Jardir laughed. ‘You can engineer my nieces into the ranks of Sharum, but not plot a way for me to meet your parents away from prying eyes? We both know you can find a way if you wish it.’
Inevera regarded him, still wary. ‘And if I do not wish it?’
Jardir shrugged. ‘Then I will know I come third in your eyes, and not second after Everam, as you claim.’
The curtains were still drawn as the counsellors entered the throne room. A few oil lamps gave artificial light, preserving Jardir’s crownsight as he regarded Jayan and his twelve Damaji. At the side of each of the tribal leaders were his second sons, and in Ashan’s case his nephew. Save for Asome and Asukaji, both eighteen years old, all were fifteen. Not wholly boys, but not men, either, still in the white bidos of nie’dama, a strip of white cloth thrown over one shoulder.
He could see in their auras that the Damaji still resented the boys who had displaced their own heirs. Leadership of a tribe was not automatically hereditary as it was in the green lands, but it was functionally so, with the brothers, sons, and nephews of the Damaji holding every advantage.
More, he could see the ties that bound the men to him like threads in the air. The common Sharum and dama might truly believe Jardir divine, but the Damaji served out of fear.
If I die this night, he thought, my sons will be killed the moment it is known. Jayan might hold his grip on the white turban, perhaps, and Ashan would protect Asukaji and Asome, but the other Damaji would not hesitate to slaughter his nie’dama sons. Aleverak would not break his oath not to harm Maji, but that oath had a clause they knew well. The ancient Damaji would drink poison to allow one of his sons to do the deed.
The Damaji talked among themselves, but Jardir thumped his spear once, and they fell silent. ‘Waning is upon us, Damaji. Alagai Ka and his princelings will rise tonight to test our people as we have not been since the Return.’ He could see doubt in some of the men, and fear in others. Most, however, held the flat control of years of meditation. ‘Jayan,’ he looked to the boy, seeing in his aura an eager excitement and a hope to prove himself, ‘will lead the Sharum.’
There was a burst of chatter at that. Jardir thumped his spear again.
‘Forgive us, Deliverer,’ Damaji Aleverak said. ‘Jayan has done well as Sharum Ka, and we offer no disrespect, but is it not the place of Shar’Dama Ka to lead in Sharak Ka?’
Jardir nodded. ‘I will stand beside my son for as long as I may, but when the princes of Nie show themselves, I must be free to act.’
‘And what will our place be?’ Asome asked.
Jardir looked at his son, seeing the seething anger beneath his calm exterior. ‘The dama will beseech Everam’s favour in the coming battle. That is no small thing, my son.’ He could see immediately that Asome thought prayer less than nothing with demons at the walls, but hoped he was wise enough not to voice the feeling.
Asome was not so easily deterred. ‘Why do dama study sharusahk, Father?’
‘Eh?’ Jardir asked.
‘Since I took my first steps, I have been practising the sharukin,’ Asome said. ‘I know of none, dama or Sharum, who can stand against me.’
Jayan snorted. ‘You boast because you have never faced a real opponent. You would find the alagai more formidable than the empty air you fought in Sharik Hora.’
Asome turned to his elder brother and sneered openly. ‘Come at me then, O great killer of alagai, and we will see.’
Jayan growled and took a step forward.
‘You will do no such thing!’ Jardir shouted with a thump of the spear. He had forbidden all of his sons to fight one another, even in sparring, and the wisdom of that decree was never clearer. He could see in their auras that Jayan and Asome would not hesitate to kill each other to clear their own path to the Skull Throne. ‘I will not have my sons brawling like nie’Sharum in the gruel line!’
Asome turned back to him, bowing. ‘As you command, Father, but you have not answered my question. I am forbidden to fight my brother. I am forbidden to fight the alagai. You have abolished the title of Andrah, so there is no need to fight the Damaji for the throne. Why have I spent every day of my life learning to fight, if I must stand idly by as Alagai Ka walks the land?’
Jardir hesitated. In truth, he could not disagree. Prayer would not help this night. But the Damaji and dama were not just Holy Men to his people; they were the secular leaders as well. The clerics were masters of sharusahk, but with the exception of Ashan they had never personally faced the alagai, and would offer little aid in coming battle. When dawn finally came, they would be essential in restoring order.
‘There is wisdom in what you say,’ Jardir admitted, ‘but Jayan speaks truly that the alagai are a foe the dama are not prepared for, and you yourself said Waning was not the time to introduce untried forces into alagai’sharak.’ He deepened his tone and swept his spear across the men in white. ‘The dama will bestow the blessings of the Creator upon the assembled men, and then go to the underpalace.’
Asome gave no outward sign as he bowed, back straight with dignity, but his aura seethed with rage, even as Jayan’s danced in delight. Already Jardir was regretting the decision, but it was done and he could not be forsworn with all Nie’s abyss about to rise.
‘Go!’ He clapped his hands, and the men began to file out. ‘Ashan,’ he called, and the Damaji waited behind as the others left. Jardir descended from the dais to stand beside him, Inevera following a step behind.
Ashan had been at Jardir’s side for twenty-five years, steadfast in his support as Jardir climbed the rungs of Krasian society to his place of power. The Damaji was married to his eldest sister, and had produced children of shared blood. There was no reason to doubt his devotion, but still Jardir called upon the powers of his crown, not just reading his surface aura, but probing deeply into his very spirit.
He saw in his friend’s heart that his trust had not been misplaced. Ashan did not crave power for its own sake, and truly believed, where many other Damaji did not, that Jardir was the Deliverer, sent by Everam to remake the world. He was not happy about the fate of Ashia, but he remained fiercely loyal.
‘Brother,’ he said, putting his hands on Ashan’s shoulders. ‘If I am killed tonight, you must take the Skull Throne.’ Ashan’s aura lit up in surprise, though Inevera’s remained flat, waiting for him to finish speaking.
‘Do not hesitate,’ Jardir said. ‘Announce your claim as Andrah and have Aleverak taken into custody. Kill the other Damaji before they have time to scheme.’ He looked hard into Ashan’s eyes. ‘Before they have time to kill my sons.’
Ashan nodded. ‘And then?’
‘The Spear of Kaji will go to Jayan,’ Jardir said, ‘but you will hold the crown and throne until the Damajah declares my successor.’
Ashan’s aura went white with shock, followed quickly with derision as he turned to regard Inevera, whose aura was now warm with approval. ‘You will deny your firstborn his birthright, and let a woman decide the fate of our people?’
Jardir nodded. ‘It was she who picked me, Ashan. We both know Jayan is not yet worthy, and may never be.’