The Core by Peter V. Brett
There was truth in her, but the qualifier stuck with Leesha. “And the dama?”
“Halvan is arrogant,” Favah said, “but he loved Ahmann Jardir like a brother. The dice say he will not harm the child of his friend.”
“The Sharum?” Leesha pressed.
Favah shrugged. “I cannot vouchsafe every man, woman, and child in Krasia. I can only tell you the dama’ting will protect your…daughter like one of our own.”
Leesha rocked her chair back. Again, a qualifier. “I think it time for proper introductions. Amanvah promised a single dama’ting to come in her stead. Instead we are sent three.”
“Damaji’ting Amanvah advised the Damajah to send a minimum of one,” Favah agreed. “The Damajah in her wisdom decided the Hollow Tribe would be better served by three.”
The old woman indicated the young dama’ting next to her with a bony finger. “Dama’ting Shaselle trained in the dama’ting underpalace with the Damajah.”
Not young, then, Leesha thought. Inevera was older than Ahmann, in her forties at least. Leesha once thought it was paint that kept the Damajah’s skin smooth. She realized now it was the hora that kept dama’ting young.
Her eyes flicked back to withered Favah. Just how old was the woman?
“Shaselle will teach at your Gatherers’ Academy,” Favah said. “She will be given a title commensurate with her status and the importance of the material, and she alone will determine who she instructs. The secrets of the dama’ting are not some dal’ting herb lore to bandy about.”
Leesha’s nostrils flared as she drew a deep breath. “I will make her mistress of Krasian studies. She will have a clerical staff and her pick of the women Amanvah had begun instructing to apprentice.”
Favah nodded.
“She will also prepare curriculum for general education classes on basic Krasian medicine, warding, and sharusahk,” Leesha said.
“Sharusahk was not part of the agreement,” Favah said. “The secrets of…”
Leesha rocked her chair forward, cutting the old woman off with the squeak. Ire rose in the old woman’s aura, but Leesha began rocking back and forth in a soothing rhythm, making it difficult for her to claim insult.
“I’m not interested in the horrid ways you’ve designed to cripple and kill humans,” Leesha said. “I’ve felt it firsthand. What I want is for my Gatherers to have the skills to evade harm if they must draw near the battlefield to tend the wounded.”
Favah held Leesha’s eyes a long moment, her aura cooling. “Very well. Shaselle will see to it.”
Leesha nodded. “She will be answerable only to myself and Headmistress Darsy.”
“Nie take me before I take orders from that uneducated cow,” Shaselle hissed to Favah in Krasian. The words were too fast for Elona, Wonda, and Darsy to follow, but Favah, whose eyes never left Leesha’s, could tell she understood.
“Unaccept—”
The old woman was again cut off by the creak as Leesha resumed her rocking. She turned to Shaselle, locking eyes with the woman, but her words, spoken in Krasian, were for Favah. “She will report to Headmistress Darsy, or she will march her silk-covered bottom back to Krasia and tell Amanvah she thinks too much of herself to keep her Damaji’ting’s promises to me.”
There was indignation on Shaselle’s unveiled face, but her aura blanched with fear at the words. “You may petition me, if you have concerns,” Leesha shifted smoothly back to Thesan so the others could hear, “but you will find I have little more patience than I did with the men. We have less than a week before new moon. Sharak Ka comes first.”
In their custom, the Krasian women all bowed at the words. The Thesans, even Elona, mirrored them and repeated the phrase.
“Sharak Ka comes first.”
“Dama’ting Jaia.” Favah gestured to the youngest priestess.
Jaia bowed. “Damaji’ting Amanvah and I were in our bidos together in the dama’ting underpalace. She has told me much of her love and respect for your people.”
Perhaps twenty, then, Leesha guessed. Jaia’s face was soft with real youth, not the unnatural thirty of Shaselle and Inevera. Like Amanvah, her aura was calm—even. A woman who was never truly allowed to be a girl.
“Like Dama Halvan, Jaia is here to provide healing and guidance to the Krasian women living in the Hollow. She will report to me alone.”
Elona snorted. “Got her work cut out for her.” Leesha shot her a glance, but the damage was done.
Favah nodded. “I am to understand there have been some…irregularities?”
Leesha wondered if it was the dice or the servants at Rojer’s manse that informed her. “Many of the widows of new moon witnessed Arlen Bales rise into the sky and smite the demon princes with lightning. Bereft after the loss of their husbands, many have come to name him Deliverer. They have taken their children to an…enclave of like-minded folk.”
“The so-called Warded Children,” Favah noted. “One of the more…spectacular failures of your reckless experimentation with magic.”
“Perhaps,” Leesha conceded. “But I cannot say I would have done much differently, given the choice again. The Warded Children are powerful, and have pledged to protect us when Waning comes. Sharak Ka comes first.”
She expected the women to bow and repeat the phrase, but it seemed that trick could only be played once. Favah lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps.”
Leesha couldn’t argue. Renna said the Children could be counted upon come new moon, but she remembered the wild look in Stela’s eye and still had doubts.
“The remaining Krasian women in the Hollow look to Shamavah,” Leesha told Jaia. “Her Krasian bazaar and inn employs most of them.”
“The khaffit’s wife and her uses are known to us.” Favah gave a dismissive wave of her hand before pointing to Micha. The girl was short for a Krasian, with wide hips. The youth on her face was real. “Micha vah Ahmann vah Thalaja is half sister to your daughter. She is here to care for the child.”
There was a clink of porcelain as Tarisa busied herself at the tea station, but it might as well have been a shattering clash from the normally silent woman. Every Thesan woman tensed at the mention of Olive.
Leesha turned to meet Micha’s eyes, but the girl avoided her gaze, slipping from her seat to kneel, head down, hands on the floor.
Leesha did not hide her annoyance at the dramatic show of submission. “How old are you, child?”
“Old enough to marry, should a worthy suitor be found,” Favah said.
“Speak to my mother if you want to discuss marriage peddling.” Leesha kept her eyes on Micha as she switched back to Krasian, her words a sharp command. “Sit back in your seat, girl. Look me in the eye, and speak for yourself.”
Micha immediately returned to her seat and met Leesha’s eyes. The submission was gone, replaced by a flat stare that would do any house cat proud. “Sixteen, Countess.”
“Call me mistress,” Leesha said. “Do you have experience in childcare?”
Some of the confidence in Micha’s aura drained away. “No, mistress, but I learn quickly.”
“You are Sharum’ting?” Leesha asked. Micha hesitated, glancing to Favah, but Leesha checked the move with a creak of her chair, switching back to Krasian. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. If I am to allow you near my child, I am your mistress now, Micha. Not Favah. Not Inevera. Me. Is that clear?”
Micha slipped back to the floor, but there was no performance in the submission now. “It is clear, mistress. I swear it by Everam and my hope of Heaven. I am kai’Sharum’ting.”
“You trained with Sikvah, under Enkido,” Leesha guessed.
Micha nodded. “My cousin is Sharum’ting Ka now, and selected me personally for this task. My half sister will come to no harm.”
“Corespawned right,” Wonda growled. “That’s my lookout, not yours.”
Micha looked up at her, the focus back. She bowed. “Even you cannot protect our mistress and her child day and night, Wonda vah Flinn am’Cutter
Wonda had been leaning in aggressively, but the words seemed to mollify her, as the truth in Micha’s aura did for Leesha.
Leesha nodded. “When I am not present, you will report to Wonda and Tarisa.”
Favah could not contain herself. “The slave?!”
Tarisa arched her back, and there was steel in her eyes as well. “I beg your pardon?”
“No slaves in Thesa,” Elona said. “Before that girl is allowed anywhere near my grandchild, she’ll need to know how to change a nappy with one hand and hold a bottle with the other while singing and rocking a cradle.”
“Tarisa is the head of my household staff,” Leesha added. “If you do not meet her standards, I will ask Sikvah to send another of her spear sisters.”
Micha touched her forehead to the floor. “Yes, mistress.”
“You will not report doings in my private chambers to anyone,” Leesha said. “Not the dama’ting, not the Damajah herself. If I find you have done so, you will be ejected from service immediately.”
Micha made no effort to mask her aura. She did not like the conditions, but she would abide by them. “Yes, mistress.” She bowed again. “I am also commanded to seek out Kendall Demonsong.”
This was a surprise. “You can sing like Sikvah?”
Micha smiled. “We used to call Sikvah the warbler. None could have foreseen the day her singing would be the standard to which Everam’s spear sisters are held.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Leesha said. “Kendall is my herald; you’ll see her often enough. If your singing is anything near your boasts, you may find your song is more powerful than your weapons in the night.”
Leesha turned back to Favah. “So it falls to you to instruct me in the use of the alagai hora.”
All the Krasian women had been trained to veil their emotions, but the auras of the younger women went cold at the words. Favah hadn’t told them this part.
“I instructed the Damajah in the Chamber of Shadows,” Favah said. “There is none in all Krasia who has spent more years pondering the mysteries of the dice.”
“Excellent,” Leesha said. “We will pick up immediately where Amanvah and I left off. I have read the scrolls of prophecy, and have questions about…”
“I advised against training you,” Favah went on. “Amanvah exceeded her authority.”
Leesha felt her fingers tighten on the teacup. “Nevertheless, your Damaji’ting and I have a pact.”
“A pact the Damajah is well within her rights to overrule,” Favah noted. “The alagai hora are not some puzzle box for idle women; they are a glimpse at the infinite. Dama’ting train entire lifetimes just to scratch the surface of their divine power.”
Leesha set down her cup, resisting the urge to cross her arms.
“The Damajah, in her wisdom, has decided to honor her daughter’s oath,” Favah said, “and so I will teach you, but we will begin where all nie’dama’ting do. You must destroy your dice and begin carving a set from clay.”
Leesha smiled. “And then a set of wood? A set of ivory? And then months in darkness, carving them in bone?”
Favah nodded. “I see we understand each other.”
“I’m afraid not.” Leesha slid her cup and saucer out of the way, spreading her spotless white napkin on the table. She reached into a pocket of her dress, pulling out seven carved pieces of demon bone.
She produced a surgical blade and made a small, precise cut on her hand, rolling the dice in the blood. “Creator, giver of life and light, your child needs answers.” She looked at Favah. “Will Dama’ting Favah am’Kaji honor my agreement with Amanvah, in spirit and letter, or will she take her ripping delegation back to Everam’s Bounty at dawn tomorrow?”
The dice began to glow, and when the magic built to a flare, Leesha threw. All three dama’ting looked aghast to see an outsider perform the ritual, but none could resist leaning forward as the dice spun to unnatural stops.
“I think I can read the answer, honored Dama’ting,” she said. “But pray, tell me what you, in your venerable wisdom, can see?”
Favah grit her teeth, eyes flicking to the younger priestesses. “Very well…mistress. We will begin instruction after I have seen the child.”
Leesha studied the old woman’s aura for a long time before nodding.
—
Her riding trousers creaked as Leesha called a halt. She knew many of the Cutter women adored the things, but Leesha had never cared for them, or even the divided skirts many of the Hollow women had taken to wearing.
But the outer edges of the Hollow’s greatwards were too far to walk any reasonable amount of time, especially with ancient Favah in tow. Pestle—one of many gifts of friendship Amanvah sent with the delegation—was a sleek purebred Krasian charger. The battle-trained stallion was confused by skirts, but in trousers was responsive to the slightest squeeze of her legs, ready in an instant to leap or run.
Leesha’s blue riding coat was long, and worked with thin plates of warded glass. It was a bit stiff from high neck to tapering waist, then flared broadly to cover the back of her horse. Its many pockets were sewn with the unbreakable glass as well, housing herbs and hora. Her wand was secured to her belt in easy reach.
Sitting atop Promise and Rockslide, Wonda and Gared towered like thick trees at her back. Next to her, Darsy rode Pestle’s mate, Mortar. The mare was half a hand shorter than Pestle, but Darsy Cutter still sat a head taller than Leesha.
Nonetheless, the Krasians to her left made her nervous. Favah was not one to wear trousers or sit atop a horse. She was carried across the Hollow on a palanquin borne by six muscular eunuchs in Sharum black, their wrists and ankles bound in golden shackles. The men ran in perfect unison, easily keeping pace with the horses. None was breathing hard as they set the palanquin down and opened the curtains for the ancient dama’ting.
The six slaves were a gesture of defiance from Favah, a reminder that she would not be bullied, even if she had agreed to Leesha’s terms.
There is no slavery in the Hollow, Favah had been told, but she paraded the men before the Hollowers, daring a confrontation.
Leesha knew better than to take the bait. The men, mutilated and conditioned by the dama’ting, did not wish for freedom. Indeed, their auras sang with pride. In addition to their mistress’ weight, the men carried spears and shields of warded glass, and Creator only knew how many other weapons about their person. If Leesha or anyone else tried to free them, there would be blood.
She breathed, letting the insult drift away as she swung down from the saddle. Up ahead, a group of engineers worked on the new armament, scorpions and rock-slingers of Krasian design.
“Your people adapt quickly,” Favah noted. “Everam’s Bounty fell easily, for lack of scorpions.”
“As did Prince Jayan’s army, for lack of flamework weapons,” Leesha reminded her. “Wars have a way of escalating the worst in us.”
Erny, working with the engineers, caught sight of them and waved, wiping ink-stained fingers as he moved to join them.
“Father, this is Dama’ting Favah am’Kaji,” Leesha said.
Erny’s bow was smooth and respectfully deep. “Welcome, Dama’ting. I am honored to meet you.” His Krasian was progressing rapidly.
“The honor is mine,” Favah said, again bowing deeper than she deigned to for Leesha. “Your name is spoken with honor in Krasia, Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”
Erny puffed at the flattery, and Leesha gave him a moment to enjoy it, chatting amiably in Krasian with the dama’ting.
“Your honored daughter tells me we are here to witness some new adaptation of your wondrous greatward,” Favah said.
“Ah, well,” Erny shuffled his feet, “most of the credit for that goes to my Leesha and Arlen Bales, who plotted the first greatwards.”
“My father is being modest,” Leesha said. “Tonight’s display will be of his work alone.”
<
“When the demons attacked on Waning, they threw great stones and trees to crush resistance and to mar the shape of the greatward, weakening it enough for them to cross the forbidding.”
“A benefit of walls your ‘greatward’ lacks,” Favah agreed.
“Lacked.” Erny’s voice hardened. He easily tolerated personal condescension—a lifetime with Elona had burned that from him—but never about his work. “We can now resist most bombardment.”
“Most?” Leesha asked.
Erny turned, signaling to a sling team stationed outside the forbidding. A company of Cutters surrounded them, eyes facing the woods, searching for demons fool enough to draw this close.
The engineers signaled back and loosed the counterweight, the sling arm whipping about to pitch a boulder the size of a woodshed in a high arc, aiming for a cleared section of land inside the greatward.
But the greatward flared on impact, and the stone shattered against it.
Favah blinked. “You added impact wards.” The ancient woman squinted. “The men cross the forbidding easily enough. What is the equation?”
Now it was Erny’s turn to blink. He was used to struggling to explain even the basics of warding. He recovered himself and produced a slate, plotting out the equation that sized and spaced the impact wards to only affect large objects moving at certain speeds.
“Useless against stingers,” Favah noted.
“We don’t anticipate demons using scorpions, even on new moon,” Erny noted. “Bigger worry is the debris.” He pointed to where there was still a settling cloud of dust from the shattered stone, and large chunks of it lay on the cleared ground inside the ward.
“It will be confined to the outer edges of the forbidding,” Leesha said. “We can evacuate those areas.”
Erny nodded. “Brigades of Warders and engineers will be on call to clear any debris that threatens to weaken the wards.”
Favah continued to study the equation. “The power drain is enormous.”
“Ay.” Erny blew out a breath. “The greatward can handle the drain, mostly.”
“There’s that word again,” Leesha said.