The Daylight War (111 page)

At a thought, one of his mimics lashed out, wrapping a tentacle around the prince’s throat and hauling him in close. The consort did not change his stance, but he readied his power. If they were to strike in unison, it would be now.

But the others stood frozen. They might hate the consort even more than the day star, but they hated one another as well, and none would risk his own life without assurance of victory.

The consort caressed the knobbed skin of the prince’s cranium.
You
have
given
your
reports, but have not told all. Did you think me a fool?

The young mind struggled, no match for the mimic’s strength. His cranium pulsed, attempting to seize control of the drone, but the consort’s will was second only to that of the Queen herself. The mimic tightened the tentacle around the prince’s throat, and his efforts to escape ceased.

What
happened
the
night
your
brother
died?
the consort asked.

We
captured
the
unifier
,
the prince admitted, drawing a hiss from his cohort. The princes sent south tensed at the words, craniums pulsing as they conversed.

Then
why
is
your
brother
gone
while
the
unifier
continues
to
kill
drones
and
draw
humans
to
serve
him?
the consort demanded.

We
walked
his
mind
to
learn
of
his
power
,
the prince thought,
but
he
escaped
before
we
could
bring
him
to
you.

A
second
lie?
the consort asked. The prince’s lidless eyes widened, but he had no time to protest before the mimic slashed a talon, opening his cranium wide. The consort reached inside, tearing bits of the prince’s mind, feeding as the others watched with horror and jealousy mingled in their auras.

As he fed, the memories and will of the prince transferred to him, and he learned in an instant everything they had taken from the unifier’s mind. The consort was nearly overwhelmed by the pleasure and power of it. He had feasted on the minds of his brethren numerous times over the millennia, and it never failed to leave him dizzy with strength. Outside, the prince’s mimic shrieked and began to lose cohesion.

The consort looked to the other prince that had shared in the deception. He stood frozen with fear, no doubt wondering if he would share his brother’s fate.

Go
,
the consort ordered, and the prince did not question his fortune, backing quickly out of the cave and fleeing to the Core, taking his mimic with him.

The other two princes stood motionless as the consort digested the memories of their brother. One licked his teeth, looking at the broken cranium.

The consort was shocked to learn that the unifier had stolen much of his power by consuming drones. He had not known it was possible for the surface stock to store Core magic in their bodies and learn to Draw. It seemed as impossible as a rock drone debating philosophy, but there was no denying it.

And now he knew, too, the answer to the question that had drawn them all to the surface in the first place. The fighting wards had been found buried in the sand to the south.

The
Northern
unifier
has
stolen
a
bit
of
our
power, but I have his measure now
,
he thought to the others.
There
is
nothing
he
can
do
we
cannot. We must simply devise the right lure to draw him off his greatwards.

No
mind
would
be
so
foolish
,
one of the princes thought.

This
one
has
foolishness
to
spare
,
the consort assured him.
He
is
not
nearly
as
evolved
as
he
thinks, and he has led us to the source of the uprising.
He sent a mental image of the lost city of the last unifier.

We
must
go
there
on
the
next
cycle
and
grind
every
last
stone
to
powder
,
the consort thought.
I
will
shit
on
the
unifier’s corpse myself, for the trouble he caused us.

The other minds gave their agreement, and the consort met their eyes, letting them see him in the fullness of power.

Open
your
minds
to
me
,
he ordered. It was not something he would dare back in the mind court, but these princes knew well that they would never see the court again if they did not comply, and it was a better fate by far than having their minds consumed. As one, they lowered their defences, letting the consort sift their memories of the last three nights.

They had been in contact with their brother when the heir appeared, wearing the cursed crown and driving his vicious weapon into the prince’s chest.

The consort felt a chill of fear as he relived the memory. The
Northerner was powerful, but his power was no more than the
weakest of princelings. The heir had done what he feared most and unlocked the full power of the artefacts.

He had become the mind hunter, like the withered corpse out in the desert.

How many of the consort’s brethren and ancestors had fallen before that one? The Queen herself had not been alive then, but he was. He had been juvenile and weak, surviving more by luck than cunning, but he remembered well the terror that permeated the air of the mind court.

The consort dismissed the others with a nod, letting them flee the surface before gathering his mimics and riding the currents of the vent back to the Core.

The heir must be killed quickly, before he could set up a dynasty.

‘I
have taken the
alagai
princes’ measure,’ Ahmann said, ‘and found them wanting.’ He pointed to the foot of the dais. The curtains of his throne room had been pulled tight and the room lit by oil lamps that he might display the bulbous head of the demon prince, staked there. He had ordered Abban to commission masons to brick the windows permanently.

His counsellors had taken it in turn to stare into the huge bulbous black eyes of their enemy, each hiding his revulsion behind a forced scoff of derision. Abban could not blame them. The demon was not nearly so large or full of teeth and claws as many of its other brethren, but its otherworldly stare was unnerving. Its high conical head, vestigial horns, and almost gentle features were not those of a mindless killer. It was a thinker. A planner.

Not for the first time, Abban thanked Everam that he was a crippled
khaffit
and denied the night.

He adjusted his camel crutch into a more comfortable position as his friend gave the speech the two of them had so carefully prepared. Though he often stood on the dais where he could advise his master, they had agreed that for this decree Abban should remain on the floor, that none should suspect his involvement. Ahmann would get his way regardless, but the clerics would fall into line much more quickly if they thought the plans were coming from the Shar’Dama Ka and not a spineless
khaffit
.

They
think
me
spineless, but I can make them dance like puppets.
He kept his eyes respectfully down, but he had learned to see much in periphery watching the clerics as Ahmann spoke.

‘But we must not grow complacent,’ Ahmann went on. ‘The return of the sons of Alagai Ka signals the beginning of Sharak Ka, and Sharak Ka cannot be won until Sharak Sun is brought to a close. The
alagai
cannot break our defences, but they can wear them down, burning fields and killing livestock until we are too weak to fight, even as the greenlanders gird themselves against us. To win both wars, we must continue to expand, bringing the Northern cities one by one under Evejan law, levying their men and confiscating their resources.’

Damaji Aleverak nodded. ‘The Daylight War must be won, and we grow soft in Everam’s Bounty.’

‘Agreed,’ Ashan said. Technically he spoke for the council, but all knew he was Ahmann’s puppet. Aleverak was the oldest and most venerated of the
Damaji
,
the only man who had fought Ahmann for the Skull Throne and lived to speak of it. All treated the ancient cleric with deference, and his words were given enormous weight.

This was why Ahmann, when he met with them privately earlier in the day, ordered Aleverak to speak first, and Ashan second.

Ahmann thumped the butt of his spear on the dais. ‘We will attack Lakton in two months.’ On cue, Abban furrowed his brow and pursed his lips.

‘You frown,
khaffit
,
’ Ahmann said. ‘Do you doubt the wisdom of my plan?’

All eyes turned to Abban, and he pretended to wilt under their glare. No doubt everyone in the room was praying for him to say something foolish that would cost him his favour with the Shar’Dama Ka.

It was, Abban had to admit, a valid concern. He knew full well that should he ever publicly fall from Ahmann’s favour, every man in the room – not to mention the Damajah herself – would move immediately to dominate or kill him.

‘The Deliverer’s wisdom exceeds my own,’ Abban said, adding just the right bit of snivelling to his tone. ‘But your forces are stretched thin attempting to hold the land you have already taken. The cost—’

‘Do not listen to the cowardly words of this pig-eating
khaffit
,
Father,’ Jayan cut in. ‘He spoke against your attack on Everam’s Bounty, as well.’ The other
Damaji
nodded, muttering their agreement.

Pig-eating
khaffit
is
redundant, you idiot
,
Abban thought.
Khaffit
literally meant ‘pig-eater’, for the Evejah forbade the eating of pork, and poor
khaffit
could often afford no other meat. Abban’s lip twitched imperceptibly as he resisted the urge to smirk. No man in this room had the slightest idea what they were missing. Pigs were such delicious animals, denied to all men simply because Kaji’s half brother had poisoned a suckling and set it before the Deliverer three thousand years ago. Kaji’s legendary strength had resisted death, but he had – most likely in a moment of pique after spending hours on the commode – declared pig unclean, denying countless generations of fools their sweet, tender meat.

His mouth watered. He would have suckling pig tonight, and then have one of his wives spill his seed in some manner the clerics had seen fit to forbid.

He looked at Jayan, unsurprised at the eager look in the young Sharum Ka’s eyes. The boy was little more than an animal, enjoying conquest and plunder too much, and ruling too little. Killing men was far easier than killing
alagai
,
and killing soft greenlanders easiest of all. Easy victories to add to his quite lacking list of accomplishments.

He resisted the urge to shake his head. An accident of birth had dropped all the power and opportunity anyone could ever dream of in Jayan’s hands, and all he could think of was the size of his palace, and new ways for his toadies to flatter him.

Asome and Asukaji kept their faces blank, but the two men had a language all their own – an elaborate mixture of subtle stances and gestures the lovers had no doubt concocted in the pillows – that allowed them to hold whole conversations without anyone around them knowing.

Abban, after watching them for months, had only deciphered a fraction of the code, but he could guess the current content well enough. There were advantages and disadvantages to being left behind while his father and brother went off to war. Ashan would speak for the council, the
Damaji
ruling in concert with the Damajah in the Deliverer’s absence, but while the glory would go to those in the field, there was much Asome could do to increase his own power while they were gone.

‘And you, Asome?’ Jardir asked.

Asome bowed ever so slightly in his elder brother’s direc
tion. ‘I agree, Father. The time to strike is now. The
khaffit
’s concerns are not without merit, but they are small things in Everam’s great plan. You have lost much of the harvest to the
alagai
,
and those losses will mount. Taking more territory will mitigate this.’