The Skull Throne (12 page)

The boys rose smoothly, but did not whoop or cheer, bowing to the throne and standing with tight discipline. Jayan, however, could not keep the smug smile from his face.

“These are difficult times for Krasia, with the Deliverer abroad,” Asome said. “Perhaps it is time his
dama
sons took the white robes, as well.”

It was like a bucket of camel water thrown on the
Damaji.
They stood shocked a moment, their indignation building, and Inevera savored it. She was well in favor of raising Ahmann’s
dama
sons. The sooner the boys were given the white, the sooner they could take control of the tribes and spare her the endless grumblings of these old men.

“Ridiculous!” Aleverak snapped. “No boy of fifteen has ever been raised to the white.” If he had been cowed by his defeat the day before, it did not show. Healed by Belina’s magic, the
Damaji
looked haler than he had in years. But if he felt any debt to Ahmann’s Majah wife, it did not stop him from opposing her son’s advancement. Aleverak stood to lose more than the others if Maji was raised to
dama.

A chorus of agreement rose from the other
Damaji,
and Inevera breathed, holding her center. Everam grant she soon be free of these vile men, more interested in holding their own power than helping their people.

“Many things will happen for the first time before Sharak Ka is upon us,” Asome said. “We should not deny our people leaders when the
dama
are already stretched thin keeping peace in the
chin
villages.”

Ashan considered, eyes flicking around the room. As
Damaji,
he had been a strong leader for the Kaji, but he seemed more diplomat than Andrah, eager to please all and secure his position.

Still, Ahmann had ordered him take the throne to keep his sons alive, and it didn’t take a great mind to see that would be easier with them in white.

“Take them,” she breathed. Wards carried the words to his ears alone.

“Age is irrelevant,” Ashan said at last. “There are tests for the white, and they will be administered. It will be upon the sons of the Deliverer to pass them. Asome will observe the testing personally and report back to me.”

Inevera could see the flush of pleasure in the auras of the
Damaji’ting
at the unexpected pronouncement, a mirror image of the sour cloud around the Damaji. Reading auras was subtler even than the dice, but with every passing day she grew more adept.

The next order of business was the matter of the night’s new
Sharum’ting.
Since Ahmann’s creation of the
Sharum’ting
—to give rights to a
chin
woman, no less—there had been a growing movement among women to kill
alagai,
thus gaining the rights of men to own property, bear witness, and have liberty to refuse a man’s touch. Women came to the Dama’ting Palace every day, many in secret, begging to be trained. Inevera had given them to Ashia, and not regretted the decision.

Chin
women, unused to the yoke of Evejan law, came in numbers, often with the encouragement of their husbands. Krasian women came at a trickle. Three thousand years of subservience had been beaten into them, and while the movement was growing, it was still overpowered by the fierce and near-unanimous opposition of Krasian men, husbands, fathers, brothers—even sons still in tan. Many women were prohibited from leaving their homes without escort, and brutally beaten when they tried to slip away to the palace.

Even those raised to the black were not safe. With the aid of warded weapons, all had taken
alagai,
but the best of them had weeks of training compared to the lifetime of most
Sharum.
More than one of the women had been found beaten, raped, or killed.

But there was always blood for the
alagai hora,
and when Inevera found the assailants, Ashia and her spear sisters soon paid visit. The crime was returned tenfold, and their remains left where others would find them and remember the lesson.

As if summoned by the thought, Ashia entered the throne room, escorting two groups of women to the dais. The larger group, twenty women trained in the Dama’ting Palace, knelt in tight lines as they awaited judgment. Some wore
dal’ting
black, others the more varied dress of
chin.

Ashia kept a hard eye on the women, but Inevera could see the pride in her aura. Her growing knowledge of
alagai
lines of power and points of convergence had allowed her to design
sharukin
more dependent on leverage and accuracy than strength of arm. She called the fighting style Everam’s Precise Strike, and taught the women well.

The other group was more curious. Seven common
dal’ting,
huddled together on their knees, fear and determination in their collective aura. Several women had bloodied bandages showing under their blacks, signs of
alagai
wounds. One had her entire arm and part of her face wrapped in white cloth that was already stained brown. Firespit. She could see the deep burns in the woman’s aura. Without magic, she would never recover fully.

Another woman had blackened eyes and what looked like a broken nose under her veil. Inevera didn’t need to probe further to know those injuries had not come from a demon.

“Daughter,” Ashan acknowledged Ashia with a nod. He remained displeased with her new station, but was wise enough not to publicly undermine her. “Who have you brought before the Skull Throne?”

“Candidates for the spear, honored Andrah,” Ashia said. She gestured to the women she had trained. “These women were all trained in the Dama’ting Palace, and have taken demons in
alagai’sharak.
I ask that they be made
Sharum’ting.
”

Ashan nodded. He wasn’t pleased at the idea of presiding over women taking the spear, but had seen Ahmann do it often enough that he did not resist. He looked to Damaji’ting Qeva. “Have the bones been cast?”

Qeva nodded. “They are worthy.”

Ashan whisked a hand at the women. “Rise,
Sharum’ting.
”

The women rose and bowed deeply before Ashia dismissed them.

Ashan regarded the group of fearful
dal’ting
huddling before the dais. “And the others?”

“Untrained
dal’ting
from a Khanjin village,” Ashia said. Damaji Ichach stiffened. “Their honor is boundless. They took it upon themselves to come to the Deliverer’s call, going out into the night and killing a demon. They ask for the rights the Deliverer promised them.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Jayan said.

Ashia nodded to him. “My cousin does not agree.”

Ashan’s aura darkened. “You will address the Sharum Ka with the respect he is due, daughter.” His voice was a deep boom, far from the quiet tones he had used a moment ago. “You may serve the Damajah, but Jayan is still your superior.”

Ashan turned to Jayan. “I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness, Sharum Ka. I assure you she will be disciplined.”

Jayan nodded, waving a hand. “Unnecessary, Uncle. A warrior my cousin may be, but she is a woman, and cannot be expected to control her emotions.”

“Indeed,” Ashan agreed. “What does the Sharum Ka have to say on this matter?”

“These women are outlaws,” Jayan said. “They have brought shame to their families with their reckless actions, endangering their fellow villagers and causing the death of an innocent woman.”

“Serious accusations,” Ashan said.

Jayan nodded. “With deliberate planning and forethought, they violated the curfew of the local
dama
and disobeyed the commands of their
Sharum
husbands, sneaking out of their homes at night and crossing the village wards. They lured a lone flame demon into a crude trap and surrounded it. Using improvised weapons and shields, poorly painted with stolen wards copied from their honored husbands’ equipment, they attacked. Without training, one woman was killed, and several others injured. The fires started in their battle threatened to burn the entire village down.”

“That isn’t … !” one of the woman blurted, but the others grabbed her, covering her mouth. Women were not to speak in the Andrah’s presence save when spoken to, and under Evejan law, they could not bear legal witness in any event. Their husbands would speak for them.

Jayan’s eyes flicked to the commotion, but he said nothing. They were only women, after all.

Ashia bowed deeply, an artfully executed show of deference, just enough to mock without giving true offense. “The words of the honored Sharum Ka of Krasia, firstborn son of the Deliverer, my cousin the esteemed Jayan asu Ahmann am’Jardir am’Kaji, may he live forever, are true, Father, if exaggerated in detail.”

Jayan crossed his arms, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“They are also irrelevant,” Ashia said.

“Eh?” Ashan said.

“I, too, violated curfew and disobeyed my husband to go into the night,” Ashia said. “The curfews are designed to make it illegal for any woman to go into the night.” She met her father’s eyes. “You debated these very points with the Deliverer on the day he named me
Sharum,
and they did not deter him then. They should not deter you now. By the Shar’Dama Ka’s own words, any woman who kills a demon is to be made
Sharum’ting.
”

Ashan frowned, but Jayan was not finished.

“Indeed,” he said. “But I count seven women, and only one demon killed. Who is to say who struck the killing blow? Or if all of them struck at all?”

“Also irrelevant,” Ashia said, drawing a glare from Jayan. “All warriors share kills, especially when blooding
nie’Sharum.
By your measure, there is not a warrior in Krasia who does not claim more than are his due. The Deliverer himself was one of more than a dozen spears in the push guard on his first night in the Maze.”

“The Deliverer was twelve years old that night, daughter,” Ashan said, “and was sent to Sharik Hora for five more years before he was given his blacks.”

Ashia shrugged. “Nevertheless, if you discount shared kills, you will need to strip the blacks from every warrior raised before the Deliverer returned fighting wards to us, and half the rest. The purpose of the blooding is not to kill a demon unassisted. It is to test a warrior’s courage in standing fast against the
alagai.
These women have done so. In truth, their test was the greater for the lack of proper training and equipment. Are these not the very hearts we need with Sharak Ka nigh?”

“Perhaps,” Ashan agreed.

“And perhaps not,” Damaji Ichach cut in. “Andrah, surely you cannot mean to raise these women? They are Khanjin. Let me see to the matter personally.”

“I do not see that I have a choice, Damaji,” Ashan said. “I am of no tribe at all, and must follow the Deliverer’s commands.”

“You are Andrah,” Aleverak snapped. “Of course you have a choice. Your daughter twists the Deliverer’s words to trap you, but she does not speak the whole truth. ‘Any woman who takes a demon in
alagai’sharak
shall be
Sharum’ting,
’ the Deliverer said. I do not believe this qualifies.
Sharum
blooding does not come without the approval of a drillmaster.
Alagai’sharak
is a sacred ritual, not some fools stealing out into the night on a whim.”

The other
Damaji
grunted along, and Inevera felt her jaw tighten. Again the rasping chorus as the old men quoted scripture, related irrelevant anecdotes, and warned sagely against being too free with the rights of
Sharum.
She stroked the
hora
wand at her belt, imagining for a moment what it would feel like to blast the lot of them into the abyss.

“Did any men witness the event?” Ashan asked when the hubbub had faded. He still had not consulted the women themselves, and likely would not.

Jayan bowed again. “Andrah, the women’s husbands are waiting outside, and beg to speak before you make your decision.”

Ashan nodded, and the men were brought in. All wore blacks, though by their look and equipment none was a warrior of note. Their auras were colored with rage, shame, and awe at the grandeur of the throne. One of the men was particularly distraught, barely contained violence radiating from him like a stink.

The widower. Inevera shifted slightly on her bed of pillows.
Watch that one,
her fingers said.

I see him, Damajah.
Ashia’s hand hung loose at her side, her reply a whisper of nimble fingers.

“These women killed my wife, Holy Andrah,” the distraught warrior said, pointing. “My Chabbavah would not have disobeyed me and acted so foolishly without their foul influence. I demand their lives in recompense.”

“Lies!” another of the men shouted. He pointed to his own wife, the
dal’ting
who had been beaten. “My wife fled to me after the disaster, and made clear Chabbavah had been one of the ringleaders pressuring the others. I regret my spear brother’s loss, but he has no right to claim vengeance for his own failings as a husband.”

The widower turned and struck at him, and for a moment the two warriors traded blows. Ahmann had tolerated no violence in his court, but none of the men, even Ashan, seemed inclined to stop them until the second man had put the widower onto the floor in a painful hold.

Ashan clapped his hands loudly. “The argument stands. Everam would not give victory to a liar.”

Inevera breathed. Not a liar. Only a warrior who had beaten his wife.

The second man bowed. “I ask the holy Andrah to remand these women to us, their rightful husbands, for punishment. I swear by Everam they will not bring shame to their families, our tribe, or your throne again.”

Ashan sat back on the throne, steepling his fingers and staring at the women. Ashia had made a compelling case, but Inevera could see in his eyes that the new Andrah would still refuse them. Given the opportunity, Ashan would take the spears from every
Sharum’ting,
Ashia included.