The Daylight War (82 page)

‘I’ll fix you some,’ Leesha said, grateful for something to do.

‘I’d have done it myself …’ the count began.

Leesha smiled at him. ‘But you’ve never cooked an egg in your life, have you, Your Highness?’

Thamos shrugged apologetically and flashed a smile Leesha couldn’t imagine any woman was immune to.

She dipped a mock curtsy. ‘Then it will be my pleasure to make Your Highness’s breakfast.’

T
he party went on for hours after Arlen and Renna emerged, somewhat dishevelled, from the wedding pavilion. He had thought their consummation would be gentle, but his bride had pounced like an animal the moment the flap fell, her aura lit up with lust.

My
bride. Renna Tanner.
The thought made his head spin as much as their lovemaking. The girl he ran away from home to avoid marrying was the one he was meant for.

Meant
for?
He snorted.
Spent
your
whole
life
believing
there’s no Creator, no Deliverer, but you and a girl get along, and that’s proof of divine plan?

But much as he wanted to dismiss the thought as ludicrous, he could not.

They stumbled on watery legs back out into the cheering crowd, and Arlen was amazed once more at its aura.

Arlen had thought magic evil once, but it was beyond such definitions, no more evil than wind or rain or lectrics. It pulsed within all living things, defining them inside and out with a wealth of information. Human auras were dimmer and far more complex than those of demons, but there was a great deal of ambient magic here at the centre of Hollow County’s greatwards. Without even realizing it, the Hollowers were imprinting that magic with their joy, and it danced happily around them, powerful and infectious.

Arlen had been seeing auras since he had first painted wards of sight around his eyes, but had never understood what the subtle variations of colour, brightness, and texture had meant until his encounter with the coreling prince. For an instant their minds had touched, and he had seen the world as the demons did.

Now even a peripheral glance could tell him much about a person’s emotional state, and a full stare fed him a constant stream of information. He knew when people spoke truth to him and when lie, when they were ready to fight and when they would flee. He could see every single emotion a person was feeling at any given time, though he had to guess at the reasons.

He could not see into minds as the coreling princes had … yet. But if he concentrated, Arlen could draw a touch of magic through people, imprinting it with their essence, and then absorb it himself, Knowing them more intimately than lover and Herb Gatherer both – every scar, every ache, every feeling. A firespit burn here, a cat scratch there, telling the body’s tale.

Sometimes images would flash in his mind – people, places, and things that held strong emotional connections to whomever he was Knowing, but it was up to him to interpret them.

Even plants could yield secrets. Simply inhaling a current passing through a tree, Arlen could peel back the years more clearly than a woodcutter reading rings. When there had been flood, and when drought. When there had been fire, and when deep freeze. The types of demon claws that had gouged its bark. Everything since the nut had cracked, grasped in an instant.

Shamavah was waiting for them as they returned to the party, along with Rojer, Kendall, and his new wives.

Rojer’s aura was particularly interesting. When the Jongleur was playing, be it his fiddle or the part in a drama, a mask fell over his aura that was impossible for Arlen to read.

At other times, though, his young friend was an open book. Images floated around him, some dim, others distinct, all connected to Rojer with complex webs of emotion.

Arlen could make out himself and Renna, as well as Amanvah, Sikvah, and Leesha. Arlen could see Rojer had doubts about Renna and the marriage, but he’d made his own questionable choices in that regard, and felt no right to preach. The deed was done, and as Arlen’s friend, Rojer was going to support him.

He put a hand on the Jongleur’s shoulder. ‘Stand by you, too, Rojer. Honest word. Nothing about Renna lessens what I owe you.’

Rojer blinked. ‘How did you know what I was …’

There was a flare in Amanvah’s aura as she focused on him. She was quick, that one, catching her husband’s meaning before he even finished speaking.

For an instant, he saw images floating around her, most prominently her parents. Amanvah walked deep in their shadow. Hovering between their images was a book.

‘You are thinking it is said in the Evejah that only the Deliverer can read the hearts of men,’ Arlen guessed.

Shock rippled along Amanvah’s aura, but then the young
dama’ting
went … serene, the surface of her emotions buried under the gentle rhythm of her breath. She stared at him with no less intensity, but his ability to read her vanished.

‘It is said,’ Amanvah agreed. ‘But you are not him.’

He glanced at Sikvah, surprised to note that her mind had the same sharp discipline as Amanvah’s. She was more than she seemed. Perhaps it was something to do with her white veil.

But while Rojer’s wives hid their auras, they could not mask the magic of the items they carried. Bound and warded bones in Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s chokers made it seem like their throats were ablaze. Arlen scanned the wards, similar to the ones on Rojer’s fiddle. He had seen the amplifying effect onstage. Useful magic.

Other jewellery shone with similar fire. The
hora
pouch at Amanvah’s waist veritably throbbed with it, and even Shamavah wore a few bits of demon bone among her rings and bracelets, though he could only guess at the effects.

‘You don’t trust me,’ Arlen said.

‘Is there any reason why we should?’ Amanvah asked.

Arlen concentrated, drawing a touch of magic through the young women, Knowing them.

‘No, but I trust you, Amanvah vah Ahmann.’ He nodded to Sikvah. ‘You and your sister-wife both. I can see that you are no ally of Nie, and your intentions toward my friend are true.’

‘Ay?’ Rojer asked.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Arlen told him. ‘They may follow the letter of your commands, but they won’t hesitate to disobey the spirit if they think it best for you.’

Amanvah did not seem perturbed by the comment. ‘Our honoured husband sometimes requires … guidance.’

Arlen chuckled. ‘Fair and true.’

‘Ay!’ Rojer shouted.

Arlen smirked. ‘I don’t think I’m the Deliverer, Amanvah. Don’t think your da is, either. Don’t believe the Deliverer exists at all, save perhaps as a symbol all may aspire to.’

‘An unbeliever, rather than a heretic?’ Amanvah asked. ‘Is that better?’

Arlen bowed. ‘That is for you to decide, Princess.’

The corners of Amanvah’s eyes crinkled. ‘A decision for another day. Thank you for honouring us by allowing us to share in your celebration.’

Shamavah stepped up then. She held the same writing tablet Arlen had seen her with a hundred times, bringing back a rush of warm memories of Abban’s pavilions in the Great Bazaar.

Arlen could see images in her aura, connected to her in ledger lines of black and red, calculating debts paid and debts owed. Amanvah had sent her as a peace offering, and Shamavah was happy for the chance to ingratiate herself with Amanvah and Arlen both. She would do whatever was necessary to make tonight perfect, no matter whom she had to bribe or shout at, but it was a loan that would one day be called to account.

Arlen smiled. ‘You are so much like your husband, it makes my heart ache to see my friend Abban again.’

Shamavah bowed. ‘The son of Jeph is too kind.’ She gave no outward sign, but her aura was truly touched at the words.

And they were honest. Arlen missed his
khaffit
merchant
friend deeply, but Abban had proven many times that while he
could occasionally be trusted, he could never be
trusted
. He
lied when needed, but more often there was simply something he wasn’t telling you. Usually something important.

Arlen had replayed the events of his last visit to Krasia ten thousand times in his mind, always with a lingering sense of doubt. It was Abban, after all, who procured the map that took Arlen to the ruins of Anoch Sun and the tomb of Kaji, where he had found the warded spear. He had revealed the prize to Abban first, verifying its authenticity. Later that night, Jardir, once Abban’s best friend, tried to kill him for it.

And now they were working together. Even if Marick hadn’t confirmed it months ago, much of the Krasian conquest had Abban’s stamp on it. This was better than the alternative, as Abban was never so brutal or wasteful as Jardir. After the initial crushing of Fort Rizon, huge swathes of the southland were conquered with houses and fields and daughters left intact, keeping the trade routes open, if under
dama
rule and Evejan law. That was Abban whispering mercy in Jardir’s ear, if only for profit’s sake.

Whose
side
are
you
on, Abban?
he wondered.
Do
you
not
know
your
friend
tried
to
murder
me? Simply accept it? Or was it your idea all along?

He sighed. Did it even matter? There was no point wasting thought on it now. Soon, he would confront both men and learn the truth. But first, they had to survive new moon.

The line of well-wishers resumed the moment they returned to the party. The next to come before them was an older woman, leading a middle-aged man along beside her. His white clouded eyes staring off at nothing. There was something familiar about them, and Arlen saw in the woman’s aura that she had met him before, and felt she owed him a debt.

‘Lorry Shepherd, Mr and Mrs Bales,’ the woman said with a stiff bow. ‘This is my son, Ken. We have nothing to give but our respects and our thanks, but hope you’ll accept them. Corelings took the rest of our family on the road while we fled the Krasians. Would have taken me and Kenny, too, if you hadn’t come.’ She patted the man’s arm. ‘Things ent been easy, but the Hollow opened its heart to us when you brought our caravan in, and we ent been cold or hungry, even though Kenny can’t work. We’re grateful for that.’

‘Whole Hollow deserves the credit for that,’ Arlen said. ‘And you, for being so strong when times were tough.’

He looked at Ken Shepherd, standing silently by his mother’s side. The man’s aura was one of quiet shame, hating himself for his dependence on his aging mother, and for his inability to help his family. But she leaned on him a bit in her dotage, and in that there was a spark of pride. ‘You always been blind?’

Ken nodded. ‘Ay, since before I can remember.’

‘’Twas a fever took his eyes, while he was still in swaddling,’ Lorry said.

Arlen drew a breath of magic through him, Knowing Ken’s eyes and finding the source of disharmony. He reached out instinctively, drawing a touch of power from the greatward as he traced wards with a finger along the man’s forehead and around his eyes.

There were gasps as the clouds left Ken’s eyes and they became a vibrant hazel, widening as he sputtered, swinging his head this way and that. His aura flared brightly with joy for an instant, then shifted to disorientation and a crushing fear. Finally he squeezed his eyes shut tight, putting his hands over them as his entire body shook.

Arlen put a steadying hand on his shoulder. ‘It’ll get a bit easier every day, Ken Shepherd. Honest word. Know exactly what you’re going through.’

Soon after the hubbub over the Shepherds moved off, a lone
kha’Sharum
arrived. He did not hesitate in his approach, but Arlen could see fear in his aura. Fear and shame. He caught Amanvah’s sharp intake of breath, too low for anyone else to
hear, and her aura flashed anger a moment before returning to
dama’ting
calm.