They might have fallen into a more defensive posture then, but instead the warriors exploded into motion, spinning to let a pouncing demon get between them. They stepped together hard, the defensive wards on their shields flaring and crushing the demon between them.
Now outnumbered two to one, the warriors grew more bold, stepping apart and letting the demons surround them.
Fools, Jardir thought. Why give up the advantage?
But the warriors had given up nothing. The demons came at them from all sides, but they used their shields to maximum effect, whipping their spears to parry and harry as they moved, every step in control. A demon charged one headlong while his shield and spear were out wide, but the warrior leaned forward and kicked his foot up behind him like a scorpion to strike over his head. The demon took the blow to the face, knocking it aside. Before it could recover, he was on its fellow, striking a precise blow down its throat for another kill.
The other warrior had finished a demon as well, and fighting one-to-one they dropped their shields, forgoing defence entirely. The demons attacking them went for the bait, snapping their jaws forward, but the warriors, like mirror images of each other, caught the bites on the shafts of their spears, twisting before the wood could shatter and turning the demons’ own momentum against them. They swung, slamming the flailing demons together, taking satisfaction at the deep gouges their talons left on one another. They snapped their spears back into position and struck at the wounds, driving into the vulnerable flesh beneath.
They stood breathless, regarding the alagai corpses around them. One twitched, but the nearest warrior was quick to finish it off as Inevera kicked her camel and headed down the hill towards them.
Jardir and the others followed, awestruck. When they closed in, the warriors bowed deeply, first to Inevera, and then to Jardir. When they straightened, Jardir’s eyes nearly bulged from his head. Their warrior’s garb hid much, but their auras could not hide the curves of their bodies.
Women.
‘Shar’Dama Ka,’ their melodious voices said in unison, ‘we come before you to answer your call. We pray these alagai are a worthy sacrifice for the first of your Sharum’ting.’
‘Sharum … ting?’ Jayan said in disbelief.
In response, the women reached up, removing their turbans and veils with the same synchronous precision with which they fought. Jardir held his breath, having already identified them by their auras. Inevera was clever. He could not deny it. But she had struck a hornets’ nest this time. Even Asome’s calm was broken. ‘What in Nie’s abyss?!’
‘Shanvah?’ Shanjat demanded, seeing his daughter, Jardir’s niece by his sister Hoshvah, standing before them.
But it was the other woman that caused Asome’s aura to flare so bright with rage that Jardir felt blinded by it even in periphery. Ashia, Ashan’s daughter by his eldest sister, Imisandre.
Asome’s First Wife.
Dawn was approaching; the stained-glass windows of the throne room beginning to fill with colour. Every ancient rite of Sharum naming had been observed. The young women had more than fulfilled the demon killing requirements, standing face-to-face with alagai in the naked night and not giving ground. Inevera had cast the bones for them, and — of course — pronounced them worthy. Now all that was left was to wait for sunrise, and his decision.
It was not an easy decision to make. Beyond the far-reaching cultural implications, either choice would directly cost him respect and loyalty from valuable allies and family.
He looked at Inevera, her aura still infuriatingly self-satisfied. She loved him, but that was not the same as being on his side. She seemed almost bored as she lounged on her bed of pillows, but beneath she was intensely focused.
Beside her on his throne, Jardir watched as Asome and Ashia quietly argued in a small alcove at the far end of the room. It took only a little concentration to see through the stone and make out their auras. His sharp ears picked up every word.
‘How can you shame me like this?’ Asome demanded, his hands shaking. Jardir had made a point of reminding him that he considered striking his sister’s daughters as great a crime as striking a dama’ting, but Asome’s aura showed he was considering it anyway.
‘Shame you?’ Ashia’s aura was flat and even, like that of a warrior who had embraced her fears and let them fall away. ‘Husband, you should be proud of me. Shanvah and I are the first Krasian women in history to stand in the night and be baptized in demon ichor. How does this bring anything but honour to your name?’
‘Honour?’ Asome asked. ‘As you parade around unveiled in men’s clothes? Where is the honour in every man I meet thinking I cannot control my own wife?’
‘I do not wish to be controlled!’ Ashia snapped. ‘You and my brother may have convinced my father to give me to you, but it was never my desire.’
‘Am I unworthy?’ Asome asked. ‘The Deliverer’s second son is not enough for you? Perhaps you wish you had been given to Jayan?’
‘I, too, am blood of the Deliverer,’ Ashia said, ‘and a princess of the Kaji. I do not wish be given to anyone!’
Asome shook his head, genuine confusion in his aura. ‘Have I not been a good husband? Given you everything you desire? Put a child in you?’
‘You and Asukaji have never cared a whit for my desires,’ Ashia said. ‘You dressed me in silk and bathed me in luxuries, but otherwise haven’t given me a thought, save on our wedding night when Asukaji watched and stroked his cock as you put a child in me, and forty weeks later when the two of you ripped my newborn son from my arms.’
‘I will give you more children,’ Asome said. ‘Sons. Daughters …’ Jardir could see him desperately trying to understand her desires, if only to deter her and save face.
‘No,’ Ashia said. ‘I am not just a womb to carry your children because Asukaji cannot! You and your pillow friend have the son you wanted. Now I will have my own life.’
Asome’s aura went red then, and Ashia’s showed she knew her husband was about to strike her — was goading him even. She had already planned her parry and return blows.
‘Asome!’ Jardir boomed. ‘Attend me!’ Man and wife turned to him, the moment shattered. Asome strode away from his wife without another look.
‘Father!’ he called. ‘You cannot permit this madness to continue!’
‘I agree,’ Ashan said, standing at the base of the throne with Asukaji. His aura made clear his expectation that Jardir, out of the love and loyalty they shared, would not condemn his foolish daughter to life as a Sharum.
‘I gave my word, Ashan,’ Jardir said. ‘I will not be forsworn.’
‘The Deliverer is correct, he cannot be forsworn,’ Aleverak said. Everyone looked at him in surprise, not believing the conservative Damaji would approve.
Jardir would never admit it, but he loved Damaji Aleverak. He did not always agree with the man, but the Damaji’s honour was greater than that of any man he had ever met. Even after he tore Aleverak’s arm off, Jardir had not managed to make the ancient cleric fear him. Aleverak could ever be counted on to argue Jardir’s decisions.
Before they were made. Afterwards, however foolish he might think them, Aleverak followed the commands of the Shar’Dama Ka, and would kill any who opposed them. Jardir looked at his aura and felt something akin to what a son felt for a father. The Damaji had been his greatest opponent on the path to the Skull Throne, and was now perhaps the only man in the world he could trust fully.