Peter Brett - The Core

Asome took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. Ashia could not bear to watch as he took oil and began to work himself for the deed. She fled the chamber while her brother and husband were too occupied to notice.

Micha was waiting when Ashia made it back to the stairs, a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

Report, Ashia’s fingers commanded.

I have found them, Micha replied. There are guards, but together we might …

Ashia made the sign for Nie. Our duty is to report to the Damajah.

Jarvah joined them as they descended. Asome’s underpalace is protected by hora magic. I could not penetrate it.

Irrelevant, Ashia told her. We have intelligence the Damajah needs. The three Sharum’ting slipped past the guards and out of Asome’s wing.

‘Nie’s slimy cunt!’ Inevera scooped up the dice. They had not warned that her mother was in danger, and now they brought nothing but bad news and vagaries.

She breathed, trying to find her centre, but peace eluded her. Had she fallen from Everam’s favour? How could He let this happen to Manvah, as honourable a woman as any alive? Always before He had warned her when her family was threatened.

But now her husband was dead, and the dice betrayed her.

She rolled back on her heels and stood, feeling the vibration in her earring. The connection with Ashia and her spear sisters had been severed when they entered Asome’s wing of the palace. A bad sign. Melan and Asavi had given Asome and his brothers the secret of hora magic, and it seemed they were quick studies.

‘Damajah,’ Ashia whispered in her ear from the other side of the palace. ‘We have found them, but there is more. We must speak immediately.’

‘The west passage.’ Inevera was already moving for the door. She was bedecked in warded jewellery, her hora pouch laden with spells. She had been overconfident, spoiled by the strength of her wand, when Melan and Asavi came to kill her. She would not make that mistake again.

She wore opaque robes of crimson silk, embroidered with wards in electrum thread. Like the robes of Everam’s spear sisters, all eyes – human and alagai – would slip from her when she wished it. At her belt was the curved knife she used to draw blood for her foretellings. It was not meant as a weapon, but the edge was razor-sharp and would do if all else failed.

The Sharum’ting were waiting for her in a hidden tunnel leading to the west wing. The Damajah had claimed the east wing to face the dawn, the Shar’Dama Ka west to face the sunset.

‘Asukaji is alive,’ Ashia said.

Inevera scowled. Another thing the dice had failed to tell her, though in fairness she had not asked. ‘You told me you killed him.’

‘I snapped his neck,’ Ashia confirmed. ‘But he clings to life, unable to move, hidden in Asome’s chambers. He wants to trade Manvah for you to make him whole again, but Asome does not trust you.’

‘Nor I, him,’ Inevera said. ‘This changes nothing. We go now to free my parents.’

Ashia stepped in front of her, kneeling with hands on the floor. ‘It is not necessary for the Damajah to expose herself. We have penetrated my husband’s defences. Everam’s spear sisters can effect the rescue.’

Inevera shook her head. On this, the dice had been clear. ‘You will die if you go without me, and the rescue fail.’

The women’s auras clouded at that. They were the finest warriors she had ever known, but their pride was as boundless as their honour.

‘Will it succeed if the Damajah accompanies us?’ Ashia asked.

Inevera blew out a breath. ‘Unclear.’

‘Damajah, you must …’

Inevera clapped her hands, cutting the young woman off. ‘You do not tell me what I must, Sharum. Your duty is to be silent and obey.’

Inevera let the spear sisters surround her, Ashia in front and Micha and Jarvah to either side. All of them skittered quickly and quietly along, robes blending with the ceiling tiles. They penetrated the outer halls, making their way unseen to the sixth-floor stairwell were Iraven stood guard.

As Ashia warned, the boy was alert, clad in impenetrable armour of warded glass that glowed brightly in Everam’s light. She could see the demon bone cores of his weapon and armour, enough to give him inhuman strength and speed.

Inevera slipped her wand from her belt. Made from the arm bone of a demon prince coated in electrum, it had power enough to blow the entire roof from the palace. Still clinging to the ceiling, she drew a quick series of wards in the air, Drawing and shaping her spell before flinging it toward the unsuspecting warrior.

Ahmann might forgive her killing his son if there were no choice, but Iraven was the last hope of bringing the Majah tribe back to heel. Inevera’s spell would put him into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Yet the moment she cast the magic, the wards on Iraven’s armour flared bright with magic. Instead of passing out, he set his feet, holding his spear defensively.

‘Come out, servant of Nie!’ His eyes scanned the walls, searching.

Inevera gave him no time to find them or raise the alarm, dropping down to stand before her son-in-law.

‘You think the Damajah a servant of Nie?’

Iraven’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing unannounced in Shar’Dama Ka’s wing of the palace?’

‘A mother needs permission to visit her son?’ Inevera asked.

Iraven did not lower his weapon. ‘Visitors do not skulk along the ceiling and cast spells at guards. If you have business, state it.’

‘You know my business,’ Inevera said. ‘The Majah hostage your mother, my sister-wife Belina, yet here you stand, gaoler to my own.’

Iraven was unimpressed. ‘Your words would hold more weight, Damajah, if you yourself did not hold Tikka captive.’

‘It is my duty to protect the Holy Mother,’ Inevera said, ‘not let her be drawn into the crossfire of a political scheme to supplant me.’

Iraven was unconvinced. ‘No doubt Asome seeks to similarly protect your mother.’

‘We all want what is best for our mothers,’ Inevera said. ‘You should go to yours now, before she is taken from Everam’s Bounty.’

Iraven’s aura coloured at that. An image of Belina floated over the young man, tethered by countless strands of emotion, as any mother to her son.

‘I may no more see her than allow you entry here,’ Iraven said bitterly. ‘I cannot free her alone, and Asome will not commit to a rescue that would result in open war.’

‘Demon’s piss,’ Inevera said. ‘That is what Asome would have you believe.’

‘Then where is the Damajah’s support? Why are you here, and not in Aleveran’s palace rescuing your sister-wife?’ There was a spark in his aura. One she might fan to a flame.

‘Because it is a task for you, Iraven asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Majah,’ Inevera said. ‘Did your father cower before every problem he could not solve with his spear? The Damaji has taken your birthright, but that does not mean you cannot win it back.’

Iraven paused. The fire in him was growing, but cautiously. ‘How?’

‘Go to Aleveran,’ Inevera said. ‘Submit to his rule, and he will take you with him when the Majah depart Everam’s Bounty. Win glory, and the warriors will whisper your family name. One by one, they will follow you.’