The Skull Throne
Page 148

“He did evade you,” Khevat noted. “All your vaunted hora magic, and you could not so much as stop a simple thief?”
“That was no simple thief, my dama,” Abban said, bowing. “He evaded the dal’Sharum as if they waded in deep sand, and lasted ten seconds against the greatest living drillmaster. And fearless, running knowingly out amongst the water demons. And let us not forget he had the Sharum’s Lament to set fire to the palace as distraction.”
“But what was he after?” Qeran mused.
“There’s no way to know for sure,” Abban said. “Only a few lives were lost in the burning of the palace, but the building is lost. We cannot say just what papers are missing amongst the ashes, but it is easy to guess.”
“Troop numbers,” Qeran said. “Supply trains. Our maps. Our plans.”
Abban bowed to Jayan. “We have copies of everything, Sharum Ka. Nothing has been lost. But we must assume our enemies now know all.”
Asavi knelt on the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. While they spoke, the dama’ting had quietly laid out her casting cloth. Now she took out the hora, casting all in their eerie glow.
“Guesswork,” Asavi said. “Everam may show us a clearer path, now that the divergence is past.”
All were silent as she threw, many of them seeing it for the first time since their Hannu Pash. When it was over, the Bride looked up, the hora light casting her white veils in red as if soaked with blood.
“It does not matter what the spy took,” Asavi said. “Three duchies unite against us, and your enemies have what they need to attack.”
Jayan’s eyes took on an eager light. “Where? When?” A sane commander might be concerned at an impending attack, but the young Sharum Ka saw only a chance for glory, a chance to prove himself worthy of the Skull Throne.
The dama’ting looked back at the dice, eyes flicking over unreadable patterns. Abban had always mistrusted the dice. He could not deny there was magic about them, giving information that could be uncannily accurate, but it seemed their reading was as much art as science, and they did not tell all.
“They will attack from land and water,” Asavi said.
“Oh?” Jayan asked. “Will they use weapons, perhaps? And warriors? If that is the best your dice can …”
Asavi held up the dice and they flared with power, casting the entire room in red light. It seemed they would sear the fingers from the dama’ting, but she held them easily, even as the men shrank away from the glow.
All were silent a moment. Abban looked at Qeran, nodding him forward.
The drillmaster looked as if he were being asked to climb into an alagai pit, but he went without hesitation or complaint, kneeling before Asavi and putting his hands on the floor. He bent forward, pressing his forehead between them.
Asavi looked at him a moment, and nodded. “Speak, Drillmaster.”
“Honored and wise dama’ting,” Qeran began carefully. “It is not for we humble men to question the word of Everam. But if there is anything the dice may tell of where to position our forces, it could mean the difference between victory and defeat.”
“The dice do not speak of such things,” Asavi said, “because our enemies watch us for hint we see their intent. If their spies note our movements, they will change their plans, negating the prophecy.”
She held up a finger. “But while they will not say where, they do tell us when. They will attack on Waning.”
Khevat blinked. “Impossible. They would not dare …”
“They will,” Asavi said, “for the very reason you doubt. They think the Waning will distract us. Make us weak.”
Jayan scowled. “My father said the chin had honor, if of a lesser sort, and were humble before Everam. But it cannot be so, if they would dare attack on the day we prepare for the rise of Alagai Ka.”
“That is only the beginning of their offense to Everam,” Asavi said, drawing all eyes back to her.
“They will attack in the night.”
CHAPTER 26
FIRST STRIKE
334 AR WINTER
Heart pounding, Briar ran fast and low, using cover wherever he could find it. Still clad in his stolen blacks, the darkness was a comforting blanket.
There were few cories in the area. Whatever else could be said of his father’s people, the Krasians had swept the lands around Docktown clean of demons, so much that even in the night there was little to fear.
But there were other predators out in the darkness.
Thamos had used the distraction of the Waning celebrations to move his forces in close, positioning them behind a small copse of trees near the base of Colan’s Rise. The count’s horse gave a start as Briar burst from the thicket right in front of them, rearing with a great whinny.
Briar froze, fearing the count would be thrown, but Thamos kept his seat, expertly bringing the animal back down.
“Night, boy,” the count growled, voice low and angry. “Are you trying to give our position away and get us all killed?”
“They know,” Briar said.
“Eh?” Thamos asked.
“Seen ’em,” Briar said. “Sharum moving through the woods to get behind us. Know we’re here.”
“Corespawn it,” Thamos growled. “How many? Are they mounted?”
“Lots more than us,” Briar said. He was not good with numbers. “But most on foot.”
Thamos nodded. “Harder to move in secret on horseback. Are they in position?”
Briar shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”
Thamos turned to Lord Sament. “Ready the men. We proceed as planned.”
“You mean to ride right into the trap?” Sament asked.
“What would you have me do?” Thamos asked. “We won’t get another chance at this. Egar and his men are committed, and Lakton without winter supply. We must take that hill and position the archers to cover the Laktonian deployment. The enemy is on foot, and their avenue of attack is narrow. Once we have the high ground, they will have a bloody time getting us out.”
“But they will,” Sament said. “Once we’re on that hill, we’ll be trapped there.”
“If we can hold until the docks are taken, it may be we can break through with a charge of horse and escape.”
“And if not?” Sament asked.
“If not,” Thamos said, “we protect the docks until we die.”
Abban leaned on his crutch by the waterfront window of his warehouse, staring into the darkness. His office spanned the entire top floor with windows on all sides, affording a view in every direction.
Earless loomed nearby, but Abban remained ill at ease. The giant was stronger than anyone Abban had ever met, and well on his way to becoming a sharusahk master, but his presence did not lend the comfort of Qeran. The drillmaster was matchless in combat and respected by all, willing—eager, even—to advise and point out when Abban was about to do something foolish.
It was surprising how much he had come to depend on the drillmaster, a man he had once hated with every fiber of his being. The man who had kicked Abban off the Maze wall into a layer seething with demons, simply for failing to fold a net properly.
With his merchant’s eye, Abban understood. He had been a liability to his unit, endangering other Sharum with his incompetence at war. He accrued debt with no way of paying it back, like a chicken that could not lay. Better the slaughter, from Qeran’s perspective.