Asome saw it, too. “Brothers! Form a ring! Nie’s servant must not be allowed to escape!”
He barely got the words out before the demon struck hard, one of its flailing tentacles slipping past Asome’s defenses. Magic stopped the limb short of connecting, but the impact still sent him flying through the air.
Ashia was already moving, diving into a roll and coming up with her spear in hand. She studied the mimic in her warded sight, but it was unlike any demon she had faced before. Every demon—every living thing—had lines of power. The essence of dama’ting sharusahk was breaking these lines by striking the points where they converged.
But the demon’s lines were as amorphous as its body, growing and retracting, ever changing. She sensed a pattern in it all, but it was beyond her ability to grasp, her attention focused upon simply staying alive.
The magic she had absorbed on her initial blow surged through her, making her impossibly fast and strong. Horned tentacles came at her from all sides, but she spun her spear, picking them off.
The demon hawked and spat fire like a flame demon, but like a flame demon its eyes squeezed shut and in that instant she quickstepped around it to come from another angle. This time she made no effort to strike a killing blow, instead thrusting the spear rapidly back and forth to strike half a dozen shallow ones.
Each wound flared brightly at first, the demon’s ichor giving off raw magic like smoke from a fire. But then the loss stemmed, and the area around the wound dimmed as the demon’s flesh knit back together.
The changeling shrieked, and this time she wasn’t fast enough as it spat lightning at her. Pain like she had never imagined wracked her body, jolting limbs rigid as she was thrown through the air. She thought she would lose the spear, but when she struck the ground it remained locked in her frozen grasp. She could not have let go if she wanted.
Then, as quickly as it came, the pain dissipated and her muscles unclenched. Her entire body burned, but there was still magic coursing through her, and already it was easing. She looked up to see Asome back in the fight, hammering at the mimic while his brothers struck at it from all sides.
Savas caught two tentacles in his bola, and the warded chain held them fast, unable to melt away. Another was caught in Hallam’s alagai-catcher.
But even these seemed minor inconveniences. The demon would writhe from the bolas soon enough, and it swung Hallam to and fro by his alagai-catcher pole. Others lent their strength to the task, but they were sorely pressed and out of the fight.
Asome continued to pound at the demon, and as she retrieved her shield, Ashia could see a pattern beginning to emerge in the creature’s magic. Even this fiend had a limited supply, and she watched as it ebbed and flowed, healing its wounds, powering its blows, reshaping its body.
With every blow he struck, Asome grew a fraction brighter, the demon, that much dimmer. If they could keep it at bay long enough, his victory was inevitable.
Ashia moved back in, stabbing hard where the creature was held by the men at the catcher pole. She hacked the blade of her spear through a tentacle at its base, severing the limb. The demon repaired the damage, but the tentacle, and the magic it had contained, lay in the dirt, no longer part of the whole.
The changeling grew eyes on its back, whipping horns and talons through the air to fend off the assailants, but Ashia could see its lines of power, and knew its attention was fixed on Asome. It knocked him sprawling, then opened a jaw that grew rapidly to gigantic size.
Ashia didn’t know if it meant to bite him in half or swallow him whole, but didn’t give it the chance, accepting the lash of a tentacle to get in close and stab hard. The sharp horns tore her robe, ripping away armor plates and finding soft flesh beneath. She hit the ground spitting blood, praying to Everam that Asome had used the distraction to recover.
Indeed the demon had hesitated, but Asome did not use the opportunity to flee. As the creature roared in pain through its impossibly wide jaws, Asome coiled up and sprang right into its mouth.
The force of his leap took him past the rows of jaws and down the alagai’s throat. Ashia could see its lines of power shatter as it pulled in all its strength to heal the damage Asome’s warded skin was no doubt doing inside. Limbs melted back into the blob, save those the dama held trapped in warded silver.
The amorphous pile bucked and thrashed. Choked, the demon could not shriek. Ashia could see it losing cohesion, and knew its end was inevitable, but would it take her husband with it? He was still alive, still fighting, but even he could not go forever without breath.
Forcing herself to her feet, Ashia stumbled back in. The dama fighting around her were denied the blade, but her curved knife was long a foot long and sharp enough to shave the hairs from a spider’s leg. She stuck it to the hilt in the gelatinous mass, cutting a deep line.
The wound bucked from the inside, spattering her with ichor, but she did not relent, slashing deeper. At last, one of Asome’s warded fists punched out into the night air, bright with power. His other hand appeared, the two gripping the wound and tearing it apart from the inside.
Mouths broke across the surface of the demon, joining in one last cry before it collapsed, motionless.
Asome stood there, covered in ichor and glowing like the sun. Like her blessed uncle.
Like Kaji himself.
His dama brothers and the remaining Sharum, including Hoshkamin and Asukaji, fell to their knees before him. Ashia felt it, too. She understood what had happened, but the instinct to kneel was strong. It was only by an act of will that she kept her feet.
“Nie’s power grows again at Waning, brothers!” Asome called. “This is but the first of her kais to come. With my father chasing Alagai Ka to the edge of Nie’s abyss, it is not enough for the Sharum to hold the line against Her. Every man must fight, if Sharak Ka is to be won! My father made the weak khaffit into kha’Sharum! The chin into chi’Sharum! Even women, like my blessed Jiwah Ka, were called as Sharum’ting!”
He swept a hand over the assembled dama. “Of all in Krasia, it is only we, the clerics, who waited to be called! But the wait is over, brothers! As my father called others to the fight, so do I call upon those in white to join in alagai’sharak! It is only fitting that it should be blood of the Deliverer to first step into the night. I name you shar’dama, warrior-clerics, and we will guide Krasia through its darkest hour!”
There was a stunned silence, and then all the assembled men broke out in cheers. Even Hoshkamin, the Sharum Ka and Jayan’s creature, could not help himself as he punched a fist in the air, joining the cry.
“Shar’dama! Shar’dama! Shar’dama!”
Kajivah was asleep in the nursery as Ashia and Asome crept into their palace chambers. Asukaji and the other dama went to see the dama’ting for their injuries, but Ashia and Asome, flush with stolen magic, had already healed every scrape and bruise.
There was no mistaking what Asome was about as he pushed into Ashia’s pillow chamber. She felt it, too, pulling him along with one hand as she pulled down her veil with the other to kiss him.
The thrill of battle, the pride in each other, and the charge of battle whirled in them both, an aphrodisiac neither could resist.
Ashia tripped her husband, flinging Asome onto the bed and crawling atop him.
“I am told these greenland beds have better uses than sleeping.” She kissed him again. Asome’s member stood in his robes like the pole of a tent.
“I am still … push’ting.” He groaned as she squeezed it.
“Tomorrow, perhaps,” Ashia said, pulling off her own robes. “Tonight, you are my husband.”
CHAPTER 28
SHAR’DAMA
334 AR WINTER
“You have broken my decree, and that of the Shar’Dama Ka,” Ashan said from his seat on the Skull Throne. The anger in his voice was apparent to all, and it was not an act. From her perch above the throne, Inevera could see it dancing on his aura. “Going into the night at Waning and fighting alagai’sharak. What have you to say for yourselves?”
There was silence in the great hall as all held their breaths, waiting for an answer. The throne room was filled to capacity, with every dama in the city in attendance, as well as ranking Sharum and dama’ting. Word of the night’s battle had reached every ear in the city by now, talk of the shar’dama on everyone’s lips. Inevera doubted the djinn could be put back in the bottle now that it was out.
Asome stood out in front, unrepentant, with Asukaji at his side. Behind them stood his dama half brothers with the Damaji of their respective tribes. Most of the old men were livid with rage, auras crackling. They had been forced to take Ahmann’s sons as their heirs, but with the Deliverer gone and a crime to pin at their feet, many were praying fervently that this might be their chance to rid themselves of the boys and regain direct control of their tribes.
Inevera had wanted to settle the matter in private, but Ashan, in an uncharacteristic show of will, had refused. He wanted the distance of the throne, fearing he might throttle the boys if they stood close in private.
It was a feeling Inevera understood well. The balance of power in the city already shifted as if built on a foundation of sand. Ahmann’s dama heirs were only newly raised to the white, still too young and inexperienced to take and hold control of the tribes. The dice had told her of Jayan’s victory on the lake, and he would surely use the triumph to further his claim to the throne.
Yet for Inevera the deepest cut was Ashia. Her sons were expected to wrestle for power. The spear sisters’ loyalty should have been absolute. Micha and Jarvah had not known—it was clear on their auras when they came to her—but Ashia had stood before her, knowing her husband’s plans, and put Asome’s honor above her duty to her mistress.
But that was a problem for later. Inevera was pulled from her thoughts as Asome drew breath to speak. Unlike the tension and anger in the others, Asome’s aura was cool and even, convinced of the righteousness of his path, safe in the knowledge that Everam was on his side.
“Holy Andrah,” Asome said, bowing deeply before Ashan, “it is said amongst the Sharum who accompanied you and my father to meet with the Hollow tribe that you, yourself, fought alagai’sharak with them. Is this not so?”
There was a buzz through the room at that, dama gasping and whispering to one another.
Ashan’s eyes narrowed. “The Shar’Dama Ka commanded I follow him into battle and I obeyed, defending myself by tripping and throwing alagai into the path of Sharum spears. I did not take up warded weapons and kill.”
“And yet your honor was boundless,” Asome said. “I did not take up weapons, either. The first alagai I killed were by sharusahk alone, with no magic to aid me. It was only when Nie set her kai against us that I fought as my father did, turning their own power against them.”
Another buzz through the crowd.
“And yet it was that very thing your father forbade,” Ashan reminded him. “Here, in open court, he forbade you to fight at Waning.”
“My father made that decree to punish my arrogance,” Asome said, drawing looks of surprise. Indeed, all Ahmann’s sons were arrogant, though none to Inevera’s knowledge had ever admitted it. “My wife had gone into the night, killing alagai at the Damajah’s command.” He looked up, meeting Inevera’s eyes. “With no warning to me beforehand. What husband would not rage at such a sight? What man not feel the sting? I spoke out in anger, attempting to deny her the spear.”
Asome turned, taking in the assembled court. “But I was wrong! Wrong to deny the honor to any who wished to take arms against Nie and stand unified in Sharak Ka. For make no mistake, brothers and sisters, Sharak Ka is near! My mother has foretold that the Deliverer has gone to the edge of Nie’s abyss, and when he returns it will be with all Her forces at his heels! The armies of the Deliverer must stand ready when that day comes, strong at his back as he turns to face that fell horde and cleanse their taint from Ala once and for all!”
He turned back to Ashan. “Why do dama spend lifetimes studying sharusahk? To bully Sharum and khaffit to our will? That is not Everam’s way. Not the way of Shar’Dama Ka. At every turn, my father added to his forces from unlikely places. Khaffit. Chin. Women. The creation of the shar’dama was inevitable, Holy Andrah. My father denied me honor to teach me this, but I have learned. I have grown. And now, with my father facing trials far from here, it is the duty of all dama to lead his people in his absence.”
Again his eyes swept the crowd. “And so on the second night of Waning, I call upon all dama to take up the fight, staining their white robes with demon ichor and sending a message to Nie’s generals that we of Krasia are not weak in the night. That we will stand not only when the Deliverer is with us, but when he needs us most to stand on our own. Every Sharum unit has a dama advisor. Go with them into the night and see firsthand the great work they do, the sacrifice they make. Join in alagai’sharak, and become what you were meant to be since the first time you stood in the bowels of Sharik Hora and began the sharukin!”
There was a roar at that, some dama and Damaji screaming in protest, but many more crying out in support, eager for the honor Asome offered.
“You must support him,” Inevera whispered into Ashan’s earring. She had said it before, but now there was no other choice. When Ahmann had first brought back the fighting wards and offered true battle against Nie, the Andrah and Damaji had resisted, fearing the loss of power. Sharum had defected in droves, flocking to the Maze and Ahmann’s call. If they resisted, it would only be a matter of time before Asome did the same.
Ashan was angry at his sons, but he was no fool and saw it, too. “There is wisdom in your words, my son. The blood of my brother Ahmann, Shar’Dama Ka, runs strong in you—all of you. You honor Everam with your words.” He rose from the Skull Throne. “And so I, too, will fight this night, and stain my robes.”
“As will I.” Ancient, one-armed Aleverak stepped forward. “Too long have the dama cowered like women in the Undercity while Sharum shed blood in the night.”
Others stepped forward, some in passion, and others, their auras told, out of fear of being seen as cowards. The wind blew, and none could resist it.
“Shar’dama! And my brother is first among them! They chant it in the streets while I sit here in the cold doing nothing!”
Jayan threw the letter into the fireplace, followed by his couzi bottle. The ensuing fireball consumed the paper instantly, and everyone took a step back. Thankfully, the blaze did not spread.
Bring the Sharum Ka a fresh cup, Abban’s fingers told Earless, but leave the bottle on the tray.
The mute kha’Sharum did as he was bidden, eyes firmly on the floor. Even stooped he was the tallest man in the room, but Earless’ silent subservience was as good as a Cloak of Unsight. Jayan took the cup without so much as glancing his way.
“You will not find the path to glory at the bottom of a couzi cup, Sharum Ka,” Khevat said.
Jayan made a show of throwing back the cup, wiping his mouth with his white veil. Khevat rankled, but said nothing as Jayan stormed up to him. “Then where will I find it, Dama? You were sent here to advise me, were you not? How long will your son keep the Skull Throne if my brother’s power continues to grow?”
“My son never should have had the throne in the first place,” Khevat said. “That was the Damajah’s doing.”