The Daylight War (73 page)

The battle between Arlen and the
Sharum
continued to rage. Kaval and Coliv attacked as fiercely as Leesha had ever seen, but Arlen dodged and blocked easily, his expression one of calm focus. Occasionally, he returned a blow, simply to show he could do so with impunity. He took the knife from Kaval, slapping the drillmaster on the side of his head with the flat of the blade, knocking him into Coliv. When the Watcher next came at him, there was a brief tussle that ended with Coliv’s own punch-dagger stuck in his buttock as Arlen danced out of reach.

Leesha didn’t pretend to understand how warriors thought, but she knew enough of Krasian culture to understand that Arlen was intentionally humiliating the men. To charge into battle against a more powerful foe and be killed with honour was the dream of every warrior. But to be defeated and survive was the stuff of nightmares. She could feel the shame and helpless rage radiating off them, and felt almost pity.

Almost.

But they had tried to murder Arlen. She had it from his lips now, and despite her other doubts, this she knew to be true.

The
Painted Man
was
born
on
the
Krasian
desert, four years ago
,
Arlen had told her, when she asked his age on the road last year.

And
the
man
beneath
the
wards?
Leesha had asked.
How
old
was
he
when
he
died?

He
was
killed
,
Arlen said, though he had never said by whom.

Leesha watched as Arlen fought the two
Sharum
,
and knew she was looking at two of the killers. Two of the men who had kicked him onto the path that led to the madness of warding his own flesh. Had Ahmann been one as well? Probably, if Abban’s warning had been true.

If
you
know
the
son
of
Jeph, if you can get word to him, tell him to run to the end of the world and beyond, because that is how far Jardir will go to kill him. There can only be one Deliverer.

Whatever he had done to her, Arlen was a good man. A good man these men had tried to murder, and very nearly succeeded. A shameful part of her wanted to see them hurt, and to spare the anaesthetic when she splinted their broken bones.

The two
Sharum
were positioning for another pass when a piercing ululation filled the air. They froze as Amanvah shouted, ‘Stop this at once!’ in Krasian.

Kaval and Coliv stayed their next attacks, but they did not stand down. The drillmaster spared a glance to the
dama’ting
,
keeping one eye on Arlen. ‘Holy Daughter, there is much about this one you do not know. He is a blood traitor, laying false claim to the title of Shar’Dama Ka. Honour demands his death.’

Coliv nodded. ‘The drillmaster speaks true, Holy Daughter.’

Arlen smiled. ‘Tell me,
Sharum
,
if Everam exists, how will He punish your lies?’

Amanvah turned to regard him. ‘So you do not claim to be the Deliverer?’

‘The Deliverer is all of us,’ Arlen said. ‘Everyone who stands tall in the night instead of hiding behind their wards … or underground.’ He looked at her pointedly.

‘My people no longer do that, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said.

‘Nor do mine,’ Arlen said. ‘All of us work to deliver humanity from the
alagai
.’

‘Holy Daughter, do not listen to this lying
chin
,
’ Kaval said. ‘Justice and your father’s safety demand that we kill him now.’

‘As if you could,’ Arlen growled. ‘We have a blood debt, true, but it is you who owe. I could have collected today, but I kill only
alagai
.’

‘Why is this man such a threat?’ Amanvah asked Kaval. ‘From his own lips, he makes no claim on my father’s title.’

‘He diminishes it with his words,’ Kaval said. ‘Leaching your father’s honour with his heathen talk while he bides his cowardly time, waiting for the moment to strike.’

Amanvah’s face was unreadable. ‘It is you who attacked first, Drillmaster. My father used to speak often of the Par’chin, and never as anything except a man of honour.’

‘His honour was lost when he betrayed your father in the Maze,’ Kaval said.

Arlen stepped forward, his eyes seething. ‘Shall we speak of the Maze, Kaval? Shall I tell all gathered what happened that night, and let
them
judge who lost their honour?’

The drillmaster did not answer, exchanging a look with Coliv. Amanvah stared at him. ‘Well, Drillmaster? What have you to say?’

Kaval cleared his throat. ‘It is not a matter we may speak of. We have sworn an oath of silence to the Shar’Dama Ka. You must trust my judgement in this.’

‘
Must?
’ Amanvah asked, her voice a quiet lash. ‘
Dal’Sharum
,
do you presume to tell a Bride of Everam what she must or must not do?’ The men stiffened, but still they held their aggressive posture, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

‘Please, Par’chin,’ Amanvah said. ‘Enlighten us about the night of which you speak.’

Arlen shook his head. ‘You want to know? Ask the Spears of the Deliverer. Ask your father. And if they won’t tell you, perhaps you ought to wonder why.’

Amanvah squinted at him, then turned to Kaval. ‘Stand down and heel me. You will pursue this matter no further without my blessing, and I do not give it now.’ When the men still hesitated, she added, ‘I will not ask again.’

There was a finality in her tone that shook even the warriors, and they complied at last, weapons disappearing as they glided to stand at the young
dama’ting
’
s
back.

‘It appears your new neighbours will keep you entertained, Miss Paper,’ Thamos said, and Leesha couldn’t help but feel that perhaps his smug tone was justified.

Arlen came over to stand next to Leesha, his voice dropping to a murmur. ‘Glad to see you back safe.’

‘And you,’ Leesha said.

‘Ought to talk,’ Arlen said. ‘Tonight after dusk. Just the four of us at your cottage.’

‘Four?’ Leesha asked before she could stop herself. Clandestine meetings with Arlen were nothing new, but it had always been three. Herself, Arlen, and Rojer.

It was a pointless question, only confirming what she already knew. ‘Renna and I are promised. Where I go, she goes.’

She was surprised to find the words, though expected, still cut at her. ‘Rojer and Amanvah are married,’ Leesha noted. ‘Yet you would deny his bride the same right?’

Arlen shrugged. ‘It’s your house, Leesha. You keep whatever company you like, but you want the whole story, it’s just us four.’

Leesha gestured at Renna with her chin. The young woman caught the look, her eyes fierce. ‘Didn’t you beg me not to paint blackstem wards on anyone?’

Arlen sighed. ‘Ent the first time I been wrong about somethin’, Leesha Paper. Don’t reckon it’s the last, either.’

‘How far to your palace?’ Amanvah asked, as their carriage trundled along the road into Deliverer’s Hollow.

‘Palace?’ Rojer asked.

Amanvah bowed. ‘Forgive me, husband, I forget you have no palaces in the North. Your … manse?’

‘Ah …’ Rojer said. ‘I don’t exactly have one of those, either. I live at Smitt’s.’

‘I do not know this word,’ Amanvah said. ‘What is
smitz
?’

‘Smitt,’ Rojer said. ‘Is a person. He owns the inn.’

‘And you live at this …
roadhouse
Waxing and Wane?’ Amanvah was incredulous.

‘What?’ Rojer asked. ‘They change the sheets for me once a week and I never have to cook a meal.’

‘Unacceptable,’ Amanvah said.

‘Well it’s going to have to be,’ Rojer snapped, ‘because it’s all I’ve got! I told your father I had no money, and I meant it. Bad enough you picked a fight with the count, but now you need to piss on how I live?’

Amanvah bowed. ‘Apologies, husband. It was not my intent to offend. I meant only that one so touched by Everam should live in a home worthy of his greatness.’

Rojer smiled. It was hard to argue with that.

Much of the town had gathered by the time they reached the inn, but Rojer paid them little mind. He wanted his wives settled as soon as possible so he could meet the Painted Man after dusk and find out just what in the Core was going on.

‘Going to need a few extra rooms,’ he told Smitt.

Sikvah took his hand, gently pulling him back. ‘Please, husband. Such transactions are beneath you. If you will allow me …’ She stepped ahead of him, beginning to negotiate in much the same manner Shamavah had on the road. Smitt looked shocked at first, then exasperated, then conciliatory. In the end, Sikvah counted out a number of gold coins into his hand, and Smitt turned, calling to one of his sons. Haggling seemed to be something Krasians had in their blood.

‘The merchant must eject some of his residents and prepare our rooms,’ Sikvah said on her return. ‘We are invited to wait here or in our husband’s old room.’

‘Old?’ Rojer asked. ‘I loved that room. Best acoustics in the whole ripping inn.’

‘It was not fitting, husband,’ Sikvah said, and Rojer sighed. This was not an argument he could hope to win.

The front door opened, and a group of Jongleurs entered, easily visible by their instrument cases and bright motley. A young woman was with them, and the sight of her filled him with a horrible guilt. Kendall, his apprentice who had nearly lost her life to his stupidity.

A memory flashed in his mind, Gared carrying Kendall, cut and bloody, from the battlefield. He shook his head to clear it.

‘Rojer!’ Kendall cried, rushing over to him and wrapping him in a hug. ‘They said you were back! We were so worrieAUGH!’

She was pulled away from him, and Rojer saw Sikvah twisting the young woman’s wrist with two fingers, immobilizing her as easily as she might an impudent toddler. ‘Who are you, to lay hands on my husband?’

Kendall looked at her, and even through her grimace of pain, a look of surprise took her. ‘Husband?’

‘Sikvah!’ Rojer snapped. ‘Release her! This is Kendall, one of my apprentices.’

Sikvah let go of Kendall’s wrist immediately and the young woman snatched it back, rubbing. Sikvah and Amanvah began circling her like wolves, appraising her from every angle.

‘You greenlanders allow your slaves great liberty,’ Amanvah noted, ‘but she seems fit enough. How many others do you own?’

‘Ent his slave,’ Kendall snapped. ‘Nobody owns me.’

‘She’s right,’ Rojer said. ‘She and the other apprentices are all free folk, and Kendall is the most talented of the lot.’

His wives continued to circle the girl as the other Jongleurs came over. Rojer knew them all by reputation if not personally. Their leader was Hary Roller. Once, early in his career, Hary had played while standing upon a great ball. He hadn’t done the trick since, but the name
Roller
had forever stuck.

Hary was old now, retired from performance and teaching, but he was respected both as a composer and a cellist. Guildmaster Cholls had promised masters, but it seemed the established ones had little interest in risking themselves in the Hollow. Sly Sixstring was even older, the guitar over his shoulder worn and weathered. Rojer had seen him perform once and was stunned at the nimbleness of Sly’s wrinkled fingers, but that was a decade ago at least.

The others were younger, performers Rojer had been competing with for street corners little more than a year ago. Wil Piper had still been an apprentice then. Rojer wondered if he’d been elevated just for agreeing to this assignment.

Hary shook Rojer’s hand. ‘We’re happy to see you returned, Master Halfgrip. In your absence, I have been following your agreement with the guildmaster and teaching sound signs to your apprentices. They were … undisciplined, but I have made some progress …’

Undisciplined.
Rojer snorted. That was one way to put it. They were a bunch of bumpkins he had sat in a circle and taught to play by ear. There had been none of the formal training of the guild, something Roller was known to be a stickler for.

But those days were coming to a close.

‘Forget all that,’ Rojer said, reaching into his satchel for the pages of music he had prepared, outlining the
Song
of
Waning
. He slapped them against the man’s chest, and Roller reflexively took them. ‘New song I need everyone to learn. Ask your apprentices to make lots of copies.’

Roller looked at the pages, startled. ‘A theory …?’

‘Tested,’ Rojer said. ‘Worked for my trio. Let’s see if it works for others.’