The Desert Spear

“Abban! Net!” Jardir called.

Abban was quick to comply, favoring his good leg as he dragged the heavily weighted net to Qeran. He had folded it properly for throwing, Jardir noted. That was something, at least.

Qeran snatched the net, never taking his eyes from the returning wind demon. Jardir saw with his warrior’s eye, and knew the drillmaster was calculating its speed and trajectory. He was taut as a bowstring, and Jardir knew he would not miss.

As the alagai came in range, Qeran uncoiled like a cobra and threw with a smooth snap. But the net opened too soon, and Jardir immediately saw why: Abban had accidentally tangled his foot in one of the weight ropes. He was thrown from his feet by the force of Qeran’s throw.

The wind demon pulled up short of the opening net, buffeting both the net and Qeran with its wings. The alagai dropped from sight, and the drillmaster went down, hopelessly tangled in the net.

“Nie take you, boy!” Qeran cried, kicking out from the tangle to knock Abban’s legs from under him. With a shriek, Abban fell from the wall a second time, this time into a maze alive with alagai.

Before Jardir had time to react, there was a shriek, and he realized the alagai was righting itself to come at them again. With Qeran tangled, there were no dal’Sharum to stop it.

“Flee while you can!” Qeran shouted.

Jardir ignored him, racing for the nets Abban had folded. He lifted one, grunting at its weight. He and the other boys trained with lighter versions.

The wind demon shot past in a flap of leathern wings, banking hard in the sky for another dive. For a moment it blocked the moon, vanishing in the sky, but Jardir was not fooled, and tracked its approach calmly. If he was to die, he would do so with honor, and take this alagai with him to pay his way into Heaven.

When the demon was close enough that Jardir could see its teeth, he threw. The horsehair net spun as the weights pulled it open, and the wind demon hit the web head-on. Yanking the cord to tighten the net, Jardir pivoted smoothly out of the way and watched the creature plummet into the Maze.

“Alagai down!” he cried. “Northeast quadrant! Layer seven!” A moment later there was an answering cry.

He was about to turn back and free Qeran when movement in the darkness caught his eye. Abban hung from the top of the wall, his fingernails bleeding as they scraped and strained against the stone.

“Don’t let me fall!” Abban cried.

“If you fall, you will die a man, and Heaven await you!” Jardir said. He left unsaid the fact that Abban would never see Heaven any other way. Qeran would see that he ended his Hannu Pash as khaffit, and paradise would be denied him. It tore at Jardir’s heart, but he began to turn away.

“No! Please!” Abban begged, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. “You swore! You swore by Everam’s light to catch me. I don’t want to die!”

“Better dead than khaffit!” Jardir growled.

“I don’t care if I’m khaffit!” Abban said. “Don’t let me fall! Please!”

Jardir snarled, disgusted, but he bent despite himself, lying flat on the wall and pulling hard on Abban’s arm. Abban kicked and strained, finally managing to crawl up Jardir’s back and onto the wall. He threw himself on Jardir, sobbing.

“Everam bless you,” Abban wept. “I owe my life to you.”

Jardir shoved him away. “You disgust me, coward,” he said. “Begone from my sight before I change my mind and throw you back.”

Abban’s eyes widened in shock, but he bowed and scurried away as fast as his lame leg would allow.

As Jardir watched him go, a fist connected hard with his kidney, sending him sprawling. Agony fired over him, but he opened himself to it, and the pain washed away as he turned to face his assaulter.

“You should have let him fall,” Qeran said. “You did him no favors this night. A dal’Sharum’s duty is to support his brothers in death as well as life.” His spittle splattered on Jardir’s shoulder. “No gruel for three days,” he said. “Now fetch my far-seer. Alagai’sharak does not wait for cowards and fools.”

CHAPTER 3 CHIN (#ulink_96db7868-ebe1-50b7-abb1-e486a05661d9)

333 AR

ABBAN RETURNED WITH JAYAN and Asome some time later. They dragged with them a number of Northern chin and a single dama.

“This is Dama Rajin, of the Mehnding,” Jayan said, ushering the cleric forward. “It is he who ordered the silos burned.” He shoved the dama hard, and the man fell to his knees.

“How many?” Jardir asked.

“Three, before he could be stopped,” Jayan said, “but he would have kept on burning.”

“Losses?” Jardir looked to Abban.

“It will be some time before I know for sure, Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said, “but it could be close to two hundred tons. Grain enough to feed thousands through the winter months.”

Jardir looked to the dama. “And what have you to say?”

“It is written in the Evejah’s treatise on war to burn the enemy’s stores, so they cannot make further war,” Dama Rajin said. “There remains grain enough to feed our people many times over.”

“Fool!” Jardir shouted, backhanding the man. There were gasps around the room. “I need to levy the Northerners, not starve and kill them! The true enemies are the alagai— something you have forgotten!”

He reached out and took hold of the dama’s white robe, tearing it from his body. “You are dama no more. You will burn your whites and wear tan in shame for the rest of your days.”

The man screamed as he was dragged out of the manse and cast into the snow. He would likely take his own life, if the other dama didn’t kill him first.

Jardir looked to Abban once more. “I want the losses and remainder totaled.”

“There may not be enough to feed everyone,” Abban warned.

Jardir nodded. “If there isn’t grain enough, have the chin too old to work or fight put to the spear until there is.”

The color left Abban’s face. “I will…find a way to make it stretch.”

Jardir smiled without humor. “I thought you might. Now, what of these chin you bring before me? I wanted leaders, but these men look like khaffit merchants.”

“Merchants rule the North, Deliverer,” Abban said.

“Disgusting,” Asome said.

“Nevertheless, it is so,” Abban said. “These are men who can help ease your conquest.”

“My father needs no…,” Jayan began, but Jardir silenced him with a wave. He gestured to the guards to bring the chin forward.

“Which of you leads the others?” Jardir asked, switching to the savage tongue of the North. The prisoners’ eyes widened, and the men looked at one another. Finally, one stepped forward, arching his back and holding his head high as he met Jardir’s eyes. He was bald, with a gray-shot beard, and was dressed in a soiled and torn silk robe. His face was blotched where he had been beaten, and his left arm was in a crude sling. He stood almost a foot shorter than Jardir, but still he had the look of a man who was accustomed to his words carrying weight.

“I am Edon the Seventh, duke of Fort Rizon and lord of its peoples,” the man said.

“Fort Rizon no longer exists,” Jardir said. “This land is known as Everam’s Bounty now, and it belongs to me.”

“The Core it does!” the duke growled.