The Desert Spear
Page 150
Jardir smiled broadly as Leesha and her escort arrived. It was a smaller group than he had anticipated for such a powerful woman: just her parents, Rojer, giant Gared, and the female Sharum, Wonda.
“That one will set the dama in a frenzy,” Abban said, indicating Wonda. “They will demand she give up her weapons and cover herself. You should ask that she stay behind.”
Jardir shook his head. “I promised Leesha that she could choose her chaperone, and I will not go back on my word. Our people must begin to accept the ways of the Hollow tribe. Perhaps showing them a woman who fights alagai’sharak is a good way to begin.”
“If she acquits herself well before them,” Abban said.
“I’ve seen the woman fight,” Jardir said. “With proper training, she could become as formidable as any Sharum.”
“Tread carefully, Ahmann,” Abban said. “Force change on our people too quickly, and many of them will reject it.”
Jardir nodded, knowing well the truth of Abban’s words.
“I want you to keep close to Leesha on the trip back to Everam’s Bounty,” he said. “Use the pretext of teaching her our language, as she has requested. It would be unseemly for me to attend her too closely, but her greenland chaperones should accept you.”
“Better than the dal’Sharum, I’m sure,” Abban muttered.
Jardir nodded. “I want to know everything about her. The food she likes to eat, the scents that give her pleasure, everything.”
“Of course,” Abban said. “I will see to it.”
While the dal’Sharum broke camp, Abban limped over to the covered wagon Leesha and her parents rode in. The woman drove the horses herself, Abban noted in surprise. No servants to attend her, nor keep her hands from work. His respect for her grew.
“May I ride with you, mistress?” he asked, bowing. “My master has asked that I instruct you in our language, as you requested.”
Leesha smiled. “Of course, Abban. Rojer can take a horse.” Rojer, seated next to her in the driver’s seat of the cart, groaned and made a face.
Abban bowed deeply, holding tight to his crutch. As the dama’ting had feared, his leg had never truly healed, and even now it could buckle at inopportune times.
“If you prefer, son of Jessum, you may ride my camel,” he said, gesturing to where the beast was tethered. Rojer looked at the animal dubiously until he saw the canopied and pillowed seat, spacious and richly appointed. A glitter came to his eyes.
“She is a gentle beast who will follow the other animals without direction,” Abban noted.
“Well, if it will be a favor to you…” Rojer said.
“Of course,” Abban agreed. Rojer grabbed his fiddle and somersaulted off the cart, running over to the camel. Abban had lied, of course, the beast was ill tempered at best, but no sooner had it spit at him than Rojer lifted his instrument, calming it as easily as he might an alagai. Leesha might have greater value to Ahmann, but Rojer, too, was an asset to cultivate.
“May I ask you a question, Abban?” Leesha asked, breaking him from his reverie.
Abban nodded. “Of course, mistress.”
“Have you used that crutch since birth?” she asked.
Abban was more than a little surprised at her boldness. Among his people, his infirmity was either mocked or ignored. No one cared enough about a khaffit to ask such things.
“I wasn’t born this way, no,” Abban said. “I was injured during Hannu Pash.”
“Hannu Pash?” Leesha asked.
Abban smiled. “As good a place as any to begin your lessons,” he said, climbing into the cart and taking a seat next to her. “In your tongue, it means ‘life’s path.’ All Krasian boys are taken from their mothers at a young age and brought to their tribe’s sharaj, a…training barrack, to learn if Everam has meant them to be Sharum, dama, or khaffit.”
He tapped his lame leg with his crutch. “This was inevitable. I was never a warrior, and knew it, right from the first day. I was born a khaffit, and the…rigors of Hannu Pash proved it.”
“Nonsense,” Leesha said.
Abban shrugged. “Ahmann thought much as you do.”
“Did he?” Leesha asked, surprised. “I wouldn’t guess it from the way he treats you.”
Abban nodded. “I beg that you forgive him for that, mistress. My master was called to Hannu Pash the same day I was, and he fought against Everam’s hand time and again, carrying me through the Kaji’sharaj on his back. He gave me chance after chance, and I let him down every time I was tested.”
“Were they fair tests?” Leesha asked.
Abban laughed. “Nothing on Ala is fair, mistress, a warrior’s life least of all. Either you are weak, or you are strong. Bloodthirsty or pious. Brave or cowardly. Hannu Pash reveals a boy’s inner man, and in my case, at least, it was successful. I am not Sharum in my heart.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Leesha said.
Abban smiled. “Indeed not, and I am not. Ahmann knows my value, but it would be…unseemly for him to show me kindness in front of the other men.”
“Kindness is never unseemly,” Leesha said.
“Life in the desert is harsh, mistress,” Abban said, “and it has made my people equally so. I beg you, do not judge us until you know us well.”
Leesha nodded. “That is why I am coming. In the meantime, let me examine you. I might be able to do something for your leg.”
An image flashed before Abban’s eyes, of Ahmann catching sight as Abban lowered his silken pants for Leesha’s examination. His life wouldn’t be worth a bag of sand after that.
Abban waved her away. “I am khaffit, mistress. Not worthy of your attentions.”
“You are a man like any other,” Leesha said, “and if you’re going to spend any time with me, I’ll not suffer to hear you say otherwise.”
Abban bowed. “I knew another greenlander once who thought as you do,” he said, making it seem an offhand comment.
“Oh?” Leesha asked. “What was his name?”
“Arlen son of Jeph, from the Bales clan of Tibbet’s Brook,” Abban said, and saw her eyes flare with recognition, even though her face showed no other sign.
“Tibbet’s Brook is far from here, in the duchy of Miln,” she said. “I have never had the pleasure to meet anyone from there. What was he like?”
“He was known to my people as the Par’chin, or ‘brave outsider,’ ” Abban said, “equally at home in the bazaar and the Sharum’s Maze. Alas, he left our city years ago, never to return.”
“Perhaps one day you will meet him again,” Leesha said.
Abban shrugged. “Inevera. If Everam wills it, I would be pleased to see my friend again and know that he is well.” They rode together for the rest of the day, speaking of many things, but the subject of the Par’chin never rose again. Leesha’s silence on the matter told Abban much.
Slowed as they were by the trundling cart, the dal’Sharum could not give their chargers their head when the sun set, leaving them vulnerable to demons. Ahmann gave the order that they stop and make camp. Abban was erecting his tent when Ahmann summoned him.
“That one will set the dama in a frenzy,” Abban said, indicating Wonda. “They will demand she give up her weapons and cover herself. You should ask that she stay behind.”
Jardir shook his head. “I promised Leesha that she could choose her chaperone, and I will not go back on my word. Our people must begin to accept the ways of the Hollow tribe. Perhaps showing them a woman who fights alagai’sharak is a good way to begin.”
“If she acquits herself well before them,” Abban said.
“I’ve seen the woman fight,” Jardir said. “With proper training, she could become as formidable as any Sharum.”
“Tread carefully, Ahmann,” Abban said. “Force change on our people too quickly, and many of them will reject it.”
Jardir nodded, knowing well the truth of Abban’s words.
“I want you to keep close to Leesha on the trip back to Everam’s Bounty,” he said. “Use the pretext of teaching her our language, as she has requested. It would be unseemly for me to attend her too closely, but her greenland chaperones should accept you.”
“Better than the dal’Sharum, I’m sure,” Abban muttered.
Jardir nodded. “I want to know everything about her. The food she likes to eat, the scents that give her pleasure, everything.”
“Of course,” Abban said. “I will see to it.”
While the dal’Sharum broke camp, Abban limped over to the covered wagon Leesha and her parents rode in. The woman drove the horses herself, Abban noted in surprise. No servants to attend her, nor keep her hands from work. His respect for her grew.
“May I ride with you, mistress?” he asked, bowing. “My master has asked that I instruct you in our language, as you requested.”
Leesha smiled. “Of course, Abban. Rojer can take a horse.” Rojer, seated next to her in the driver’s seat of the cart, groaned and made a face.
Abban bowed deeply, holding tight to his crutch. As the dama’ting had feared, his leg had never truly healed, and even now it could buckle at inopportune times.
“If you prefer, son of Jessum, you may ride my camel,” he said, gesturing to where the beast was tethered. Rojer looked at the animal dubiously until he saw the canopied and pillowed seat, spacious and richly appointed. A glitter came to his eyes.
“She is a gentle beast who will follow the other animals without direction,” Abban noted.
“Well, if it will be a favor to you…” Rojer said.
“Of course,” Abban agreed. Rojer grabbed his fiddle and somersaulted off the cart, running over to the camel. Abban had lied, of course, the beast was ill tempered at best, but no sooner had it spit at him than Rojer lifted his instrument, calming it as easily as he might an alagai. Leesha might have greater value to Ahmann, but Rojer, too, was an asset to cultivate.
“May I ask you a question, Abban?” Leesha asked, breaking him from his reverie.
Abban nodded. “Of course, mistress.”
“Have you used that crutch since birth?” she asked.
Abban was more than a little surprised at her boldness. Among his people, his infirmity was either mocked or ignored. No one cared enough about a khaffit to ask such things.
“I wasn’t born this way, no,” Abban said. “I was injured during Hannu Pash.”
“Hannu Pash?” Leesha asked.
Abban smiled. “As good a place as any to begin your lessons,” he said, climbing into the cart and taking a seat next to her. “In your tongue, it means ‘life’s path.’ All Krasian boys are taken from their mothers at a young age and brought to their tribe’s sharaj, a…training barrack, to learn if Everam has meant them to be Sharum, dama, or khaffit.”
He tapped his lame leg with his crutch. “This was inevitable. I was never a warrior, and knew it, right from the first day. I was born a khaffit, and the…rigors of Hannu Pash proved it.”
“Nonsense,” Leesha said.
Abban shrugged. “Ahmann thought much as you do.”
“Did he?” Leesha asked, surprised. “I wouldn’t guess it from the way he treats you.”
Abban nodded. “I beg that you forgive him for that, mistress. My master was called to Hannu Pash the same day I was, and he fought against Everam’s hand time and again, carrying me through the Kaji’sharaj on his back. He gave me chance after chance, and I let him down every time I was tested.”
“Were they fair tests?” Leesha asked.
Abban laughed. “Nothing on Ala is fair, mistress, a warrior’s life least of all. Either you are weak, or you are strong. Bloodthirsty or pious. Brave or cowardly. Hannu Pash reveals a boy’s inner man, and in my case, at least, it was successful. I am not Sharum in my heart.”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Leesha said.
Abban smiled. “Indeed not, and I am not. Ahmann knows my value, but it would be…unseemly for him to show me kindness in front of the other men.”
“Kindness is never unseemly,” Leesha said.
“Life in the desert is harsh, mistress,” Abban said, “and it has made my people equally so. I beg you, do not judge us until you know us well.”
Leesha nodded. “That is why I am coming. In the meantime, let me examine you. I might be able to do something for your leg.”
An image flashed before Abban’s eyes, of Ahmann catching sight as Abban lowered his silken pants for Leesha’s examination. His life wouldn’t be worth a bag of sand after that.
Abban waved her away. “I am khaffit, mistress. Not worthy of your attentions.”
“You are a man like any other,” Leesha said, “and if you’re going to spend any time with me, I’ll not suffer to hear you say otherwise.”
Abban bowed. “I knew another greenlander once who thought as you do,” he said, making it seem an offhand comment.
“Oh?” Leesha asked. “What was his name?”
“Arlen son of Jeph, from the Bales clan of Tibbet’s Brook,” Abban said, and saw her eyes flare with recognition, even though her face showed no other sign.
“Tibbet’s Brook is far from here, in the duchy of Miln,” she said. “I have never had the pleasure to meet anyone from there. What was he like?”
“He was known to my people as the Par’chin, or ‘brave outsider,’ ” Abban said, “equally at home in the bazaar and the Sharum’s Maze. Alas, he left our city years ago, never to return.”
“Perhaps one day you will meet him again,” Leesha said.
Abban shrugged. “Inevera. If Everam wills it, I would be pleased to see my friend again and know that he is well.” They rode together for the rest of the day, speaking of many things, but the subject of the Par’chin never rose again. Leesha’s silence on the matter told Abban much.
Slowed as they were by the trundling cart, the dal’Sharum could not give their chargers their head when the sun set, leaving them vulnerable to demons. Ahmann gave the order that they stop and make camp. Abban was erecting his tent when Ahmann summoned him.
