Jardir hesitated. In truth, he could not disagree. Prayer would not help this night. But the Damaji and dama were not just Holy Men to his people; they were the secular leaders as well. The clerics were masters of sharusahk, but with the exception of Ashan they had never personally faced the alagai, and would offer little aid in coming battle. When dawn finally came, they would be essential in restoring order.

‘There is wisdom in what you say,’ Jardir admitted, ‘but Jayan speaks truly that the alagai are a foe the dama are not prepared for, and you yourself said Waning was not the time to introduce untried forces into alagai’sharak.’ He deepened his tone and swept his spear across the men in white. ‘The dama will bestow the blessings of the Creator upon the assembled men, and then go to the underpalace.’

Asome gave no outward sign as he bowed, back straight with dignity, but his aura seethed with rage, even as Jayan’s danced in delight. Already Jardir was regretting the decision, but it was done and he could not be forsworn with all Nie’s abyss about to rise.

‘Go!’ He clapped his hands, and the men began to file out. ‘Ashan,’ he called, and the Damaji waited behind as the others left. Jardir descended from the dais to stand beside him, Inevera following a step behind.

Ashan had been at Jardir’s side for twenty-five years, steadfast in his support as Jardir climbed the rungs of Krasian society to his place of power. The Damaji was married to his eldest sister, and had produced children of shared blood. There was no reason to doubt his devotion, but still Jardir called upon the powers of his crown, not just reading his surface aura, but probing deeply into his very spirit.

He saw in his friend’s heart that his trust had not been misplaced. Ashan did not crave power for its own sake, and truly believed, where many other Damaji did not, that Jardir was the Deliverer, sent by Everam to remake the world. He was not happy about the fate of Ashia, but he remained fiercely loyal.

‘Brother,’ he said, putting his hands on Ashan’s shoulders. ‘If I am killed tonight, you must take the Skull Throne.’ Ashan’s aura lit up in surprise, though Inevera’s remained flat, waiting for him to finish speaking.

‘Do not hesitate,’ Jardir said. ‘Announce your claim as Andrah and have Aleverak taken into custody. Kill the other Damaji before they have time to scheme.’ He looked hard into Ashan’s eyes. ‘Before they have time to kill my sons.’

Ashan nodded. ‘And then?’

‘The Spear of Kaji will go to Jayan,’ Jardir said, ‘but you will hold the crown and throne until the Damajah declares my successor.’

Ashan’s aura went white with shock, followed quickly with derision as he turned to regard Inevera, whose aura was now warm with approval. ‘You will deny your firstborn his birthright, and let a woman decide the fate of our people?’

Jardir nodded. ‘It was she who picked me, Ashan. We both know Jayan is not yet worthy, and may never be.’

‘And what of Asome?’ Ashan demanded. ‘I love your second son as if he were my own, and we have been grooming him since birth to be Andrah. Why should I take the Skull Throne and not him?’

‘I have looked into Asome’s heart, brother. He is no more ready than Jayan to rule, and if he sits above his brother, there will be blood on the streets. I have fifty-two sons, but most are still in the bido, or just out of it. It may be years before the worthiest is known.’

He tightened his hands, feeling the bones in Ashan’s shoulders grind and strain. The Damaji’s aura showed the pain, but he gave no indication of it. ‘For the good of our people, you will protect my Jiwah Ka and obey her in this, or I will find you in the afterlife, and we will have a reckoning.’

Ashan’s aura went cold for a moment, then warmed with determination. ‘That will not be necessary, Deliverer. If you should fall, it will be as you command.’ He looked up, meeting Jardir’s eyes. ‘But do not fall … brother.’

Jardir laughed and embraced him. ‘If I do, I will take Alagai Ka down with me.’

‘On alagai talons!’ the warriors roared, a call that must reach all the way to Heaven.

Jardir looked out over the assembled warriors with pride as Ashan led the Damaji in bestowing the blessings of Everam upon them. The sun was setting, and though it would still be some time before the alagai dare surface, wisps of magic were beginning to rise in the shadows, and his senses were coming alive.

The trained and blooded Sharum radiated confidence and faith, ready to fight and die on alagai talons, as was their right and honour. Their belief strengthened him, as did the knowledge that Inevera had secured the inner city. No matter what happened, his people would survive.

He rode with Jayan and the Spears of the Deliverer towards the wall of the outer city where Inevera had predicted the fighting would be thickest. She had been unable to fathom where the demons would strike first, but many futures held a single field littered with dead. Jardir prayed they weren’t riding into a trap.

He heard the crack of a whip, and turned to see a long line of chin marching for the wall. There were hundreds of them, lightly armed and armoured with warded spears and small shields, but they did not carry the weapons with confidence. All were shackled, connected by long chains threaded through iron loops, and their fear was palpable. These were men marching resignedly to their deaths, terrified of the lonely path. Many would not even have the courage to fight. They would break before the alagai like water poured on stone.

Jardir pulled up his white charger, and the others stopped with him. ‘Who are those men?’

‘Chin who have tried to flee the call to alagai’sharak, or dishonoured themselves in the night,’ Jayan said. ‘They are to be tethered like nie’Sharum, the chains staked in position. If they will not fight for honour, let them fight for their own lives.’

‘Halt!’ Jardir cried to the Sharum driving the line, and the men immediately stopped. All eyes turned to Jardir as he sprang lightly to his feet upon his horse’s back for all to see. He looked to the condemned men.

‘Your Tenders have lied to you!’ he shouted, drawing on the power of his crown to spread his voice far into the gloaming. ‘Since you were infants at your mother’s breasts, they have told you the alagai are a Plague sent by the Creator to punish the sins of man. They have told you that you deserve this, that you have no choice but to cower and hide and await forgiveness and redemption.’

He scanned the men, letting them see his eyes. ‘But Everam loves His children, and would not curse us so. The alagai are a Plague, but it is one sent by Nie, the Enemy, and redemption does not come to men who cower and skulk! It comes to those who take up the fight, struggling against the children of Nie on His Ala even as Everam struggles with Her in the heavens.’

A month ago, he might have thought the words pointless with such men, but now he could see into their hearts, and knew they were tired of blaming themselves for the alagai, tired of being told that the homes and loved ones they lost were punishments they had brought upon themselves. They wanted to believe, but his people had broken them as badly as the demons, leaving them dispirited. They would give anything to be as men once more.

‘You have seen my people fight the alagai,’ Jardir said. ‘You know it can be done. They have training, it is true, but more than that, they have courage. Courage coming not from their spears, but from the knowledge that they fight for more than themselves. They fight for their wives and mothers, their sisters and daughters and infant sons. Their old and infirm.’