The Skull Throne
Page 43
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Shanvah nodded. “The Damajah bade us not return without you. She will not forgive us if we abandon you in your time of need.”
“They can help us in Anoch Sun, if they have the courage,” the Par’chin said. “Shouldn’t underestimate the princes. Your power will be limited while you maintain the field. Even with Renna, we’ll be overmatched.”
“If two warriors might shift the balance, why not bring an army?” Jardir asked.
“And hide them where?” the Par’chin asked. “I can draw wards of unsight in the air around two, but more will alert the minds to our presence, and all will be for naught.”
Jardir sighed. He could not deny the comfort the two gave him, balancing the shift in power when the Par’chin’s jiwah arrived. “Very well.”
“We’ll make the lost city in five days if we trample demons to charge the horses to speed,” the Par’chin said as they packed supplies, laying in food and water for the desert crossing. There would be little if anything to replenish their stores once they reached the clay flats. “Four if we really push.”
“That does not give us much time to prepare before Waning, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
The Par’chin shrugged. “Don’t want any sign we been there, so the less the better. Ent much to do once we get there save wait in any event. Better off readying ourselves than the tomb.”
“Shanjat and Shanvah will need new spears and shields,” Jardir said.
“Got a cache of weapons we can raid out in the desert,” the Par’chin said. “Meantime, I can stain their skin with blackstem wards, and we can all work on our gaisahk together.”
“Wise,” Jardir said. “I know my warriors’ skill, but I have not seen your jiwah fight.”
“Started teaching her a few months ago,” the Par’chin said. “She learns fast.”
Jardir nodded patiently, and called the five of them to practice while the sun was still high. The Par’chin and his jiwah produced brushes and painted impact wards on Shanjat’s and Shanvah’s fists, elbows, and feet. They cut the sleeves from their returned robes to bare the symbols to the air.
As expected, his warriors took quickly to gaisahk, but the Par’chin’s jiwah had forms even a novice could best. Shanvah had not been unfair in her assessment. If anything, she had been kind.
“You continue to place your feet wrong,” Jardir told her as she finished a sharukin. He had already corrected her stance a dozen times, but still she failed to give it her full attention.
“What’s the difference?” she asked. “Would’ve punched right through a demon’s face with that move.”
“The difference, fool, is that if there had been another at its back, you would have been off balance,” Jardir snapped. “Alagai’sharak is no game, where the loser can play another day.”
“Know that,” Renna said. The words were sullen, but he believed them. She was trying to place her feet right, but the move was beyond her. It was not fair of him to expect her to master in days what his warriors practiced their whole lives, but they did not have time to coddle her.
“Shanvah will tutor you each day when we stop under the sun to rest and water the horses,” he ordered.
“What?!” both women exclaimed at once.
Jardir looked to his niece. “She is not to be harmed. You must put aside any emotion over your imprisonment.”
Shanvah embraced her emotion and crossed her fists, bowing. “Your will, Deliverer.”
“Goes double for you, Ren,” the Par’chin said. “You need these lessons, but don’t forget you’re a lot stronger’n her, and we need you both in one piece come new moon. You’re learnin’, not fightin’.”
Renna spat in the dust. “Won’t break anything can’t heal.”
The two moved off to begin the lesson, and the Par’chin shook his head. “Gonna regret sayin’ that, isn’t she?”
“More than you know, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “But I have seen the pride in her aura. All warriors must understand their own weakness if they are to overcome it.” He looked at the departing women. “Shanvah will show her, delivering the same lesson your jiwah did to her.”
The Par’chin laughed. “Maybe that makes her the Deliverer, then.”
Hours later, Arlen paced the stable, watching the sun falling in the sky. In a few hours, they would be off, and he was anxious to begin. They were gambling the fate of everyone in the world on his plan.
What if I’m wrong? he wondered. Just some dumb Bales from Tibbet’s Brook going to poke the hive with a stick, thinking I’m so much smarter than the hornets.
But in his heart, he knew this was the only way. The people they were leaving behind were strong now. They would hold. They had to. Waiting behind the wards for each successive new moon was a losing strategy. The demons had the advantage in numbers, and people couldn’t ward the entire world. Cities built on greatwards might one day reach critical mass, but only with a head start.
There was a creak of floorboards, and Renna appeared, stealing him from his reverie. He was relieved until he took a look at her. She was bruised and bloody, with a swollen eye. Tears streaked the blood on her face, and she cradled her broken right arm with her left.
“You okay, Ren?” he asked.
Renna paused, surprised to see him. No doubt she had come to the stable to be alone. She gave a tired shrug, brushing past him as she went into Promise’s stall. She put her back to the divider and slid down to the floor. Promise nickered and nuzzled her cheek as she pulled the arm straight with a hiss, holding it in place while she waited for the magic in her blood to knit it back together.
Arlen nodded, leaving her in privacy. Inside the tower, he saw Shanvah laughing with her father as they prepared supper. The girl was seven years Renna’s junior and didn’t have Ren’s ability to heal, but there wasn’t a mark on her. She looked fresh as sunrise.
Oh, Ren. He shook his head. Jardir was right. This was a lesson Renna sorely needed. One Arlen had tried—and failed—to teach her himself. She liked being strong enough to bully folk a little too much for anyone’s good. Considering what she’d been through it wasn’t surprising, but …
Nie does not care about a warrior’s problems, he heard Jardir say.
But there was a difference between understanding the need for Renna to learn a little humility, and looking at his love, his wife, bloody and beaten. The only thing stopping him from setting Shanvah straight about the difference between lessons and fighting was the fact he knew Renna wouldn’t want him to.
Night, she’d never forgive him.
You weren’t any different, your first time in Krasia, he thought to himself. Ragen had taught him to fight—he’d thought as well as any man could. Then he met the Krasian drillmasters.
Arlen hadn’t wanted help, either. The Krasians would never have respected him if he’d asked for it, and it wasn’t any different with Renna. She would win Shanvah’s respect, given time.
That night, when they rode down a reap of field demons on the road to Anoch Sun, Renna’s sharusahk was noticeably better. She had healed good as new after a few hours’ rest, but strode into the fray more cautiously now. She lost none of her savagery when the time came to strike, but she waited for that time, now, and thought more than one move in advance.
“They can help us in Anoch Sun, if they have the courage,” the Par’chin said. “Shouldn’t underestimate the princes. Your power will be limited while you maintain the field. Even with Renna, we’ll be overmatched.”
“If two warriors might shift the balance, why not bring an army?” Jardir asked.
“And hide them where?” the Par’chin asked. “I can draw wards of unsight in the air around two, but more will alert the minds to our presence, and all will be for naught.”
Jardir sighed. He could not deny the comfort the two gave him, balancing the shift in power when the Par’chin’s jiwah arrived. “Very well.”
“We’ll make the lost city in five days if we trample demons to charge the horses to speed,” the Par’chin said as they packed supplies, laying in food and water for the desert crossing. There would be little if anything to replenish their stores once they reached the clay flats. “Four if we really push.”
“That does not give us much time to prepare before Waning, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
The Par’chin shrugged. “Don’t want any sign we been there, so the less the better. Ent much to do once we get there save wait in any event. Better off readying ourselves than the tomb.”
“Shanjat and Shanvah will need new spears and shields,” Jardir said.
“Got a cache of weapons we can raid out in the desert,” the Par’chin said. “Meantime, I can stain their skin with blackstem wards, and we can all work on our gaisahk together.”
“Wise,” Jardir said. “I know my warriors’ skill, but I have not seen your jiwah fight.”
“Started teaching her a few months ago,” the Par’chin said. “She learns fast.”
Jardir nodded patiently, and called the five of them to practice while the sun was still high. The Par’chin and his jiwah produced brushes and painted impact wards on Shanjat’s and Shanvah’s fists, elbows, and feet. They cut the sleeves from their returned robes to bare the symbols to the air.
As expected, his warriors took quickly to gaisahk, but the Par’chin’s jiwah had forms even a novice could best. Shanvah had not been unfair in her assessment. If anything, she had been kind.
“You continue to place your feet wrong,” Jardir told her as she finished a sharukin. He had already corrected her stance a dozen times, but still she failed to give it her full attention.
“What’s the difference?” she asked. “Would’ve punched right through a demon’s face with that move.”
“The difference, fool, is that if there had been another at its back, you would have been off balance,” Jardir snapped. “Alagai’sharak is no game, where the loser can play another day.”
“Know that,” Renna said. The words were sullen, but he believed them. She was trying to place her feet right, but the move was beyond her. It was not fair of him to expect her to master in days what his warriors practiced their whole lives, but they did not have time to coddle her.
“Shanvah will tutor you each day when we stop under the sun to rest and water the horses,” he ordered.
“What?!” both women exclaimed at once.
Jardir looked to his niece. “She is not to be harmed. You must put aside any emotion over your imprisonment.”
Shanvah embraced her emotion and crossed her fists, bowing. “Your will, Deliverer.”
“Goes double for you, Ren,” the Par’chin said. “You need these lessons, but don’t forget you’re a lot stronger’n her, and we need you both in one piece come new moon. You’re learnin’, not fightin’.”
Renna spat in the dust. “Won’t break anything can’t heal.”
The two moved off to begin the lesson, and the Par’chin shook his head. “Gonna regret sayin’ that, isn’t she?”
“More than you know, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “But I have seen the pride in her aura. All warriors must understand their own weakness if they are to overcome it.” He looked at the departing women. “Shanvah will show her, delivering the same lesson your jiwah did to her.”
The Par’chin laughed. “Maybe that makes her the Deliverer, then.”
Hours later, Arlen paced the stable, watching the sun falling in the sky. In a few hours, they would be off, and he was anxious to begin. They were gambling the fate of everyone in the world on his plan.
What if I’m wrong? he wondered. Just some dumb Bales from Tibbet’s Brook going to poke the hive with a stick, thinking I’m so much smarter than the hornets.
But in his heart, he knew this was the only way. The people they were leaving behind were strong now. They would hold. They had to. Waiting behind the wards for each successive new moon was a losing strategy. The demons had the advantage in numbers, and people couldn’t ward the entire world. Cities built on greatwards might one day reach critical mass, but only with a head start.
There was a creak of floorboards, and Renna appeared, stealing him from his reverie. He was relieved until he took a look at her. She was bruised and bloody, with a swollen eye. Tears streaked the blood on her face, and she cradled her broken right arm with her left.
“You okay, Ren?” he asked.
Renna paused, surprised to see him. No doubt she had come to the stable to be alone. She gave a tired shrug, brushing past him as she went into Promise’s stall. She put her back to the divider and slid down to the floor. Promise nickered and nuzzled her cheek as she pulled the arm straight with a hiss, holding it in place while she waited for the magic in her blood to knit it back together.
Arlen nodded, leaving her in privacy. Inside the tower, he saw Shanvah laughing with her father as they prepared supper. The girl was seven years Renna’s junior and didn’t have Ren’s ability to heal, but there wasn’t a mark on her. She looked fresh as sunrise.
Oh, Ren. He shook his head. Jardir was right. This was a lesson Renna sorely needed. One Arlen had tried—and failed—to teach her himself. She liked being strong enough to bully folk a little too much for anyone’s good. Considering what she’d been through it wasn’t surprising, but …
Nie does not care about a warrior’s problems, he heard Jardir say.
But there was a difference between understanding the need for Renna to learn a little humility, and looking at his love, his wife, bloody and beaten. The only thing stopping him from setting Shanvah straight about the difference between lessons and fighting was the fact he knew Renna wouldn’t want him to.
Night, she’d never forgive him.
You weren’t any different, your first time in Krasia, he thought to himself. Ragen had taught him to fight—he’d thought as well as any man could. Then he met the Krasian drillmasters.
Arlen hadn’t wanted help, either. The Krasians would never have respected him if he’d asked for it, and it wasn’t any different with Renna. She would win Shanvah’s respect, given time.
That night, when they rode down a reap of field demons on the road to Anoch Sun, Renna’s sharusahk was noticeably better. She had healed good as new after a few hours’ rest, but strode into the fray more cautiously now. She lost none of her savagery when the time came to strike, but she waited for that time, now, and thought more than one move in advance.
