘You’ll recall how such taunts ended for me,’ Abban noted.

Hasik shrugged. ‘One day I will be weak, and man or alagai will kill me. Until then, I am strong, and will taunt as I please.’ He looked out into the night. ‘Already the wounds to their flesh have healed. A fast and a feast will help them begin to accept their new lives.’

Abban nodded. ‘The kai is wise. It will be a meal they never forget.’

‘It had better,’ Hasik said, ‘Or the chin women will roast you next.’

Abban passed out in the barn, cradled by the wheeled chair, basking in the heat of the coals and the scent of roasting pig. It was the closest he’d been to comfortable in all the weeks of his captivity.

Which only made the white-hot spike of agony that woke him all the worse.

His eyes snapped open to see Hasik kneeling before him with his small hammer, dawn light coming through the barn door. While Abban slept, he had freed the khaffit ’s foot from the chair, placed it on a block, and broken another bone for Everam.