‘You worry too much, Hasik,’ he chided. ‘If a chin can kill me with a farming tool, what hope have I against Alagai Ka?’
He strode up to the men, and as expected they immediately fell to their knees, clumsily pressing their faces to the dirt in a crude imitation of proper obeisance.
‘Rise, brothers,’ Jardir said, bowing in return. ‘We have work to do, and no time for such formality.’ He reached out, taking one of the reaping tools. ‘What is this called?’
‘Ah, that’s a scythe, Y’Grace,’ one of the men said. He was past his prime but still strong.
Jardir nodded. He had heard the name. ‘Show me how to use it?’
‘Yur gonna mow?’ the man asked, incredulous.
The man next to him slapped him on the back. ‘Do as he says, idiot,’ he whispered.
The farmer nodded, taking the tool and demonstrating how to hold it, his muscular arms straight as he twisted to pass the blade close to the ground, mowing a small section of stalks with each pass.
‘A good tool, and an efficient stroke,’ Jardir said. ‘You would have been a great warrior, if you had taken that path.’
The man bowed. ‘Thank you, Y’Grace.’
‘But it is slow,’ Jardir said, taking the tool, ‘and our time is short. Please stand aside.’ He removed his outer robe, stripped to the waist save for the Crown of Kaji at his brow and the Spear strapped to his back. He held the scythe in reverse, blade behind him as he crouched low and called upon the magic in the items, filling himself with the strength and speed of a hundred men.
He leapt forward, moving along the field at a run as he brought the blade into the stalks. His sandalled feet beat a steady rhythm on the soft tilled ala, and in moments he was at the far end, turning for another pass. Cut stalks were still falling as he mowed those beside them.
The sun was still low in the sky when Jardir paused and looked out over the mown field. Inevera had found a basket weaver in the bazaar to deliver a cartload, and she herself led the work of harvesting the wheat, carrying a full basket as she directed women and children like she had been working the fields her entire life.
She was beautiful in the morning light, almost demure in opaque linen pants and a tight vest, maroon trimmed with gold. The khaffit and chin looked at her with worship in their eyes, and bent their backs all the harder at seeing her toil.
He looked out over the fields, seeing dama and Sharum working side by side with the lesser castes. It was an inspiring sight, a taste of the unity Kaji dreamed of, the common cause that would allow mankind to throw back the alagai and win Sharak Ka.
He prayed it would be enough.
‘… complete destruction of the Mehnding apple orchards,’ Abban said, ‘and over two thousand acres of pasture.’
Jardir sat the Skull Throne, stinking of the greasy ash that covered his clothes and smudged his skin. The burns were already healed, but he listened with a heavy heart to Abban’s private morning report after the third night of Waning.
His fears proved true the second night as the alagai princes, their original plan thwarted and unwilling to attempt it again lest they meet him on the field, moved instead to destroy his people through starvation.
The many rivers and streams throughout his fertile lands had proven natural firebreaks, and he had led warriors to destroy the flame demons and fight fires wherever they might appear, but even his powers were not infinite, and the depredations were devastating. Jardir lost count of the tonnage as Abban read list after list.
Abban turned over the next sheet. ‘In the Krevakh lands, there was a loss of …’
Jardir felt as if he might burst out of his skin if he had to sit and listen another moment. He stood abruptly, striding down the steps to pace the court floor. ‘Just tell me, khaffit,’ he growled. ‘How bad is it?’
Abban shrugged. ‘If the loss is done, then your people will survive, Deliverer.’ He met Jardir’s eyes. ‘But if the loss continues, month after month, half the people of Everam’s Bounty will lie dead before the winter snows recede, all without the alagai raising a claw.’
Jardir put his face in one of his hands.
‘You do have two advantages, however,’ Abban said.
Jardir looked up at him. ‘Advantages?’
‘Your people see you as the true son of Everam now,’ Abban said. ‘Even the chin whisper your name with awe, spreading the tales of your efforts to protect them, day and night. Working in the fields alongside them was a masterstroke.’
‘I didn’t do it to win hearts,’ Jardir said.
‘It does not matter why you did it, my friend,’ Abban said. ‘With that gesture, and the body of the alagai prince to parade before the Damaji, they will follow you, Krasian and greenlander alike.’
‘Follow me where?’ Jardir asked.
‘Why, to Lakton,’ Abban smiled. ‘The fields in the chin lands to the east of Everam’s Bounty are still ripening.’
The Royal Consort waited in the cave as dawn approached. The dark was still enough to leave the surface stock blind, and the lesser drones could hunt for hours more, but to the coreling prince, used to the utter blackness of the mind court, the sky was brightening at an alarming rate.
He had waited purposely until the last moment to summon the others as the last night of Waning drew to a close. They would be forced to materialize outside the cave, weakening in the light as they approached. The consort had drawn powerful wardings around the cave and the fissure at its rear, focusing the magic venting from the Core and ensuring no other could Draw upon it.
Two of the six minds he had brought with him to the surface were dead — the most powerful, no less, but it was still wise to take every precaution when facing so many of his brethren so far from the Queen’s influence.
It was an advantage to be rid of two potential rivals, but not worth drawing the Queen’s displeasure this close to a laying. The other four minds seemed heroes by comparison, fighting on even as his plans failed, sapping the enemy’s strength. The experience and prestige they gained positioned them well to take the place of his lost rivals.
He Drew hard on the vent as the four approached, holding as much power as he could bear. He made no effort to mask the energy, letting the others see and fear it. His mimics surrounded him, but a simple forbiddance kept the rival mimics outside the cave.
The day star approaches, brother, one of the demons thought.
We should return to court and report to the Queen, another agreed.
The consort hissed. You will report first to me.
We have given you our reports, one of the princes sent to the North argued. He was older than the other, and stronger. His will had grown considerably since coming to the surface. He masked his aura well, but the consort could sense his tension.
At a thought, one of his mimics lashed out, wrapping a tentacle around the prince’s throat and hauling him in close. The consort did not change his stance, but he readied his power. If they were to strike in unison, it would be now.
But the others stood frozen. They might hate the consort even more than the day star, but they hated one another as well, and none would risk his own life without assurance of victory.
The consort caressed the knobbed skin of the prince’s cranium. You have given your reports, but have not told all. Did you think me a fool?
The young mind struggled, no match for the mimic’s strength. His cranium pulsed, attempting to seize control of the drone, but the consort’s will was second only to that of the Queen herself. The mimic tightened the tentacle around the prince’s throat, and his efforts to escape ceased.