CHAPTER 8

MONASTERY

334 AR

“A dozen fat slaves, dressed as me,” Abban promised. “One delivered the first day of the month to torture until you kill them in a new and inventive fashion on Waning and begin anew.”

“I admit, that is a good one,” Hasik said.

“Spare me, and I can make it reality,” Abban said.

Hasik clicked his tongue. “There is where it fails, khaffit. What good is pretending vengeance for a year when true vengeance escapes?”

“Then I will lease my life,” Abban offered. “One slave dressed to look like me each Waning until you collect in full.”

Hasik pursed his lips. “The idea has merit. I will take a few months to consider.”

Then he swung the hammer, and Abban screamed.

The Eunuchs and slaves were used to it now, ignoring Abban’s wails and whimpers. Once, when a blood fever from his shattered bones had threatened to kill Abban, Dawn had begged on his behalf.

Hasik had warded Abban’s leg and smeared it with stinking alagai ichor. The demon blood activated the wards and healed Abban. His strength and vigor returned, sweeping away the pain, but the shattered bones of his leg and foot fused into a twisted ruin. Abban doubted even a healer as powerful as the Damajah could make him walk again.

Then Hasik cut the noses from Dawn and her daughters, a permanent warning to all that might take pity on him again.

Hasik was gone by the time Abban mastered his pain enough to crawl into his chair. The camp was full of activity as Abban wheeled to Hasik’s tent, slaves rushing to and fro to service the warriors.

In the past five weeks, the Eunuchs had swollen massively in number. First in fits and starts as Hasik hunted Sharum deserters, catching warriors sometimes in ones and twos, and other times in sizable bands. The freshest recruits were always the most eager to capture and castrate new members, as if cutting off another man’s cock somehow helped their own healing.

They sacked farms and hamlets as their numbers grew, growing heavy with supply. Then, impossibly, men began to come to them. Sharum that had set off in search of plunder and found ill fortune begging to join, willingly surrendering their genitals in exchange for full bellies and the sense they were once again part of something powerful.

The growth had come with a positive change in Abban’s circumstances. Hasik healed him regularly now, needing Abban’s eyes sharp and his mind unclouded. Once relegated to cook, the khaffit was back on familiar ground, keeping Hasik’s ledgers and acting as quartermaster for his troops and caravan of slaves.

Hasik was lounging on the pillows in his pavilion, eating eggs and bacon.

“Nie’s black heart, khaffit,” Hasik said. “Had I known the flesh of pigs was so delicious, I would have turned my back on Everam’s law long ago.”

“It is a great burden lifted,” Abban agreed, “setting aside the Evejah to eat and drink as you please.”

Hasik tore another bite off the rasher, his lips shiny with grease. “Read me the tallies.”

Abban grit his teeth, wheeling over to his writing desk. “You have…three kai’Sharum, one hundred seventy-two dal’Sharum, eight hundred seventeen kha’Sharum, two hundred and six chi’Sharum, and four hundred thirty-six slaves. We have seven hundred forty-two horses…”

Hasik put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes as if listening to music. The tallies were a burden to a good leader, as Ahmann had been, but to a man like Hasik it read as a list of his personal wealth, and Abban could not deny that in a very short time that wealth had become considerable. So considerable that all the Eunuchs had a taste of the largesse. There were no hungry in the caravan, and all had proper clothes to ward off winter’s chill. The Sharum were well equipped and obedient. Even the chi’Sharum conscripts had weapons to go with their ongoing training.

The canvas flap opened, admitting Orman, now wearing the white veil of a kai’Sharum around his neck. Orman had remained Hasik’s second in command and was, so far as Abban could determine, quite loyal and competent. The Bajin was a small tribe, and Orman would likely never have risen as high there as he had in the Eunuchs.

Orman bowed. “Eunuch Ka, there is a messenger. He claims to know you.”

“A messenger?” Hasik asked. “From who?”

“From Dama Khevat!” a kai’Sharum boomed, pushing past the door guard.

Abban immediately recognized the man by the scars on his face, a faded remnant from the night a quarter century ago when he had taken a swipe of a sand demon’s claws in the village of Baha kad’Everam. Magic had kept the man young, but he was an honored elder of their fathers’ generation.

Jesan, Hasik’s ajin’pal.

Among the Sharum, the bond between ajin’pal was as strong as family. For those near in age it was a sibling bond, but more often it was one of father to son. Nightfathers, they were sometimes called, with a relationship no less complicated than fathers and sons of blood. They were mentors and authority figures.

The two were close when Hasik was the Deliverer’s brother-in-law, a respected member of the royal family. They had not spoken since Hasik’s disgrace.

“Jesan.” Hasik got to his feet. The men didn’t reach for weapons as they moved in to each other, but they didn’t need to. Both had been Spears of the Deliverer and were more than capable of killing with their bare hands.

Instead they gripped each other’s shoulders and laughed, embracing.

“Khaffit! Brandy for my ajin’pal!” Hasik called, leading Jesan to the pillows. Hasik took the center, where the pile was thickest, gesturing for Jesan to sit at his right and Orman at his left.

Dawn appeared, silently filling a tray and laying it across the arms of Abban’s chair. It was a small blessing that she kept her eyes down, that Abban did not have to meet them as he looked into the gaping hole where her nose had been. She vanished as quickly as she had appeared, and Abban wheeled over to the pillows with the tray.

Hasik took a glass, handing it to Jesan. “There is no couzi this far north, but I’ve found the chin distilleries even better.”

“Just water, thank you.” Jesan’s voice was tight.

“Some bacon, perhaps?” Hasik swept a hand to the plate. “Everam could not have made a food so delicious if it was not meant to be eaten.”

Jesan stiffened. “Perhaps that is exactly why we were commanded not to eat it.”

“Oh?” Hasik’s question seemed casual, but there was challenge in his tone.

Jesan met Hasik’s eyes, breathing deeply. The familiar rhythm was an easy tell that the Sharum was attempting to remain calm. “To remind us everyone has a master.”

“You think I need a reminder of who my master is?” Hasik asked quietly.

“I am not the Creator, Hasik,” Jesan said. “Nothing happens, but that Everam wills it. I do not care that you drink couzi. I do not care that you eat pig. I have shed blood with you in the night and that is all that matters. I do not come as some glowering elder, but as your ajin’pal. There are pressing matters to discuss.”

“Of course.” Hasik leaned back in the pillows, sipping the brandy he had offered to Jesan. “Please go on.”

“Dama Khevat congratulates your successful efforts in recapturing deserters from the Battle of Angiers,” Jesan said.

That’s one way of putting it, Abban thought.

Hasik nodded. “The men lost heart when the Sharum Ka and his finest warriors were killed storming the gates of Angiers.” The lie came easily to his lips. Abban, the only living witness to the truth—that Hasik killed Jayan himself—was wise enough to keep silent on the matter.

“Your honor was taken from you unfairly, brother,” Jesan’s eyes flicked to Abban with disgust, “but you can restore it. The Monastery of Dawn is under renewed attack from the chin. We cannot hold without aid.”

“How is this possible?” Hasik asked. “Khevat had a thousand warriors, not to mention the remnants of the Sharum Ka’s forces.”

“Twenty-five hundred made it back from the Battle of Angiers,” Jesan said, “but it was deep in the cold months. With the lakeshore frozen solid, we did not have sufficient supply. Dama Khevat sent them on to Everam’s Reservoir.

“But then came an unexpected thaw. Chin saboteurs opened the main gate for a secret raid by the fish men, who braved the icy waters under cover of darkness to land a sizable force.”

“Everam’s beard,” Abban breathed. The monastery was built on a great bluff, with only one narrow land route to the main gates and treacherous stairs leading up from the docks. The walls were nearly impregnable, but if the gate had been opened…

“By the time we discovered the treachery, we were outnumbered,” Jesan said. “But the Deliverer’s son Icha rallied the men and we threw back the foe, reclaiming the gates and docks.”

“Of course.” Hasik sipped his brandy. “They are only chin.”

“But the attacks did not stop,” Jesan continued. “The fish men stole our ships, sailing out of range of the stingers and rock slings. Khevat put all the chin slaves to death, but still the fish men found allies within our walls. Chi’Sharum from Everam’s Bounty snuck hundreds through a hidden tunnel in the basements, starting fires and opening the gates again.”

“The greenlanders are tenacious,” Hasik said.

“Khevat had all the chin put to death,” Jesan said, “Sharum and slave alike. The walls still hold, but there are less than three hundred Sharum left, half of them too injured to fight.”

“Can they not speed their healing killing alagai?” Orman asked.

Jesan shook his head. “The chin Holy Men did their warding too well. Alagai avoid the place.”

Jesan offered a scroll, sealed with the wax stamps of Dama Khevat and Ahmann Jardir’s third son, Icha. The two were the ranking Krasians north of Everam’s Bounty. Hasik took the scroll and handed it to Abban, for of course he could not read.

Abban unrolled the parchment. “Greetings Hasik asu Reklan am’Kez am’Kaji, in the year of Everam 3785, from Dama Khevat asu…”

Hasik whisked a hand. “I know who Khevat and that snot-nosed brat are. Get to the meat of it.”

Jesan bristled as Abban scanned the page, quickly filtering out the endless formalities. “You and your men are ordered to abandon your lawless ways and return to Sharak Sun. Your sins will be forgiven, and your status restored.”

“Ordered?” Hasik asked.

“That is what it says,” Abban said.

Hasik looked to Jesan, who swallowed, breathing steadily. “Ordered by who, Jesan? As you say, I have forgotten my master.”

“The Deliverer…” Jesan began.

“Chose loyalty to a khaffit over loyalty to me,” Hasik said. “And soon after was cast down by the Par’chin. His heir was an idiot who treated me as a dog. Chin threw him down, as well.”

“Prince Asome is Shar’Dama Ka now,” Jesan said. “He slaughtered the Damaji and killed Ashan for the Skull Throne.”

“To the abyss with them, and Asome, besides. All of them turned their backs to me.” Hasik bent in close. “Even you, ajin’pal.”

Jesan did not flinch. “Your answer is no, then?”

Hasik relaxed, leaning back with a grin. “I never said that. I tire of sleeping in tents. I think a walled fortress would suit the Eunuchs much better.”

He looked to Orman. “Send scouts to the monastery. See how much of this tale you can verify.”

Orman punched a fist to his chest, getting immediately to his feet. “Immediately, Eunuch Ka.”

“Your deserter army will not follow you as you spit upon the Skull Throne,” Jesan said.

“My men are loyal, as you will soon see.” Hasik’s grin widened as he drew the sharp, curved blade from his belt. “Be honored, nightfather. As you brought me into the ranks of Sharum, I welcome you into the ranks of the Eunuchs. You will be given a place of honor. I have need of more kai.”

Jesan’s calm finally shattered. He screamed and fought, but in the end it made no difference as the men held him down and yanked off his pantaloons.

It would be days before Orman’s scouts returned, but Hasik ordered them to break camp immediately. Everything save the tents was packed by dawn, slaves pulling up the stakes even as Hasik raised his hammer.

The target was Abban’s smallest toe. Each night, Hasik healed it with alagai ichor, and each morning he broke it again. The appendage was a gnarled, misshapen thing now, more grotesque each day.

And try as Abban might, there was no getting used to the pain.

“Bottom feeders!” he shouted.

Hasik paused. “What?”

“The chin lake is so wide and deep, it is filled with armored fish,” Abban said. “Bottom feeders.”

“What of it?” Hasik said.

“Meats forbidden by the Evejah,” Abban teased. “But I have tasted them, Eunuch Ka. Spiced and dipped in fat and lemon, they tear like flesh but melt in the mouth. Even bacon pales in comparison.”

Hasik crossed his arms. “Bold words, khaffit. And an easy lie to test.”

“And if it proves no lie?” Abban asked.

“Then I will break one of Dawn’s bones, instead of your own, to buy back the one I break today.”

It was a horrifying thought, but after a moment Abban decided it was progress he could live with. “I will prepare the feast myself, when you take the monastery. You will see.”

“Perhaps,” Hasik raised the hammer and quickly brought it down, too fast for Abban to prepare himself.

He screamed.

Soon after, the caravan was on the move, crawling at a snail’s pace down the Old Hill Road toward the Monastery of Dawn. It would be a week or more before they arrived, but riding hard, the five hundred men in Hasik’s cavalry could cover the distance in less than a day.

“You ride with us.” Hasik held out the reins to a strong Krasian charger.

Abban looked dubiously at the animal. “I am not one for horses, Hasik. Now, if you have a camel…”

“I once shared your dislike of horses,” Hasik said. “They were a liability in the Maze, and it wasn’t until we invaded the green lands that I knew the pain of a day in the saddle.” He smiled. “But you will find it easier to ride without balls.”

“No doubt,” Abban said. “But surely I would only slow you. Would it not make more sense for me to remain with the caravan, to rejoin you after the walls are secured?”

“Your crippled legs will not slow you atop a charger,” Hasik said. “I am not such a fool as to let you out of my sight, khaffit. If I am brought down in battle, you will walk the lonely path at my side.”

“Everam grant me such fortune.” Abban clambered painfully atop the beast, where he strapped himself into the saddle. As Hasik promised, the riding was easier on his crotch than he remembered.

“Small blessings,” he breathed as they moved south, the light-footed chargers quickly leaving the caravan behind. Late in the day they caught up to one of Orman’s returning scouts.

“It is everything the kai told you, and more,” the Bajin said, nodding at Jesan. Hasik kept his former ajin’pal close—as he did Abban—as if daring the man to attempt vengeance.

“The monastery is under renewed assault, even now,” the Bajin said. “The chin have laid siege to the main gate, even as their ships crowd the harbor. If they do not take the city today, it will surely fall tomorrow.”

“Nie’s black heart,” Hasik growled. “Signal the men. We ride hard.”

Abban was thankful for his lack of balls by the time Hasik called a halt. The horses were lathered in sweat, but they had a high vantage, giving clear view of the monastery in the distance.

With the sun setting, battle had ended, the chin retreating to their tents and ward circles.

They could afford to wait. Thousands of men choked the narrow road that climbed the great bluff, the only means by which a land force could make the gate. At the base of the hill they made camp, one prepared to remain as long as necessary.

“They know the defenders are weak,” Orman said.

“And that help from Everam’s Reservoir is not forthcoming,” Hasik agreed. “Their rear defenses are pitiful.”

Jesan nodded. “We can take them at dawn.”

“Dawn?” Hasik asked.

“The sun is setting,” Jesan said. “We cannot attack men in the night.”

“I have no master,” Hasik said. “None to tell me what I cannot do. It is no less than the fish men did to us at Waning.”

“We need not fall into all the infidel ways of the chin,” Jesan said.

“There are no infidel ways anymore. We are free.” Hasik turned to Orman. “Give the men an hour to rest their mounts, then we move in.”

In the dark of night, with the chin all in their tents or huddled around fires for warmth, unarmed and unarmored, five hundred of Hasik’s best men struck.

The enemy camp was destroyed in the slaughter that followed, but Hasik was wiser than Prince Jayan had been, keeping the fires and carnage away from the enemy stores.

They cut a swath through the fish men, never slowing as they broke through their lines and ascended the hill. The chin had built progressive fortifications, but all were aimed at an assault from the monastery walls, not one from behind. Soon the Eunuchs controlled the road fully, guarding Hasik’s back as he, Jesan, Orman, and Abban rode up to the gate.

Hasik drew a breath, but it was unnecessary. With a great clatter of chain and counterweight, the portcullis was raised to admit Hasik’s forces.

Dama Khevat and Kai Icha were waiting in the courtyard. Both were bloodied, the dama’s white robes stained red. If the old cleric had been drawn into the fighting, things were dire, indeed.

Khevat gave the shallow, superior bow of a dama to a Sharum. “Everam sent you in our darkest hour, son of Reklan…”

Hasik ignored him, turning to Orman and pointing. “Put a hundred fresh men on the walls. Another fifty to secure the courtyard.”

“I need men in the basements, as well,” Icha said. “There are chin gathered in the caverns below, forcing at the door…”

“Another fifty to the basement,” Hasik told Orman, not sparing him a glance. “Ready the rest to ride out again now that we control the gate.”

Icha clenched a fist. “We will crush them at dawn.”

Hasik deigned to look at him. “No, boy, we will crush them now, while they are scattered and bloody. Now, before they can flee with their supply, or dig in and hinder our rear guard.”

“It is night…” Khevat began.

Abban rolled his eyes. “Dama, please. You’ve already lost this argument once.”

Khevat’s eyes flicked to Abban, quivering with rage. “Why is this piece of offal still alive? I would have expected you to kill him long ago.”

“You have always been low in your expectations,” Hasik said.

“He cut off your cock,” Khevat growled.

“And I ate his,” Hasik agreed. “And then I cut the cocks from all my men, that none might think himself my better.”

Khevat paled. “That is an abomination…”

Hasik smiled, drawing his curved knife. “Pray to Everam you get used to it, Dama.”