innocent in the crossfire.
But her family was on the other side of those doors, and every second this continued, the danger to them was greater.
Iraven closed his eyes. ‘Everam forgive me.’
Then he struck.
Inevera met him head-on, diverting the thrust of his spear with a hooked wrist. She caught the shaft and pulled as she punched.
The inflexible plates of warded glass in Iraven’s robes were too rigid to cover the convergence point at the base of his neck. The flexible armour there was meant to turn a spear point, not block the single raised knuckle on Inevera’s fist. Her blow was a blur, aided in strength and speed by hora magic.
But Iraven seemed to know her target, turning his head to take the blow on his jaw, instead. He rolled with it, using the momentum to turn a circuit, spear swinging low to sweep her feet.
Inevera was surprised but never lost control, bending back and putting hands on the floor, kicking him in the jaw a second time as she avoided the spear and came back to her feet.
Iraven reeled, but he, too, kept control, spinning the spear behind him and coming back in. He glowed bright with magic, fast and strong. The spear like a feather in his hands. Ashia and her spear sisters dropped to the floor, but Inevera stayed them with a hiss and the back of her hand.
Inevera had never held much respect for Sharum fighting styles, but Iraven had been trained by her husband and Damaji Aleverak, the two greatest sharusahk masters in Krasia. He worked his weapon and feet in perfect harmony, giving her little free energy to turn against him as he picked off the most dangerous of Inevera’s return blows and let others skitter off his armour. All the while he herded her with his spear toward kicks and leg locks that could easily cripple.
Fast as he was, Inevera was faster, bending away from thrusts and kicks, diverting others with minimal contact. She ducked under a sweep of his spear, leg curling around to kick him in the back. He pitched forward, tripping as she hooked his ankle with her support leg.
That should have ended it, but again he surprised her, turning the fall into a somersault and redirecting that energy back in at her. Inevera caught his spear shaft, and he push-kicked her dead centre, slamming her back into the doorframe.
Inevera knew then she had been too merciful, meeting him with sharusahk instead of magic. Thousands of wards on the tiles of the doorframe came to life on contact with the hora about her person, filling the landing with light and setting off alarms throughout the palace.
Inevera snarled as Iraven thrust again, kicking the point of his spear down and running up the shaft to hook a leg around his throat, bearing him to the floor.
Still the warrior thrashed and fought, but Inevera accepted the minor blows, striking convergence points to break the lines of power in his limbs even as she cut off the blood to his brain.
‘Leave Everam’s Bounty with the Majah,’ she told him as his aura began to darken, ‘or I will have your head mounted above the city gate.’
‘Damajah, we must flee.’ Ashia reached out to help her to her feet when Iraven slumped unconscious to the floor.
Inevera ignored the words as she studied the magic flowing through the tiles. She drew an intricate script in the air, and the flare of the wards began to dim even as her wand brightened. She pointed at an inert tile. ‘Break it.’
Ashia did not hesitate, shattering the tile with a punch. Inevera drained two more wards for Ashia to break, then lifted her wand and drew an impact ward, blowing the doors from their hinges.
‘Kill any who stand in our way,’ Inevera commanded, and the Sharum’ting went for the short spears on their backs, warded glass infused with electrum, razor-sharp and indestructible.
Guards were rushing down the hall as the women darted through. Inevera reached into her hora pouch, flinging a handful of black marbles their way, the glass formed around bits of lightning demon bone. Sparks flew as the guards’ muscles seized, and her bodyguards knocked them down like game pieces. Their spears flashed, and Inevera knew the men would not rise.
Up ahead, a group of kai’Sharum clustered by the door to where her parents were being held. Behind them, two dama stood with staves glowing bright in Everam’s light.
Ashia and her sisters flung sharpened glass into the cluster, but one of the dama raised his staff, and a great gust of wind blew the weapons back at them. Most skittered off the women’s armour, but one embedded in a gap between the plates on Jarvah’s thigh. The girl made no sound, keeping pace with Ashia’s charge, but Inevera could see the wound ripple through her aura and knew it was serious.
Before the women could reach the guards, the other dama raised his staff, sending forth a crude but powerful blast of fire. It expanded quickly, catching two of the guards as it filled the hall.
Ashia and her spear sisters did not hesitate, ducking behind their glass shields and wading in. The wards on the shields absorbed the demonfire, and then they were amid the warriors.
There was a shriek as Micha crippled one of the Sharum with a spear thrust to the leg. A spatter of blood as Ashia spun her two-headed spear through a kai’Sharum’s throat. A grunt as Jarvah found a seam in the glass armour and ran another through.
The walls and carpets were ablaze now, but Inevera did not feel the heat, her warded jewellery absorbing the energy. The first dama sent another blast of wind at her as she advanced, but she parted it with a flick of her wand, collecting it behind her and throwing it back at the cleric.
They raised their staves defensively, wards flaring to part the wind much as Inevera had, but she followed the wind with a spell of her own, impact wards blasting apart the floor and knocking them from their feet. One lost his grip on his staff, and Inevera sent it spinning down the hall out of reach. The other held his tightly, fingers running like a flautist to manipulate the wards along its surface. Inevera raised her wand to kill him before he could release the gathering energy.
But then the door opened, and Inevera saw her mother. Asome stepped out behind Manvah, a hand around her throat.
‘That’s far enough, Mother.’
Inevera froze. The hora wand was warm in her hand, slick with her sudden sweat. Its power dwarfed that of even the great staves the dama carried – no doubt with demon bone cores of their own – enough to kill everyone in the palace.
But not enough to free her mother. Not before Asome snapped her neck.
‘I must say I’m surprised you took the bait,’ Asome said. ‘Did you really think it would be so easy?’
‘Let her go,’ Inevera said. ‘That is your grandmother, not some chin slave.’
‘Neither of you made the effort for her to know me,’ Asome said. ‘Why should I care if she dies? But I will let her go when you return my son to me. When you return my true grandmother.’ He tilted his head, eyeing Ashia. She was veiled, but though he had been a poor excuse for a husband, there was no mistaking her. ‘My “dead” bride.’
‘Three hostages for one?’ Inevera asked. ‘Your dama make poor sorcerers, but I thought they taught simple arithmetic in Sharik Hora.’
Asome smiled. ‘Enjoy the advantage while you can, Mother. Melan and Asavi taught us much about hora magic, if unwittingly. We narrow the gap each day. Magic is no longer the sole purview of the dama’ting.’
‘Against the direct teachings of the Evejah,’ Inevera said. ‘Suffer no sorcerer to live, Kaji told his people.’
Asome shrugged. ‘I am Shar’Dama Ka now, Mother. It’s time those passages were updated.’