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The Daylight War
Peter V. Brett
The Daylight War, the eagerly anticipated third volume in Brett’s internationally bestselling Demon Cycle, continues the epic tale of humanity’s last stand against an army of demons.ON THE NIGHT OF A NEW MOON ALL SHADOWS DEEPEN AND THE DEMONS RISE.Arlen Bales understands the threat better than anyone. Resisting the coreling plague has shaped him into a weapon so powerful he has attracted enemies both above and below ground.But as Arlen prepares his people for battle, a daylight war approaches from the south. Out of the desert rides an army led by a man who believes his destiny is to unite humanity against the demons, willingly or not.Once, Ahmann Jardir and Arlen were like brothers. Now they are the bitterest of rivals, and Jardir’s ambition is matched only by the magic wielded by his first wife, Inevera, a powerful priestess.The corelings will attack in thirty nights, and the only men capable of defeating them are divided against each other by the most deadly demons of all: those that lurk in the human heart.
THE
DAYLIGHT
WAR
PETER V. BRETT
For my parents, John and Dolores, who still read together on the couch at night.
Contents
Title Page (#u942d9c4c-fb7c-5f91-a096-fb4181241de1)
Dedication (#u506dd832-c61b-56cc-8509-28a14011ca50)
Map (#uaf9c5b55-7caf-5bb0-bfd6-c442c6605b67)
Prologue: Inevera (#uf3c0082c-2bb9-5438-ac71-43542e9410b7)
Chapter1: Arlen (#ue1564536-e804-5253-b377-e63e4eecb60c)
Chapter 2: Promise (#u0ddf7a61-b7c4-5d31-8cbb-c0940e692883)
Chapter 3: The Oatingers (#ua1c02283-7f52-54f2-b37d-b4f72f91b39a)
Chapter 4: Second Coming (#u606089d2-1368-5718-ae14-c4f84adfd061)
Chapter 5: Tender Hayes (#ud16a6986-9f3a-5d63-a84b-e6ad93683480)
Chapter 6: The Earring (#u85c35842-5569-540d-8555-9e7e6f021468)
Chapter 7: Training (#u5b9710af-757e-546d-9fc1-97a047ab9476)
Chapter 8: Sharum Do Not Bend (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9: Ahmann (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10: Kenevah’s Concern (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11: Last Meal (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12: The Hundred (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13: Playing the Crowd (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14: The SongofWaning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15: The Paper Women (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16: Where Khaffit Cannot Follow (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17: Zahven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18: Strained Meeting (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19: Spit and Wind (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20: A Single Witness (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21: Auras (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22: New Moon (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23: Trap (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24: Attrition (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25: Lost Circle (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26: Sharum’ting (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27: Waning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28: Early Harvest (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29: Eunuch (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30: My True Friend (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31: Alive (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32: DominSharum (#litres_trial_promo)
Krasian Dictionary (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
Inevera 300 AR
Inevera and her brother Soli sat in the sunlight. Each held the frame of a basket between their bare feet, nimbly turning it as their fingers worked the weave. This late in the day, there was only a tiny sliver of shade in their small kiosk. Their mother, Manvah, sat there, working her own basket. The pile of tough date palm fronds at the centre of the ring they formed shrank steadily as they worked.
Inevera was nine years old. Soli was almost twice that, but still young to be wearing the robes of a full dal’Sharum, the black cloth still deep with fresh dye. He had earned them barely a week ago, and sat on a mat to ensure the ever-present dust of the Great Bazaar did not cling to them. His robe was cinched loosely on top, revealing a smooth, muscular chest glistening with sweat.
He fanned himself with a frond. ‘Everam’s balls, these robes are hot. I wish I could still go out in just a bido.’
‘You may have the shade if you wish it, Sharum,’ Manvah said.
Soli tsked and shook his head. ‘Is that what you expected? That I would come back in black and start ordering you around like …’
Manvah chuckled. ‘Just making certain you remain my sweet boy.’
‘Only to you and my dear little sister,’ Soli clarified, reaching out to tousle Inevera’s hair. She slapped his arm away, but she was smiling as she did it. There was always smiling when Soli was about. ‘With everyone else, I am mean as a sand demon.’
‘Bah,’ Manvah said, waving the thought away, but Inevera wondered. She’d seen what he did to the two Majah boys who teased her in the bazaar when they were younger, and the weak did not survive in the night.
Inevera finished her basket, adding it to one of the many stacks. She counted quickly. ‘Three more, and we’ll have Dama Baden’s order complete.’
‘Maybe Cashiv will invite me to the Waxing Party when he picks them up,’ Soli said. Cashiv was Dama Baden’s kai’Sharum and Soli’s ajin’pal, the warrior who had been tethered to him and fought by his side on his first night in the Maze. It was said there was no greater bond two men could share.
Manvah snorted. ‘If he does, Dama Baden will have you carrying one oiled and naked, celebrating the Waxing by offering a full moon of your own to his lecherous old hangers-on.’
Soli laughed. ‘I hear it’s not the old ones you need to worry about. Most of them just look. It’s the younger ones that carry vials of oil in their belts.’
He sighed. ‘Still, Gerraz served at Dama Baden’s last spear party and said the dama gave him two hundred draki. That’s worth a sore backside.’
‘Don’t let your father hear you say that,’ Manvah warned. Soli’s eyes flicked to the curtained chamber at the back of the kiosk where their father slept.
‘He’s going to find out his son is push’ting sooner or later,’ Soli said. ‘I won’t marry some poor girl just to keep him from finding out.’
‘Why not?’ Manvah asked. ‘She could weave with us, and would it be so terrible to seed her a few times and give me grandchildren?’
Soli made a face. ‘You’ll need to wait on Inevera for that.’ He looked at her. ‘HannuPash tomorrow, dear sister. Perhaps the dama’ting will find you a husband!’
‘Don’t change the subject!’ Manvah slapped at him with a palm frond. ‘You’ll face what’s between the Maze walls, but not what’s between a woman’s thighs?’
Soli grimaced. ‘At least in the Maze I am surrounded by strong, sweating men. And who knows? Perhaps one of the push’ting dama will fancy me. The powerful ones like Baden make their favourite Sharum into personal guards who only have to fight on Waning! Imagine, only three nights a month in the Maze!’
‘Still three nights too many,’ Manvah muttered.
Inevera was confused. ‘Is the Maze not a holy place? An honour?’
Manvah grunted and went back to her weaving. Soli looked at her a long time, his eyes distant. The easy smile melted from his face.
‘The Maze is holy death,’ her brother said at last. ‘A man who dies there is guaranteed Heaven, but I am not so eager to meet Everam just yet.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Inevera said.
Soli shook himself, and the smile returned in an instant. ‘Best not concern yourself with such things, little sister. The Maze is not a burden for you to bear.’
‘Every woman in Krasia bears that burden, my son,’ Manvah said, ‘whether we fight beside you or not.’
Just then there was a groan and a rustling behind the curtain in the back of the kiosk. A moment later Kasaad emerged. Inevera’s father didn’t even look at Manvah as he nudged her out of the shade with his boot to take the coveted spot for himself. He threw a pair of pillows to the ground and lounged upon them, already tipping back a tiny cup of couzi. Immediately he poured another, squinting in the light. As always, his eyes passed over Inevera as if she didn’t exist, settling quickly on her brother.
‘Soli! Put that basket down! You are Sharum now, and should not be working your hands like a khaffit!’
‘Father, we have an order due shortly,’ Soli said. ‘Cashiv …’
‘Pfagh!’ Kasaad said, waving his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t care what that oiled and scented push’ting wants! Put that basket down and get up before someone sees you sullying your new blacks. Bad enough we must waste our day in the filthy bazaar.’
‘It’s like he has no idea where money comes from,’ Soli grumbled, too low for Kasaad to hear. He didn’t stop weaving.
‘Or the food on his table.’ Manvah rolled her eyes. She sighed. ‘Best do as he says.’
‘If I am Sharum now, I can do what I want. Who is he to tell me I cannot weave palm, if that gives me peace?’ As Soli spoke, his hands moved even faster, fingers a blur as he wove the fronds. He was close to the end of a basket, and he meant to finish it. Inevera looked on in wonder. Soli could weave almost as fast as Manvah.
‘He is your father,’ Manvah said, ‘and if you don’t do as he says, we’ll all regret it.’
She turned to Kasaad, her voice sweetening. ‘You and Soli need only stay till the dama call the gloaming, husband.’
Kasaad’s face soured, and he threw back another cup. ‘How did I so offend Everam, that I, the great Kasaad asu Kasaad am’Damaj am’Kaji, who has sent alagai beyond count to the abyss, should be lowered to guarding a pile of baskets?’ He swept a hand towards the stacks of their work with a look of disgust. ‘I should be mustering for alagai’sharak and the night’s glory!’
‘Drinking with the other Sharum, he means,’ Soli murmured to Inevera. ‘The units that muster early go to the centre of the Maze, where the fighting is fierce. The longer he lounges, the less his chance of actually having to face an alagai while he’s drunk as camel piss on couzi.’
Couzi. Inevera hated the drink. Fermented grain flavoured with cinnamon, it was sold in tiny clay bottles and sipped from even tinier cups. Just sniffing an emptied bottle burned Inevera’s nostrils and left her dizzy. There was no hint of cinnamon in the scent. It was said the taste only became clear after three cups, but after three cups of couzi, whose word could be trusted? It was known to lend itself to exaggeration and delusions of grandeur.
‘Soli!’ Kasaad snapped. ‘Leave the work to the women and come drink with me! We will toast the deaths of the four alagai you slew last night!’
‘You would think I did the whole unit’s work myself,’ Soli grumbled. His fingers moved even faster. ‘I do not drink couzi, Father,’ he called. ‘The Evejah forbids it.’
Kasaad snorted, tipping back another cup. ‘Manvah! Prepare your sharik son some tea, then!’ He tipped the couzi bottle to his cup again, but this time only a few drops fell. ‘And bring me another couzi.’
‘Everam give me patience,’ Manvah muttered. ‘That was the last bottle, husband,’ she called.
‘Then go and buy more,’ Kasaad snapped.
Inevera could hear her mother’s teeth grind. ‘Half the tents in the bazaar are already closed, husband, and we must finish these baskets before Cashiv arrives.’
Kasaad waved a hand in disgust. ‘Who cares if that worthless push’ting has to wait?’
Soli drew a sharp breath, and Inevera saw a smear of blood on his hand, cut from the sharp edge of a palm frond. He gritted his teeth and wove on.
‘Forgive me, honoured husband, but Dama Baden’s factor will not wait,’ Manvah said, continuing her own weave. ‘If Cashiv arrives and the order isn’t ready, he will go down the lane and buy his baskets from Krisha again. Without this order, we won’t have money to pay our war tax, much less buy more couzi.’
‘What?!’ Kasaad shouted. ‘What have you been doing with my money? I bring home a hundred draki a week!’
