The Skull Throne (26 page)

“Honored Sharum Ka,” Abban said. “The losses to our food stores during the last Waning are greater than the Deliverer wished known. Without a fresh supply, Everam’s Bounty will starve before spring begins to bud.”

That got everyone’s attention. Even Ashan leaned toward Abban now, rapt. “Sixteen days from now is the date the Laktonians observe the
chin
holy day first snow. The beginning of winter.”

“What of it?” Jayan snapped.

“It is also the day the
chin
deliver their harvest tithe to the dockmasters of Lakton,” Abban said. “A tithe that would keep our army fed until summer. The Deliverer made a bold plan to capture the tithe and the
chin
lands in one move.”

Abban paused, expecting an interruption at this point, but the closed circle remained silent. Even Jayan hung on his next words.

Abban signaled Qeran, who pulled out the carpet Abban’s wives had carefully woven to match the maps of the
chin
lands to the east, setting the run on the floor and unrolling it with a kick. Abban limped over as the others moved to stand around it.

“It was Shar’Dama Ka’s intention to send the Sharum Ka and the Spears of the Deliverer, along with two thousand
dal’Sharum,
overland in secret,” he traced a path over the open territory with the tip of his crutch, avoiding the Messenger road and
chin
villages, “to take the village of Docktown, here, the morning of first snow.” He tapped the large town at the lake’s edge with his crutch.

Jayan’s brow furrowed. “How will capturing a single village give us the city on the lake?”

“This is no simple village,” Abban said. “Closest to the city proper, seventy percent of Lakton’s docks are in Docktown, and all will be brimming with ships waiting to be loaded with the tithe once the talliers have counted it. Take the city on first snow, and you can take the tithe, the fleet, and the closest landfall to the city. Without the stores, or ships to go in search of more, the fish men will be ready to offer you the head of their duke, and his dockmasters besides, in exchange for a loaf of bread.”

Jayan clenched a fist at the thought, but he was not satisfied. “Two thousand
dal’Sharum
is enough to take any
chin
village, but not enough to hold and guard any length of shoreline through the cold months. We will be surrounded by enemies that outnumber us greatly.”

Abban nodded. “This is why the Deliverer, in his wisdom, planned to send a second force of five thousand
dal’Sharum
up the main road a week after to conquer the Laktonian villages one by one, levying them for Sharak Ka. They will act as spearhead, clearing the path for forty
dama
and their apprentices, ten thousand
kha’Sharum,
and twenty thousand
chi’Sharum
who will settle the land in their wake, sending for their families and assisting the local
dama
in instituting Evejan law. Before any true snow falls, you will have seven thousand of your finest
dal’Sharum
at hand.”

“Enough to smash anyone fool enough to stand against us,” Jayan growled.

Asukaji slipped his hands from his sleeves and he and Asome began speaking rapidly in their personal sign language. Normally the code was so subtle it could easily be missed by someone staring right at them, but now there was too much to say, and too little time. Fortunately, the others in the room were distracted.

Abban could not begin to follow the conversation, but he could easily guess its content. They were debating the relative advantages and disadvantages of having Jayan out of Everam’s Bounty fighting Sharak Sun for an extended time, and whether they could stop it in any event.

They must have decided not, for the two men, the most likely to oppose the plan, remained silent.

Aleverak turned to Ashan. “What says the Andrah to this plan? It is wise to send the bulk of our forces on the attack when we have a growing rebellion at home?”

Ashan’s eyes flicked to Inevera’s. They, too, had a silent language, but he caught the slightest hint of her lips moving, and knew that she had given him a
hora
ring as well.

“The dice have spoken, Damaji,” Ashan said. “The dockmasters have been financing the attacks to keep us from taking the offensive against them. We must show them the futility of this strategy.”

“In the meantime, Waning is upon us,” Inevera said. “Alagai Ka and his princelings will walk the Ala tonight. Even the
chin
know what that means. Put them under curfew and muster every able warrior, including the
Sharum’ting.
The dice tell me the First Demon will turn his eyes elsewhere this cycle, but we must not relax our guard. Even the least of his princes can turn the mindless
alagai
into a cohesive force.”

There was none of the usual arrogance in Jayan’s bow, even at the command to include women in the fighting. He was wise enough to keep quiet when all was going better than he could possibly have imagined. “Of course, Mother. It will be done.”

“If every able body is needed, I propose the
dama
be allowed to fight, as well,” Asukaji said.

“I agree,” Asome said immediately, a rehearsed scene if ever Abban had seen one.

“Preposterous!” Aleverak sputtered.

“Out of the question,” Ashan said.

“So we are in such dire need of warriors that you will take women over those trained in Sharik Hora?” Asome demanded.

“The Deliverer forbid it,” Ashan said. “The
dama
are too important to risk.”

“My father forbid it last Waning,” Asome corrected, “and only for that cycle. He forbid the
Sharum’ting
then as well, but tonight they will muster to the Horn of Sharak. Why not the
dama
?”

“Not all the
dama
are young, strong men as you and my son, nephew,” Ashan said.

“None should be forced to fight,” Asukaji amended, “but those who wish it should not be denied Everam’s glory in the night. Sharak Ka is coming.”

“Perhaps,” Ashan said. This time, he did not so much as glance at Inevera. “But it is not here yet. The
dama
will remain behind the wards.”

Asome pressed his lips together, and again, Abban was reminded how young he was. Jayan cast a hint of smirk his way, but Asome arched his back, holding hard to his pride and pretending not to see.

“It is decided,” Inevera said. “On the first dawn following Waning, Jayan and his warriors will depart to strike a crushing blow in Everam’s name.”

Jayan bowed again. “Docktown will the ours and Lakton in a submission hold before they even know we are close.”

Inevera nodded. “Of that I have no doubt. We will need a strict accounting of all your expenses, however, and of the captured harvest.”

“Eh?” Jayan asked. “Am I a
khaffit,
to be spending my time with ledgers and lattices when my men are shedding blood?”

“Of course not,” Inevera said. “That is why Abban will accompany you.”

“Eh?” Abban asked, feeling his stomach drop into his balls.

CHAPTER 11

DOCKTOWN

333 AR WINTER

“Damajah, there must be some mistake,” Abban said. “My duties here—”

“Can wait,” Inevera’s voice in his ear cut him off. That she had refused to see him, deigning only to speak via
hora
ring, said more than any words about the finality of the decision.

“You have made your case too well,
khaffit,
” the Damajah continued. “We must have the Laktonian tithe to keep our forces strong, and we both know Jayan is more likely to shit in the Laktonian grain for spite than he is to tally and ship it back to Everam’s Bounty. You must see to that.”

“Damajah, your son hates me,” Abban said. “Out beyond your reach …”

“It may be you who catches a stray arrow and does not return?” Inevera asked. “Yes, that is true. You will need to take care, but so long as you handle the aspects of war he does not wish to, Jayan will see the value in letting you live.”

“And his bodyguard Hasik, who my own men castrated?” Abban asked.

“It was you let out that djinn,
khaffit,
” Inevera replied. “It is up to you to find a way to close it. Hasik’s passing would fill no tear bottles.”

Abban sighed. With Qeran and Earless at his side at all times, Hasik was unlikely to strike at him, and he could make himself useful enough to Jayan to ingratiate for a short time. Undoubtedly, there was a fortune to be made in Lakton. Many fortunes, for one with a sharp eye.

“So I may return with the tithe?” he asked. He could last a few weeks, surely.

“You may return when Lakton flies a Krasian flag, and not before,” Inevera said. “The dice say wisdom will be needed in the taking, and of that, my son’s court has little. You must guide them.”

“Me?” Abban gaped. “Conduct war and give orders to the Deliverer’s son? These things are above my caste, Damajah.”

Inevera laughed at that. “
Khaffit,
please. Do not insult us both.”

As Inevera had predicted, Waning had brought no unusual levels of attack from the
alagai,
but even the rebels amongst the
chin
were not fool enough not to weaken the defenses in the dark of new moon. Dawn after the third night came all too soon.

“As soon as the road is secure, I want daily updates on every operation,” Abban told Jamere.

Jamere rolled his eyes. “You’ve told me that seven times now, Uncle.”

“A
dama
should know that seven is a holy number,” Abban said. “Holier still is seven times seventy, and that is how many times I will tell you, if that is what it takes to penetrate your thick head.”

There were few
dama
in the world a
khaffit
could take such a tone with—lacking a wish to journey the lonely path—but Jamere was Abban’s nephew. He had become arrogant and insufferable since being raised to the white, but Abban would never have taken the boy in if he had not been clever. Clever enough to understand his life of ease was entirely dependent on keeping his uncle happy. He would leave the running of the business to the women of the family, Abban’s sisters and wives, and act as a figurehead to sign papers and threaten any who dare encroach on Abban’s territory in his absence.

“By Everam and all that is holy, I swear I shall send you missives daily,” Jamere said with a cocksure bow.

“Everam’s balls, boy,” Abban chuckled. “I trust that promise least of all!”

He hugged the boy, as close to a son as any of his own spawn, and kissed his cheeks.

“Enough filling tear bottles like wives at dusk,” Qeran snapped. “Your new walls are strong, Abban, but they will be put to the test if the Sharum Ka must come and collect you.”

The drillmaster sat atop one of the giant greenland horses. There was no sign of the drunken cripple Abban had found in a pool of his own piss mere months ago. Qeran’s right stirrup was specially designed to fit his metal leg, and he handled the animal expertly, unhindered.

“Every. Day,” he whispered in Jamere’s ear one last time.

Jamere laughed. “Go, Uncle.” He gave Abban a gentle shove toward his camel, steadying the ropes of the cursed stepladder with his own weight as Abban struggled to climb.

“Shall I have them fetch a winch?” Jamere asked.

Abban put the foot of his crutch down on the young cleric’s fingers, putting weight on them as he ascended another step. Jamere gasped and pulled his hand away as the weight lifted, but he was still smirking as he shook the pain from it.

Abban reached the top of the beast’s back at last, strapping himself in. Unlike Qeran, Abban could not ride a horse for any length of time without pain beyond his ability to endure. Easier to lounge in the canopied seat atop his favorite camel. The animal was stubborn, as apt to bite or spit as obey, but it was as fast as a Krasian charger when whipped, and speed would be of the essence in an overland march.

He kept his eyes ahead until the procession was through the gates, then paused, turning back to give one last longing look at the thick walls of his compound. It was the first place he’d felt secure since Ahmann led his people from the Desert Spear. The crete was hardly dry on the walls, his guards only just accustomed to their routines, and already he had to leave the place behind.

“Not as pretty as a
Damaji’s
palace,” Qeran said at his side, “but as strong a fortress as the Desert Spear.”

“Return me to it alive, Drillmaster,” Abban said, “and I shall make you richer than a
Damaji.
”

“What need have I for wealth?” Qeran asked. “I have my honor, my spear, and Sharak. A warrior needs no more.”

The Drillmaster laughed at Abban’s worried look. “Fear not,
khaffit
! I have sworn to you now, for better or worse. Honor demands I return you safely, or die in the attempt.”

Abban smiled. “The former, if you please, Drillmaster. Or both, if need be.”

Qeran nodded, kicking his horse and starting the procession. Behind them followed Abban’s Hundred,
kha’Sharum
handpicked and trained by Qeran. The Deliverer’s decree granted him one hundred warriors and one hundred only, but Abban had taken one hundred twenty in case some failed or were crippled in training.

Thus far all had excelled, but the training had only just begun. Abban would return them when the Skull Throne demanded it and not a moment before. He wished he could take them all to Lakton, and his five hundred
chi’Sharum
as well, but Jamere and Abban’s women needed men to guard his holdings, and it would not do to show his full strength to Jayan’s court. At least a few of them could count past a hundred.

The Sharum Ka was giving last-minute instructions to his younger brother Hoshkamin when they found him in the training grounds. Jayan had dropped jaws in the Andrah’s court when he announced that Hoshkamin, just raised to the black, would sit the Spear Throne in his absence.

It was a bold move, and one that showed Jayan was not blind to the danger of leaving his seat of power. Hoshkamin was too inexperienced to truly lead, but like Jamere, the Deliverer’s third son and his eleven half brothers were intimidating stewards.

Jayan may yet take the Skull Throne,
Abban thought.
I had best ingratiate myself while I still can.

“Horses, I said,
khaffit,
” Jayan snapped, looking down his nose at Abban’s camel. “The
chin
will hear that beast braying a mile off!”

The other warriors laughed, all save Hasik, who glared at Abban with open hatred. Rumor had it the man had become even more sadistic since Abban had cut his balls off. Denied the brutal but simple release of rape, he had become … creative. A trait Jayan was said to encourage.

“A
khaffit
in our company is an ill omen, Sharum Ka,” Khevat said. “And this one, in particular.” Dama Khevat sat straight-backed and stone-faced on his white charger. The man hated Abban nearly as much as Hasik, but the cleric was too experienced to reveal his feelings. Not yet sixty and still vital, Khevat had trained both Ahmann and Abban in
sharaj.
He was now the ranking
dama
in all Krasia, father to the Andrah and grandfather to the
Damaji
of the Kaji. Perhaps the only man powerful enough to keep Jayan in line.

Perhaps.

Next to Khevat, on a smaller, if equally pristine white charger, was Dama’ting Asavi. Other
dama’ting
would ride in a carriage with the supply train, but it seemed Inevera was taking no chances on this mission. No doubt the sight of a woman, even a
dama’ting,
riding a horse like a man set the rest of the Sharum Ka’s court on edge, but she was a Bride of Everam, and none would hinder her.

Asavi’s gaze was even harder to read than Khevat’s. Her eyes gave no indication they had ever met. Abban was pleased Inevera had another agent close at hand, but he was not fool enough to think he could depend on her to protect him should he anger his host.

“I cannot sit a horse, Sharum Ka,” Abban said. “And I will, of course, remain behind while you conquer the city. My noisy camel and I will only approach Docktown when you have claimed victory and need to begin tallying the spoils.”

“He will slow our progress through the
chin
lands, Sharum Ka,” Hasik said. He smiled, revealing a gold tooth that replaced the one Qeran had knocked out in
sharaj
a quarter century ago, earning him the nickname Whistler. “This is not the first time Abban has been dead weight to a march. Let me kill him now and have done.”

Qeran nudged his horse forward. The drillmaster had trained the Deliverer himself—even Jayan was respectful to him. “You will need to get through me first, Hasik.” He smiled. “And none know your failings as a warrior better than I who instructed you.”

Hasik’s eyes widened, but his look of surprise was quick to turn into a snarl. “I am not your student anymore, old man, and I still have all my limbs.”

Qeran snorted. “Not all, I hear! Come at me, Whistler, and this time I will take more than your tooth.”

“Whistler!” Jayan laughed, breaking the tension. “I’ll need to remember that! Stand down, Hasik.”

The eunuch closed his eyes, and for a moment Abban thought it was a ruse precluding attack. Qeran was relaxed as he watched, but Abban knew he could react in an instant if Hasik made a move.

But Hasik was not fool enough to disobey the Sharum Ka. He had fallen far since Abban had castrated him for raping his daughter, and only Jayan had offered him a chance to restore his honor.

“Our reckoning will come, pig-eater,” he growled, easing his heavy mustang back.

Jayan turned to Abban. “He is right, though. You will slow us,
khaffit.
”

Abban bowed as low as he could from his saddle. “There is no need for me to slow the swift march of your warriors, Sharum Ka. I will travel a day behind with my Hundred and the supply trains. We will meet you at the camp a day before the attack, and join you in Docktown by noontime on first snow.”

Jayan shook his head. “Too soon. There may still be fighting throughout the day. Best you come the following dawn.”

You and your men need a day to properly loot the town, you mean,
Abban thought.

He bowed again. “Apologies, Sharum Ka, but for the mission to be successful, there cannot. There must not. As you told the council, you must seize the town and secure the tithe before they know you are upon them. Strike hard and fast, lest they escape on their ships, or fire the harvest simply to deny it to us.”

He lowered his voice for Jayan alone to hear as the young Sharum Ka’s face darkened at the tone. “Of course my first duty in the tallies will be to see to it the Sharum Ka has his share of the spoils before they are shipped to Everam’s Bounty. The Skull Throne has empowered me to give you ten percent, but there is some, ah, flexibility in these matters. I could arrange fifteen …”

Jayan’s eyes flashed with greed. “Twenty, or I will gut you like the pig you are.”

Ah, Sharum,
Abban thought, suppressing his smile.
All the same. Not a haggler among you.

He blew out a breath, molding his face into a look of worry—though of course the number was meaningless. He could weave such a web of lists and tallies Jayan would never penetrate it, or realize whole warehouses and thousands of acres had disappeared from the ledgers. Abban would make the Sharum Ka think he had taken fifty percent, and give him less than five.

At last he bowed. “As the Sharum Ka commands.”

Perhaps this would not be so bad after all.

Abban lounged with his distance lens in the comfortable chair he’d had placed atop the small rise as the attack fell upon Docktown. Qeran, Earless, and Asavi preferred to stand, but he didn’t begrudge them that. The warrior and holy castes had ever been masochists.

He had chosen the knoll for its fine view of the town and docks from a direction refugees were unlikely to flee when the fighting broke out. The day was clear enough that Abban could just make out the city on the lake with his naked eye, a blur coloring the edge of the horizon. It was clearer with his distance lens, though all he could make out were docks and ships. Accounting for the distance, it was much larger than he had anticipated.