The Hidden Queen, page 50
“Gwilji?” I ask, looking pointedly at a smoky cluster of black, filled with glowing eyes.
“For every gwil the fae have trained, there are half a dozen still in the wild,” Briar says. “They will hunt and kill anything they can.”
“Do any remain in the Spear of Ala?” I ask. The fortress stands in the center of a cavern where countless tunnels intersect. Any path from the surface to the hive passes through that cavern. Kaji built the csar to defend and control the choke point.
When Alagai Ka and his new queen return to the hive, they will bring all their hordes with them. Our only hope of stopping them is to control the Spear.
“Some, perhaps,” Havell says, “if they are still hidden. Most retreated here, to the last csar.”
“And you say the alagai were working together with other creatures?” I ask.
Havell nods. “They send the minoc and gwilji in to shock and weaken, driving us into their ambushes. The alagai have new generals, larger than the others, and wise. Thousands were lost, and many of our wounded will not recover.”
“Kai’alagai.” I turn at Amanvah’s words, and see her holding the crown again, this time for all to see.
“It is time to decide, Princes. Who you trust. Who you are. Who you are meant to be. The csar’s gate stands open to the abyss, and only the crown can close it.”
I hesitate, a cold weight in my stomach, pinning me in place. My eyes rest on the blood lock’s strap below the electrum crown. What will happen when it closes, sealed with my blood?
I rub my fingers together, but I know Amanvah is right. There can be no more putting it off. I reach out to take the crown, but there is a shout from the Sharum ranks, and one of the kai’Sharum steps forward.
My eyes narrow. Now. Of course, now. Asome’s sticks were true, after all. The last assassin was under my nose all along, but I was too spun about by Rhinebeck to see it.
But who? Which of my brothers came all the way from Anoch Dahl in secret to challenge me when the hour is darkest?
“Name yourself, if you have any honor!” I shout.
In response, he strips off his black Sharum robe to stand bare-chested in white pantaloons, chest and arms thick with muscle. Even before he removes his veil, I know him from the scarred wards cut into his skin.
Asome himself, come to offer my third and final challenge.
* * *
—
“Put it on!” Amanvah’s whisper is harsh as she thrusts the crown at me. “It is not meant for him!”
But in my heart I know I cannot. In my pride before the Skull Throne, I set the dice spinning, and they will not stop until this is done. I turn away from her to face my brother as he approaches.
Asome nods. “You are wise, little sibling. You know that crown does not belong to you. It was mine, before Mother took it and worked it with her spells and demonbone. My son Kaji was to have it! That was the pact. That was the peace. Instead, Mother has given it to you, and that, I cannot allow.”
He holds his hand out to Amanvah. “I offer you this one chance, to undo what she has wrought. Give me the crown, or I will take it from you.”
“And the Spear of Ala?” I ask. “The fate of Sharak Ka?”
“Once I have the crown, the Spear will answer to me,” Asome says. “I have foreseen it. Let the demons come. We will destroy them.”
For a moment, I consider letting him have it. I was just questioning my own right to the crown. I do not want it, and my brother does. Perhaps he is right, and the csar will answer to him. Perhaps he can hold it while I take Hollow’s army to the hive itself.
But it is clear that Sharak Ka will always come second to Asome’s ambition. I step between him and Amanvah. “I cannot allow that, brother.”
Asome offers me a warrior’s bow. “Know it is not my wish to kill you, little sibling. There will be no dishonor in your death.”
My brother was not born with magic like I was, but it does not matter. I can see in wardsight how the wards scarred into his muscles Draw ambient power. He will be fast, and strong. Perhaps stronger than I am. Asome is a sharusahk grandmaster in the prime of his life. I have my victories, but I am under no illusion I am his equal.
“You would put your pride above Sharak Ka?” I say loudly. “Did not your interference cost us enough the last time?”
There are nods and sounds of agreement, not just from Hollowers but also from more than a few of the assembling Sharum, who have broken rank and discipline to surround my brother and me.
“Better we lay the fate of the First War on a half-chin child, who has carried a spear less than a year?” Asome’s voice is incredulous, and there is agreement in the sounds and auras of many of the assembled warriors. “Shar’Dama Ka could have killed me long ago when I took the throne, but said I had a part yet to play. For years I pondered his meaning, and now I know it to be true.”
I see Gared and Ashia in the tightening ring around us, and plenty of Hollow Soldiers, but it’s hard to tell friend from foe in the Sharum ranks. Rhinebeck’s men have their flamework weapons to hand, and in my mind’s eye, I see how quickly this could escalate into a bloody battle that could doom us all.
“Go, sister,” I murmur to Amanvah. “This is no place for you.”
I step forward. “Lower your weapons!” I do not wish to harm my brother, but neither will I retreat or stand aside, and all can see it in my flat aura and defiant posture. “I offered my brothers a chance to challenge me, and I will not be forsworn.”
“The half-blood son of Ahmann speaks true!” Asome calls to the Sharum around us. “This is Domin Sharum! If Olive am’Paper kills me this day and dons the crown, you are honor-bound to follow your new Shar’Dama Ka!”
Domin Sharum. Literally “two warriors.” It means a fight to the death, often over a blood debt or leadership position.
Asome turns a derisive eye to me. “Will you say the same, sibling?”
It’s a trap, and it isn’t. The idea of Asome murdering me and my people following him is abhorrent, and I don’t know if they would, no matter what I command.
But they must, if the world is to live. No matter what happens here, the demon queen is coming. If we are not unified when she does…
“I have no interest in killing you, brother,” I reply. “I am sworn to spend my life on alagai talons, and if you were a true Evejan, you would say the same. Your exile has not taught you honor, or humility, as I once thought.”
Something ripples in Asome’s placid aura at that. I know I have gotten to him, but I don’t know if the anger will make him careless, or if I have only worsened my defeat.
Before he can respond, I break eye contact, turning a full circle to take in the crowd. “The Father of Demons is coming! Even my brother has foreseen it! He will ride atop a new demon queen, escorted by every alagai that remains, from mountain to the sea! I have faced him firsthand, and know it to be true!”
I clash my spear against my shield, the boom echoing off the cavern walls. “No matter what happens this day, when he comes, you must stand united! All the world depends on it!”
Jaavi shouts something in the language of the deep and clashes his own weapons. In response, the alamen fae do the same. The Sharum are quick to do the same, but Gared is staring hard at me, shaking his head just a little.
I face him and clash my spear and shield again, louder. “Sharak Ka is bigger than our pride! Hollow leaves no one to the demons!”
Gared turns red in the face, even as his aura goes a sickly purple, turning in on itself. I think he will shame us both by arguing, but instead he bangs his mighty two-headed axe against the huge machete that has hacked away coreling limbs by the hundred.
That’s it, really. There’s no great ceremony to Domin Sharum. The combatants state their grievances before witnesses, and then they fight.
Asome approaches me unarmed and shirtless, but there is no rule that requires I meet him on the same terms. Indeed, the drillmasters would call a boy a fool for suggesting he give up advantage in a fight.
I eye my spear and shield. Are they an advantage? Asome will be light and inhumanly fast. The shield offers cover, but in close my brother will be able to turn its straps against me. My spear offers reach, but if Asome can seize the shaft, he’ll be able to redirect my strength and momentum. My Tazhan armor will absorb his punches and kicks, but its weight will be to his advantage in a pin, and the collar can be used to choke.
Sharusahk teaches nothing, if not ways to choke.
But what is my alternative? Drop my weapons and strip down to the binding on my breasts, giving up the fighting styles in which I am most practiced to pit my sharusahk against a grandmaster?
Sharak Ka is bigger than pride. I stride forward, weapons in hand.
Asome’s aura has returned to its cold focus. I can feel him trying to Read me, to predict what I will do and prepare counters that will bring the fight to a swift conclusion. That is what a grandmaster does.
But I am no sharusahk master. My training came in the Maze, where sharusahk was no art, it was a constant struggle against death. Things happen, and you react. If you are fast enough, strong enough, you get to live. I don’t know what I will do until Asome attacks. Maybe, just maybe, my reaction will surprise him.
We begin to circle, but Asome rushes in suddenly, throwing a high kick. I raise my shield to block and whip my spear in behind to sweep his other leg. The rising shield crosses my field of vision for little more than the blink of an eye, but in that moment, Asome seems to disappear.
My spear strikes only air, and then Asome’s arm hooks my shield from below. His other hand appears at the top, and he twists to roll the shield across his back, using my momentum to power the throw.
Exactly as I feared. I slip my arm from the straps and roll the other way. I escape the throw, but as if it was all part of a choreographed dance, Asome completes his spin and hurls the shield at me like a discus. I get my spear up in time to deflect it, but lose track of Asome again in that momentary distraction.
I turn with my guard up just in time. Asome comes in fast with a push-kick that breaks the wooden shaft of my spear in half and connects solidly with my chest. It might have broken ribs, but my alagai-scale ripples outward from the blow as the force is absorbed and distributed.
Still, the kick knocks me from my feet. I grip the halves of my spear, swinging them wildly at Asome’s dancing legs, keeping him back while I roll to my feet.
Again there is no hesitation as Asome comes in. Perhaps he expects me to meet him in sharusahk at last, but we spent hours and hours learning Majah stick fighting in sharaj. I beat the broken shafts at him like sticks to a drum, constantly changing the angle of attack, moving faster and faster as I find my footing at last.
Both sides are cheering now. Asome moves like a snake, his spine impossibly limber as he avoids most of the strikes and picks the remainder off with flat hands. I wait for him to grasp one. I will be ready this time when he tries to turn my strength against me.
He doesn’t take the bait, instead hooking my arm and leaping to wrap his legs around my throat. It happens so fast I don’t have time to stop him, and he whips his body, using his own weight in an attempt to snap my neck.
It’s his first mistake. Asome may be Drawing power to enhance his strength, but he isn’t used to it. Planted on the ground, Asome can likely match me muscle for muscle, but off the ground, he has only his weight and momentum, and I’m stronger than that. My neck holds where another would have broken, and I rise to my full height, turning in sync with the throw as I bash the bottom shaft of my spear into his head.
“Ay, that’s how you do it!” Gared roars.
Charged as he is, Asome is spared a cracked skull, but he opens his legs, relinquishing the hold to roll away and regroup.
I don’t give him the time, charging in as he did, pressing the attack with my broken spear halves. I batter him with the club end and stab with the blade, but again Asome’s skill comes to tell. The long blade at the end of my spear comes close enough to shave, but never does so much as cut his skin.
Then, with a sudden catch and twist, Asome has the blade end, and I’m on the defensive. Before I can adjust, he’s in close again, this time keeping his feet firmly planted as he trips me to the ground.
My brother goes down with me, but he’s always in control, threading his arms through my defenses like Darin Bales when he’s slippery, until he finds a hold.
And because a master presses every advantage, that hold is the collar of my armor.
Tazhan alagai-scale is incredibly flexible when accepting blunt force, or conforming to my movements, but it’s hard as warded glass against a spearpoint or talon. Asome has worked around behind me, pulling the collar taut with one hand and pressing my throat into it with the other.
It’s terribly effective, which is why the drillmasters and dama put such emphasis on it. Most every sharusahk battle ends up with submission or unconsciousness. I catch one last breath, but Asome isn’t just stealing my breath, he’s stealing my blood, crushing the artery that supplies my brain.
Already I am feeling the effect, as Asome easily wraps his legs around mine, keeping me from getting leverage. He’s caught my right arm in his hold, and my left isn’t in a position to strike at him. I pull at his arm, but here on the ala, my brother is as strong as I am. Things start to go cloudy at the edge of my vision.
It’s Asome’s second mistake, and it will be his last. He calls me sibling, but like so many, he sees only a Sharum. A prince who is a threat to his succession. He doesn’t know about my hanzhar, or the endless forms I practiced under Favah, secrets no man has ever been taught.
I heave, and Asome allows it, no doubt thinking it my last, desperate effort to break his unbreakable hold. Like a bull rider at a Solstice Festival, he lets himself be thrown up, knowing his grip is secure.
But the move was just a cover so I could thrust my left hand across my body and into a seam in my armor to grasp the handle of my hanzhar. Thick veins stand out on my brother’s arm, targets calling to its edge. He’s reached the apex of my heave, and when he comes down I will…
There’s a bang, and a soft, wet thump. Asome’s grip weakens, and he falls away, blood coming from his mouth and spurting from the hole just above his collarbone.
“No!” I scream, looking back to see Rhinebeck lowering his smoking rifle with shaking hands, his eyes wide with fear.
When it is put to the test, Amanvah said, that one’s courage will fail.
For a moment, no one does anything.
Then, with a primal cry of outrage, a group of Sharum raise their spears and charge Rhinebeck.
It’s hard to blame them. I’m ready to punch him myself. I could have won that fight. Taken the crown with honor and left my brother alive as our united force marched on the great csar.
Instead, we are shattered. Better Asome had killed me and taken the crown for himself, than this.
The Royal Angierian Flamework Corps are ready to defend their prince, and their weapons fill the air with fury. Bullets punch through Sharum shields, dropping warriors in mid-stride, but there are more where that came from. Domin Sharum is one of the Evejah’s most sacred rituals, and the Krasians are outraged at the violation.
I want to put a stop to it, but Asome is bleeding out in front of me. I was ready to kill him myself if need be, but I cannot allow it now. I reach into my herb pouch, pulling out gauze I press into the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
“Gatherer!” I scream. “Amanvah!”
Gared and the Cutters are in the scrum now, pressing in to surround me and Asome, even as I hear sounds of pitched battle outside the protective ring. With every second, it is spreading.
Again and again those awful flamework weapons smoke and boom, and I curse myself for ever seeking their power. Mother was right. It is power without discipline. Without mercy. Many Krasians believe to kill from afar is to kill without honor, to you or the foe.
If the budding Hollow Flamework Corps follows suit, it will be a slaughter.
Amanvah appears, pulling my hands away. She pushes a cloth into my hands. “Clean your hands. You cannot risk having Asome’s blood on you when the lock activates.”
“The lock…?” I look up and see Amanvah holding out the crown again.
I swat it away. “The crown can wait. Asome is bleeding—”
“It cannot wait!” Amanvah snaps. “None of this would have happened if you had simply taken it when it was offered! Now your army is tearing itself apart and you are the only one who can stop it!”
I look at the crown doubtfully. The Krasians will never accept me wearing it now, even if the betrayal isn’t mine.
Still Amanvah thrusts it at me. “Put it on, before it is too late.”
I can hear Asome choking on his own blood. He thrashes on the ground. “He’s your brother!” I cry. “Save him!”
Amanvah lifts her veil and spits. “My brothers have done nothing but vex the throne and undermine Sharak Ka since they took their first steps. Asome’s greed and pride have brought him to this end.”
She shoves the crown at me a third time, and this time I grasp her wrist and keep her from rolling away as I slap her across the face. I take the crown and let her fall away, stunned. Her cheek is already reddening, and I worry I may have hit too hard, but it cannot be helped.
“Dama’ting understand many things,” I say, “but honor is not one of them. If Asome dies, the Sharum will never truly follow me. Save him for Sharak Ka, if a sister’s love is not enough.”
Amanvah glares. Has anyone ever dared strike this woman, since she put on the white? I wonder if I’ve gone too far, but I’m too angry to care. She touches her warded choker, hissing words that glide to my ears alone. “Put it on and I will save him, though you are a fool and will regret the choice.”
