The Skull Throne
Page 147
Of course, the commotion drew the demon right to him. A tentacle wrapped around his throat, and his cries were choked off as he was pulled under.
Hasik used that exact moment to attempt to pull himself into the boat. The small craft tipped from his weight, threatening to capsize, but somehow Hasik managed to roll in and shift his weight to right it.
All the boats at anchor were water-warded, and Hasik no doubt thought himself safe until a tentacle wrapped around his ankle. The warrior had already lost spear and shield to the lake, but he clutched at his waist, pulling a curved warded dagger as the boat capsized and he was pulled under.
There was a hush as everyone assembled stared at the surface of the water, watching as the ripples where the warrior disappeared began to fade. Sharum were fearless against the demons of land and air. It was fair to say the demons feared them more than the other way around. But water demons, mysterious nightmares that pulled their victims down to drown, terrified them.
Abban was no different, but he could not bring himself to weep at Hasik’s fate. He wanted the man to suffer, but after all Hasik had done to make his life an abyss, it was good, too, to have an end.
But then there was a flash, like lightning under the water. It came again, and again, then all went dark. A moment later Hasik broke the surface, gasping for air. He was naked, having discarded his armor lest it pull him down, but he still held the knife. He stuck it in his teeth as he clumsily paddled toward the dock.
“Everam’s beard,” Jayan muttered, a sentiment echoed all around as Hasik was thrown a line and hauled himself onto the dock, very much alive. There were puckered wounds all over his skin where the demon’s tentacles had latched on, but they were already beginning to close from the magic he’d absorbed in the killing.
As he stood, one of the Sharum who helped pull him up gaped at the sight of Hasik’s crotch, smooth like a woman’s with only a scar and a metal tube where his manhood should be.
Hasik growled, taking the warrior’s neck in his mighty arm and flexing, breaking it with a loud crack. He turned from the others as he stripped the man’s robes, and the remaining warriors gave him a wide berth as he quickly pulled on the pantaloons and robe. Jayan made no mention of the killing, so his advisors, too, remained silent on the matter.
“I will see to your bodyguard’s wounds,” Asavi said.
Jayan caught her arm as she passed, his eyes angry. “Hasik can wait until you tell us what he almost died for.”
Everyone froze. It was death to touch a dama’ting so. She could demand his hand be cut off, or he be killed, and Evejan law would demand it be carried out.
But Jayan was Sharum Ka, firstborn son of the Deliverer, and likely the next leader of Krasia. Abban wondered if any would dare so much as take the dama’ting’s side, much less try to carry out a sentence should she deliver it.
Asavi seemed to know it, too, her eyes scanning the reaction of the witnesses. If she demanded punishment and was refused, it would weaken her greatly in the eyes of Jayan’s council. Khevat and the other dama grated on the new, more vocal role of the dama’ting since Inevera’s display in the throne room.
She reached out with her free hand instead, seeming only to tap Jayan on the shoulder, but Abban could spot a pickpocket three stalls down the market, and saw the sharp jab of her knuckle.
Jayan’s hand dropped away limp, as if he had decided of his own volition to let her go, but his eyes said otherwise.
“The Sharum Ka is right to be concerned,” Asavi said, her voice serene, “but they are words for your private council chambers, not the open docks.”
“I have no council chambers!” Jayan snapped. “The water witch set them afire.”
Abban bowed. “There are other manses claimed by your loyal kai, some with a view of the docks, while safely out of slinger range. I will bring you a list to choose from, and see your lieutenant recompensed while we move your possessions. In the meantime, I have a warehouse nearby with a richly appointed office where you may relax until arrangements are made.”
Jayan shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his shoulder, but he simply grunted. “That will be acceptable, khaffit. Lead the way.”
By the time they made it to the warehouse, Jayan was sweating and pale with pain. He collapsed to the pillows, accepting tea with one hand, his other still limp at his side. Khevat and the other men pretended not to notice, but all were aware that something was wrong.
There was a glow from the corner of the room as Asavi sent magic through Hasik, finishing the healing the kill had started. There was a whispered plea to her, but Asavi, eyes flicking between his legs, only shook her head sadly. Hasik looked at Abban, eyes full of hatred, and Abban let him see just the hint of a grin.
“Would the Sharum Ka like me to see to his arm now?” Asavi asked. The other men glanced at her uncomfortably, then back to pale and sweating Jayan. All knew what was coming. Asavi had not been able to take her due in public, so she would have it thrice over behind the curtain.
“If the d-dama’ting wishes,” Jayan managed through gritted teeth.
“I could leave it, if you prefer,” the Bride said. “There is time to save it if I act quickly. If not, it will wither and die.”
Jayan’s one good eye bulged, and he began to shake.
“The Brides of Everam do not need clerics and warriors to punish those who would lay hands upon us, son of Ahmann,” Asavi said. “Our blessed Husband has given us power enough to see to our own protection. It is a lesson you would do well to remember.”
She looked around the room, boldly meeting the eyes of the other men, even Khevat. “All of you.”
They were bold words for a woman, and many of the men—Khevat especially—bristled, but none was fool enough to contradict her. She gave them a moment, then nodded, gliding over and helping Jayan slip his robe from one shoulder. The spot where the dama’ting had struck was black now, and the shoulder swollen. She took the limb tenderly, stretching and turning it as she massaged it back to life. Soon Jayan was wriggling his fingers again, and not long after making a fist.
“The limb will recover fully in a few days,” she said.
“Days?!” Jayan demanded.
Asavi shrugged. “Kill alagai, and the magic will speed the healing.”
“You healed Hasik in an instant,” Jayan pressed.
“Hasik did not lay hands upon me,” Asavi noted.
“Fine, fine!” Jayan said sullenly, cradling the limb with his good hand. “Now will you tell us what all that business on the docks was about?”
“Your enemies gather and make plans,” Asavi said. “The dice have long foreseen this.”
“Any fool can guess that,” Jayan snapped.
“The dice also told me to stop the thief who stank of demon root, or thousands would die,” Asavi said.
“Demon root?” Jayan said.
“A dama’ting healing herb,” Asavi said. “They call it hogroot here in the North. The spy reeked of it.”
“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” Khevat demanded. “We could have had guards sniffing everyone to enter the palace of the Sharum Ka.”
“The dice said nothing of the palace,” Asavi said, “or the Sharum Ka. The thief could have been anyone, anywhere. The dice foretold we would meet when I caught his scent, and what I must do. Had I spoken of it to anyone, fate may have changed, and the thief evade me as well.”
Hasik used that exact moment to attempt to pull himself into the boat. The small craft tipped from his weight, threatening to capsize, but somehow Hasik managed to roll in and shift his weight to right it.
All the boats at anchor were water-warded, and Hasik no doubt thought himself safe until a tentacle wrapped around his ankle. The warrior had already lost spear and shield to the lake, but he clutched at his waist, pulling a curved warded dagger as the boat capsized and he was pulled under.
There was a hush as everyone assembled stared at the surface of the water, watching as the ripples where the warrior disappeared began to fade. Sharum were fearless against the demons of land and air. It was fair to say the demons feared them more than the other way around. But water demons, mysterious nightmares that pulled their victims down to drown, terrified them.
Abban was no different, but he could not bring himself to weep at Hasik’s fate. He wanted the man to suffer, but after all Hasik had done to make his life an abyss, it was good, too, to have an end.
But then there was a flash, like lightning under the water. It came again, and again, then all went dark. A moment later Hasik broke the surface, gasping for air. He was naked, having discarded his armor lest it pull him down, but he still held the knife. He stuck it in his teeth as he clumsily paddled toward the dock.
“Everam’s beard,” Jayan muttered, a sentiment echoed all around as Hasik was thrown a line and hauled himself onto the dock, very much alive. There were puckered wounds all over his skin where the demon’s tentacles had latched on, but they were already beginning to close from the magic he’d absorbed in the killing.
As he stood, one of the Sharum who helped pull him up gaped at the sight of Hasik’s crotch, smooth like a woman’s with only a scar and a metal tube where his manhood should be.
Hasik growled, taking the warrior’s neck in his mighty arm and flexing, breaking it with a loud crack. He turned from the others as he stripped the man’s robes, and the remaining warriors gave him a wide berth as he quickly pulled on the pantaloons and robe. Jayan made no mention of the killing, so his advisors, too, remained silent on the matter.
“I will see to your bodyguard’s wounds,” Asavi said.
Jayan caught her arm as she passed, his eyes angry. “Hasik can wait until you tell us what he almost died for.”
Everyone froze. It was death to touch a dama’ting so. She could demand his hand be cut off, or he be killed, and Evejan law would demand it be carried out.
But Jayan was Sharum Ka, firstborn son of the Deliverer, and likely the next leader of Krasia. Abban wondered if any would dare so much as take the dama’ting’s side, much less try to carry out a sentence should she deliver it.
Asavi seemed to know it, too, her eyes scanning the reaction of the witnesses. If she demanded punishment and was refused, it would weaken her greatly in the eyes of Jayan’s council. Khevat and the other dama grated on the new, more vocal role of the dama’ting since Inevera’s display in the throne room.
She reached out with her free hand instead, seeming only to tap Jayan on the shoulder, but Abban could spot a pickpocket three stalls down the market, and saw the sharp jab of her knuckle.
Jayan’s hand dropped away limp, as if he had decided of his own volition to let her go, but his eyes said otherwise.
“The Sharum Ka is right to be concerned,” Asavi said, her voice serene, “but they are words for your private council chambers, not the open docks.”
“I have no council chambers!” Jayan snapped. “The water witch set them afire.”
Abban bowed. “There are other manses claimed by your loyal kai, some with a view of the docks, while safely out of slinger range. I will bring you a list to choose from, and see your lieutenant recompensed while we move your possessions. In the meantime, I have a warehouse nearby with a richly appointed office where you may relax until arrangements are made.”
Jayan shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking to his shoulder, but he simply grunted. “That will be acceptable, khaffit. Lead the way.”
By the time they made it to the warehouse, Jayan was sweating and pale with pain. He collapsed to the pillows, accepting tea with one hand, his other still limp at his side. Khevat and the other men pretended not to notice, but all were aware that something was wrong.
There was a glow from the corner of the room as Asavi sent magic through Hasik, finishing the healing the kill had started. There was a whispered plea to her, but Asavi, eyes flicking between his legs, only shook her head sadly. Hasik looked at Abban, eyes full of hatred, and Abban let him see just the hint of a grin.
“Would the Sharum Ka like me to see to his arm now?” Asavi asked. The other men glanced at her uncomfortably, then back to pale and sweating Jayan. All knew what was coming. Asavi had not been able to take her due in public, so she would have it thrice over behind the curtain.
“If the d-dama’ting wishes,” Jayan managed through gritted teeth.
“I could leave it, if you prefer,” the Bride said. “There is time to save it if I act quickly. If not, it will wither and die.”
Jayan’s one good eye bulged, and he began to shake.
“The Brides of Everam do not need clerics and warriors to punish those who would lay hands upon us, son of Ahmann,” Asavi said. “Our blessed Husband has given us power enough to see to our own protection. It is a lesson you would do well to remember.”
She looked around the room, boldly meeting the eyes of the other men, even Khevat. “All of you.”
They were bold words for a woman, and many of the men—Khevat especially—bristled, but none was fool enough to contradict her. She gave them a moment, then nodded, gliding over and helping Jayan slip his robe from one shoulder. The spot where the dama’ting had struck was black now, and the shoulder swollen. She took the limb tenderly, stretching and turning it as she massaged it back to life. Soon Jayan was wriggling his fingers again, and not long after making a fist.
“The limb will recover fully in a few days,” she said.
“Days?!” Jayan demanded.
Asavi shrugged. “Kill alagai, and the magic will speed the healing.”
“You healed Hasik in an instant,” Jayan pressed.
“Hasik did not lay hands upon me,” Asavi noted.
“Fine, fine!” Jayan said sullenly, cradling the limb with his good hand. “Now will you tell us what all that business on the docks was about?”
“Your enemies gather and make plans,” Asavi said. “The dice have long foreseen this.”
“Any fool can guess that,” Jayan snapped.
“The dice also told me to stop the thief who stank of demon root, or thousands would die,” Asavi said.
“Demon root?” Jayan said.
“A dama’ting healing herb,” Asavi said. “They call it hogroot here in the North. The spy reeked of it.”
“Why did you not speak of this sooner?” Khevat demanded. “We could have had guards sniffing everyone to enter the palace of the Sharum Ka.”
“The dice said nothing of the palace,” Asavi said, “or the Sharum Ka. The thief could have been anyone, anywhere. The dice foretold we would meet when I caught his scent, and what I must do. Had I spoken of it to anyone, fate may have changed, and the thief evade me as well.”
