“Your people are fools, Par’chin, as are you if you think me the same as the alagai. You may not murder and you may not rape, but neither have you forged unity. Your Northern dukes bicker and vie for power even as the abyss opens up before them, ready to spew forth Nie’s legions. Nie does not care about your morals. She does not care who is innocent and who is corrupt. She does not even care for Her alagai. Her goal is to wipe the slate clean.

“Your people live on borrowed time, Par’chin. Loaned to you against the day of Sharak Ka, when your weakness will leave them meat for the Core. Then you will have wished for a thousand murders, a thousand thousand, if that’s what it took to prepare you for the fight.”

The Par’chin shook his head sadly. “You’re like a horse with blinders on, Ahmann. You see what supports your beliefs, and ignore the rest. Nie doesn’t care because She doesn’t ripping exist.”

“Words do not make a thing so, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “Words cannot kill alagai or make Everam cease to be. Words alone cannot unite us all for Sharak Ka before it is too late.”

“You talk of unity, but you don’t understand the meaning of the word,” the Par’chin said. “What you call unity I call domination. Slavery.”

“Unity of purpose, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “All working toward one goal. Ridding the Ala of demonkind.”

“There is no unity, if it depends on one man alone to hold it,” the Par’chin said. “We are all mortal.”

“The unity I have brought will not be so easily cast aside,” Jardir said.

“No?” Arlen asked. “I learned much during my visit to Everam’s Bounty, Ahmann. The Northern dukes have nothing on your people. Your dama will not follow Jayan. Your Sharum will not follow Asome. None of the men will follow Inevera, and your Damaji would as soon kill one another as eat at the same table. There is no one who can sit the throne without civil war. Your precious unity is about to crumble away like a palace made of sand.”

Jardir felt his jaw tighten. His teeth whined as he ground them. The Par’chin was correct, of course. Inevera was clever and could hold things together for a time, but he could not afford to be gone for long, or his hard-forged army would turn on itself with Sharak Ka only just begun.

“I am not dead yet,” Jardir said.

“No, but you won’t be returning anytime soon,” the Par’chin said.

“We shall see, Par’chin.” Without warning, Jardir reached out through the crown, Drawing hard on the Par’chin’s magic. Caught off guard, the Par’chin’s aura exploded in shock, then distorted as Jardir hauled in the prize.

Power rushed through Jardir’s body, knitting muscle and bone, making him strong. With a flex, the bandages around his chest ripped and the plaster about his legs shattered. He sprang from the bed, crossing the room in an instant.

The Par’chin managed to get his guard up in time, but it was a Sharum’s guard, for he had not been trained in Sharik Hora. Jardir easily slipped around it and caught him in a submission hold. The Par’chin’s face reddened as he struggled for air.

But then he collapsed into mist, as he had in their battle on the cliff. Jardir overbalanced when the resistance ended, but the Par’chin reformed before he hit the floor, grabbing Jardir’s right arm and leg, throwing him across the room. He struck the window so hard even his magic-strengthened bones snapped, but the warded glass did not so much as crack.

There was a thin flow of magic on the surface of the wards, and Jardir instinctively Drew on it, using the power to mend his bones even before the pain set in.

The Par’chin vanished from across the room, appearing in close, but Jardir was wise to the trick. Even as the mist began to reform he was moving, dodging the Par’chin’s attempted hold and striking two hard blows before he could melt away again.

They struggled thus for several seconds, the Par’chin disappearing and reforming before Jardir could do any real damage, but unable to strike in turn.

“Corespawn it, Ahmann,” he cried. “Ent got time for this!”

“In this, we agree,” Jardir said, having positioned himself correctly. He threw the room’s single chair at the Par’chin, and predictably, the man misted when he could as easily have dodged.

Your powers are making you lax, Par’chin, he thought as he sprang the open distance to the stairwell.

“You ent goin’ anywhere!” the Par’chin growled as he reformed, drawing a ward in the air. Jardir saw the magic gather, hurtling at him, a blast that would knock him away from the stairs like a giant hammer. With no time to dodge, he embraced the blow, going limp to absorb as much of the shock as possible.

But the blow never came. The Crown of Kaji warmed and flared with light, absorbing the power. Without thinking, Jardir drew a ward in the air himself, turning the power into a bolt of raw heat. Enough to turn a dozen wood demons to cinders.

The Par’chin held up a hand, Drawing the magic back into himself. Jardir, dizzied by the sudden drain, stared at him.

“We can do this all night, Ahmann,” the Par’chin said, melting away and reappearing between Jardir and the stairwell. “It won’t get you out of this tower.”

Jardir crossed his arms. “Even you cannot hold me forever. The sun will come, and your demon tricks and hora magic will fail you.”

The Par’chin spread his hands. “I don’t have to. By dawn, you’ll stay willingly.”

Jardir almost laughed, but again the Par’chin’s aura checked him. He believed it. He believed his next words would sway Jardir, or nothing would.

“Why have you brought me here, Par’chin?” he asked a final time.

“To remind you of the real enemy,” the Par’chin said. “And to ask your help.”

“Why should I help you?” Jardir asked.

“Because,” the Par’chin said, “we’re going to capture a mind demon and make it take us to the Core.

“It’s time we brought the fight to the alagai.”

CHAPTER 2

VACUUM

333 AR AUTUMN

Inevera wasted no time when they returned to the Krasian camp. Even as Ashan quietly selected warriors to begin the search and ordered others to break camp, she summoned Abban to her private audience chamber in the pavilion of the Shar’Dama Ka.

Already the Sharum were questioning why the Deliverer had not returned to them. There had been no formal announcement, either of the battle itself or of its sudden end. Yet soon word would spread, and the ambitious would seek to exploit her husband’s absence. The cunning had plotted for this day, and would be quick to act once it was clear the search was in vain. The rash might be quicker still.

It was clear Abban knew this, approaching the pavilion surrounded by his kha’Sharum warriors. The dal’Sharum still sneered at warriors in tan, but the eunuch spies Inevera had sent to Abban’s compound had been found dead, and that spoke volumes for the khaffit warriors’ skill. She had seen, too, the glow of power in their weapons and equipment, carefully disguised with worn leather and paint to hide their fine quality. Not even the elite Spears of the Deliverer, with their shields and spearheads of warded glass, were equipped better.

You have grown formidable, khaffit. The thought did not please her, but neither did it worry her as it once had. She had not understood weeks ago when the dice told her Abban’s fate was intertwined with her own, but it was clear now. They were Ahmann’s closest, most trusted advisors and, up until a few hours ago, had been untouchable with vast discretionary powers. But with her husband gone, much of that power would evaporate. Inevera would have to work quickly and carefully to install Ashan, but once the reins were passed it would still be his voice, not hers, that led their people. Ashan was not as wise—or as pliable—as Ahmann.