‘And what of Asome?’ Ashan demanded. ‘I love your second son as if he were my own, and we have been grooming him since birth to be Andrah. Why should I take the Skull Throne and not him?’
‘I have looked into Asome’s heart, brother. He is no more ready than Jayan to rule, and if he sits above his brother, there will be blood on the streets. I have fifty-two sons, but most are still in the bido, or just out of it. It may be years before the worthiest is known.’
He tightened his hands, feeling the bones in Ashan’s shoulders grind and strain. The Damaji’s aura showed the pain, but he gave no indication of it. ‘For the good of our people, you will protect my Jiwah Ka and obey her in this, or I will find you in the afterlife, and we will have a reckoning.’
Ashan’s aura went cold for a moment, then warmed with determination. ‘That will not be necessary, Deliverer. If you should fall, it will be as you command.’ He looked up, meeting Jardir’s eyes. ‘But do not fall … brother.’
Jardir laughed and embraced him. ‘If I do, I will take Alagai Ka down with me.’
‘On alagai talons!’ the warriors roared, a call that must reach all the way to Heaven.
Jardir looked out over the assembled warriors with pride as Ashan led the Damaji in bestowing the blessings of Everam upon them. The sun was setting, and though it would still be some time before the alagai dare surface, wisps of magic were beginning to rise in the shadows, and his senses were coming alive.
The trained and blooded Sharum radiated confidence and faith, ready to fight and die on alagai talons, as was their right and honour. Their belief strengthened him, as did the knowledge that Inevera had secured the inner city. No matter what happened, his people would survive.
He rode with Jayan and the Spears of the Deliverer towards the wall of the outer city where Inevera had predicted the fighting would be thickest. She had been unable to fathom where the demons would strike first, but many futures held a single field littered with dead. Jardir prayed they weren’t riding into a trap.
He heard the crack of a whip, and turned to see a long line of chin marching for the wall. There were hundreds of them, lightly armed and armoured with warded spears and small shields, but they did not carry the weapons with confidence. All were shackled, connected by long chains threaded through iron loops, and their fear was palpable. These were men marching resignedly to their deaths, terrified of the lonely path. Many would not even have the courage to fight. They would break before the alagai like water poured on stone.
Jardir pulled up his white charger, and the others stopped with him. ‘Who are those men?’
‘Chin who have tried to flee the call to alagai’sharak, or dishonoured themselves in the night,’ Jayan said. ‘They are to be tethered like nie’Sharum, the chains staked in position. If they will not fight for honour, let them fight for their own lives.’
‘Halt!’ Jardir cried to the Sharum driving the line, and the men immediately stopped. All eyes turned to Jardir as he sprang lightly to his feet upon his horse’s back for all to see. He looked to the condemned men.
‘Your Tenders have lied to you!’ he shouted, drawing on the power of his crown to spread his voice far into the gloaming. ‘Since you were infants at your mother’s breasts, they have told you the alagai are a Plague sent by the Creator to punish the sins of man. They have told you that you deserve this, that you have no choice but to cower and hide and await forgiveness and redemption.’
He scanned the men, letting them see his eyes. ‘But Everam loves His children, and would not curse us so. The alagai are a Plague, but it is one sent by Nie, the Enemy, and redemption does not come to men who cower and skulk! It comes to those who take up the fight, struggling against the children of Nie on His Ala even as Everam struggles with Her in the heavens.’
A month ago, he might have thought the words pointless with such men, but now he could see into their hearts, and knew they were tired of blaming themselves for the alagai, tired of being told that the homes and loved ones they lost were punishments they had brought upon themselves. They wanted to believe, but his people had broken them as badly as the demons, leaving them dispirited. They would give anything to be as men once more.
‘You have seen my people fight the alagai,’ Jardir said. ‘You know it can be done. They have training, it is true, but more than that, they have courage. Courage coming not from their spears, but from the knowledge that they fight for more than themselves. They fight for their wives and mothers, their sisters and daughters and infant sons. Their old and infirm.’
He swept his spear over the line of greenlanders. ‘You wear chains because my warriors do not believe you care. They believe you will not even fight to save yourselves, so they mean to stake you in the path of the alagai.’ He pointed back to the wall of the inner city. ‘But it is not just our women and children behind those walls! I have offered my protection to all who cannot fight, even your greenland women and children. They are crowded and cramped, but so long as we hold the walls, they are safe.’
He could sense a change in the men’s hearts, and grasped for it, holding aloft his spear and drawing on its power to make it shine bright with magic. ‘I will go into the night to fight for your people! I ask the same of you, but if you do not have the heart, you are no use to me this night.’
He pointed the spear at the centre of the line, its light flaring even brighter, and men pressed to either side in fear, opening a length of chain between them. Jardir drew a ward with the spear’s tip, and a bolt of white energy leapt from the weapon, shattering the chain.
‘Stand or flee,’ he shouted, ‘but remember you are men, and not dogs!’
The fear and doubt in the hearts of the men turned to awe, and many of them fell to their knees. Shanjat, astride his black charger next to Jardir, thrust his spear into the air. ‘Deliverer!’
The other Sharum took up the chant, followed by the kneeling chin, and then, a moment later, the rest of them. They thrust their spears skyward with every call, and their voices carried far into the night.
‘Those are the voices of men!’ Jardir boomed. ‘The servants of Nie will hear you, and quail in fear!’ He dropped back into his saddle, kicking off for the wall, followed by the Spears of the Deliverer and hundreds of roaring chin.
‘Everam curse me,’ Qeran muttered from atop the compound wall as he watched the Sharum march. ‘Waning is upon us, and here I stand, useless.’
‘Nonsense,’ Abban said. ‘The Deliverer needs his forges and glasseries guarded, that he may continue to arm his men after Waning. There may yet be fighting here.’
Qeran shook his head. ‘You have done well in hiding yourself, khaffit. There is no tactical advantage to this place, no reason for the alagai to test your walls. And the walls,’ he stamped his spear on the rampart, ‘are stronger than those of the inner city. The Deliverer’s … craftsmen are safe.’ He made the title seem a foul taste he could not scrape from his tongue.
‘You said yourself the men are not ready,’ Abban said, ‘nor yourself. You have barely had your new leg a fortnight.’
‘I said the men were not yet at their full strength,’ Qeran said, ‘nor me. But my hundred and I are still more fit than nine-tenths of the warriors out there.’
‘Your hundred?’ Abban asked.