'He will recover,' Amanvah said. 'The dice tell me Everam still has need of him.'

Leesha nodded. 'He needs us all.'

'My people think the chin weak,' Amanvah said, 'but my father spoke of the Hollow tribe's strength. In this, as in all things, he was right. Your people have honoured the Creator this Waning. You will rise stronger than ever.'

Leesha shook her head. 'We can't keep taking losses like this. We'll need to deepen and strengthen our greatwards, and get people off the streets on Waning. Dig basements, tunnels, sewers ...'

'You must build an Undercity,' Amanvah said.

'Good start,' a voice said behind her, 'but it won't be enough.'

Leesha turned, and her eyes widened. 'Arlen!' she cried, throwing her arms around him before she could help herself. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing, and for the first time in days, she felt a touch of hope. 'Thank the Creator you're all right. We won't survive another new moon without you.'

Arlen looked at her sadly. 'May have to. I'm why the minds have come. It's all my fault.'

'That's not-' Leesha began.

'Demons were in my head, Leesha,' Arlen cut her off. 'Heard their plans and worse, they heard mine. Know everything I do, including my plans for Jardir, and for taking the offensive against them. Everything I've been devising, made worthless in an instant.'

He looked up, meeting Amanvah's eyes. 'Need to do something they won't expect.'

26.

Sharum'ting

333 AR Summer

14 Dawns Before Waning

'How dare you spin your lies in the court of the Deliverer,' Damaji Qezan of the Jama tribe accused.

'Lies?!' Damaji Ichach of the Khanjin cried, his face growing red. 'You are the one whose tongue drips with false witness. You know full well ...'

Ichach and Qezan, neither the fittest to begin with, had put on even more weight in recent months. Virtually every Krasian had since they conquered the abundant green lands, but few so grossly.

Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am'Jardir am'Kaji, Shar'Dama Ka and the most powerful man in the world, looked at the squabbling clerics and had to suppress the urge to blood his spear with the both of them. The Jama and Khanjin were ever at each other's throats.

Jardir felt stronger than ever in his life, muscles brimming with energy, yet he had never felt so weary as he did now, watching fat old men argue the latest bit of political nonsense even as the battle lines of Sharak Ka were being drawn.

It wasn't just the Jama and Khanjin. The tribes had been united for years and were wealthy as never before, yet still they found reasons to offend one another, stealing wells and women just to burn rivals. The Damaji could have put a stop to it, but the cycle of vengeance on the council of Damaji was no better than that among the most incensed tribesmen. These men were zahven, and the only thing that truly mattered to them was their standing among one another.

He noticed the Damaji looking at him, and realized he'd stopped paying attention. They were awaiting a decree, and he had no idea what for. Some bit of contested land ...

Jardir looked to Jayan, standing at the foot of his dais. 'Jayan my son, what think you of this great crisis between the Jama and Khanjin?' He made no effort to hide the displeasure in his voice.

Jayan bowed deeply. 'The Jama have a legitimate claim to injury, Father.' Jardir saw Damaji Qezan puff up. 'But so, too, do the Khanjin.' Ichach straightened at that.

Jardir nodded. 'And how would you deal with it in my place?' Both Damaji turned in surprise to look at the young Sharum Ka. Traditionally, the Sharum Ka was the servant of the council, not the other way around, and Jayan was only nineteen. With the exception of Ashan, there was not a man on the council under sixty.

Jayan bowed again. 'Both tribes have proven they are unworthy of the land. I would confiscate it for the war effort.'

Of course you would, Jardir thought. Jayan had not been happy with the three million draki he had been given, but Jardir had seen Jayan's clumsy accounting of how he had spent the war tax, and read between the lines. The only one of my sons to have his own palace, and already it must be grander than any other.

He looked to Asome, standing beside Damaji Ashan and Dama Asukaji. 'And you, Asome? Do you agree with your brother?'

Asome bowed. 'The land is meaningless, Father, and will not solve the true problem.'

'And what is that, my son?' Jardir asked.

'That Sharak Ka is nigh, yet the Damaji continue to waste the Deliverer's time with petty matters even children could settle among themselves.'

There was a burst of chatter among the Damaji at this. Jardir thumped his spear on the marble dais. 'Silence!'

The room quieted immediately. Jardir kept his eyes on Asome. 'And your solution to this problem?'

'Let the Damaji settle it among themselves.' Asome turned, eyeing the two Damaji as his voice grew cold. 'And give Damajis Qezan and Ichach three lashes of the alagai tail each for incentive.' He dropped a hand to the barbed whip he carried on his belt. Every dama owned one a symbol of the new power given when they took the white but carrying them on one's person had fallen from fashion over the centuries, only to be brought back by Asome. Now more and more dama carried the weapons with them at all times.

For a moment, there was utter silence, but then the entire court broke out in angry shouting.

'How dare you, boy?!' Qezan shouted.

'Outrageous!' Ichach growled.

Asome only smiled. 'You see, Damaji? Already you agree on something.' Qezan's and Ichach's faces grew so red, Jardir thought they might burst.

Careful, my son, he thought. You make powerful enemies.

Other clerics added outrage to the chorus. No Damaji had been whipped in centuries, and certainly not on the orders of a young dama not yet eighteen. They had become so secure in their power over the years they believed themselves above the laws that governed other men. Even Ashan, secure in the Deliverer's favour and Asome's uncle, looked at the boy in displeasure.

The Damaji'ting only looked on in silence.

'Once again, my brother proves why he is heir to nothing,' Jayan said with a smirk, but Asome did not flinch, his gaze cool. He did not have the look of an heir to nothing.

He has the look of an Andrah, Jardir thought. As if his appointment is a foregone conclusion.

Jardir considered. Asome had masterfully cornered him. If he followed Jayan's solution, his second son would lose face, and indeed, the true problem would continue. But if he agreed ...

Only Damaji Aleverak once Jardir's bitter enemy and now one of his most trusted advisors was unperturbed. Aleverak gave Jardir his own share of frustration, but he was a man of honour and courage, a true leader to his people and not just a despot like many of his brethren on the council. He would never behave so foolishly as these men, and if he did, he would strip his robe and bend to receive the lash without losing a grain of dignity. But even Aleverak would not suggest a whipping in open council. Asome's directness was a refreshing change.

Jardir glanced at Aleverak, and the ancient cleric gave a tiny nod, the gesture lost amid the chaos. He, too, carried an alagai tail.

'The Damajah!' came Hasik's call from the door. All the men looked up, their conflict momentarily forgotten at the sight of Inevera.

She does take the breath away, Jardir thought, gazing at his First Wife as his council bowed to her.

Inevera nodded in acceptance of the honour, but made no effort to approach the throne. She caught Jardir's eye and touched her hora pouch, then inclined her head slightly towards her pillow chamber. There was no missing the meaning behind the gesture.

Her new alagai hora were at last complete.

Jardir felt dizzied by the feelings that raised in him. For twenty-five years he had been a virtual slave to the alagai hora, the whole course of his life dictated by their throws. The last fortnight had felt freer than he imagined possible, unburdened by their yoke.

But with that freedom came uncertainty. The dice kept him captive in their way, but they gave him power, too. In those throws were truths he sorely needed if they were to win the Daylight War and Sharak Ka. The problem was that their truths were filtered through Inevera, and she kept her own counsel on which to share and which to keep.

He looked back at the Damaji, still waiting in shocked silence for his response to their petty drama. 'It shall be as both my sons suggest. The contested land will go to Jayan, and Damajis Ichach and Qezan will have the kiss of the alagai tail.'

All the clerics save Ashan and Aleverak opened their mouths to protest, but Jardir raised the Spear of Kaji and the words died on their tongues. 'Damaji Aleverak will administer the punishments here and now.'

He set the spear butt on the dais with a thump that made several clerics flinch. 'Sharak Ka is upon us, Damaji. We have no more time to fight among ourselves. From now on, these matters will be handled within your closed council. Waste my time like this again, and the next whippings will be in the city square for all to see.'

Faces blanched as Jardir descended the seven steps from his dais and strode past them, following Inevera.

Jardir watched the sway of Inevera's hips as she strode into her pillow chamber, mesmerized as always by her beauty. Like his warriors who absorbed demon magic each night in alagai'sharak, years of manipulating alagai hora had lent his First Wife the air of immortality. She moved with the confidence of a matriarch, yet despite being forty-two and having borne him several children, her curves still had the bounce of a woman on the bright side of thirty.

But only a fool would think her value lay in her beauty. Would he be where he was today without Inevera? Would he have seized power when the opportunity came to him? Would it even have come, or would he be just another illiterate dal'Sharum or worse, a bleached skull in Sharik Hora?

And I love her still, he thought, hating himself for the weakness. There were times he dared dream that she loved him in return, but in his heart he could not trust her. Not since the Andrah.

An image of the two of them entwined flashed in his mind's eye, Inevera beautiful and seductive as ever as she rode the fat old man, manipulating him to her ends much as she did Jardir. What did her cries of pleasure in their marital pillows mean, now that he saw how easily she feigned them?

The Damajah's pillow chamber had been completely remodelled since Ahmann's last visit, when he stole inside with Leesha Paper. It had given them both pleasure to mark Inevera's special place, the lovemaking intense and passionate. If his intent had been to hurt her, it seemed he had succeeded. His Jiwah Ka had never spoken of the incident, but there had been a fire in the room the next day, destroying everything down to the stone walls. Officially, an oil lamp had accidentally tipped onto a pillow, but palace rumour had Inevera storming out of the burning room with a flame demon skull in hand. Now any hint of Leesha Paper was expunged.

For some reason, this only made Jardir love her more.

She is the Damajah. Her jealousy is a storm, and she will suffer no woman to stand above her. Did not Kaji ponder in his private diaries the same questions of his Jiwah Ka? The holy verses said she vexed him and soothed him in turn, for the Deliverer's First Wife was his zahven.

Outside the room, there was a crack, and a cry. Damaji Qezan had forgotten his lessons on embracing pain, it seemed. This refresher was a good one. Aleverak scolded his weakness, and the next blow was borne with only a gasp. The third in silence.

Not bothering to light a lamp, Inevera moved to close the thick curtains that hung beside the room's great windows. As she shrouded them in darkness, Jardir's senses came alive.

The Crown of Kaji had always conveyed wardsight, much as the coins on Inevera's brow, but ever since the fight with the mind demon when the greater powers of his crown came alive, he had begun to see more auras surrounding people that told him their feelings and gave him insight into their motives. Suddenly the infinite wisdom of Kaji began to make sense. With the crownsight to see the hearts of his people, Jardir could be a greater leader by far.

More, he realized that he could tap into the power of the crown and spear at will. During the day, he could pull power from the ancient artefacts to heal himself, ignore exhaustion, or give himself superhuman strength and speed. It was a powerful advantage, but not without its limitations.

In the darkness, many of those limitations faded away. He was powerful like he never dreamed possible, but, with Waning approaching, he feared in his heart it was still not enough.

Inevera moved to her favoured casting pillow, and Jardir moved to take the one facing as was his habit. Outside, Damaji Ichach's punishment had begun, and the cleric shamed himself by weeping. Jardir turned his attention from it as Inevera drew the curved blade that had cut him countless times over the years.

'What shall I ask first?' she said.

Her aura pulsed on the word first, and Jardir knew she had already used the dice for her own purposes. It was not a lie precisely, but it told him much. Inevera had always kept her own plans a mystery while insisting she be privy to his.

Jardir rolled his sleeve and held out his arm. She pressed the sharp point into a vein and tipped a small bowl to catch the flow. When it was full, she pressed her thumb against the vein and reached for her herb pouch.

'There is no need,' Jardir said, pulling a touch of power from the spear resting beside him. He lifted his arm from her grasp, showing that the blood flow had ceased and the wound closed. Inevera eyed the healing in surprise, but he gave her no time to question. 'Let us begin with Abban's plan to assault Docktown on first snow. Those plans must be set in motion soon, if we are to have the advantage of surprise.'

Hatred skittered across Inevera's aura at the mention of Abban. He knew she blamed the khaffit for their rift, and did not trust him. She was eager to prove her worth by showing him the errors in the plan and offering better advice in turn.

But these were surface feelings. At her centre she was calm as she reached for the dice, spilling a bit of his blood upon them as she whispered her prayers and shook. As always, the evil glow pulsing between her fingers unsettled him.

Inevera cast the dice down and spent a few moments staring at them, studying the pattern. Jardir studied her in turn, searching her aura for hints of truth behind her coming words. She was not pleased with the results. This much was clear.

'You cannot go back,' she said, staring at the patterns. 'And you cannot afford to stand still. The only way is forward. The khaffit's,' she hissed the word, 'plan will spare many lives.'

'More to stand in Sharak Ka,' Jardir said.

'Or oppose you later,' Inevera noted. It was good advice, but her aura said it was spoken more in bitterness at having to admit Abban was right.

'That is a risk I must take,' Jardir said. 'What else do the dice say? Tell me everything for once, and spare me the dissembling!'

Inevera's aura flashed at him, telling him to step wisely. She wanted to impress him, but her pride was a mountain. He could not bully her as he did the Damaji.

'Doom befall the armies of the Deliverer if they should march north with enemies unconquered at their back.' She tilted her head, examining the dice from another angle. 'You cannot take your forces to the Hollow without first taking Lakton, nor Angiers without the Hollow beside you.'

'Of that, at least, I am unconcerned,' Jardir said. 'The Hollow tribe will follow me when called.'

An image of Mistress Leesha hovered ghostlike above Inevera, connected to her by anger, jealousy, and hate. It was a vision he had seen before, but there was genuine doubt beneath this veneer. Inevera did not believe the Hollow as secure as he did. She thought him a fool to be so trusting. 'You will not have the loyalty of the Hollow until you kill the Painted Man. The one they call Deliverer.'

It was clear from her aura that this was her opinion and not that of the dice, but it was sound advice. Leesha loved him, he did not doubt, and was fated to marry him and bring him her tribe, but it would not happen without confronting this false Deliverer and throwing him down.

He nodded. 'Is there anything else?'

Irritation skittered along Inevera's aura, never touching her face or bearing. Her eyes drifted along the dozens of facing symbols, all glowing with varying degrees of brightness, following paths of meaning. He recognized some symbols, but their meaning had ever been beyond him. Sometimes he thought to command the dama'ting teach him to read the dice, but knew they would baulk, and Inevera find a way to prevent it. Even the Evejah said it was a woman's art.

Finally, Inevera spoke. 'You must lead your armies if they are to achieve victory in the Daylight War, but do not leave the Skull Throne vacant too long. You have fifty-two sons, and they will all eye it hungrily.'

Jardir frowned. Jayan and Asome coveted the throne, he knew. Perhaps making the boy Andrah was best after all. 'Are any of my sons worthy to sit it in my absence, and willing to stand back up upon my return?'

Inevera cut her own hand, dripping her own blood on the dice in addition to Jardir's as she cast again. She studied the pattern for only a moment before looking up. 'No.'

'No?' Jardir asked. 'Just "no"?'