The Daylight War (56 page)

Sikvah laughed. ‘That is quite good, husband.’

‘Don’t lie to me,
jiwah
,’ Rojer said, smirking to let her know it was only teasing. ‘I know it was awful.’

‘Sikvah does not lie,’ Amanvah said, moving to adjust his pose. ‘Your form is good, it is only your centre that is off.’

‘My centre?’

‘Imagine yourself a palm tree, swaying in the wind,’ Amanvah said. ‘You bend, but do not break.’

‘I would,’ Rojer said, ‘but I have never seen a palm tree. You might as well tell me to imagine myself a fairy pipkin.’

Amanvah did not frown, but neither did she offer him a smile. In her eyes, there was no humour in
sharusahk
. He swallowed his smirk and let her guide his stance.

‘Your centre is the invisible line that connects you, the Ala, and Heaven,’ Amanvah said. ‘It is balance, but also so much more than that. It is the calm place of silence, the deep place you fall into when you embrace music, the soothing place where you ignore pain.’ She grabbed his crotch. ‘It is the hard place you use to seed your wives, and the safe place you use to sway with the wind.’

Rojer groaned at her touch, and this time, Amanvah did smile. She took a step back, signalling to Sikvah. Both women reached into pouches at their waists, slipping their fingers into the tiny cymbals used for the pillow dance.

For the next few days, the scene was repeated in one Laktonian village after another, talking the townsfolk down from their fear of the
Sharum
,
and then performing for them. Rojer felt a bit of guilt for duping his wives about the message they were giving, but since they hadn’t even bothered to tell him they spoke his language at first, he managed to keep the feeling at bay. It wasn’t a betrayal. He was just spreading news they already thought common knowledge.

Each morning, Amanvah and Sikvah continued his
sharusahk
training while Enkido looked on the proceedings, his face carved from stone. It seemed more a lark than a concerted effort, but it was pleasurable enough. Leesha had told him of the deadly nerve strikes Inevera had attempted, and the ease with which the woman had wrestled her into a choke hold. There was none of that in his wives’ lessons. He improved slightly, but not enough to even attempt some of the more difficult poses.

‘You must walk before you dance,’ Amanvah said.

They were moving at a faster pace now as they moved farther from the Krasians’ control. Once, their caravan was attacked – a quick strike on horseback by a dozen bandits with throwing spears and short bows, meant to distract as another group raided one of the baggage carts. The
Sharum
were not fooled. They killed four of the bandits and injured several more before they broke and ran. The caravan was unmolested after that.

Less than a week out from Deliverer’s Hollow, they were beginning to feel more comfortable, with Leesha’s familiarity with the local Gatherers growing with proximity to home. Some were women she had corresponded with for years but never met. In the village of Northfork, there were actually tears and hugging, but all Rojer could feel was a growing tension. The folk here felt safer from the
Sharum
, and that made them bold.

That night in the taproom, after he finished the
Song
of
Waning
, there was polite applause, but then the barkeep called, ‘Ay, play
The
Battle
of
Cutter’s Hollow
!’ The request was followed by a chorus of ays, with much hooting and stomping of feet.

Rojer suppressed a furrow of his brow that threatened to mar his Jongleur’s mask. Two months ago, he was touting that song from every rooftop, and had sold it dear to the Jongleurs’ Guild.

He looked to Amanvah. ‘Please play if that is your wish, husband. Sikvah and I will return to our table. We would be honoured to hear a song of our new tribe’s heroism in the night.’

They smoothly rolled back onto their heels and stood. Rojer wanted to kiss them as they passed, but while they seemed to be growing more comfortable with Northern customs, that was too far for any Krasian woman short of the Damajah herself to be expected to go in public.

Our
new
tribe
. Rojer gritted his teeth. Did they really know what they were asking for? He had not been fool enough to sing
The
Battle
of
Cutter’s Hollow
while in the confines of Everam’s Bounty – it bordered on blasphemy.

But they weren’t in Everam’s Bounty. They were in Laktonian lands now, and surrounded by Thesans who deserved to know that their cousins in the North were growing in power, and had their own saviour to rally to. Rojer didn’t really think Arlen Bales was the Deliverer any more than he did Ahmann Jardir, but if folk needed to look to one for strength in the night and a way forward, he would still take the Painted Man over the Shar’Dama Ka. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life lying about it and hiding that fact from his wives.

Now was as good a time as any.

Slowly, he began to play. As he fell into the music, his fear and anxiety began to drift away like demon ashes in the morning breeze. He had been so proud of the song when he had written it, and as his fingers danced across the familiar notes, he found he still was.
The
Battle
of
Cutter’s Hollow
might not have the sheer power of the
Song
of
Waning
, but he could weave a shell of protection in the night with it, keeping corelings at bay, and it had power over the hearts of all good folk. It was already sung far and wide, and would likely outlive him, lasting into the ages like the ancient sagas.

He fell into the trance that playing always brought, blocking out his wives, the
Sharum
, Leesha, and the patrons. When he was ready, he began to sing.

He had kept the song simple, both so country folk could clap and sing along, but also for his own benefit. His voice was nothing compared with Amanvah’s and Sikvah’s, or with that of his famed master, Arrick Sweetsong. Even in his cups, when folk laughed and called him ‘Soursong’ and he could forget lyrics midsong, Arrick still had levels of vocal ability Rojer could never match.

But he had been trained by the best, and while he lacked the lungs and natural talent, Rojer could carry a tune well enough, his voice high and clear.

Cutter’s Hollow lost its centre

When
the
flux
came
to
stay

Killed
great
Herb
Gatherer
Bruna

Her ’prentice far away

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

In
Fort
Angiers
far
to
the
north

Leesha
got
ill
tiding

Her
mentor
dead, her father sick

Hollow
a
week’s riding

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

No
guide
she
found
through
naked
night

Just
Jongleur
travel
wards

That
could
not
hold
the
bandits
back

As
it
did
coreling
hordes

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

Left
for
dead
no
horse
or
succour

Corelings
roving
in
bands

They
met
a
man
with
tattooed
flesh

Killed
demons
with
bare
hands

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

The
Hollow
razed
when
they
arrived

Not
a
ward
left
intact

And
half
the
folk
who
called
it
home

Lay
dead
or
on
their
backs

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

Painted Man
spat
on
despair

Said
follow
me
and
fight

We’ll see the dawn if we all stand

Side
by
side
in
the
night

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

All
night
they
fought
with
axe
and
spear

Butcher’s knife and shield

While
Leesha
brought
those
too
weak
to

The
Holy
House
to
heal

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

Hollowers
kept
their
loved
ones
safe

Though
night
was
long
and
hard

There’s reason why the battlefield’s

Called
the
Corelings’ Graveyard

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

If
someone
asks
why
at
sunset

Demons
all
get
shivers

Hollowers
say
with
honest
word

It’s ’coz we’re all Deliverers

Not a one would run and hide,

They all did stand and follow

Killing demons in the night

The Painted Man came to the Hollow

‘The true Deliverer!’ someone in the crowd shouted, and there was a cheer of agreement.

There was the sound of a chair hitting the floor, and Rojer opened his eyes to see Kaval moving his way, seething with anger. Gared leapt to his feet, putting himself between them. The giant Cutter was eight inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier. He grabbed Kaval and for a moment seemed to have control, but the drillmaster gave his great log of an arm a twist and Gared roared in pain just before he was thrown halfway across the room. Kaval gave him no further notice, picking up speed as he went after Rojer.

Wonda had instinctively reached for her bow, but when she realized it was in her room, she did not hesitate to attack the drillmaster unarmed. She kept to the balls of her feet, guard up as she threw quick, economical punches and kicks, wisely refusing to grapple. She lasted a few seconds longer than Gared, but then Kaval diverted one of her punches and chopped her in the throat with the edge of one hand. He grabbed her arm as she choked and twisted in close, sending her crashing onto the centre of a table, cracking it in half with the impact. Wonda hit the floor under a spray of splinters, ale, and shattered glass.

The barkeeper had produced a cudgel and people were shouting all over the room, but none of them was close enough to aid Rojer. He flicked his wrist to produce a throwing knife, but fumbled in his panic and dropped it as Kaval closed in.

Then Enkido was there, hooking Kaval’s armpit and turning his momentum into a throw. The drillmaster was wise to the move, quickstepping around and managing to keep his feet. He shouted something in Krasian as he came back in with a kick, followed by a snapping punch. Neither blow landed, Enkido slipping the kick and catching Kaval’s wrist to divert the punch. His free arm snapped out, punching the drillmaster hard in his shoulder joint. Enkido let the limb go and it fell limp. Kaval struck with his other fist, but it was like hitting at smoke. Enkido flowed out of its path and then struck Kaval’s other shoulder, rolling smoothly around to kick at the back of Kaval’s knee.