The Daylight War (51 page)

She was learning.

‘Here we go again,’ Leesha groaned as the singing stopped.

Rojer and his wives were a week married, but still the sounds from Rojer’s carriage were a constant pendulum between the young women’s singing and their wails of passion.

Sikvah began to cry out not long after, and Amanvah soon joined her. Leesha put her head in her hands, massaging her temples. The headache cycle had continued all week. The pain had receded, but there was tightness in the muscles around her left eye, a constant threat that it could return in force at any moment. ‘Night, can’t those tramps shut it for five minutes?’

‘Not likely.’ Elona sighed wistfully. ‘Ent nothing like the dangle of an eighteen-year-old boy. They harden every time the wind blows, and get right back up ten minutes after you put them down.’

‘Seems more like every three hours,’ Leesha muttered.

Elona laughed. ‘Still gets my respect, and I don’t give it easy. That cock’s got two young brides to please and from the sound of it, he lasts a lot longer than most boys his age … and some a good deal older.’ Her eyes flicked to Erny, who looked like he wanted to crawl between the seat cushions. ‘I take it back. You might have done well to keep that one for yourself.’

The cacophony increased, and Leesha shook her head. ‘They’re exaggerating. No one wails like that.’

‘Well of course,’ Elona said. ‘Any new bride with half a mind knows to make her husband feel like king and explorer both, charting new territory to rule.’ She looked at Leesha. ‘Still, I think there’s a bit of green in your eyes. Missing your Krasian lover?’

Leesha felt her face redden, and Erny looked at the door as if considering leaping from the moving carriage. ‘It’s not like that, Mother. I just don’t trust them. They’re spinning a spell around Rojer, but they’re still loyal to Inevera. A fool could see it.’

‘Clearly not,’ Elona said, ‘since the professional fool is missing it, though you’re right enough. It’s what I’d do. You, too. Did you leave the demon of the desert with a single seed in his pods before you left?’

Leesha sighed and put her head out the window, breathing deeply of the fresh air as they trundled down the road. ‘I’ll just be glad when we’re safe in the Hollow. We’ll be leaving Everam’s Bounty tomorrow.’

‘Good riddance,’ Elona said, spitting from her own window.

‘Ay,’ Leesha said, ‘but the
Sharum
that keep us so safe here will attract attention we don’t want outside the borders. Bandits and duke’s men will be looking at our caravan hungrily, and Ahmann was right that twenty warriors might not be enough.’

‘He offered more,’ Elona noted.

Leesha nodded. ‘But twenty warriors, however skilled, can only cause so much mischief in the Hollow. Any more begins to be a problem, and we have problems enough. Have you seen a single boy over the age of six since we left the city?’

Elona shook her head. ‘They’ve all been taken for Hanna Pats, or whatever.’

‘
Hannu
Pash
,’ Leesha said. ‘Training and indoctrination. They’ll speak Krasian like natives before long, and hold to the Evejan ways. In ten years, they will have an army that can crush the Free Cities like a child crushes an anthill.’

‘Creator above,’ Rojer gasped, gulping at the skin of cool water Sikvah brought to his lips. Amanvah stroked his sweat-matted hair, cooing softly as she nibbled his ear.

He had thought the Krasian women repressed, and perhaps they were in public, but alone with their husbands, it was a different tale. In the privacy of their carriage, Amanvah and Sikvah removed their plain robes, dressing in bright silks as garish as a Jongleur’s motley. Half the cloth was so thin it was transparent, and the rest not much thicker, lined with thread-of-gold, lace, or embroidery. They still wore veils, but these were ornamental – colourful, diaphanous silk starting at the tip of their noses and ending just past their lips. Their hair was uncovered, oiled, and bound in gold.

‘Our husband wields his spear better than a
Sharum
,’ Amanvah said. Blood had marked her a virgin on their wedding day, but she was no less skilled at ‘pillow dancing’ than Sikvah.

‘Jongleurs get a lot of practice,’ Rojer said. ‘Women used to throw themselves at my master, and I daresay I learned a trick or two, but – no offence – the two of you do things that would make the whores in Duke Rhinebeck’s brothel blush.’

Sikvah laughed. ‘The women of your Northern duke’s harem were not trained in the Dama’ting Palace.’

Rojer shook his head. ‘And I can’t shake the feeling that you’re still holding back.’

Amanvah kissed his ear so softly he shivered. ‘There are seventy and seven ways to lie with a man,’ she whispered, ‘and we have years to share them all with you.’

Amanvah and Sikvah had proven to be nothing like he imagined. He thought them much alike at first, but the more he got to know them, the more he saw how unique they were. Amanvah was taller, with smaller breasts and long, lithe limbs. Sikvah was more rounded at the hips, with thicker arms and legs. Both women were incredibly muscular, definition showing in every move. It was the stretching they did every morning. They called it
sharusahk
, but it was nothing like the violent wrestling Rojer had seen the
Sharum
and the Painted Man teach.

Where Amanvah was unflappable, Sikvah was easily roused to emotion. He had expected Amanvah, in her white robes, to be the more conservative of the two, but Sikvah was always the first to gasp at indiscretion.

‘Sleep now, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘You must regain your vigour. Sikvah, the curtains.’

Immediately Sikvah moved to pull the heavy velvet curtains over the translucent ones covering the carriage windows. It seemed ‘First Wife’ was more than just a title. Amanvah took the lead in everything from conversation to seduction, ordering Sikvah around like a servant. Sikvah never resisted in the slightest, performing every task as if it had been her idea all along. She spoke little save when spoken to, unless Amanvah was out of the room, or her attention turned elsewhere. It was then Sikvah truly came to life.

He smiled, feeling himself drift off to sleep as his wives began a soft lullaby in Krasian. He was used to taking naps during the day, a common Jongleur trick allowing them to stay fresh and alert for nighttime performances. Most folk couldn’t read worth spit, and there was little to do once the sun set and the supper plates were cleared.

‘When others’ work ends, ours begins,’ Arrick used to say.

He woke with a jolt as the carriage came to a halt. He lifted one of the heavy curtains, and shut it quickly against the glare. It was late afternoon and they were outside a modest inn. Amanvah and Sikvah had pulled plain robes and veils over their colourful silks.

‘Ent it a bit early to be stopping for the night?’

‘This is the last village before we pass from Everam’s Bounty, beloved,’ Amanvah said. ‘Shamavah thinks it best to rest and restock before moving on. If you wish to sleep further, please do so while the
khaffit
unload our things.’

That would give him a lot of time. His wives did not travel light. Rojer rubbed the sleep from his face. ‘Ay, that’s all right. My legs could use a stretch.’ He moved to put his clothes on, and immediately both women began to assist.

He soon hopped from the cart and walked about a bit, beginning the ritual of stretches and tumbles he used to keep his skills sharp. The ritual was a show in itself, full of cartwheels and running flips, rolls and backbends.

As usual, the miniature performance began to draw attention. Passersby, Krasian and Thesan alike, stopped to watch, and when he began walking on his hands, a few children ran after him, cheering.

Instinctively, Rojer led them towards the centre of the cobbled square, circling to clear himself a wide space. The ring he created quickly filled with people – local villagers, and the
Sharum
,
khaffit,
and
dal’ting
of whatever tribe had claimed the place. A
dama
watched him coldly, but did not seem foolish enough to interfere with the Deliverer’s son-in-law.

Amanvah and Sikvah were watching him, too. Sikvah laughed and clapped along with the rest of the crowd at his antics, perhaps the most enthusiastically of all. Amanvah was the exact opposite, her eyes cold as she watched him.

‘Only thing worse than a woman who laughs at every pratfall,’ he heard Arrick say, ‘is one who doesn’t think anything’s funny.’

He moved over to them. ‘Husband, what are you doing?’ Amanvah asked.

‘Playing the crowd,’ Rojer said. ‘Just watch. Sikvah, please fetch my bag of marvels.’

‘Immediately, husband,’ Sikvah said, bowing and vanishing into the crowd. Amanvah continued to stare at him, but Rojer winked at her and went back to warming the crowd. He kept it simple, not sure which of his bawdy jokes and songs might offend the Krasians. Music in Krasia was limited to the private bedroom or praise to Everam. His wives had taught him some of these, but the fanaticism of the lyrics made him uncomfortable. Until his translation of the
Song
of
Waning
was complete, Rojer kept things instrumental, soon getting even the Krasians to stomp and clap to a beat.

When it came time for magic, obedient Sikvah was the perfect assistant, obeying his every command without hesitation. If only she weren’t clad in featureless black robes and veil.
Wear
your
pillow
dancing
silks, love, and we’d have the best act in Thesa.

The crowd was his effortlessly. Even the
dama
laughed in spite of himself a few times. Only Amanvah was unmoved.

The sky was darkening when the performance ended. Rojer was still rising from his final bow when his First Wife turned on her heel and strode into the inn. Sikvah came to him immediately.

‘Your
Jiwah
Ka
apologizes for not being here to greet you, but the holy daughter is moved to prayer over your fine performance,’ she said, as if this were natural.

Hated
it, she means
, he thought.
I’ve stepped in something, and I don’t even know what.

‘Gone off to her secret room?’ Rojer asked. Sikvah nodded.

Rojer was used to having a single small room at an inn, but Amanvah always demanded a minimum of three – a common, one for Rojer, and a private one for her alone to retreat to whenever she wished. Amanvah accepted nothing less than the finest rooms, richly appointed with her own things. Each night the
khaffit
carried in heavy rugs, lamps and incense burners, silk sheets, and a collection of paints and powders that would make even a Jongleur’s jaw drop. Here, the innkeeper and his family had been put out of their own rooms to accommodate the daughter of Ahmann Jardir.

As they retired, Rojer saw the door to Amanvah’s room shut tight, with Enkido standing guard. Even if he knew what was bothering Amanvah, even if he knew what to say, there would be no getting past the giant eunuch to tell her.