The Daylight War (54 page)

My
loves
. He had taken to calling them that, in his head if not aloud. He had meant it as a joke, calling women he barely knew ‘love’, but it had never been funny. There were times when it was passionate, and times, like last night and this morning, when it was bitter.

And there were times like right now, when the void left by the music’s end filled with a love as true as he could ever imagine. He looked at his wives and what he felt at the sight of Leesha Paper paled in comparison.

‘My master used to say there was no such thing as perfection in music,’ Rojer said, ‘but corespawn it if we aren’t close.’

The original
Song
of
Waning
had seven verses, each with seven lines, each with seven syllables. Amanvah had said that this was because there were seven pillars of Heaven, seven lands on the Ala, and seven layers to Nie’s abyss.

The translation made his previous crowning achievement,
The
Battle
of
Cutter’s Hollow
, seem a cheap ditty. The
Song
of
Waning
had power over human and coreling both, music that could take a demon through the full range of reaction and words that would tell the Laktonians all they needed to know.

The Painted Man had asked for more fiddle wizards like him, but Rojer had failed at that, even questioning whether the talent could be taught at all. He had begun to feel like he was standing still, peaked at eighteen winters. But now he had stumbled onto something new, and felt his power building once more. It was not what he or the Painted Man had been seeking. It was something stronger still.

Provided, of course, his wives would perform it with him, and the Krasians didn’t realize what he was doing and have him killed.

Amanvah and Sikvah bowed. ‘It is an honour to accompany you, husband,’ Amanvah said. ‘Everam speaks to you, as my father says.’

Everam
. Rojer was getting sick of the name. There was no Creator, by that name or any other. ‘Not much difference between Holy Men and Jongleurs, Rojer,’ Arrick used to say in his cups. ‘They spin the same old ale stories and tampweed tales over and over, bedazzling bumpkins and half-wits to help them forget the pain of life.’

Then he would laugh bitterly. ‘Only they’re better paid and respectable.’

An image flashed in Rojer’s mind – the evil red glow coming out from under the door to Amanvah’s private chamber each night. Had she spent the entire night there?

Your
Jiwah Ka
consults
the
dice
to
help
guide
your
path.

Rojer didn’t pretend to understand the bone magic of the
dama’ting
, but Leesha had explained enough of it for him to grasp that there wasn’t anything divine about it. Hadn’t the science of the old world harnessed ‘the lightning in the sky and the wind and the rain’? He didn’t know what the dice were telling her, but it wasn’t the word of the Creator, and he didn’t like the idea of dancing to their bidding.

‘Do your dice agree?’ he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. Sikvah inhaled sharply, but Amanvah had her mask in place, giving not a hint to her true feelings. The Jongleur in him railed against that. It was a common pastime in the guild hall to try to make other Jongleurs laugh or otherwise break character while practising their routines. Rojer considered himself a master at it.

He cocked his head at her.
Will
I
spend
the
rest
of
my
life
trying
to
trick
a
real
reaction
from
you?

‘The
alagai
hora
are never absolute, husband. They are a guide only.’

‘And what do they tell you about me?’ Rojer asked.

Sikvah hissed. ‘It is forbidden to ask …!’

‘The Core with that!’ Rojer asked. ‘I won’t dance to an imaginary tune.’

Amanvah turned to reach into a large velvet bag, the kind
dama’ting
kept their demon bones in. With the heavy curtains drawn, there was no natural light in the carriage, perfect for
hora
magic. He froze, wishing he’d kept a knife strapped to his wrist.

But Amanvah simply removed a wrapped package and handed it to him with a bow. ‘The dice tell much and little about you, husband. Your power is undeniable, but your life’s path is scattered with divergences. There are futures where hordes of
alagai
dance to your tune, and others where your gift is squandered. Greatness and failure.’

Rojer untied the bright cloth wrapping, discovering the small wooden box she had held early that morning. ‘But when I asked them if I should marry you, they told me yes, and when I asked what marriage gift could help you to greatness, they guided me to this.’

Suddenly Rojer felt boorish. She had been spending all that time alone making him a marriage present? Creator, was he expected to provide presents as well? No one had told him that. He made a mental note to ask Shamavah the custom when they stopped for the night, and get her advice on a gift, if need be.

Amanvah bowed as deeply as he had ever seen, her head nearly touching the carpeted floor of the carriage. ‘Please accept my apologies, for taking so long presenting it to you. I began
the work two weeks ago, thinking I would have months to
prepare.
The dice did not predict that you would move to speaking our
vows so quickly.’

Rojer ran the three fingertips of his right hand over the smooth surface of the box, feeling the wards that had been burned into the wood before it was lacquered. Some were wards of protection, but most he did not know. Rojer had never had any skill at warding.

What’s inside?
he wondered. What did the demon dice command her to make him? An image flashed in his mind of Enkido.
If
it’s a pair of golden shackles, I am grabbing my bag of marvels and going straight out the door, moving carriage or no.

He opened the box and his eyes widened. Inside, on a bed of silk, was a fiddle’s chinrest of polished rosewood with a moulded gold centre, affixed to a golden tail clamp. The piece was covered in wards, etched into the gold and cut sharply into the lacquer of the wood, filled with gold filigree. It was beautiful.

Like all modern instruments, Arrick and Jaycob’s fiddles had chinrests, but the ancient instrument Rojer had taken from the Painted Man’s treasure room did not, perhaps dating back to days before the innovation. A chinrest allowed the player to hold the fiddle in place with just his neck, freeing his hands for other things if necessary.

‘The piece comes from Duke Edon’s instrument maker, designed for the royal herald.’ Rojer reached out reverently to touch the object as Amanvah spoke. ‘It has taken me many nights to ward it and infuse it with
hora
.’

Rojer recoiled, snatching his hand back as if from a hot kettle. ‘
Hora?
There’s a demon bone in that?’

Amanvah laughed, a musical sound he heard all too infrequently.
Is
that
real
, Rojer wondered,
or
just
part
of
the
mask?

‘It cannot harm you, husband. The evil will of Nie dies with the
alagai
,
but their bones continue to carry the magic of Ala, made by Everam long before Nie created the abyss to pervert it.’

Rojer pursed his lips. ‘Still …’

‘The bone is little more than a thin slice,’ Amanvah said. ‘Bound in wards and solid gold.’

‘What does it do?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah smiled so widely Rojer could see it through her translucent veil, and even to his practised eye, it seemed truly genuine and sent a thrill through him.

‘Try it,’ Amanvah whispered, lifting his fiddle and handing it to him.

Rojer hesitated a moment, then shrugged and took the instrument, affixing the clamp to the tail piece where the resonance would be greatest. He turned the threaded barrels carefully to tighten it without damaging the wood, then set it beneath his chin, holding the instrument without the use of his hands. There was a slight tingle where it touched his chin, like a limb gone to pins and needles.

Rojer waited a moment. ‘What’s supposed to happen?’

Amanvah laughed again. ‘Play!’

Rojer took the bow in his crippled hand and the frets in the other, playing a quick tune. He was shocked at the resonance. The instrument had become twice as loud. ‘That’s amazing.’

‘And that is with most of the wards covered by your chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Lift away and the sound will only grow.’

Rojer cocked an eyebrow at her, then went back to playing. At first, he kept the wood covered, and the instrument seemed little louder than normal. Slowly, he lifted his chin, revealing some of the wards, and the volume began to increase. He lifted more, and the sound doubled, and doubled again, rattling his teeth even as his wives moved to cover their ears. Finally, he had to stop from sheer pain, with much of the rest still covered.

‘This will drown out your beautiful voices,’ Rojer said.

Amanvah shook her head, lifting her veil to show a golden choker with a warded ball at its centre, resting in the hollow of her throat. Sikvah revealed a similar bit of jewellery at her own neck. ‘We will match you, husband.’

Rojer shook his head, stunned.
Perhaps
bone
magic
and
dice
ent
so
bad
after
all.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he managed at last. ‘This is the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me, but I haven’t anything to give in return.’

Amanvah and Sikvah laughed. ‘Have you already forgotten the song we just sang?’ Amanvah said. ‘It was your marriage gift before our holy father.’ She laid a hand on his arm. ‘We will sing it with you tonight for the
chin
.’

Rojer nodded, suddenly racked with guilt. They had no idea what the song would say to the Laktonians.

The village of Greenmeadow appeared deserted when their caravan arrived, fields empty of humans and livestock. The few fleeting glimpses of movement vanished quickly over hills and into the woods. They left the caravan on the Messenger road while the carriages headed into the village proper. Even then they saw no one.

‘I do not like this,’ Kaval said. Coliv said something to him in Krasian, and he grunted.

‘What’s that?’ Leesha asked.

‘He says the
chin
make only slightly less noise than thunder. They are all around us, watching from every window and around every street corner. I will dispatch him to scout our path …’

‘You won’t,’ Leesha said.

‘He is a Krevakh Watcher,’ Kaval said. ‘I assure you, mistress, the greenlanders will never even know he is there.’

‘I’m not worried about them,’ Leesha said. ‘I want him where I can see him. These people have reason for caution, but we aren’t going to do anything to threaten them.’

A moment later the town square came into view, surrounded by homes and shopfronts. There were five men waiting on the inn steps, two with nocked hunting bows, and two more with long pitchforks.

Leesha called a halt and stepped out of her carriage. Immediately she was joined by Rojer, Gared, Wonda, Amanvah, Enkido, Shamavah, and Kaval. ‘Let me do the talking,’ Leesha said as they approached the inn.

‘They do not appear interested in talking, mistress,’ Kaval said, nodding to both sides, where she saw bowmen at every window around the town square.

‘They will not shoot unless we give them cause,’ Leesha said, wishing she was as confident as her words. She spread her pocketed apron so that all could see she was a Herb Gatherer. Rojer’s patchwork cloak announced him as a Jongleur – another point in their favour.

Rojer and Enkido placed themselves between the bows and Amanvah, with Gared in turn protecting Rojer. Leesha was similarly surrounded by Kaval and Wonda.

‘Ay, the inn!’ Rojer cried. ‘We mean no harm, seeking only safe succour, for which we can pay. May we approach?’

‘Leave your spears right there!’ one of the men cried.

‘I’ll do no such—’ Kaval began.

‘Your spear or yourself, Drillmaster,’ Leesha cut in. ‘It’s a fair request, and they could as easily drop you where you stand.’ Kaval let out a low growl, but he bent and laid down his spear, as did Enkido.

‘Who’re you, then?’ the lead man asked when they made it to the porch.

‘Leesha Paper,’ Leesha said.

The man blinked. ‘Mistress of the Hollow?’

Leesha smiled. ‘The same.’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘What are you doing so far south? And with the likes of them?’ He nodded at the Krasians.

‘We are returning from a meeting with the Krasian leader,’ Leesha said, ‘and wish to spend the night in Greenmeadow.’