The Skull Throne
Page 45
“Stop standing there and ripping shoot me!” The Par’chin slapped the large ward at the center of his chest. Again Shanjat loosed, this time missing by inches.
“Come on!” the Par’chin cried. “A pig-eating son of a khaffit can shoot better than that!”
Shanjat growled, pulling another arrow to his cheek. He had the weapon’s measure now, and his next shot would have taken the Par’chin in the shoulder, had he not caught the arrow in midair the way a quick man might snatch a horsefly.
“Pathetic,” the Par’chin growled, holding up the arrow. He turned to look at Shanvah. “Your turn.”
No sooner had he spoken than Shanvah had her bow raised, firing. Jardir had not even known she was holding it.
The shot was true, and the Par’chin gasped, dematerializing just in time to evade the missile. It struck behind him, embedding in the wall.
Jardir was impressed. Even he was a novice with the bow, but Shanvah and her spear sisters were trained by Enkido, whose name was legend in the Maze before he was even born.
“Better,” the Par’chin admitted as he solidified. “But you shoot straight, like you’ve got a short bow. Fine in close, but you’ll have more power and range if you arc your shots.”
“I’ll teach her,” the Par’chin’s jiwah said. Jardir expected Shanvah to protest, but she only nodded.
“As for you …” the Par’chin said, turning back to Shanjat.
Shanjat threw the bow to the ground. “I do not need this coward’s weapon. My spear will suffice.”
“Reckon it’ll come down to spears and fists before the end,” the Par’chin agreed, “but there’s more at stake here than your personal glory, Shanjat. You need to be able to shoot if you’re to protect your master.”
“Am I to master this weapon in a day?” Shanjat asked. “I have my pride, Par’chin, but not so much as that.”
“Don’t need to.” The Par’chin lifted one of the cross-shaped crank bows the Northern women favored. It had a wooden stock, shod with steel like the bow and firing mechanism. The “string” was a weave of thin wire.
Shanjat, too, recognized the device. “A woman’s weapon? Shall I dance in veils for the alagai next?”
The Par’chin ignored him, taking a heavy shield, warded steel riveted onto a thick wood frame, and set it against the wall. He moved across the room to stand by Shanjat. With two fingers he tugged the thick bowstring back until it clicked in place, fitting a bolt.
“Like this,” he said, bracing the weapon against his shoulder and bringing it level with the floor, sighting down its length. He handed the bow to Shanjat, who held it as he had been shown.
“Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot,” the Par’chin said. “Put your target between the lines at the end, keep steady, and squeeze.”
KA-CHUNG! The bow recoiled, surprising Shanjat enough that he took a step back.
“Missed,” he said. There was shame in his aura, but his face was grim as he moved to hand the weapon back.
“Did you?” the Par’chin asked.
Shanvah was across the room in an instant, lifting the shield to inspect it. All could see the finger she poked clear through from back to front. “A clean hole.” She looked behind her, then stepped away so the others could see the bolt, embedded in the rock wall.
“Everam’s beard,” Shanjat said, looking at the weapon with new respect. He tried to draw the string back as the Par’chin had, but strong as he was, it was beyond him.
“Crank it.” The Par’chin pointed to the mechanism.
Shanjat turned the crank, growing frustration on his face. At last it clicked into place and he looked up. “I could have thrown three spears in that time, Par’chin.”
The Par’chin nodded. “And then you would be out of spears. Don’t worry over the draw. With night strength you won’t need the crank.”
Shanjat nodded, but he selected three light throwing spears in addition to the bow and quarrels.
“Sleep while you can,” Jardir bade. “We’ll be in Anoch Sun before dawn, with only two days to prepare.” Immediately, Shanjat and Shanvah found a space by the wall to curl up. Jardir closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 9
ANOCH SUN
333 AR AUTUMN
As the sun rose, Arlen looked out over the lost city of Anoch Sun with a heavy heart. The Krasians had been reckless in their looting. When Arlen was living in the ruins seeking the secrets of demon fighting, he had been careful to preserve the place, digging carefully, leaving everything intact. The only relics he removed were weapons and armor, that he might study their wards. He had returned most of the items once he learned their secrets.
The Krasians had given no such consideration to preserving their antiquity. The city now looked like a crop field after a swarm of locusts and an army of voles. Massive piles of dirt and sand everywhere, shattered stone that had stood strong for thousands of years. The land was dotted with holes where roofs had been broken into for easier access to underground chambers, exposing them to the elements for the first time in millennia.
Only the great burial chambers were still intact. The Krasians had taken everything else of value, but even they balked at moving the sarcophagi and disturbing the rest of their sacred ancestors.
“And you were ready to kill me for taking one spear,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t yours to take, Par’chin,” Jardir replied. “It is a place of my people. Krasians, not greenlanders.”
Arlen spat over the side of his horse. “Wern’t so worried about cultural rights when you sacked Fort Rizon.”
“That was conquest, not grave looting,” Jardir said.
“So robbing living folk you have to beat and kill is more honorable than ones been dead thousands of years?” Arlen asked.
“The dead cannot defend themselves, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
“And yet you destroyed the resting place of your ancestors,” Arlen said. “Night, your logic just whirls around like a dust devil, doesn’t it?”
“I had a hundred thousand people to feed, and nothing here to sustain them,” Jardir said. He was keeping his outward calm, but his words were beginning to tighten. “We had to work fast. There was no time to peel the layers of the city back with brushes and hand tools.”
He looked curiously at Arlen. “How did you manage it, Par’chin? There is nothing to eat here, and without baggage, you cannot have carried much from the Oasis of Dawn.”
Arlen was thankful his aura was hidden in the morning sun. The question cut close to one of the few secrets he was not yet willing to share with Jardir. Likely he never would. He had eaten demon meat to sustain himself in the weeks he spent in Anoch Sun, something he knew the Krasians would never understand, despite the power it brought.
“Went out and brought back supplies,” Arlen said. It wasn’t a lie, precisely.
He shook his head to clear it. There was nothing to be gained, continuing to bicker. They needed to work together, now more than ever. He glanced at Shanjat and Shanvah to find their predatory eyes locked on him and Renna, as if awaiting Jardir’s command to kill them while the sun kept their full powers at bay.
“Come on!” the Par’chin cried. “A pig-eating son of a khaffit can shoot better than that!”
Shanjat growled, pulling another arrow to his cheek. He had the weapon’s measure now, and his next shot would have taken the Par’chin in the shoulder, had he not caught the arrow in midair the way a quick man might snatch a horsefly.
“Pathetic,” the Par’chin growled, holding up the arrow. He turned to look at Shanvah. “Your turn.”
No sooner had he spoken than Shanvah had her bow raised, firing. Jardir had not even known she was holding it.
The shot was true, and the Par’chin gasped, dematerializing just in time to evade the missile. It struck behind him, embedding in the wall.
Jardir was impressed. Even he was a novice with the bow, but Shanvah and her spear sisters were trained by Enkido, whose name was legend in the Maze before he was even born.
“Better,” the Par’chin admitted as he solidified. “But you shoot straight, like you’ve got a short bow. Fine in close, but you’ll have more power and range if you arc your shots.”
“I’ll teach her,” the Par’chin’s jiwah said. Jardir expected Shanvah to protest, but she only nodded.
“As for you …” the Par’chin said, turning back to Shanjat.
Shanjat threw the bow to the ground. “I do not need this coward’s weapon. My spear will suffice.”
“Reckon it’ll come down to spears and fists before the end,” the Par’chin agreed, “but there’s more at stake here than your personal glory, Shanjat. You need to be able to shoot if you’re to protect your master.”
“Am I to master this weapon in a day?” Shanjat asked. “I have my pride, Par’chin, but not so much as that.”
“Don’t need to.” The Par’chin lifted one of the cross-shaped crank bows the Northern women favored. It had a wooden stock, shod with steel like the bow and firing mechanism. The “string” was a weave of thin wire.
Shanjat, too, recognized the device. “A woman’s weapon? Shall I dance in veils for the alagai next?”
The Par’chin ignored him, taking a heavy shield, warded steel riveted onto a thick wood frame, and set it against the wall. He moved across the room to stand by Shanjat. With two fingers he tugged the thick bowstring back until it clicked in place, fitting a bolt.
“Like this,” he said, bracing the weapon against his shoulder and bringing it level with the floor, sighting down its length. He handed the bow to Shanjat, who held it as he had been shown.
“Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot,” the Par’chin said. “Put your target between the lines at the end, keep steady, and squeeze.”
KA-CHUNG! The bow recoiled, surprising Shanjat enough that he took a step back.
“Missed,” he said. There was shame in his aura, but his face was grim as he moved to hand the weapon back.
“Did you?” the Par’chin asked.
Shanvah was across the room in an instant, lifting the shield to inspect it. All could see the finger she poked clear through from back to front. “A clean hole.” She looked behind her, then stepped away so the others could see the bolt, embedded in the rock wall.
“Everam’s beard,” Shanjat said, looking at the weapon with new respect. He tried to draw the string back as the Par’chin had, but strong as he was, it was beyond him.
“Crank it.” The Par’chin pointed to the mechanism.
Shanjat turned the crank, growing frustration on his face. At last it clicked into place and he looked up. “I could have thrown three spears in that time, Par’chin.”
The Par’chin nodded. “And then you would be out of spears. Don’t worry over the draw. With night strength you won’t need the crank.”
Shanjat nodded, but he selected three light throwing spears in addition to the bow and quarrels.
“Sleep while you can,” Jardir bade. “We’ll be in Anoch Sun before dawn, with only two days to prepare.” Immediately, Shanjat and Shanvah found a space by the wall to curl up. Jardir closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 9
ANOCH SUN
333 AR AUTUMN
As the sun rose, Arlen looked out over the lost city of Anoch Sun with a heavy heart. The Krasians had been reckless in their looting. When Arlen was living in the ruins seeking the secrets of demon fighting, he had been careful to preserve the place, digging carefully, leaving everything intact. The only relics he removed were weapons and armor, that he might study their wards. He had returned most of the items once he learned their secrets.
The Krasians had given no such consideration to preserving their antiquity. The city now looked like a crop field after a swarm of locusts and an army of voles. Massive piles of dirt and sand everywhere, shattered stone that had stood strong for thousands of years. The land was dotted with holes where roofs had been broken into for easier access to underground chambers, exposing them to the elements for the first time in millennia.
Only the great burial chambers were still intact. The Krasians had taken everything else of value, but even they balked at moving the sarcophagi and disturbing the rest of their sacred ancestors.
“And you were ready to kill me for taking one spear,” he muttered.
“It wasn’t yours to take, Par’chin,” Jardir replied. “It is a place of my people. Krasians, not greenlanders.”
Arlen spat over the side of his horse. “Wern’t so worried about cultural rights when you sacked Fort Rizon.”
“That was conquest, not grave looting,” Jardir said.
“So robbing living folk you have to beat and kill is more honorable than ones been dead thousands of years?” Arlen asked.
“The dead cannot defend themselves, Par’chin,” Jardir said.
“And yet you destroyed the resting place of your ancestors,” Arlen said. “Night, your logic just whirls around like a dust devil, doesn’t it?”
“I had a hundred thousand people to feed, and nothing here to sustain them,” Jardir said. He was keeping his outward calm, but his words were beginning to tighten. “We had to work fast. There was no time to peel the layers of the city back with brushes and hand tools.”
He looked curiously at Arlen. “How did you manage it, Par’chin? There is nothing to eat here, and without baggage, you cannot have carried much from the Oasis of Dawn.”
Arlen was thankful his aura was hidden in the morning sun. The question cut close to one of the few secrets he was not yet willing to share with Jardir. Likely he never would. He had eaten demon meat to sustain himself in the weeks he spent in Anoch Sun, something he knew the Krasians would never understand, despite the power it brought.
“Went out and brought back supplies,” Arlen said. It wasn’t a lie, precisely.
He shook his head to clear it. There was nothing to be gained, continuing to bicker. They needed to work together, now more than ever. He glanced at Shanjat and Shanvah to find their predatory eyes locked on him and Renna, as if awaiting Jardir’s command to kill them while the sun kept their full powers at bay.
