The Desert Spear

by Peter V. Brett

  As he mused, a Watcher, Aday, popped up over the wall right in front of them. Their twelve-foot ladders were just enough to make it up the wall from one level to the next.

  Aday pulled on the stout leathern thong attached to his wrist, drawing the ladder up after him. He moved to set it to scale the next level, but a growl above halted him. He glanced up just as a clay demon leapt at him.

  Jardir tensed, but he need not have worried. Quick as a snake, the Watcher had his ladder turned crosswise to catch the demon at arm’s length before it struck. Aday kicked cleanly through the rungs, knocking the alagai down to the terrace floor.

  In the time it took the clay demon to recover, Aday skittered back several feet, extending the full twelve feet of the ladder between them. The demon leapt again, but Aday caught it between the side poles and lifted the ladder with a twist, easily hurling the small demon over the wall. In seconds he was back to setting his ladder.

  “Bring extra spears to the Push Guard in the courtyard,” he called to them as he sprinted up to the next level, his hands never even touching the rungs.

  Jardir grabbed a pair of spears, and Abban did likewise, but Jardir could see the fear in his eyes. “Stay close to me, and do as I do,” he told his friend. “This is no different from the drills we did all day.”

  “Except that this is night,” Abban said. But he followed as Jardir glanced both ways and darted for Hasik’s alcove, keeping crouched low behind the wall to avoid the notice of the wind demons circling high above the village.

  They made it to the alcove, and from there down the steps to the courtyard. Clay demons fell like rain from above as the dal’Sharum drove them over the terrace walls. The ambush points were precisely placed, and the majority of the alagai fell directly into the makeshift demon pits. As for the rest, and the sand demons that had formed in the courtyard, the Push Guard harried them into the pits with spear and shield. One-way wards were staked around the mouth and floor of each pit; alagai could enter, but not escape. The spears of the warriors could not pierce alagai armor, but they could sting and shove and harry, sending the demons stumbling back over the edge.

  “Boy! Spear!” Kaval called, and Jardir saw that the drillmaster’s own spear was snapped in half as he faced a sand demon. Seemingly unhindered, Kaval spun the broken shaft so quickly it blurred, driving it into the demon’s shoulder and hip joints, preventing it from finding balance or any footing save in the direction the drillmaster wanted it to go. All along, Kaval continued to advance, pivoting smoothly to add force to thrusts and to bring his shield into play as he forced the demon ever closer to the pit’s edge.

  But while the drillmaster seemed to be in no danger from the demon before him, more were falling from the terraces at every moment, and the inferior weapon was slowing him at a time he needed to finish the demon quickly.

  “Acha!” Jardir called, throwing a fresh spear. At the call, Kaval shoved the broken shaft down the demon’s throat and caught the new one in a smooth turn that brought him right back in to attack with the new weapon. In moments the sand demon fell shrieking into the pit.

  “Don’t just stand there!” Kaval barked. “Finish and get back to your post!” Jardir nodded and scurried off, he and Abban similarly supplying other warriors.

  When they were out of spears, they turned to head back up the steps. They had not gone far when a thump behind them turned their heads. Jardir looked back to see an angry clay demon roll back to its feet and shake its head. It was far from the Push Guard, and spotted easier prey in Abban and Jardir.

  “The ambush pocket!” Jardir shouted, pointing to the small warded alcove where the Push Guard had hidden until the demons began to fall from above. As the clay demon charged after them, the two boys broke for it. Abban, in his fear, even managed to take the lead.

  But just shy of the pocket’s safety, Abban gave a cry as his leg collapsed under him. He hit the ground hard, and it was clear he would not be able to rise in time.

  Jardir picked up speed, leaping to tackle Abban as he struggled to rise. He took the brunt of the impact himself, rolling them both over and turning the momentum into a perfect sharusahk throw that sent Abban’s bulky frame tumbling the last few feet to safety.

  Jardir fell flat and remained prone when the move was completed. The demon, predictably, followed the motion and leapt at Abban, only to strike the wards of the pocket.

  Jardir got quickly to his feet as the clay demon shook off the shock of the wards, but the demon spotted him immediately, and worse, it stood between him and the safety of the wards.

  Jardir had no weapon or net, and knew the demon could outrun him on open ground. He felt a moment of panic until he remembered the words of Drillmaster Qeran.

  Alagai have no guile, his teacher had taught. They may be stronger and faster than you, but their brains are those of a slow-witted dog. They reveal their intent in their bearing, and the humblest feint will confuse them. Never forget your wits, and you will always see the dawn.

  Jardir made as if to run toward the nearest demon pit, then turned sharply and ran instead for the steps. He dodged around the rubble and barricades on sheer memory, wasting no time in confirming with eyes what his head knew. The demon shrieked and gave chase, but Jardir gave it no more thought, focusing only on his path ahead.

  “Oot!” he cried as Hasik’s alcove came into sight, signaling the demon behind him. He could shelter there, and Hasik could lead the demon into ambush.

  But Hasik’s alcove was empty. The warrior must have just sprung another trap, and was at the ambush point fighting.

  Jardir knew he could shelter in the alcove, but then what of this demon? At best, it might escape the killing field, and at worst, it could catch some warrior or nie’Sharum unawares and be on him before he understood what was happening.

  He put his head down and ran on.

  He managed to put some ground between himself and the clay demon in the makeshift maze, but it was still close behind when the ambush point came in sight.

  “Oot!” Jardir called. “Oot! Oot!” He put on a last burst of speed, hoping the warriors within heard his call and would be ready.

  He darted around the last barrier, and a pair of quick hands grabbed him and yanked him off to the side. “You think this is a game, rat?” Hasik demanded.

  Jardir had no reply, and thankfully needed none as the demon came charging into the ambush point. A dal’Sharum threw a net over it, tripping it up.

  The demon thrashed, snapping the thick strands of the woven horsehair net like thread, and seemed about to tear itself free when several warriors tackled it and pinned it to the ground. One dal’Sharum took a rake of claws to the face and fell away screaming, but another took his place, grabbing two of the demon’s overlapping armor plates and pulling them apart with his hands, revealing the vulnerable flesh beneath.

  Hasik flung Jardir aside, running in and driving his spear into the opening. The demon shrieked and writhed about in agony, but Hasik twisted the weapon savagely. The demon gave a final wrack and lay still. Jardir gave a whoop and thrust his fist into the air.

  His delight was short-lived, though, as Hasik let go the spear, leaving it jutting from the dead alagai, and stormed over to him.

  “You think yourself a Baiter, nie’Sharum?” he demanded. “You could have gotten men killed, taking it upon yourself to drive alagai into a trap that had not been reset.”

  “I meant no—” Jardir began, but Hasik punched him hard in the stomach, and the response was blown from his lips.

  “I gave you no leave to speak, boy!” Hasik shouted. Jardir saw his rage and wisely held his tongue. “Your orders were to stay in your alcove, not lead alagai to the backs of unprepared warriors!”

  “Better he brought it here with some warning than left it loose on the terrace, Hasik,” Jesan said. Hasik glared at him, but held his tongue. Jesan was an older warrior, perhaps even forty winters, and the others in the group deferred to him in the absence of Kaval or the kai’
Sharum. He was bleeding freely from where the demon had clawed his face, but he showed no sign of pain.

  “You would not have been injured—” Hasik began, but Jesan cut him off.

  “These will not be my first demon scars, Whistler,” he said, “and every one is a glory to be cherished. Now get back to your post. There are demons yet to kill this night.”

  Hasik scowled, but he bowed. “As you say, the night is young,” he agreed. His eyes shot spears at Jardir as he left for his alcove.

  “You get back to your post, too, boy,” Jesan said, clapping Jardir on the shoulder.

  Dawn came at last, and all the company gathered at the demon pits to watch the alagai burn. Baha kad’Everam faced east, and the rising sun quickly flooded the valley. The demons howled in the pits as light filled the sky and their flesh began to smolder.

  The insides of the dal’Sharum shields were polished to a mirror finish, and as Dama Khevat spoke a prayer for the souls of the Bahavans, one by one the warriors turned them to catch the light, angling rays down into the pits to strike the demons directly.

  Wherever the light touched the demons, they burst into flame. Soon all the alagai were ablaze, and the nie’Sharum cheered. Seeing warriors doing likewise, some even lowered their bidos to piss on the demons as Everam’s light burned them from the world. Jardir had never felt so alive as he did in that moment, and he turned to Abban to share his joy.

  But Abban was nowhere to be seen.

  Thinking his friend still distressed over his fall the night before, Jardir went looking for him. Abban was injured, that was all. It was not the same as being weak. They would bide their time and ignore the sniggers of the other nie’Sharum until Abban had regained his strength, and then they would deal with the sniggerers directly and end the mocking once and for all.

  He searched through the camp and almost missed Abban, at last spotting his friend crawling out from under one of the provision carts.

  “What are you doing?” Jardir asked.

  “Oh!” Abban said, turning in surprise. “I was just…”

  Jardir ignored him, pushing past Abban and looking under the cart. Abban had strung a net there, filling it with the Dravazi pottery they had used as tools, cleverly packed with cloth to keep the pieces from clattering or breaking on the journey back.

  Abban spread his hands as Jardir turned to him, smiling. “My friend—”

  Jardir cut him off. “Put them back.”

  “Ahmann,” Abban started.

  “Put them back or I will break your other leg,” Jardir growled.

  Abban sighed, but it was more in exasperation than submission. “Again I ask you to be practical, my friend. We both know that with this leg, I have more chance of helping my family through profit than honor. And if I somehow still manage to become dal’Sharum, how long will I last? Even the strong veterans who came here to Baha will not all go home alive. For myself, I will be lucky to last through my first night. And what of my family then, if I leave this world with no glory? I don’t want my mother to end up selling my sisters as jiwah’Sharum because they have no dowry save my spilled blood.”

  “Jiwah’Sharum are sold?” Jardir asked, thinking of his own sisters, poorer than Abban’s by far. Jiwah’Sharum were group wives, kept in the great harem for all dal’Sharum to use.

  “Did you think girls volunteered?” Abban asked. “Being jiwah’Sharum may appear glorious for the young and beautiful, but they seldom even know whose children grow in their bellies, and their honor fades once their wombs grow barren and their features less fair. Better by far a proper husband, even a khaffit, than that.”

  Jardir said nothing, digesting the information, and Abban moved closer, leaning in as if to speak in confidence, though they were quite alone.

  “We could split the profits, my friend,” he said. “Half to my mother, and half to yours. When was the last time she or your sisters had meat? Or more than rags to wear? Honor may help them years from this day, but a quick profit can help them now.”

  Jardir looked at him skeptically. “How will a handful of pots make any difference?”

  “These are not just any pots, Ahmann,” Abban said. “Think of it! These last works of master Dravazi, used by the dal’Sharum to help avenge his death and set free the khaffit souls of Baha. They will be priceless! The Damaji themselves would buy and display them. We need not even clean them! The dirt of Baha will be better than any glaze of gold.”

  “Kaval said all must be sacrificed, to hallow the ground of Baha,” Jardir said.

  “And so everything has,” Abban said. “These are just tools, Ahmann, no different from the spades the dal’Sharum used to dig the pits. It is not looting to keep our tools.”

  “Then why hide them under the cart like a thief?”

  Abban smiled. “Do you think Hasik and his cronies would let us keep the profits if they knew?”

  “I suppose not,” Jardir conceded.

  “It’s settled then,” Abban said, clapping Jardir on the shoulder. Quickly they packed the rest of the pottery in the secret sling.

  They were almost finished when Abban took a delicate cup and deliberately started rolling it in the dirt.

  “What are you doing?” Jardir asked.

  Abban shrugged. “This cup was too small to be of use in the work,” he said, holding up the cup and admiring the dust upon it. “But the dust of Baha will increase its value tenfold.”

  “But it’s a lie,” Jardir said.

  Abban winked. “The buyer will never know that, my friend.”

  “I will know!” Jardir shouted, taking the cup and hurling it to the ground. It struck the ground and shattered.

  Abban shrieked. “You idiot, do you have any idea what that was worth?” But at Jardir’s seething glare, he wisely put up his hands and took a step back.

  “Of course, my friend, you are right,” he agreed. As if to drive the point home, he lifted another similarly clean piece and smashed that on the ground as well.

  Jardir eyed the broken shards and sighed. “Send nothing to my family,” he said. “I want no profit to come to the line of Jardir from this…low deed. I would rather see my sisters chew hard grain than eat tainted meat.”

  Abban looked at him with incredulity, but at last he simply shrugged. “As you wish, my friend. But if your mind ever changes…”

  “If that day comes, and you are my true friend, you will refuse me,” Jardir said. “And if I ever catch you at something like this again, I will bring you before the dama myself.”

  Abban looked at him a moment longer, and nodded.

  It was nighttime on the Krasian wall, and all about him Jardir could feel the thrum of battle. It made him proud that he would one day die as a Kaji warrior in the Maze.

  “Alagai down!” Watcher Aday called. “Northeast quad! Second layer!”

  Jardir nodded, turning to the other boys. “Jurim, inform the Majah in layer three that glory is near. Shanjat, let the Anjha know the Majah will be moving away from their position.”

  “I can go,” Abban volunteered. Jardir glanced at him doubtfully. He knew it dishonored his friend to hold him back, but Abban’s limp had not subsided in the weeks since they had returned from Baha, and alagai’sharak was no game.

  “Stay with me for now,” he said. The other boys smirked and ran off.

  Drillmaster Qeran noticed the exchange, and his lip curled in disgust as he looked at Abban. “Make yourself useful, boy, and untangle the nets.”

  Jardir pretended not to notice Abban’s limp as he complied. He returned to Qeran’s side.

  “You can’t spare him forever,” the drillmaster said quietly, raising his far-seeing glass to search the skies. “Better he die a man in the Maze than return from the walls in shame.”

  Jardir wondered at the words. What was the true path? If he sent Abban, there was a risk he would fail in his duty, putting fighting men at risk. But if he did not, then Qeran would eventually declare the boy khaffit—a fate far worse than d
eath. Abban’s spirit would sit outside the gates of Heaven, never knowing Everam’s embrace as he waited, perhaps millennia, for reincarnation.

  Ever since Qeran had made him Nie Ka, responsibility had weighed upon Jardir heavily. He wondered if Hasik, who had once held the same honor, had felt the same pressure. It was doubtful. Hasik would have killed Abban or driven him out of the pack long since.

  He sighed, resolving to send Abban on the next run. “Better dead than khaffit,” he murmured, the words bitter on his tongue.

  “Ware!” Qeran cried as a wind demon dove at them. He and Jardir got down in time, but Aday was not as quick. His head thumped along the wall toward Jardir as his body fell into the Maze. Abban screamed.

  “It’s banking for another pass!” Qeran warned.

  “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.