Peter Brett - The Core

‘What is our first order of business?’ Asome asked.

Jamere consulted papers on his writing tablet, but it was all for show. Like his uncle, he had every word memorized. ‘The Kaji, Shar’Dama Ka.’

The Kaji, the largest and most powerful tribe in Krasia, had lost both its leaders in the coup. Asome and Inevera, both Kaji themselves, had taken direct control of the tribe in the interim, but it weakened their ability to be impartial, especially with the Majah in rebellion.

Asome turned to Inevera, but his words were loud enough for the entire court. ‘Mother, when will my sister return from the green lands to take up the black turban of Damaji’ting ?’

‘The summons has been sent,’ Inevera said. ‘Your sister will not forsake her responsibilities.’

‘Then where is she?!’ Asome demanded. ‘We should have had an answer by now.’

‘Patience, my son,’ Inevera counselled. ‘It is not as if you have produced a new Damaji for the Kaji.’

‘My son will be Damaji ,’ Asome said.

‘Your son is an infant,’ Inevera reminded. ‘Patience.’

Asome smiled. ‘Indeed. And so I have decided to appoint an interim Damaji , to hold the turban and speak for the council until my son earns his robes.’

Jamere gave a signal, and the guards opened the doors to admit a small group of men. At their head was Dama Baden. A man of more than seventy, the dama ’s paunch rounded the front of his robes like he carried a child. He leaned on a staff as he walked, but his eyes remained sharp, the look on his face triumphant as he moved to stand before the steps.

Behind him walked two men. Shar’Dama Raji, Baden’s grandson and heir – another from Asome’s generation – and their kai’Sharum bodyguard.

Cashiv.

Inevera’s blood went cold at the sight of him. For years, Inevera had depended on anonymity to shield her family in the bazaar. The dama’ting wore veils to hide their identity, after all, and many women were named Inevera.

But like Asome and Jamere, Cashiv and Inevera’s brother, Soli, had been lovers. He was one of the only people left alive who remembered the girl she had been, and who her family were.

Her father, Kasaad, had slain Soli on learning he was push’ting , and while Cashiv had not dared defy the dama’ting and taken his revenge, he had not forgiven.

Cashiv met her eyes, and she knew.

‘Baden has ever been a thorn in the side of the council,’ Inevera said quietly for her son’s ears only. ‘He is greedy and power-hungry. He cannot be trusted.’

Asome was unperturbed. ‘He has proven trustworthy to me.’

‘And what did he give you in return for his seat at the head of the council?’ Inevera asked.

Asome smiled. ‘Something beyond price.’

Before Inevera could react, he turned back to Jamere. ‘Now that the council is complete once more, you may send in the Majah.’

Baden’s entourage bowed and took their place at the head of the young Damaji as Jamere signalled the guards once more. The doors opened, and in stormed Damaji Aleveran. The man was not yet sixty, robust and dangerous.

When Asome’s Majah brother Maji failed to kill Damaji Aleverak, Asome executed the Damaji personally, breaking the pact that had held peace between the Kaji and Majah since Ahmann took the throne. Asome had no other Majah dama brother to install as leader, and with the overwhelming support of his tribe, the black turban fell to Aleverak’s eldest son, Aleveran.

Immediately Aleveran left the council, imprisoning Belina and reinstating the former Majah Damaji’ting , the ancient but formidable Chavis. The old woman walked at his back, every bit as angry. Aleverak’s honour had been boundless, and his murder had all the Majah sharpening their spears.

They were shadowed by a small army of Sharum bodyguards. They were outnumbered by the Spears of the Deliverer lining the walls of the courtroom, but the men were alert, ready to fight and die to protect their leaders.

‘Damaji Aleveran!’ Asome called without preamble. ‘I call upon you and your Damaji’ting to kneel before the Skull Throne and take your rightful places on the aisle. Do this, and all will be forgiven.’

‘Forgiven?’ Aleveran snarled. ‘I am not the one who has committed a crime, boy. I am not the one who sullied this council chamber.’

‘Ware your words, Damaji,’ Hoshkamin warned, and around the room warriors tensed. ‘You stand before Shar’Dama Ka.’

Aleveran looked ready to spit on the ground, but Chavis laid a hand on his shoulder, and he thought better of it.

‘Shar’Dama Ka is dead,’ he said. ‘The Majah will not bow before a usurper who uses hora magics to murder in the night.’

Hoshkamin’s eyes narrowed, but Asome was wise enough to keep things from escalating. ‘Stand down, brother.’

‘Sharak Sun still rages, Damaji,’ Asome said, ‘and Sharak Ka looms. Krasia must be unified if there is any hope of victory. I wish no further bloodshed over the matter. Stand for your tribe as your father did.’

‘How can I stand before the man who murdered him?’ Aleveran demanded.

‘How, indeed?’ Inevera asked, drawing all eyes to her. It was known in the palace, if not beyond, that Asome had attempted to kill her, as well. ‘You would not be the first Damaji to lose his father in the struggle for the throne. We are all bound to serve Everam’s will.’

Damaji’ting Chavis stepped forward. ‘In that we agree. But Everam’s will has always been a mystery. I have consulted the hora , and the Creator has given me an answer to our problem.’

Inevera’s eyes narrowed, wondering what the old woman was playing at. She wished she could pull the curtains shut, that she might view Chavis’ aura. ‘The hora have said nothing of the sort to me.’

‘Fortunate, then, there remain some with more experience.’ Chavis’ smile was benevolent condescension. Inevera smiled in reply, wishing she could simply take out her hora wand and blast the woman from existence.

‘What do you propose?’ Asome asked.

Aleveran’s next words shocked the court into silence.

‘That the Majah take their spoils and return to the Desert Spear.’

Inevera and Asome knelt on the pillows of her private casting chamber off to one side of the throne room. Two curtained doorways separated the chamber from the bright sunlight of the throne room. Bathed in darkness, Inevera relaxed slightly at the restoration of her powers.

The relief was short-lived as she looked at her son, glowing in Everam’s light almost as intensely as his father had. His aura was flat and even, the result of a lifetime of meditation training. Dama grandmasters deep in meditation presented an aura of flat white, but even the most skilled practitioners could not entirely control the emotions running along their surface aura during periods of activity. There would be flares as he absorbed new information.

She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, how skilled he had become at reading the constantly shifting colours and patterns for secrets others wished to keep hidden.

‘Where is my family?’ Inevera demanded.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Asome said. His aura showed the lie, but she could not tell if it was a loss of control at her sudden demand, or if he allowed her to see it.

Inevera Drew on the magic of the large hora stone hidden in the flooring beneath her pillow. Asome squinted as her aura brightened, and though he kept it from his face, she saw a flare of fear across his aura. ‘Do not lie to me, boy.’

The fear left his aura as Asome glanced around the room. ‘This is the room where Father lay with Leesha Paper, is it not?’