At last she breathed deeply, clearing her mind, and put the metal away. She cast her bones once more, hoping to glean a few last clues of the night to come, then left the Chamber of Shadows.
She kept her centre, but the wind was strong. For all the precautions she might take, the secret of the metal was already in the hands of the one she trusted least.
As she felt the Vault door lock behind her, she made a slight gesture, and three eunuch Watchers melted out of the shadows to stand before her. These were Enkido’s finest protégés, men who did not exist, trained to walk unseen even in crowded day, to stand motionless for hours, to climb sheer walls, and to kill quickly and silently. Tongueless, they could not speak, but they knew well how to listen.
Follow the Shar’Dama Ka’s khaffit, Inevera told them with quick gestures of her nimble fingers. Track his every movement, and report to me everyone he speaks with, everywhere he goes. Infiltrate the fortress he is building, and take stock of the secrets within.
The men moved their fingers in perfect unison, like mirror images of one another. We understand, and obey. They bowed, and vanished as Inevera began the long climb back up to the palace proper.
Even after months, Jardir still marvelled at the lightness of his fighting robes as Inevera helped him prepare for the night’s alagai’sharak. No longer thick material housing metal plates, he now wore thin silk that could be quickly cast aside to bring his skin, scarred into fighting and protective wards, to bear. He was now safer naked than in the strongest armour.
‘I will join you tonight as you walk the naked night,’ Inevera said, when the dressing was done.
Jardir looked at her, but the sun had not quite set, and her aura was hidden. ‘I do not think that is wise, beloved. Alagai’sharak is no …’
Inevera hissed, dismissing his words with a wave. ‘You will walk the night with Leesha Paper, but not your Jiwah Ka?’
In his heart, Jardir knew the anger on her face was only a mask. He would bet his crown that she had planned this conversation well in advance, likely with the aid of her dice. But even so, he could not deny the effectiveness of her scowl.
Perhaps it was because she was right.
The look softened immediately, and Inevera pressed in so close he could feel the warmth and softness of her skin through his silk robes. ‘I battled at your side against an alagai prince and his bodyguard,’ she reminded him. ‘What need I fear of common demons when I walk at the side of Shar’Dama Ka?’
‘Even common demons must be respected,’ he said, though he knew she had already won. ‘Forget that for an instant, and even the Damajah can be killed.’ He reached out, sliding his hand under the vaporous silks to caress the smooth skin between her breasts, feeling the beat of her heart. ‘Chosen of Everam or not, we are but flesh and blood.’
Inevera moved into his caress, snaking her own hands into his robes. ‘I will not forget, beloved.’ She traced her fingers over the wards she had cut into his chest. ‘But do not forget that as you have your protections, I have my own.’
Jardir smiled. ‘Of that, I have no doubt.’
They left the palace together, Inevera resting in a palanquin atop a camel and Jardir on his white charger. They were followed by the amazed stares of everyone they passed, but none dared speak a word of protest.
Despite his words, Jardir did not truly fear for his bride. Most of the demons had been cleared from his territory, and the thin remainder served as little more than a training exercise for his men.
Everam’s Bounty was built like the head of a sunflower with the city proper as its centre, spreading out into vast petals of farm and pasture. The central city was Jardir’s personal territory, and tribe neutral. It consisted of an inner walled district surrounded by a much larger outer city. The petals he had given to the tribes according to their size. The Kaji, Majah, and Mehnding controlled huge territories of individually warded farmland and villages. The smaller tribes were given as much land as they could hold, and to spare. Even so, there were chin villages on the outskirts that had yet to fully take the yoke, simply because there were not enough Sharum and dama to minister them.
Many of Jardir’s warriors remained spread over these territories — both a weakness and a strength. Decentralizing his forces weakened them in some ways, but it made it as difficult for the alagai to choose targets as it was for him to guess where they would strike hardest. Each tribe had its own strongholds and was responsible for seeing as many of its people and as much of its produce as possible through the Waning. But all sent Jayan a tithe of their best men to defend the capital.
Jayan was at the training grounds when they arrived, supervising the muster of these elite warriors. His white turban singled him out from a distance, surrounded by his white-veiled kai’Sharum. Asome was with him, leading the men in prayer to almighty Everam before the sun set and Nie’s abyss opened.
The two men looked up at their approach, and despite their rivalry, Jardir could not deny his pleasure at seeing his eldest sons standing together, leading his forces. As children they had dreamed of being Sharum Ka and Andrah, a dream shared by their father. Already, Jayan had taken his title, and Asome was readying for his.
Jayan bowed deeply, but his disapproval was clear as he eyed his mother, outside after the dama had sung the curfew. Asome likely shared his opinion, but the younger man’s face was blank, revealing nothing. Jayan had learned well the strategy and fighting skills of the dama in Sharik Hora, but their discipline had been a harder lesson. Not for the first time, Jardir wondered at the wisdom of giving him the white turban when he was so young. It was difficult to teach a man discipline when he already sat a throne.
‘Your warriors stand ready for inspection, Father,’ Jayan said. While not skilled at hiding his feelings, he wasn’t fool enough to disrespect his mother by speaking his thoughts aloud. It was not out of respect for his father — though they both knew Jardir would not hesitate to put the boy down should he think himself above the Damajah. Inevera had instilled fear of her own into her sons, and even now they grew chill at the notion of disobedience.
None of your sons is worthy, the dice had said, and in his heart Jardir knew it to be true. With the magic of the crown and spear strengthening him and keeping him young, Jardir might live for centuries, as did Kaji. But he was not fool enough to fail to prepare for his death. If he could not find an heir to take his place as Shar’Dama Ka, perhaps he could leave Jayan the spear and Asome the crown. Again he wondered at the secret Inevera was keeping from him. Who was the other she had seen?
Inevera took in the assembled warriors, and Jardir felt himself swell with pride. In the years since he had taken the white turban of Sharum Ka, he had built them up with blood and sweat from a loose group of shrinking tribal militias to an elite fighting force unified in purpose and growing exponentially in number.
Even the assembled kha’Sharum and chi’Sharum were marching with precision. He had been amazed at how effective the khaffit warriors had proven, and while most greenlanders remained soft and cowardly, many were finding their hearts. The rest would slow the alagai long enough for his real warriors to slaughter them, and go to Everam clean of spirit.