The Skull Throne. Peter Brett V.

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СКАЧАТЬ as well, though her second son was wise enough not to show it. Asome had ever been groomed for the role of Andrah, and had chafed since his brother took the Spear Throne, seeking the white turban more than once.

      ‘This is ridiculous,’ Jayan shouted. ‘I am the eldest son. The throne should fall to me!’ Several of Damaji murmured their agreement, though the strongest wisely kept silent. Aleverak’s dislike of the boy was well known, and Damaji Enkaji of the Mehnding, the third most powerful tribe, was known to never publicly take sides.

      ‘The Skull Throne is not some bauble, my son, to be passed without a thought,’ Inevera said. ‘It is the hope and salvation of our people, and you are but nineteen, and have yet to prove worthy of it. If you do not hold your tongue, I despair you never will.’

      ‘How are we to know it was the Deliverer’s wish that his own son be passed over?’ Damaji Ichach of the Khanjin tribe demanded. Ichach was ever a thorn in the council’s ass, but there were nods from many of the other Damaji, including Aleverak.

      ‘A fair question,’ the aged cleric said, turning to address those gathered, though his words were no doubt meant for Inevera. With Ashan’s claim for the throne announced, he had relinquished control of the council of Damaji, and none dared challenge venerable Aleverak as he assumed the role. ‘The Shar’Dama Ka did not speak them openly, nor even in private that we know of.’

      ‘He spoke them to me,’ Ashan said, stepping forward. ‘On the first night of Waning, as the Damaji filed from the throne room, my brother bade me take the throne, if he should fall against Alagai Ka. I swore by Everam’s name, lest the Deliverer punish me in the afterlife.’

      ‘Lies!’ Jayan said. ‘My father would never say such a thing, and you have no proof. You betray his memory for your own ambition.’

      Ashan’s eyes darkened at that. He had known the boy since birth, but never before had Jayan dared speak to him so disrespectfully. ‘Say that again, boy, and I will kill you, blood of the Deliverer or no. I argued in your favour when Ahmann made his request, but I see now he was right. The dais of the Spear Throne has but four steps, and you have yet to adjust to the view. The dais of the Skull Throne has seven, and will dizzy you.’

      Jayan gave a growl and lowered his spear, charging for Ashan with murder in his heart. The Damaji watched with cool detachment, ready to react when Jayan closed in.

      Inevera cursed under her breath. Regardless of who won the fight, they would both lose, and her people with them.

      ‘Enough!’ she boomed. She raised her hora wand and manipulated its wards with nimble fingers, calling upon a blast of magic that leapt forth, shattering the marble floor between the men.

      Both Jayan and Ashan were knocked from their feet by the shock wave, along with several of the Damaji. As the dust settled, there was an awed silence, save for the sound of debris falling back to the floor.

      Inevera rose to her feet, straightening her robes with a deliberate snap. All eyes were upon her now. The Damaji’ting, schooled in the secrets of hora magic, retained their serenity, though the display was one none of them could match. A scorched crater now stood in the centre of the thick marble floor, big enough to swallow a man.

      The men stared wide-eyed and openmouthed. Only Ahmann himself had ever displayed such might, and no doubt they had thought they could quickly erode Inevera’s power with him gone.

      They would be rethinking that assessment now. Only Asome kept his composure, having witnessed his mother’s power on the wall at Waning. He, too, watched her, eyes cold, aura unreadable.

      ‘I am Inevera,’ she said, her enhanced voice echoing throughout the room. The name was pregnant with meaning, literally translating as ‘Everam’s will’. ‘Bride of Everam and Jiwah Ka to Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji. I am the Damajah, something you seem to have forgotten in my husband’s absence. I, too, witnessed Ahmann’s command to Damaji Ashan.’

      She raised her hora wand high, again manipulating the wards etched in the electrum, this time to produce a harmless flare of light. ‘If there are any here who would challenge my command that Ashan take the throne, let them step forward. The rest will be forgiven your insolence if you touch your foreheads to the floor.’

      All around the room, men dropped to their knees, wisely pressing their foreheads to the floor. No doubt they were still scheming, grating at the indignity of kneeling before a woman, but none, even Jayan, were fool enough to challenge her after such a display.

      None save ancient Aleverak. As the others fell to the floor, the ancient Damaji strode to the centre of the room, his back straight. Inevera sighed inwardly, though she gave no outward sign. She had no wish to kill the Damaji, but Ahmann should have killed him years ago. Perhaps it was time to correct that mistake and end the threat to Belina’s eldest son, Maji.

      The submission of the other tribes had been total. Only Aleverak had fought Ahmann and lived to tell the tale. The old man had earned so much honour in the battle that Ahmann had foolishly granted him a concession denied the others.

      Upon the hour of his death, Aleverak’s heir had the right to challenge Ahmann’s Majah son to single combat for control of the Majah tribe.

      Ahmann no doubt thought Maji would grow into a great warrior and win out, but the boy was only fifteen. Any of Aleverak’s sons could kill him with ease.

      Aleverak bowed so deeply his beard came within an inch of the floor. Such grace for a man in his eighties was impressive. It was said he had been Ahmann’s greatest challenge as he battled to the steps of the Skull Throne. Ahmann had torn the Damaji’s arm off, but it had done nothing to strike fear into his heart. It was not surprising her blast of magic similarly failed to deter him.

      ‘Holy Damajah,’ Aleverak began, ‘please accept my apologies for doubting your words, and those of Damaji Ashan, who has led the Kaji people, and the council of Damaji, with honour and distinction.’ He glanced to Ashan, still standing at the base of the dais, who nodded.

      ‘But no Andrah has been appointed since the position was first created,’ Aleverak went on. ‘It runs counter to all our sacred texts and traditions. Those who wish to wear the jewelled turban must face the challenges of the other Damaji, all of whom have a claim to the throne. I knew well the son of Hoshkamin, and I do not believe he would have forgotten this.’

      Ashan bowed in return. ‘The honoured Damaji is correct. The Shar’Dama Ka instructed me to announce my claim without hesitation, and kill any who stand in my path to the throne before any of the Damaji dare murder his dama sons.’

      Aleverak nodded, turning to look Inevera in the eye. Even he had lost a moment’s composure at her show of power, but his control was back, his aura flat and even. ‘I do not challenge your words, Damajah, or the Deliverer’s command, but our traditions must be respected if the tribes are to accept a new Andrah.’

      Inevera opened her mouth to speak, but Ashan spoke first. ‘Of course, Damaji.’ He bowed, turning to the other Damaji. Tradition dictated that they could each challenge him in turn, starting with the leader of the smallest tribe.

      Inevera wanted to stop it. Wanted to force her will on the men and make them see she could not be denied. But the pride of men could only be pushed so far. Ashan was the youngest Damaji by a score of years, and a sharusahk master in his own right. She would have to trust in him to make good his claim, as Ahmann had.

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