The Desert Spear

by Peter V. Brett

  “Take him away!” the Sharum Ka cried. Jardir kept his back straight and walked proudly as the guards gripped his arms and escorted him from the Maze.

  Inevera was waiting in the palace of the Andrah when Jardir arrived.

  Did she know of this day years ago, as well? he wondered.

  His guards tightened their grip on his arms as she approached, but it was not in fear of anything Jardir might do. It was Inevera that terrified them.

  “Leave us,” Inevera ordered. “Tell your master that my husband will meet him in the Andrah’s audience hall one hour hence.”

  The guards immediately dropped Jardir’s arms and bowed. “As the dama’ting commands,” one stuttered, and they scurried away. Inevera snorted, pulling her warded blade to cut his bonds.

  “You did well this night,” she whispered as they walked. “Stand tall in the coming hours. When the audience with the Andrah comes, you must provoke the Sharum Ka with words while standing in submission. Enrage him, but give him no excuse to attack you.”

  “I will do no such thing,” Jardir said.

  “You did it in the Maze,” Inevera snapped. “It is trebly important now.”

  “You see all,” Jardir acknowledged, “but you understand little, if you think I will lower my eyes to this man. I was daring him to attack me then.”

  Inevera shrugged. “Do it that way if you wish, but keep your feet planted and your hands still. He will never dare attack you himself, but if you pose a threat, his men will cut you down.”

  “Do you think me a fool?” Jardir asked.

  Inevera snorted. “Just enrage him. The rest is inevera.”

  “As the dama’ting commands,” Jardir sighed.

  Inevera nodded. They reached a pillowed waiting room. “Wait here,” she commanded. “I go now to meet with the Andrah privately before your trial.”

  “Trial?” Jardir asked, but she had already slipped from the room.

  Jardir had never before been close enough to the Andrah to see the man’s face. It was old and lined, his beard a stark white. He was a round man, clearly given to rich foods. His corpulence was disgusting, and Jardir had to remind himself that this man was once the greatest sharusahk master of his day, having defeated the most skilled Damaji in single combat in order to achieve the Skull Throne. In his days beneath Sharik Hora, Jardir had seen the Kaji Damaji, Amadeveram, a man of some sixty years, leave half a dozen young and skilled dama on their backs in the sharusahk circle.

  He looked closer, seeking a sign of that training in the Andrah’s movements, but it seemed his ever-present bodyguards and servants had made the man lax. Even here, he picked at a plate of sugar dates during the proceedings.

  Jardir’s eyes flicked to the sides of the Andrah’s throne. At his right hand stood the twelve Damaji, leaders of all the tribes of Krasia. Dressed in white robes and black turbans, they muttered among themselves about being pulled from their business and dragged to the palace when the sun had barely topped the horizon. At the Andrah’s left, two steps back from the throne, stood the Damaji’ting. Like the Damaji, they wore headwraps and veils of black, falling in sharp contrast over their white robes. Unlike the Damaji, they were utterly silent, watching with eyes that seemed to penetrate everything.

  Do they too know my fate? Jardir wondered, then glanced at his Jiwah Ka, standing beside him. Or do they only know what Inevera tells them?

  “Son of Hoshkamin,” Damaji Amadeveram greeted Jardir, “please tell us your version of last night’s events.” He was Kaji and the Andrah’s First Minister, perhaps the most powerful cleric in all of Krasia save the Andrah himself. The Andrah was said to represent all tribes, but it was he who appointed the Sharum Ka and First Minister, and Jardir knew from his lessons that it had been centuries since an Andrah had filled either position with someone from another tribe. It was considered a sign of weakness.

  The Sharum Ka scowled, clearly expecting to have been invited to relate his version first. He stormed over to the tea service laid for him and took a cup. Jardir could tell from the erratic way the steam rose that his old hands were shaking.

  “At the kai’Sharum supper this evening, the Sharum Ka gave orders, as he always does,” Jardir began. “My men have found much success in the night and were eager to send more alagai back to Nie as ashes.”

  The Damaji nodded. “Your successes have not gone without note,” he said. “And your teachers in Sharik Hora speak highly of you. Go on.”

  “We were dismayed to learn we would be sent to the tenth layer,” Jardir said. “Not so long ago, we stood in the first, showing a hundred alagai the sun for every man we lost. Then, recently, we were moved to the second, followed soon after by the third. We took it with pride; there is glory enough for all in the lower levels. But instead of moving us to the fourth, as expected, the Sharum Ka sent the Sharach there, giving us their traditional place in the tenth.”

  Jardir saw Damaji Kevera of the Sharach tense, but he was not sure if it was at the dishonor of having his tribe’s “traditional place” be one so lacking glory, or at the sudden change.

  He glanced at the Damaji’ting, but they were faceless, and he did not know which of them was Sharach. It mattered little; none of them showed the slightest reaction to his words.

  “The men of Sharach are brave warriors,” he said. “They accepted this assignment with pride. But the Sharach do not bring many warriors to alagai’sharak. Even if every man fought as two,” he glanced at Kevera, “and they do, they do not have enough warriors to fully man an ambush point in the fourth.”

  The Sharach Damaji nodded, and Jardir felt a surge of relief.

  “So what did you do?” Amadeveram asked.

  Jardir shrugged. “The Sharum Ka gave an order, and we followed it.”

  “Liar!” the Sharum Ka shouted. “You left your post, you son of a camel’s piss!”

  The insult, one no man had dared utter since he had broken Hasik, struck Jardir hard. For a split second he considered leaping across the room and killing the man outright, even though it would likely earn him a quick death at the hands of the Andrah’s guards. Instead he embraced the insult and it passed through him, leaving in its wake a cold, calm anger.

  “We spent half the night in the tenth,” Jardir said, not even turning his head to acknowledge that the man had spoken. “The Watchers saw no alagai in our layer, or the ninth, or the eighth. Still we waited.”

  “Liar!” the Sharum Ka shouted again.

  This time Jardir did turn to him. “Were you there, First Warrior, to deny the truth of my words? Were you even in the Maze at all?” The Sharum Ka’s eyes widened, then a look of rage came over him. The truth of the words struck harder than any blow could.

  The Sharum Ka opened his mouth to retort, but there was a hiss from the Andrah. All eyes turned to the man.

  “Peace, my friend,” the Andrah told the Sharum Ka. “Let him tell his tale. You will have the last word.”

  It struck Jardir then just how close these men were. Both had held their respective palaces for nearly four decades. Jardir had held some hope that the Andrah might still desire a strong Sharum Ka, but seeing his bloated form gave him grave doubts. If the Andrah himself had forgotten the warrior way, could he condemn his loyal Sharum Ka for the same offense?

  “There was a horn call for aid,” Jardir said. “Since we were unengaged, I scaled the wall to see if we could answer it. But the call came from the fourth layer, and many battles raged in between them and our position. I was about to descend back into the Maze when the Watcher I sent returned with news that the Sharach were being overrun, and would soon pass from this world.”

  He paused. “All dal’Sharum expect to die in the Maze. A dozen warriors, two dozen, even a hundred in a night, what does it matter when we do Everam’s work?

  “Yet there is a difference between losing men and losing a tribe. What honor would I have if I stood idly by?”

  “You said yourself the way was blocked,” Amadeveram noted.<
br />
  Jardir nodded. “But my Watcher made it there, and I remember running the walltops with my men as nie’Sharum. I asked myself, Is there anything a boy can do that a man cannot? So we ran the walls, praying to Everam that we would be in time.”

  “And what did you find when you arrived?” Amadeveram asked.

  “Half the Sharach were down,” Jardir said. “Perhaps a dozen remained, none without injury himself. They faced a like number of alagai, and with their pit revealed, the demons knew to avoid it.”

  Again, Jardir looked to the Sharach Damaji. “The remaining men stood tall in the night. The blood of Sharach, who stood with the Shar’Dama Ka himself, runs strong in their veins.”

  “And then?” the Damaji pressed.

  “My men joined our Sharach brothers, and we routed the alagai, throwing them in the pit and showing them the sun.”

  “It is said you slew several yourself,” Amadeveram said, pride evident in his voice, “using sharusahk alone.”

  “It was only two I sent to the pit that way,” Jardir said. He knew his wife was scowling behind her veil, but he did not care. He would not lie to his Damaji, or claim glory that was not rightfully his.

  “Still, no small feat,” Amadeveram said. “Sand demons have many times a man’s strength.”

  “My years in Sharik Hora taught me strength is relative,” Jardir replied, bowing.

  “This makes him no less a traitor!” the Sharum Ka snarled.

  “How did I betray?” Jardir asked.

  “I gave an order!” the Sharum Ka cried.

  “You gave a fool’s order,” Jardir replied. “You gave an order that wasted your best warriors while condemning the Sharach to destruction. And still I complied!”

  The Majah Damaji, Aleverak, stepped forward. He was an ancient man, older even than Amadeveram. He was like a spear, stick-thin but tall and straight despite close to seventy years.

  “The only traitor I see is you,” Aleverak snapped at the Sharum Ka. “You are supposed to stand for all the Sharum in Krasia, but you would sacrifice the Sharach just to quell a rival!”

  The Sharum Ka took a step toward the Damaji, but Aleverak did not back off, striding forward and assuming a sharusahk stance. Unlike Jardir, a mere kai’Sharum, a Damaji could challenge and kill a Sharum Ka, opening a succession.

  “Enough!” the Andrah cried. “Back to your places!” Both men complied, dropping their eyes in submission.

  “I won’t have you fighting in my throne room like…like…”

  “Men?” Inevera supplied.

  Jardir almost choked at her audacity, but the Andrah merely scowled and did not reprimand her.

  The Andrah sighed, looking very tired, and Jardir could see the weight of years upon him. Everam grant I die young, he prayed silently.

  “I see no crime here,” the Andrah said at last. He looked pointedly at the Majah. “On either side. The Sharum Ka gave orders as he should, and the kai’Sharum made a decision in the heat of battle.”

  “He insulted me before my men!” the Sharum Ka cried. “For that alone, I am within my rights to have him killed.”

  “Your pardon, Sharum Ka, but that is not so,” Amadeveram said. “His insult gives you the right to kill him yourself, not to have him killed by other men. If you had done so, the matter would be closed. May I ask why you did not?”

  There was a pause as the Sharum Ka groped for a response. Inevera nudged him gently.

  Jardir glanced at her. Have we not won? his eyes asked, but hers were hard in response.

  “Because he is a coward,” Jardir announced. “Not strong enough to defend the white turban, he hides in his palace and sends others to fight on his behalf, waiting for death to find him like a khaffit instead of seeking it in the Maze like a Sharum.”

  The Sharum Ka’s eyes bulged, and veins stood sharply on his face and neck as he gnashed his teeth. Jardir tensed, expecting the man to leap upon him. In his mind’s eye, he imagined all the ways he might kill the old man.

  But there was no need, for the Sharum Ka gripped his chest and fell to the floor, twitching and foaming at the mouth before lying still.

  “You knew that would happen,” Jardir accused when they were alone. “You knew if I enraged him enough, his heart would give way.”

  Inevera shrugged. “What if I did?”

  “Fool woman!” Jardir shouted. “There is no honor in killing a man in such a way!”

  “Ware your tongue,” Inevera warned, raising a finger. “You are not Sharum Ka yet, and never will be without me.”

  Jardir scowled, wondering at the truth of her words. Was it his fate to be Sharum Ka? And if so, could fate be changed? “I will be lucky to even remain a kai’Sharum after this,” he said. “I killed the Andrah’s friend.”

  “Nonsense,” Inevera said, smiling wickedly. “The Andrah is…pliable. The post is empty now, and you have won glory that even the Majah acknowledge. I will convince him that he can only gain face by appointing you.”

  “How?” Jardir asked.

  “Leave it to me,” Inevera said. “You have other concerns. When the Andrah places the white turban on your head, your first announcement will be an offer to take a fertile wife from each tribe as a symbol of unity.”

  Jardir was scandalized. “Mix the blood of Kaji, the first Deliverer, with lesser tribes?”

  Inevera poked him hard in the chest. “You will be Sharum Ka, if you stop acting the fool and do as you’re told. If you can produce heirs with ties to each tribe…”

  “Krasia will unite as never before,” Jardir caught on. “I could invite the Damaji to select my brides,” he mused. “That should gain me favor.”

  “No,” Inevera said. “Leave that to me. The Damaji will choose for politics. The alagai hora will choose for Everam.”

  “Always the bones,” Jardir muttered. “Was Kaji himself bound to them?”

  “It was Kaji who first gave us the wards of prophecy,” Inevera said.

  The next day, Jardir found himself in the Andrah’s throne room once more. The Damaji murmured to one another as he entered, and Damaji’ting watched him, inscrutable as ever.

  The Andrah sat on his throne, toying with the white turban of the Sharum Ka. The steel under the cloth rang with a clear note as the Andrah flicked it with a long, painted nail.

  “The Sharum Ka was a great warrior,” the Andrah said as if reading his mind. He rose from his throne, and Jardir immediately sank to his knees, spreading his arms in supplication.

  “Yes, Holiness,” he said.

  The Andrah waved a dismissive hand at him. “You do not remember him as such, of course. By the time you were in your bido, he already had more years than most Sharum ever see, and could no longer stand toe-to-toe with the alagai as a young man.”

  Jardir bowed his head.

  “It is a failing of the young to think a man’s worth lies only in the strength of his arm,” the Andrah said. “Would you judge me so?”

  “Your pardon, Holiness,” Jardir said, “but you are not Sharum. The Sharum are your arm in the night, and that arm must be strong.”

  The Andrah grunted. “Bold,” he said. “Though I guess any man who took a dama’ting to wife would have to be.”

  Jardir said nothing.

  “You sought to provoke him into attacking you,” the Andrah said. “No doubt you thought such was the way a brave man should die.”

  Again, Jardir said nothing.

  “But if he had attacked you, it would have only shown that he was a fool,” the Andrah said. “And Everam has little patience for fools.”

  “Yes, Holiness,” Jardir said.

  “And now he is dead,” the Andrah said. “My friend, a man who showed countless alagai the sun, dead on the floor in disgrace because you could not show him the respect he was owed!”

  Jardir swallowed hard. The Andrah looked ready to strike him. This was not going as Inevera had promised, and she was conspicuously absent from the audience. He scanned the room for support
, but the eyes of the Damaji were downcast as the Andrah spoke, and the Damaji’ting simply watched him as if he were a bug.

  The Andrah sighed and seemed to deflate, waddling back to his throne and sitting heavily. “It pains me to see a man who achieved such glory in life die in shame. My heart cries for vengeance, but the fact remains the Sharum Ka is dead, and I would be a fool to ignore the fact that for the first time in centuries, the Damaji are in agreement over who should succeed him.”

  Jardir glanced at the Damaji again. He might have imagined it, but it seemed as if Amadeveram nodded slightly to him.

  “You will be Sharum Ka,” the Andrah said curtly. “The night will belong to you.”

  Jardir spread his hands and leaned forward on his knees, pressing his forehead into the thick woven carpet before the throne. “I will be your strong arm in the night,” he swore.

  “I will make the announcement at Sharik Hora tonight,” the Andrah said. “You may go.”

  Jardir touched his forehead to the floor again, remembering Inevera’s instructions. Already the Damaji were beginning to murmur. If he was going to speak, it must be now.

  “Holiness,” he began, watching the Andrah’s eyes return to him with irritation, “I ask your blessing, and that of the Damaji, to take a fertile wife from each tribe, as a show of unity among the Sharum.”

  The Andrah goggled at him, as did the Damaji. Even the Damaji’ting stirred, betraying their sudden interest.

  “That is an unusual request,” the Andrah said at last.

  “Unusual?” Amadeveram demanded. “It is unheard of! You are Kaji! I will not bless your wedding to some—”

  “You need not,” Aleverak cut in, smiling openly. “I am more than willing to perform the ceremony, should the Sharum Ka wish a Majah wife.”

  “You would be happy to dilute the pure blood of Kaji, I have no doubt,” Amadeveram growled, but Aleverak did not rise to the bait, simply grinning.

  “I will bless a wedding to a daughter of Sharach, as well,” Damaji Kevera of the Sharach said. Within moments the remaining Damaji followed suit, all of them eager to have a permanent voice in the First Warrior’s court.