The Skull Throne
Page 12
Inevera began to wonder how much control she could keep if Aleverak ascended to the throne.
But again Ashan surprised her, taking a similar stance to Aleverak and focusing his efforts on defense. His feet beat rapidly on the marble floor, back and forth, keeping Aleverak dancing but always stopping short of full attacks that might give the aged Damaji free energy to turn against him. Again and again Aleverak struck at him, but Ashan batted his hand aside every time, keeping up the dance. Aleverak’s kicks were dodged, or blocked smoothly with thighs, shins, and forearms.
He kept it up, his aura calm, until, at last, Aleverak began to tire. Whatever reserves of energy the ancient Damaji had called upon depleted, and his moves began to slow.
When he next stepped forward, he was not quick enough to stop Ashan from stomping on his foot, pinning it. Aleverak stabbed his right hand in, but Ashan caught the wrist, holding it as he snapped his hips around to add torque to a devastating punch to the chest with his now recovered right arm.
Aleverak gasped and stumbled, but Ashan locked his arm and added several more punches before his opponent could recover, driving sharp knuckles into the shoulder joint of the Damaji’s one arm. He swept Aleverak’s feet from him and put him down hard on his back. The retort as he struck the marble echoed throughout the chamber.
Aleverak looked up at Ashan, his eyes hard. “Well done, Andrah. Finish me with honor and take your place atop the steps.”
Ashan looked at the ancient Damaji sadly. “It was an honor to face you, Damaji. Your fame among the masters of sharusahk is well earned. But tradition does not demand I kill you. Only that I clear you from my path.”
He began to turn away, but Aleverak’s aura flared, as close to a loss of control as Inevera had ever seen. He clutched the hem of Ashan’s robe with quivering fingers.
“Maji is still in his bido!” Aleverak coughed. “Kill me and let Aleveran have the black turban. No harm will come to the Deliverer’s son.”
Ashan glanced up to Inevera at this. It was a tempting offer. Maji would be safe from the foolish vow Ahmann had made, but in exchange the Majah would have a younger Damaji who might rule for decades to come. She gave a slight shake of her head.
“Apologies, Damaji,” Ashan said, pulling his robe free of the old man’s grasp, “but the Deliverer still has need of you in this world. It is not yet your time to walk the lonely path. And should any harm come to the Deliverer’s Majah son apart from an open challenge in court on the hour of your natural death, my respect for you will not stop me from having your entire male line killed.” He turned again, striding for the seven steps leading to the Skull Throne.
Asome met him there, blocking the path.
Inevera hissed. What was the fool boy doing?
“Apologies, Uncle.” Asome gave a formal sharusahk bow. “I trust you understand this is not personal. You have been as a father to me, but I am the eldest dama son of the Deliverer, and have as much right as any assembled to challenge you.”
Ashan seemed genuinely taken aback, but he did not dispute the claim. He bowed in return. “Of course, nephew. Your honor is boundless. But I would not leave my daughter a widow, nor my grandson without his father. I ask this once that you step aside.”
Asome shook his head sadly. “Nor would I leave my cousin and wife without a father. My aunt without a husband. Renounce your claim and allow me to ascend.”
Jayan leapt to his feet. “What is this?! I demand … !”
“Silence!” Inevera shouted. There was no need to enhance her voice this time, the sound echoing around the room. “Asome, attend me!”
Asome turned, climbing the steps swiftly to stand before Inevera’s bed of pillows. There was a flare in his aura as he passed by the throne. Was it covetousness? Inevera filed the information away in her mind as she manipulated polished stones on a small pedestal beside her, covering some wards and uncovering others. She could use the stones to control a number of effects, powered by hora placed around the room, and now placed a wall of silence around her pillows, that none save her son should hear her words.
“You must give up this foolish claim, my son,” Inevera said. “Ashan will kill you.” Having seen Asome’s sharusahk, she wasn’t certain this was true, but now was not the time to flatter the young man.
“Have faith, Mother,” Asome said. “I have waited my entire life for this day, and I will prevail.”
“You will not,” Inevera said. “Because you will not continue your challenge. This is not what Everam wants. Or your father. Or I.”
“If Everam does not wish me to take the throne, I will not,” Asome said. “And if He does, then it should be Father’s and your wish as well.”
“Wait, my son,” Inevera said. “I beg you. We have always meant the jeweled turban for you, but it is too soon. Jayan will drive the Sharum into revolt if you take it now.”
“Then I will kill him, too,” Asome said.
“And rule over a civil war with Sharak Ka on our heels,” Inevera said. “No. I will not allow you to kill your brother. If you persist, I will cast you down myself. Recant, and you will have the succession on Ashan’s death. I swear it.”
“Announce it now,” Asome said. “Before all assembled, or cast me down as you say. My honor will be appeased with nothing else.”
Inevera drew a deep breath, letting it fill her, and flow back out, taking her emotions with it. She nodded, sliding the stones on her pedestal to remove the veil of silence.
“Upon Ashan’s death, Asome will have the right to challenge the Damaji for the jeweled turban.”
Jayan’s aura swirled with emotion. The anger was still present, but he seemed mollified for the moment. There was no telling what he would have done if his younger brother had been given the chance to fight for a throne that sat higher than his. But seeing Asome thwarted had always brought Jayan pleasure. Ashan was not yet forty, and would stand between Asome and ascension long enough for Jayan to claim his father’s crown.
He stamped his spear loudly on the marble, and turned without leave to exit the throne room. His kai’Sharum followed obediently behind, and Inevera could see in them, and many of the Damaji, a belief that the Deliverer’s eldest son had been robbed of his birthright. The Sharum worshipped Jayan, and they outnumbered the dama greatly. He would be a growing danger.
But for the moment he was dealt with, and Inevera felt the wind ease as Ashan at last climbed the dais to sit the Skull Throne. He looked out at the assembled advisors and said the words Inevera had instructed, though she could tell they were sour on his lips.
“It is an honor to hold the throne for the Shar’Dama Ka, blessings be upon his name. I will keep the Deliverer’s court much as he left it, with Damaji Aleverak speaking for the council, and Abban the khaffit retaining his position as court scribe and master of logistics. As before, any that dare hinder or harm him or his interests will find no mercy from the Skull Throne.”
Inevera twitched a finger to Belina, and the Majah Damaji’ting stepped forward with hora to heal Aleverak. Soon the Damaji was rising shakily back to his feet. The disorientation would soon pass, leaving him even stronger than before. His first act was a bow of submission to the Skull Throne.
Satisfying as that submission was, it was nothing compared to the flick of Ashan’s eyes to her, obviously asking if this scene was at its end. She gave a subtle nod and Ashan dismissed the Damaji and moved to meet with Asukaji and Asome, as well as his advisors, Halvan and Shevali.
But again Ashan surprised her, taking a similar stance to Aleverak and focusing his efforts on defense. His feet beat rapidly on the marble floor, back and forth, keeping Aleverak dancing but always stopping short of full attacks that might give the aged Damaji free energy to turn against him. Again and again Aleverak struck at him, but Ashan batted his hand aside every time, keeping up the dance. Aleverak’s kicks were dodged, or blocked smoothly with thighs, shins, and forearms.
He kept it up, his aura calm, until, at last, Aleverak began to tire. Whatever reserves of energy the ancient Damaji had called upon depleted, and his moves began to slow.
When he next stepped forward, he was not quick enough to stop Ashan from stomping on his foot, pinning it. Aleverak stabbed his right hand in, but Ashan caught the wrist, holding it as he snapped his hips around to add torque to a devastating punch to the chest with his now recovered right arm.
Aleverak gasped and stumbled, but Ashan locked his arm and added several more punches before his opponent could recover, driving sharp knuckles into the shoulder joint of the Damaji’s one arm. He swept Aleverak’s feet from him and put him down hard on his back. The retort as he struck the marble echoed throughout the chamber.
Aleverak looked up at Ashan, his eyes hard. “Well done, Andrah. Finish me with honor and take your place atop the steps.”
Ashan looked at the ancient Damaji sadly. “It was an honor to face you, Damaji. Your fame among the masters of sharusahk is well earned. But tradition does not demand I kill you. Only that I clear you from my path.”
He began to turn away, but Aleverak’s aura flared, as close to a loss of control as Inevera had ever seen. He clutched the hem of Ashan’s robe with quivering fingers.
“Maji is still in his bido!” Aleverak coughed. “Kill me and let Aleveran have the black turban. No harm will come to the Deliverer’s son.”
Ashan glanced up to Inevera at this. It was a tempting offer. Maji would be safe from the foolish vow Ahmann had made, but in exchange the Majah would have a younger Damaji who might rule for decades to come. She gave a slight shake of her head.
“Apologies, Damaji,” Ashan said, pulling his robe free of the old man’s grasp, “but the Deliverer still has need of you in this world. It is not yet your time to walk the lonely path. And should any harm come to the Deliverer’s Majah son apart from an open challenge in court on the hour of your natural death, my respect for you will not stop me from having your entire male line killed.” He turned again, striding for the seven steps leading to the Skull Throne.
Asome met him there, blocking the path.
Inevera hissed. What was the fool boy doing?
“Apologies, Uncle.” Asome gave a formal sharusahk bow. “I trust you understand this is not personal. You have been as a father to me, but I am the eldest dama son of the Deliverer, and have as much right as any assembled to challenge you.”
Ashan seemed genuinely taken aback, but he did not dispute the claim. He bowed in return. “Of course, nephew. Your honor is boundless. But I would not leave my daughter a widow, nor my grandson without his father. I ask this once that you step aside.”
Asome shook his head sadly. “Nor would I leave my cousin and wife without a father. My aunt without a husband. Renounce your claim and allow me to ascend.”
Jayan leapt to his feet. “What is this?! I demand … !”
“Silence!” Inevera shouted. There was no need to enhance her voice this time, the sound echoing around the room. “Asome, attend me!”
Asome turned, climbing the steps swiftly to stand before Inevera’s bed of pillows. There was a flare in his aura as he passed by the throne. Was it covetousness? Inevera filed the information away in her mind as she manipulated polished stones on a small pedestal beside her, covering some wards and uncovering others. She could use the stones to control a number of effects, powered by hora placed around the room, and now placed a wall of silence around her pillows, that none save her son should hear her words.
“You must give up this foolish claim, my son,” Inevera said. “Ashan will kill you.” Having seen Asome’s sharusahk, she wasn’t certain this was true, but now was not the time to flatter the young man.
“Have faith, Mother,” Asome said. “I have waited my entire life for this day, and I will prevail.”
“You will not,” Inevera said. “Because you will not continue your challenge. This is not what Everam wants. Or your father. Or I.”
“If Everam does not wish me to take the throne, I will not,” Asome said. “And if He does, then it should be Father’s and your wish as well.”
“Wait, my son,” Inevera said. “I beg you. We have always meant the jeweled turban for you, but it is too soon. Jayan will drive the Sharum into revolt if you take it now.”
“Then I will kill him, too,” Asome said.
“And rule over a civil war with Sharak Ka on our heels,” Inevera said. “No. I will not allow you to kill your brother. If you persist, I will cast you down myself. Recant, and you will have the succession on Ashan’s death. I swear it.”
“Announce it now,” Asome said. “Before all assembled, or cast me down as you say. My honor will be appeased with nothing else.”
Inevera drew a deep breath, letting it fill her, and flow back out, taking her emotions with it. She nodded, sliding the stones on her pedestal to remove the veil of silence.
“Upon Ashan’s death, Asome will have the right to challenge the Damaji for the jeweled turban.”
Jayan’s aura swirled with emotion. The anger was still present, but he seemed mollified for the moment. There was no telling what he would have done if his younger brother had been given the chance to fight for a throne that sat higher than his. But seeing Asome thwarted had always brought Jayan pleasure. Ashan was not yet forty, and would stand between Asome and ascension long enough for Jayan to claim his father’s crown.
He stamped his spear loudly on the marble, and turned without leave to exit the throne room. His kai’Sharum followed obediently behind, and Inevera could see in them, and many of the Damaji, a belief that the Deliverer’s eldest son had been robbed of his birthright. The Sharum worshipped Jayan, and they outnumbered the dama greatly. He would be a growing danger.
But for the moment he was dealt with, and Inevera felt the wind ease as Ashan at last climbed the dais to sit the Skull Throne. He looked out at the assembled advisors and said the words Inevera had instructed, though she could tell they were sour on his lips.
“It is an honor to hold the throne for the Shar’Dama Ka, blessings be upon his name. I will keep the Deliverer’s court much as he left it, with Damaji Aleverak speaking for the council, and Abban the khaffit retaining his position as court scribe and master of logistics. As before, any that dare hinder or harm him or his interests will find no mercy from the Skull Throne.”
Inevera twitched a finger to Belina, and the Majah Damaji’ting stepped forward with hora to heal Aleverak. Soon the Damaji was rising shakily back to his feet. The disorientation would soon pass, leaving him even stronger than before. His first act was a bow of submission to the Skull Throne.
Satisfying as that submission was, it was nothing compared to the flick of Ashan’s eyes to her, obviously asking if this scene was at its end. She gave a subtle nod and Ashan dismissed the Damaji and moved to meet with Asukaji and Asome, as well as his advisors, Halvan and Shevali.
