Darel threw back another cup. ‘It’s bad, ay, but I don’t steal chickens and rape girls. Reckon there’ll be a lot less of that in the future, too. Evejan law is harsh, but can’t deny it gets results.’
‘And them taking all the boys?’ Gared asked. ‘I had a son, I wouldn’t stand for that.’
Darel swished his third cupful in his mouth, swallowing thoughtfully. ‘Got a grandson they took. Ent happy about it, but they let him come home every month on new moon. Waning, they call it. Boys’re getting it rough, coming home with bruises and broken bones, but no worse’n the Krasian boys. They’re picking up the language and rules quicker than the rest of us, and the dama says that the ones who earn the black will be full citizens, with all the rights of a Sharum lord. And the ones who don’t are kicked out as khaffit.’ He smiled, scratching his neck. ‘Which ent too different from my lot, ’cept without the itchy beard.’
Rojer sipped his fourth – or was it his fifth? – cup of couzi. His head was beginning to spin. ‘How many boys did they take from … where are we, anyway?’
‘Used to be Appleton,’ Darel said. ‘Now it’s some long bunch of sand words. We just call it Sharachville, ’coz that’s our tribe now. There were thirty boys here the right age for Hannu Pash or whatever.’
Rojer had to steady himself on Gared as they climbed back up the steps. He had drunk a big mug of fresh water and chewed a sourleaf, but he doubted his wives would be fooled if he stumbled over his own feet on the way to bed. Fortunately, Rojer was Arrick Sweetsong’s apprentice and had a lot of practice pretending to be sober when he was anything but.
‘They’re building an army bigger than all the Free Cities combined,’ he said quietly. ‘Lakton doesn’t have a chance.’
‘Gotta do something,’ Gared said. ‘Find the Painted Man, fight, something. Can’t just sit back and let ’em take everything south of the Hollow.’
‘First thing is to warn folk in Lakton what’s coming,’ Rojer said. ‘Got some ideas about that, but I need a night’s sleep and maybe a pot to sick up in first.’
It took all his mummer’s skills and acrobatics to keep steady as he walked by Enkido. If the giant eunuch took any notice of him, he did not show it. Inside, Amanvah was still in her private chamber, the evil glow of wardlight shining from under the door. He made his way into bed without a problem. Sikvah was waiting for him, but she said nothing as he collapsed face-first into the pillows. He felt tugging as she pulled off his boots and clothes, but while he did not resist, neither did he have strength to assist. She stroked his back gently, cooing as he fell fast asleep.
14
The Song of Waning
333 AR Summer
20 Dawns Before New Moon
Rojer’s head was pounding when he was woken an hour before dawn. The novelty of Sikvah waiting on his every need – bathing him, picking his clothes, dressing him – had begun to wear thin, but he was thankful for it now. His head felt like it was kicked by a mule, and his mouth stuffed with cotton.
‘Haven’t gotten sauced like that since Angiers,’ he muttered.
Sikvah looked up. ‘Eh?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Going to need you to entertain Erny and Elona in the carriage this morning. Need to talk to Leesha.’
‘That is not appropriate, husband,’ Amanvah said, sweeping in from her personal chamber carrying a small wooden box, varnished black and polished to a shine. Had she been in there all night? Rojer had no recollection of her coming to bed, but he had been far gone. ‘The daughter of Erny is unwed and my father’s intended, and you are a married man. You cannot …’
Sikvah was buttoning his shirt cuff, but Rojer yanked his hand away so fast she gasped. ‘Demonshit. I swore to be a good and loyal husband, and that was honest word, but that don’t mean I gave up my right to talk to my friends in private. If you think it does, we’ve got a problem.’
Sikvah seemed scandalized, and Amanvah was silent a long moment, looking down at the box she held, tapping it against one hand. Rojer knew that was as irritated as he would likely ever see her, even if she were about to put her knife in his eye, or have Enkido break his fingers.
But at that moment, Rojer didn’t care. ‘Marriage is the death of freedom,’ his master used to say. He shook his head, deliberately buttoning his own cuff. Not for me. Corespawn me if it is.
At last Amanvah looked up and met his eyes. ‘As you wish, husband.’
Leesha was a little surprised when Rojer asked to ride with her that morning, but did not question it. She told herself she was still annoyed with his decision to marry, but truer was she missed him terribly. Rojer had been her best friend and closest confidant for over a year, and she felt an emptiness when he was not close by.
Amanvah and Sikvah had put up an impenetrable wall with more than their singing and wailing. When they stopped for the night, they guarded Rojer like lions around a kill. This was the first time Leesha had been alone with him since the trip started, and even now they were forced to leave the curtains of the carriage open as a nod to Krasian decency. Sharum rode by regularly, not even bothering to hide their spying as they checked to ensure that she and Rojer remained clothed and on opposite benches.
But they had privacy nonetheless. Gared and Wonda rode to either side to keep everyone out of earshot, and Leesha had selected a driver she was sure did not speak a word of Thesan. Most of the Krasians who knew more than please and thank you in Thesan tended to keep it secret as Amanvah and Sikvah once had, but the Hollowers were wise to the trick now, and had ferreted most of those out over the last week. Elona had proven particularly adept at the game, making outrageous statements and watching closely for tics and tells.
‘I think my mother liked your carriage a little too much,’ Leesha said. ‘You may find her unwilling to trade back after we stop for lunch.’
‘It’s a bit cold at the moment,’ Rojer said. ‘Amanvah and Sikvah did not care for the idea of us being alone together.’
‘Well they’re just going to have to get over that.’ Leesha nodded out the window to where Kaval was passing by on his horse. ‘Ahmann as well. I didn’t agree to cut every man out of my life when I slept with him, regardless of what his people think.’
‘My point exactly,’ Rojer agreed, ‘but I think it will be an ongoing battle.’
Leesha smiled. ‘That’s marriage, as I understand it. Are you regretting the decision?’
Rojer shook his head. ‘No one gets to dance for free. I’ll put my coins in the hat, but corespawned if I’ll be overcharged.’
Leesha nodded. ‘So what was worth risking the wrath of your wives to discuss?’
‘Your intended,’ Rojer said.
‘He’s not—’ Leesha began.
‘You’re throwing your weight around with the Krasians like he is,’ Rojer cut in. ‘So which is it?’
Leesha felt a twinge in her temple and pretended to brush back her hair so she could rub it. ‘What business is it of yours? You didn’t consult me on your betrothal.’
‘My wives aren’t kidnapping every able-bodied boy under fifteen,’ Rojer said. ‘If just half of them make it through Hannu Pash …’
‘In a few years Ahmann will have an army of Thesan fanatics big enough to conquer everything from here to Fort Miln,’ Leesha finished. ‘I’m not blind, Rojer.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ Rojer asked.
‘Build our own,’ Leesha said. ‘The Hollow must keep expanding, and training Cutters in battle. Ahmann has named us tribesmen, and will not attack us if we do not attack him first.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Rojer asked. ‘I’ll admit he’s not what I expected, but do you trust him?’
Leesha nodded. ‘Ahmann is many things, but he is honest. He has made no secret of his plans to conquer everyone who does not willingly join him in Sharak Ka, but that does not necessarily mean all must bow to him in the day.’
‘And if it does?’ Rojer asked.
‘Then perhaps he will
take my hand as a symbolic conquest,’ Leesha said. ‘It’s not my first choice, but better than open war pitting neighbour against neighbour.’
‘That may save the Hollow,’ Rojer said, ‘but Lakton is still on the gibbet. The city might hold up better than Fort Rizon did, but the hamlets are indefensible. The Krasians will begin swallowing them soon.’
‘Agreed,’ Leesha said. ‘But there’s not a lot we can do about that.’
‘We can warn them,’ Rojer said. ‘And have them pass it on. Offer sanctuary and training in the Hollow now, while the roads are still passable.’
‘And how are we supposed to do that?’ Leesha asked.
Rojer smiled. ‘Play your princess act. Demand a roof over your head every night as we pass through Lakton, and no more kicking out everyone else at the inns. I am going to debut my new song, and need an audience.’
‘I do not think this is a good idea, mistress,’ Kaval said. He was the ranking Sharum, his red veil hanging loose about his throat in the midday sun. They had stopped briefly for lunch, and to allow folk to stretch their legs. The drillmaster’s tone was polite, but there was frustration under its veneer. He was not accustomed to explaining himself to women.
‘I do not care what you think, Sharum,’ Leesha said. ‘I will not sleep on the roadside with rocks for pillows when there are perfectly good inns until two days out from the Hollow.’
Kaval frowned. ‘We are no longer in the lands of Shar’Dama Ka. It is safer—’
‘To camp on the road where bandits can come on us at night?’ Leesha cut him off.
Kaval spat in the dust. ‘The chin cowards will not dare come at us on the road at night. The alagai would slaughter them.’
‘Bandits or demons, I don’t care to spend the night out with either,’ Leesha snapped.
‘Mistress has shown no fear of alagai before,’ Kaval pointed out. ‘I would worry more about hidden spears in some unknown chin village.’
‘What is this?’ Amanvah asked, coming over to them.
Kaval immediately went to one knee. ‘The mistress wishes to sleep in a chin village tonight, Dama’ting. I have told her this is unwise …’
‘She is correct, of course,’ Amanvah said. ‘I have no more desire to sleep in the naked night than she. If you’re afraid of a few local chin,’ she made a mockery of the word, ‘then by all means, leave us at the inn and put a tent out in the woods to hide till dawn.’
Leesha bit back a smile as she watched Kaval bow deeper to hide the grinding of his teeth.
‘We fear nothing, Dama’ting,’ the drillmaster said. ‘If this is your wish, we will commandeer—’
‘You will do nothing of the sort,’ Leesha interrupted. ‘As you say, this is not the Deliverer’s land. Our beds will be bought and paid for, not taken at spearpoint. We are not thieves.’
Leesha could swear she heard the grinding of teeth. Kaval’s eyes flicked to Amanvah, waiting for her to countermand the order, but the girl was wisely silent. She had regained something of her former haughtiness, but they both remembered what happened the last time she crossed Leesha.
‘Call the Sharum. All twenty-one, and have them sit there,’ Leesha pointed to a small clearing. ‘I will address them while they eat. I want no misconceptions about what is acceptable behaviour, both for the runners we send ahead and the bulk of the group when we reach town.’
She swept away, heading over to the cauldrons where the dal’ting prepared lunch for the caravan under Shamavah’s watchful eye. Most would receive a heavy brown soup of beef stock and flour with potatoes and vegetables, along with a half loaf of bread. The Sharum ate better, with spits of lamb and couscous in addition to their soup, which had large chunks of meat. Leesha, her parents, Rojer, and his wives all ate better still, herb-encrusted roast pheasant and rack of lamb, their couscous spiced and thick with butter.
Leesha came over to Shamavah. ‘I am addressing the Sharum over lunch. I will need you to translate for me.’
‘Of course, mistress.’ Shamavah bowed. ‘It would be my great honour.’
Leesha pointed to the place where the warriors were already beginning to gather. ‘See to it they are seated in a half-moon and given bowls.’ Shamavah nodded and hurried off.
Leesha went to the woman preparing the Sharum’s soup, taking the ladle from her and tasting it. ‘Needs more spice,’ she said, taking a few handfuls from the bowls of spice the cooks had laid out and tossing them into the soup. Along with a few herbs from her own apron.
She pretended to taste it again. ‘Perfect.’
Rojer held the last note of the Song of Waning for a long time, eyes closed, feeling the hum of the wood in his hands. He cut the note hard, and Amanvah and Sikvah followed him easily.
‘The hush before the roar,’ Arrick used to call it – that precious moment of silence between the last note of a brilliant performance and the applause of the crowd. With the heavy curtains pulled, even the myriad sounds of the caravan were muted.
Rojer felt his chest tighten, and suddenly realized he was holding his breath. There was no one to applaud, but he heard the sound anyway. He could say with no ego that as a trio, they exceeded anything he had ever done alone.
He let his breath out slowly, opening his eyes at the exact moment Amanvah and Sikvah opened theirs. Those beautiful eyes told him they, too, sensed the power of what they had wrought.
If you only knew, Rojer thought. Soon, my loves. Soon I will show you.
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 a
nything 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.