‘The Deliverer’s wisdom exceeds my own,’ Abban said, adding just the right bit of snivelling to his tone. ‘But your forces are stretched thin attempting to hold the land you have already taken. The cost-’
‘Do not listen to the cowardly words of this pig-eating khaffit, Father,’ Jayan cut in. ‘He spoke against your attack on Everam’s Bounty, as well.’ The other Damaji nodded, muttering their agreement.
Pig-eating khaffit is redundant, you idiot, Abban thought. Khaffit literally meant ‘pig-eater’, for the Evejah forbade the eating of pork, and poor khaffit could often afford no other meat. Abban’s lip twitched imperceptibly as he resisted the urge to smirk. No man in this room had the slightest idea what they were missing. Pigs were such delicious animals, denied to all men simply because Kaji’s half brother had poisoned a suckling and set it before the Deliverer three thousand years ago. Kaji’s legendary strength had resisted death, but he had — most likely in a moment of pique after spending hours on the commode — declared pig unclean, denying countless generations of fools their sweet, tender meat.
His mouth watered. He would have suckling pig tonight, and then have one of his wives spill his seed in some manner the clerics had seen fit to forbid.
He looked at Jayan, unsurprised at the eager look in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. The boy was little more than an animal, enjoying conquest and plunder too much, and ruling too little. Killing men was far easier than killing alagai, and killing soft greenlanders easiest of all. Easy victories to add to his quite lacking list of accomplishments.
He resisted the urge to shake his head. An accident of birth had dropped all the power and opportunity anyone could ever dream of in Jayan’s hands, and all he could think of was the size of his palace, and new ways for his toadies to flatter him.
Asome and Asukaji kept their faces blank, but the two men had a language all their own — an elaborate mixture of subtle stances and gestures the lovers had no doubt concocted in the pillows — that allowed them to hold whole conversations without anyone around them knowing.
Abban, after watching them for months, had only deciphered a fraction of the code, but he could guess the current content well enough. There were advantages and disadvantages to being left behind while his father and brother went off to war. Ashan would speak for the council, the Damaji ruling in concert with the Damajah in the Deliverer’s absence, but while the glory would go to those in the field, there was much Asome could do to increase his own power while they were gone.
‘And you, Asome?’ Jardir asked.
Asome bowed ever so slightly in his elder brother’s direction. ‘I agree, Father. The time to strike is now. The khaffit’s concerns are not without merit, but they are small things in Everam’s great plan. You have lost much of the harvest to the alagai, and those losses will mount. Taking more territory will mitigate this.’
Ahmann turned to the other ten Damaji, and Abban studied them while their eyes were directed at the throne. The men stood in precise order based on the number of Sharum in their tribes, no matter that the difference was negligible in many cases. The line changed slightly every few months.
After Ashan and Aleverak was Enkaji of the Mehnding. The Damaji had grown fat over the years, now that the path to the Skull Throne was beyond his reach. Ahmann still bore a grudge after Enkaji’s attempt to hide the Crown of Kaji from him, but Abban could not blame the man for that. He wouldn’t have just handed the thing over for free, either. Enkaji had survived since by marching in lockstep with Ashan and Aleverak, at least in court.
‘The Daylight War is the purview of Shar’Dama Ka,’ Enkaji said. ‘Who are we to question?’ He looked to the men standing next to him, the Damaji of the Krevakh and Nanji tribes. The Watcher Damaji wore night veils, even in the day, hiding their true identities to all save the leaders of the tribes they served and the Deliverer himself.
As always, the men bowed and said nothing.
Abban barely spared the other Damaji a glance. Ever since the lesson Ichach and Qezan had been given, the lesser Damaji had become even more obsequious than Enkaji. Only Kevera of the Sharach spoke out, meeting Ahmann’s eyes. ‘I do not wish to cast aspersions on your wise plan, Deliverer, but it is true my tribe cannot spare men for a new assault and continue to hold what we have taken.’
‘Stay behind, then!’ Chusen of the Shunjin barked. ‘More spoils for the rest of us!’ Some of the other Damaji chuckled at that, but all of them wilted at the glare Ahmann threw them.
‘I am Sharach,’ Ahmann said, ‘by blood and marriage. I am Shunjin as well, and every tribe between. When you insult one another in my presence, you insult me.’
Asome stroked the handle of his alagai tail, and Damaji Chusen paled. He fell to his knees, pressing his head against the floor. ‘I apologize, Deliverer. I meant no disrespect.’
Ahmann nodded. ‘That is good. You will leave behind men to guard the Sharach lands in Everam’s Bounty as they march to claim more in the land of the lake men.’
Abban wanted to laugh aloud at the stricken look that crossed Chusen’s face. Every warrior he left behind would mean less spoils for his tribe, and might mean Damaji Fashin of the Halvas passing him in the order from the Skull Throne. He glanced at Fashin, and saw the Damaji smiling openly at the decree, though he was wise enough to say nothing.
Abban’s mind began to wander as Ahmann went over the details of the plan with them — at least, the details they needed to know. The meat of the plan, including the exact timing and location of their strike, would be given when there was no chance for the fools to bungle it.
He eyed the Skull Throne, wondering what the point of covering it in electrum had been. It seemed such an enormous waste.
Abban had given the Damajah the entire mine’s electrum as commanded. He’d expected the metal to disappear, put to some secret purpose, or at the least to reappear as a suit of armour for Ahmann. Instead, it had been dumped over his throne, a meaningless show of power.
Or was it? He snuck a glance at the Damajah. The woman was not given to empty displays. There were few who could display better, but it was never meaningless.
It mattered little. Abban had delivered the metal, but he had not been idle in locating more, starting with the mine where Rennick first encountered the alloy — a gold mine marbled with veins of silver that still yielded a fair bit of electrum each year. Abban had bought the mine through an intermediary, and throughout Everam’s Bounty his agents were tracking and buying the jewels and coins made from it. Already, he had amassed a considerable amount of the precious metal, using it to replace the retractable blade on his crutch and hammering some into filigree for the weapons and armour of his most trusted kha’Sharum.
The audience was soon over. Ahmann was first to leave, followed quickly by Jayan, Asome, and the Damaji. Abban turned to follow in their wake.
‘Abban,’ the Damajah called, and Abban froze. Ahead, Hasik closed the great doors and stood in front of them with his arms crossed, blocking his path.
Abban turned to watch Inevera descend from the Skull Throne’s dais, his eyes quickly moving to avoid the hypnotic sway of her hips and lock on her eyes.
You have your own beautiful wives, he reminded himself. This one displays her wares openly, but the price of looking is too high.