The Core

  Sikvah knelt again, slipping the bright spear and mirrored shield from her back. They were glass treated with electrum, forged and warded by Inevera herself. Sikvah stripped herself of rings and bracelets, anklets, necklace, and choker. All of them shone bright with power, the intricate script of his wife and daughter glowing white in crownsight.

  “For such a quest, my spear sister must have the finest weapons and equipment, Deliverer,” Sikvah said. “I would be honored if you would give these to her with my love and blessing.”

  Jardir laid a hand on her shoulder. “With pride, Sharum’ting Ka, it will be done.”

  “Tell her the Song of Waning will protect her in the night,” Amanvah said. “If her voice is strong, it will protect you all, as you walk the path to Nie’s abyss.”

  Jardir nodded. “The son of Jessum saw what we had forgotten. Preserved in the ancient songs of prayer to Everam is true power against Nie. When we join him in Heaven, we will find your husband seated at Everam’s table.”

  Fresh tears met the words, but there was little time for weeping. They all knelt on pillows in a ring facing one another. Inevera’s wards were strong, but Jardir took no chances, raising the crown’s protective field as well.

  “Mistress Leesha has given birth to your child, Father,” Amanvah said. “I delivered the babe myself.”

  Leesha’s letter told him of the child, but this was news. His eyes flicked to Inevera, but her aura remained serene.

  “I cast the dice in the child’s birthing blood, Father,” Amanvah said.

  Jardir clenched a fist and had to embrace the sudden tension. He had dozens of children. Why did the fate of this one matter so much to him? “What did you see?”

  “Potential,” Amanvah said.

  “All Everam’s children have potential,” Jardir said.

  “Potential to be Shar’Dama Ka,” Inevera cut in. “Potential to save the world, or doom it.”

  Jardir looked from Inevera to Amanvah and back. “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as anything the dice can tell,” Amanvah said.

  “Our daughter has a keen eye, beloved,” Inevera said. “I examined the pattern myself. The child is like you—like the Par’chin.”

  “A Deliverer,” Jardir said.

  “Deliverers are made,” Inevera said. “The question is, can we trust your chin heasah to teach the child what it must know?”

  “Do not call Leesha Paper that,” Jardir snapped. The words struck Inevera’s aura like a lash, but it could not be helped. “She is the mother of my child, a worthy foe of Nie, and has stymied your attempts to kill or silence her more than once. You need not show her love, or kindness, but by Everam she has earned your respect.”

  Inevera’s jaw tightened, but she bowed. “I apologize, beloved. When it comes to your greenland jiwah…”

  Jardir held up a hand. “I understand, beloved. You have no reason to feel otherwise. But Sharak Ka is upon us, and we must rise above such things and forge peace with our Northern cousins, if humanity is to survive.”

  “Of course.” Inevera breathed deeply, her center returning. “I will make peace with my Northern…zahven, even as you have with yours.”

  Zahven. The word meant “rival,” but it meant “equal,” as well. It was the first time Inevera had acknowledged Leesha Paper as such, and he knew the admission cost her deeply.

  “A child belongs with its mother,” Jardir said. “And Olive will be safer away from Krasian scheming. Even if Asome finds his honor again, there would be many who would seek to exploit the child.”

  “Or slay it,” Inevera agreed.

  “But that does not mean we cannot send tutors,” Jardir said. “And bodyguards. Those the dice tell you can be trusted to know the honor they carry.”

  “Olive will be raised a girl,” Amanvah said. “We can plant a Sharum’ting in disguise by her side, a secret guardian much as Sikvah served for me.”

  Jardir looked to Sikvah. “Who do you recommend?”

  “Micha,” Sikvah said without hesitation. “She is eldest, next to me, Sharum blood of the Deliverer and half sister to Olive Paper. She will guard the child with her life, and teach her to defend herself.”

  “Very well.” Jardir nodded, looking to Inevera. “And to cast for her?”

  “We will send three dama’ting to the Hollow Tribe,” Inevera said. “A maiden, a mother, and a crone.”

  “Who will lead them?” Jardir asked.

  “Ancient Favah’s skill with the dice was revered when I still wore a bido,” Inevera said. “She will be strict, and not bow before the chin, but a child needs that.”

  Jardir knew the old woman. Her stare could unnerve even him, but her spirit was true. “And the mother?”

  “Dama’ting Shaselle, who studied with me in the Dama’ting Palace,” Inevera said.

  Jardir nodded. Shaselle had served as one of Inevera’s closest advisors during his rise to power. “The maiden?”

  Inevera turned to Amanvah, and the girl considered. After a moment, she reached into the pouch at her waist and cast the alagai hora, studying them carefully.

  “Dama’ting Jaia,” Amanvah said at last. “She has only recently taken the white, and has yet to produce an heir. The dice foretell she will find a worthy father in the green lands and further cement our ties to the Hollow Tribe.”

  “Very well,” Jardir said. “Dawn approaches, and there is one thing left to discuss.”

  “The Majah,” Inevera said. “They return to the Desert Spear.”

  Jardir paled. “What?”

  “Inevera,” his wife said. “It was the will of the dice.”

  “Unacceptable,” Jardir said.

  Inevera shrugged. “No doubt if you fly into their midst and seize Aleveran as you did your son, you can turn them around.”

  Jardir shook his head. “That I cannot do without jeopardizing everything we fight for.”

  “Then we must trust in Everam’s will.” Inevera turned to the other women. “Leave us.”

  Jardir looked to the window as his daughter and niece left, seeing color wash across the horizon. “You have kept me until dawn.”

  Inevera smiled. “A day to rest in safety is no small thing, husband, before you march to the abyss.”

  —

  Cold wind blew across Jardir’s face as night fell and he took off from the palace roof. He meant to return immediately to the tower, but found himself turning north instead, flying fast for the Hollow. He had no plan for his arrival, but his failure with his sons weighed heavily upon him. If they did not succeed, Olive might be Ala’s last hope, and he did not think he could bear going into the abyss without at least holding her and whispering a blessing.

  The Hollow was alive at night, but—secure in their greatwards—the Hollowers were not in the habit of looking upward. Jardir found the keep Amanvah described easily enough, wrapping himself in his cloak as he peered in crownsight through window and wall alike until he found the room he sought. Within was a cradle, the pure aura of an innocent glowing brightly within.

  The wards around the room were powerful, but meant to keep alagai at bay, not humans. Jardir used a flick of magic to trip the window latch and slip inside. He left his sandals by the sill and padded silently to the cradle, careful not to wake the child.

  He needn’t have bothered. As he looked down upon her, Olive’s eyes stared back at him, wide awake as if he had been expected.

  Her aura was as bright as any Jardir had seen short of the Par’chin and his jiwah, but…clean. Unburdened by compromise, failure, or shame.

  And then, shamefully, Jardir’s eyes flicked down.

  What he saw surprised him. On hearing of Olive’s condition, Jardir assumed it a weakness she would need to overcome, as if being half of each gender made her less than either.

  But as he peered deeper with his crownsight, images beyond count danced about Olive, more than he had ever seen in a single aura. Ghostlike impressions of what she might become. Rather tha
n being halved, Olive’s possibilities were doubled.

  Olive cooed softly as he lifted her from the crib. Tears filled Jardir’s eyes at the beauty of the sound. He cradled her in his arm. “Blessings of Everam upon you, daughter.”

  She wrinkled her nose, yawning as she snuggled close to him. For a moment, he did not know what to do. He had never held his other children with such tenderness.

  Perhaps if he had, things might have gone differently.

  “Your mother believes I have been a poor father,” he whispered, “and perhaps, if I am honest, she is correct. Always, my attention was fixed on Sharak Ka instead of my own family. I failed my eldest sons, barely knew my daughters.”

  Olive reached up, fingers twining into his beard and pulling with surprising strength. “I cannot promise it will be better with you, Olive vah Ahmann am’Jardir am’Hollow. I walk a path I may not return from, but I do it out of love. For you, and all the people of Ala. I pray you never know this burden, but if one day it fall to you, Everam grant you the strength to bear it.”

  “Am’Paper,” a voice said behind him.

  Startled, Jardir spun into a defensive pose, blocking the child with his body as he snatched up his spear.

  Leesha Paper stood with arms folded into the wide sleeves of her dressing gown, offering no threat. She was just as he remembered, beautiful as the dawn, proud as a mountain. “We are not married, Ahmann. Her name is Olive Paper, not Jardir.”

  “She is mine, Leesha,” Jardir said. “It is written across her aura. You would deny my claim?”

  “Of course not,” Leesha said. “I will not hide who she is, but your name will draw assassins’ blades every time one of your heirs feels threatened.”

  “Asome is cowed,” Jardir said. “He will not…”

  “You have over seventy children, Ahmann. Can you speak for every one, in all the years to come?”

  “I cannot speak for the alagai, either,” Jardir said. “Nie will strike at one such as Olive all her life. Inevera, she will prove the stronger. That is no excuse.”

  “I do not need an excuse,” Leesha said. “We are not married, and the law is clear. She is Olive Paper. And why should she not be? It was I who made her. I who carried her in my own body, nursed her on my own milk. It is I who protect her. I who will raise her.”

  “My name and blessing are the only gifts I have to bestow before I go to the abyss,” Jardir said.

  Leesha smiled at last. “A middle name, then. Olive Jardir Paper.”

  Jardir accepted the concession, looking back into the child’s eyes. “Blessings of Everam upon you, Olive Jardir Paper.”

  Leesha came to him, kissing him softly on the cheek. “We made a beautiful child.”

  Olive tugged at his beard, trying to pull it into her mouth. “Indeed, we did.”

  “Am I right in assuming you would not have come to me, next?”

  “In truth, I did not know if I was welcome,” Jardir said. “Your letter did not say. I meant only to bless the child.”

  Leesha laid a gentle hand on Olive’s head, stroking her fine black hair. “You already have.”

  “Then blessings upon her mother,” Jardir said, “still lovely as the bluest sky.”

  Leesha laughed. “Ever the charmer. Don’t think you’ll be putting another in me before you go. One was enough.”

  Jardir felt his face heat. “I…did not mean…”

  Leesha laughed, cupping his chin. “I am teasing, Ahmann.”

  Jardir longed to take her into his arms, and quickly turned his eyes back to Olive. “Inevera will send three dama’ting to the Hollow to advise and teach. With them will be my daughter Micha. She will be in dal’ting robes, but like Sikvah, she studied under Enkido. She will keep her half sister safe. You can trust her in this.”

  “I will,” Leesha promised. “Thank you.”

  Jardir gently set Olive back in her cradle, disentangling her tiny fingers from his beard. “I must go.”

  He turned away, but Leesha caught his arm, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held her one last time, breathing the scent of her hair. She laid her head on his chest. “Be safe, Ahmann. Come back to see your daughter grow.”

  “I will not spend my life cheaply,” Ahmann promised. “Everam’s blessing upon you, Leesha vah Erny am’Paper am’Hollow.”

  He kissed her. A feather-light touch of her lips that lingered even as he pulled away. He stepped back to the window, slipped on his sandals, and leapt out into the night.

  CHAPTER 17

  FOREST FORTRESS

  334 AR

  Ragen tightened his grip on Twilight Dancer’s reins as the sun began to dip below the horizon. He could feel the massive animal tensing, powerful muscles readying themselves for battle Ragen prayed was not to come.

  “Strange feeling, to keep riding as the sun sets.” Derek’s warded armor was in fresh repair and polished to a shine, but he kept his hand close to the spear harness on his horse’s flank.

  “Yu’ll get used to it.” Yon Gray was the leader of their Cutter escort. He was a huge man, thick with muscle. “Roads’re warded and yu’ve got a score o’ Cutters at yur back.”

  “How long will it take to reach the city, if we can push on after dark?” Elissa wore a warded cloak she’d purchased in the Hollow, and fresh riding leathers. Ragen could not recall seeing her in breeches once in their first twenty years together. Now they looked as natural as the expert way she handled her mare.

  “Don’t rightly know,” Yon admitted. “Lived eighty years without going more’n a couple miles from where I was born. Tomorrow we’ll pass farther’n I’ve ever been.”

  Ragen blinked. Yon was over eighty? The man looked younger than he was.

  “Then why volunteer to take us all the way to Miln?” Elissa asked.

  Yon stroked his long beard, dark hair close to his face streaking to iron gray and then to pure white. “Son and grandsons are grown. Laid my wife on the pyre sixteen summers ago. Magic got me a second chance at life. Aim to see a bit more o’ the world this time round.”

  “You want to be a Messenger, I know an opening,” Derek said. “Spent twenty-two years in Brayan’s Gold. Weren’t more than sixty in the whole town, and you could walk from one end to the other in a quarter hour.”

  He blew out a breath. “But now I’ve seen as much of the world as I care to. Servants know my son better than I do. My wife’s family would as soon I stay away, but when I get back to Miln, I don’t mean to leave again.”

  “Ay,” Ragen agreed. “Past time we were all back home, but there’s miles to go. I used to make this run every year. Alone, I could make it back to Miln in two weeks from this point. A group our size will take a month if we don’t push a bit. There’s a campsite just a few hours up the road. If we stop there, we can shave off half a day’s ride.”

  —

  Elissa kept her expression calm. Half a day didn’t seem like much, but faced with another month on the road, any savings was worth a few hours in the dark.

  The children need you. Marya. Little Arlen. What must they be feeling after their parents disappeared for nearly a year? Letters assured everyone of mutual well-being, but it was no substitute for a mother’s guiding hand, a father’s love.

  To return to them, she would ride all night.

  She stroked the velvet pouch hanging from her belt, comforted by the presence of her silver stylus.

  The tool was the result of their studies in the Gatherers’ Academy and Hollow Warders’ Guild. The Hollowers used hora wands to draw wards in the air, but Elissa found it clumsy and imprecise. She preferred to ward with a pen.

  When Mistress Leesha generously provided materials for hora wands of their own, Elissa, Ragen, and Derek made styluses instead. The pens had demon bone cores in their thick handles, coated in warded silver and tipped with an electrum nib. By manipulating wards along the handle, Elissa could adjust the Draw of power into the nib, giving each ward as much or as little power as desired.

 
But there was a difference between drawing practice wards in the air in the safety of the academy and drawing them at a charging demon. A coreling shrieked somewhere in the distance, and Elissa clenched her thighs so tight she felt she might squeeze the breath from her mare.

  They rode for three more hours, twilight deepening into full dark. The wardposts cast a dim light that ended at the brush on the roadside. Beyond, there were shrieks, growls, and sounds of movement in the darkness, but no demons tested the wards.

  Twilight Dancer stomped and snorted as Ragen struggled to control the mighty stallion. Derek had his shield on his arm. Even Yon looked tense, hand drifting to the long handle of his axe, harnessed in easy reach on his saddle. “Corelings’re out in force this soon after new moon.”

  New moon. Elissa felt a chill run down her spine. Arlen said the normally mindless corelings could act in concert when the more powerful mind demons were about. She reached up to touch the golden circlet she wore, running a finger over the mind wards. The others had the symbols on their helmets.

  Creator, let them not be necessary.

  “Let’s pick up the pace,” Ragen said. “Campsite can’t be much farther.”

  They fell into a grim silence against the backdrop of shrieks and roars, moving as fast as the carts in their train would allow. As her eyes adjusted, Elissa began to see shapes flitting in the darkness along the side of the road. Were they being followed?

  At last she could bear it no longer. She reached into her pouch and drew out the silver stylus, eyes scanning the darkness. She saw movement and drew a light ward in that direction, tapping the ward to let just a flash of power into the nib.

  Light flared, and Elissa immediately regretted the move.

  They were surrounded. Dozens of corelings scattered from the light, and no doubt there were many more out of sight.

  “Cutters!” Yon called. “Axes out! Crank bows at the ready, but don’t waste yur bolts unless there’s a breach!”

  Fear gave them speed as they hurried down the road, and soon the caravan circle came in sight. It was occupied, but there was room enough for their carts and horses. Elissa began to breathe easier.