The Daylight War
Page 105
‘How have you fared in mustering our forces, my son?’ Ahmann asked.
‘Well,’ Jayan said. ‘We have increased the garrisons in the inner and outer city, and begun organizing patrols.’
‘Excellent,’ Ahmann said.
‘But there has been cost,’ Jayan said, ‘in recalling and conscripting warriors from the chin villages and equipping them in time for the coming Waning.’
‘In decorating his palace, he means,’ Abban said softly. ‘The Sharum Ka’s war tax coffers should have been more than sufficient.’
‘How much?’ Ahmann asked his son.
‘Twenty million draki,’ Jayan said. He paused. ‘Thirty would be better.’
‘Everam’s beard,’ Abban muttered, rubbing his temple as the Damaji began to buzz in agitation. Inevera could not blame them. It was an obscene amount.
‘Do I even have that much to spare?’ Ahmann asked quietly.
‘We could increase the rate we melt and recast the greenlanders’ treasury, and the production yield of your gold mines,’ Abban said, ‘but I think you would be a fool to give the boy a single slip of copper without a full accounting of where the war tax has gone and how the new funds will be spent.’
‘I cannot cost my son such face,’ Ahmann said.
‘The khaffit is correct, beloved,’ Inevera said. ‘Jayan has no concept of the value of money. If you give this to him, he will be back for more in a fortnight.’
Ahmann sighed. He himself had never been particularly good with money, but at least he trusted his advisors. ‘Very well,’ he said to Jayan. ‘As soon as you have your khaffit deliver a full accounting of how you have spent the war tax to Abban, along with your projections for the additional funds.’
Jayan stood frozen, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.
‘Perhaps I can assist, brother,’ Asome said. ‘You have ever been more adept with the spear than the pen.’
‘I need the help of push’ting no more than I do khaffit,’ Jayan growled.
Asome did not rise to the bait, bowing with a smug grin. ‘As you wish.’ He may have been heir to nothing, but it was no secret that both Ahmann’s eldest sons aspired to succeed him, and they were quick to cut at each other’s favour in their father’s eyes.
In the meantime, Asome had asked more than once for his father to reinstate the position of Andrah with him on the throne. Thus far, Ahmann had denied him that honour. Asome was younger than any Andrah in history by a quarter century, and the appointment would put him above his older brother.
Jayan was impulsive where Asome was cautious, quick to anger where Asome was calm and soft-voiced, brutal where Asome was subtle. If Asome were placed above him, there would be blood, and many of the Damaji would support Jayan. The Sharum Ka served the council of Damaji. The Andrah commanded them. It was one thing to take orders from Ahmann, and another entirely to take them from a dama barely a year out of his bido.
‘I will have the ledgers brought to you, Father,’ Jayan said, glaring at his younger brother.
His zahven.
17
Zahven
326–329 AR — He will hear a voice from his past, and first meet his zahven—
Inevera pondered the throw for a long time. Some of the symbols of foretelling were direct and easy to understand, regardless of context. Most were not. Inevera was more skilled at deciphering them than any woman alive, but even she found more confusion than truth in the alagai hora.
Zahven was an ancient symbol that had taken many meanings over the years, and none could be taken lightly. It could mean ‘brother’ or just as easily ‘rival’, ‘counterpart’, or ‘nemesis’. Men referred to those of other tribes with equal standing in the social hierarchy as their zahven, but Everam was also considered zahven to Nie.
But who could be zahven to Ahmann? He had no brothers or even cousins of blood, and his ajin’pal was Hasik, someone Ahmann had already met. Was there another Deliverer in the making? A challenger? Or was he to meet Nie’s representative on Ala? It was Waning, when the alagai were strongest, and Alagai Ka was said to rise from the seventh layer of the abyss. Was the prince of demons to come to the Maze this night?
Inevera breathed deeply, letting the fear and anxiety blow over her like wind, maintaining serenity.
But even safe within her breath, another part of the foretelling continued to niggle her. What voice from Ahmann’s past, and why did she not know of it?
The past calls when its debts are due, the Evejah’ting taught. Inevera remembered the night Soli and Kasaad had entered the dama’ting pavilion, and could not disagree.
It was just before dawn on the first day of Waning, when debts were paid and oaths fulfilled. Sharum would be sent home with their wages, and sons released from sharaj to see their families.
Inevera put the dice away, breathing until she had her centre, then stood smoothly and went to the pillow chamber where Ahmann slept. Most nights he returned to the palace once the Maze was free of alagai – usually still hours before dawn. He would sleep until the sun was high, rising at noon to begin his day.
But on Wanings, he rose at dawn, that he might have as much time as possible with his sons.
She slipped from her robes and crawled into the pillows to wake him.
Inevera leaned against a marble pillar, watching Ahmann with Jayan and Asome. The elder boys were closest to their father, and he stood with them in the centre of the room before a practice dummy hanging suspended in the air, giving them lessons in spearwork and sharusahk.
Her sister-wives were in attendance of course, along with their sons, who knelt in a ring around the room, a small army in and of themselves. Inevera had taken to calling the Jiwah Sen her ‘little sisters’, much as Kenevah had with her. The diminutive did not please them – women in line to hold sway over their respective tribes – but none dared protest its use. It was Waning, and Ahmann would give each of his wives and sons his attention in turn before the great meal.
‘One day, I will be Sharum Ka!’ Jayan shouted, thrusting his spear at the practice dummy.
Inevera looked sadly at her firstborn, now twelve. He had been bright, once. Not clever like his brother Asome, but inquisitive enough. Three years in sharaj had burned the brightness from his eyes, leaving him with the dead look of all Sharum – that of a brutal, unthinking animal. One that looked upon life and death and saw more value in the latter. Jayan was first in his class at fighting, but struggled with simple sums and texts that Asome, a year his junior, had advanced beyond years since. He was more apt to wipe himself with paper than read the words upon it.
She sighed. If only Ahmann had let her put him among the dama, but no, he wanted Sharum sons. Only second sons were allowed to take the white. The rest were sent to sharaj.
But as she watched Ahmann with the boys and saw the love in his eyes, she could not fault him.
As if reading her mind, Ahmann turned and met her gaze. ‘It would please me if my daughters could return home for Waning each month, as well.’
You would spend them like spare coin on men not worthy of them, Inevera thought, but gave only a slight shake of her head. ‘Their training must not be disturbed, husband. The Hannu Pash of the nie’dama’ting is … rigorous.’ Indeed, she had been training them since birth.
‘Well,’ Jayan said. ‘We have increased the garrisons in the inner and outer city, and begun organizing patrols.’
‘Excellent,’ Ahmann said.
‘But there has been cost,’ Jayan said, ‘in recalling and conscripting warriors from the chin villages and equipping them in time for the coming Waning.’
‘In decorating his palace, he means,’ Abban said softly. ‘The Sharum Ka’s war tax coffers should have been more than sufficient.’
‘How much?’ Ahmann asked his son.
‘Twenty million draki,’ Jayan said. He paused. ‘Thirty would be better.’
‘Everam’s beard,’ Abban muttered, rubbing his temple as the Damaji began to buzz in agitation. Inevera could not blame them. It was an obscene amount.
‘Do I even have that much to spare?’ Ahmann asked quietly.
‘We could increase the rate we melt and recast the greenlanders’ treasury, and the production yield of your gold mines,’ Abban said, ‘but I think you would be a fool to give the boy a single slip of copper without a full accounting of where the war tax has gone and how the new funds will be spent.’
‘I cannot cost my son such face,’ Ahmann said.
‘The khaffit is correct, beloved,’ Inevera said. ‘Jayan has no concept of the value of money. If you give this to him, he will be back for more in a fortnight.’
Ahmann sighed. He himself had never been particularly good with money, but at least he trusted his advisors. ‘Very well,’ he said to Jayan. ‘As soon as you have your khaffit deliver a full accounting of how you have spent the war tax to Abban, along with your projections for the additional funds.’
Jayan stood frozen, his mouth moving but no sound coming out.
‘Perhaps I can assist, brother,’ Asome said. ‘You have ever been more adept with the spear than the pen.’
‘I need the help of push’ting no more than I do khaffit,’ Jayan growled.
Asome did not rise to the bait, bowing with a smug grin. ‘As you wish.’ He may have been heir to nothing, but it was no secret that both Ahmann’s eldest sons aspired to succeed him, and they were quick to cut at each other’s favour in their father’s eyes.
In the meantime, Asome had asked more than once for his father to reinstate the position of Andrah with him on the throne. Thus far, Ahmann had denied him that honour. Asome was younger than any Andrah in history by a quarter century, and the appointment would put him above his older brother.
Jayan was impulsive where Asome was cautious, quick to anger where Asome was calm and soft-voiced, brutal where Asome was subtle. If Asome were placed above him, there would be blood, and many of the Damaji would support Jayan. The Sharum Ka served the council of Damaji. The Andrah commanded them. It was one thing to take orders from Ahmann, and another entirely to take them from a dama barely a year out of his bido.
‘I will have the ledgers brought to you, Father,’ Jayan said, glaring at his younger brother.
His zahven.
17
Zahven
326–329 AR — He will hear a voice from his past, and first meet his zahven—
Inevera pondered the throw for a long time. Some of the symbols of foretelling were direct and easy to understand, regardless of context. Most were not. Inevera was more skilled at deciphering them than any woman alive, but even she found more confusion than truth in the alagai hora.
Zahven was an ancient symbol that had taken many meanings over the years, and none could be taken lightly. It could mean ‘brother’ or just as easily ‘rival’, ‘counterpart’, or ‘nemesis’. Men referred to those of other tribes with equal standing in the social hierarchy as their zahven, but Everam was also considered zahven to Nie.
But who could be zahven to Ahmann? He had no brothers or even cousins of blood, and his ajin’pal was Hasik, someone Ahmann had already met. Was there another Deliverer in the making? A challenger? Or was he to meet Nie’s representative on Ala? It was Waning, when the alagai were strongest, and Alagai Ka was said to rise from the seventh layer of the abyss. Was the prince of demons to come to the Maze this night?
Inevera breathed deeply, letting the fear and anxiety blow over her like wind, maintaining serenity.
But even safe within her breath, another part of the foretelling continued to niggle her. What voice from Ahmann’s past, and why did she not know of it?
The past calls when its debts are due, the Evejah’ting taught. Inevera remembered the night Soli and Kasaad had entered the dama’ting pavilion, and could not disagree.
It was just before dawn on the first day of Waning, when debts were paid and oaths fulfilled. Sharum would be sent home with their wages, and sons released from sharaj to see their families.
Inevera put the dice away, breathing until she had her centre, then stood smoothly and went to the pillow chamber where Ahmann slept. Most nights he returned to the palace once the Maze was free of alagai – usually still hours before dawn. He would sleep until the sun was high, rising at noon to begin his day.
But on Wanings, he rose at dawn, that he might have as much time as possible with his sons.
She slipped from her robes and crawled into the pillows to wake him.
Inevera leaned against a marble pillar, watching Ahmann with Jayan and Asome. The elder boys were closest to their father, and he stood with them in the centre of the room before a practice dummy hanging suspended in the air, giving them lessons in spearwork and sharusahk.
Her sister-wives were in attendance of course, along with their sons, who knelt in a ring around the room, a small army in and of themselves. Inevera had taken to calling the Jiwah Sen her ‘little sisters’, much as Kenevah had with her. The diminutive did not please them – women in line to hold sway over their respective tribes – but none dared protest its use. It was Waning, and Ahmann would give each of his wives and sons his attention in turn before the great meal.
‘One day, I will be Sharum Ka!’ Jayan shouted, thrusting his spear at the practice dummy.
Inevera looked sadly at her firstborn, now twelve. He had been bright, once. Not clever like his brother Asome, but inquisitive enough. Three years in sharaj had burned the brightness from his eyes, leaving him with the dead look of all Sharum – that of a brutal, unthinking animal. One that looked upon life and death and saw more value in the latter. Jayan was first in his class at fighting, but struggled with simple sums and texts that Asome, a year his junior, had advanced beyond years since. He was more apt to wipe himself with paper than read the words upon it.
She sighed. If only Ahmann had let her put him among the dama, but no, he wanted Sharum sons. Only second sons were allowed to take the white. The rest were sent to sharaj.
But as she watched Ahmann with the boys and saw the love in his eyes, she could not fault him.
As if reading her mind, Ahmann turned and met her gaze. ‘It would please me if my daughters could return home for Waning each month, as well.’
You would spend them like spare coin on men not worthy of them, Inevera thought, but gave only a slight shake of her head. ‘Their training must not be disturbed, husband. The Hannu Pash of the nie’dama’ting is … rigorous.’ Indeed, she had been training them since birth.
