The Desert Spear
Page 50
Jardir’s heart ached at the look of betrayal on his friend’s face. He deserved no better, but now that the trap was sprung, he was committed to its course. “The Spear of Kaji belongs in the hands of the Shar’Dama Ka,” he said. “You are not he.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” the Par’chin said.
“Then don’t, my friend,” Jardir begged. “Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.” Inevera would call him a fool for the offer. Even his lieutenants murmured in surprise, but he did not care. He prayed his friend would accept, though he knew in his heart that he would not. The son of Jeph was no coward. Behind him in the demon pit, there was a growl. A warrior’s death awaited him.
He fought hard as the dal’Sharum fell upon him, breaking bones but refusing, even now, to kill men. Jardir stayed out of the fray, consumed by his shame.
Finally, it was done, the Par’chin held tight by Hasik and Shanjat as Jardir bent to pick up the spear. Immediately he felt its power and a sense of belonging as his fingers tightened about the haft. Indeed, it was the weapon of Kaji, whose seventh son had been the first Jardir.
“I am truly sorry, my friend,” he said. “I wish there could be another way.”
The Par’chin spat in his face. “Everam is watching your betrayal!”
Jardir felt a flash of anger. The Par’chin did not believe in Heaven, but he was willing to use the Creator’s name when it suited his purpose. He had no wives or children, no ties to family or tribe, but he thought he knew what was best for all. His arrogance knew no bounds.
“Do not speak of Everam, chin,” Jardir said. “I am his Sharum Ka, not you. Without me, Krasia falls.”
They rode out of the city secretly in the predawn light. Most of the alagai had already returned to the abyss, but a sand demon must have heard their approach and waited, because it leapt out at them from the shadow of a dune mere minutes before dawn.
Jardir was ready, and the defensive wards on the shaft of the spear flared as he parried the attack. The alagai was thrown to the ground and glanced at the brightening sky, but before it could dematerialize, Jardir leapt from the back of his horse and skewered it.
There was a pulse of light as the warded spearhead punched through the gritty armor of the demon, and Jardir felt the spear come to life in his hand. A shock ran through him like Inevera’s lightning stone, but where that was agony, this was ecstasy. Immediately he felt stronger, faster. Old aches from injuries long forgotten, pains he had become so accustomed to he no longer noticed them, suddenly vanished, revealing themselves by their absence. He felt immortal. Invincible. He swung his arms effortlessly, hurling the demon’s corpse thirty feet to await the rising sun.
The sense of power faded quickly after the kill, but the healing remained. Jardir was over thirty, but he suddenly remembered what it had felt like when his body was twenty, and wondered how he had ever forgotten.
All this from a single sand demon, he mused. What must the Par’chin have felt when he used it on dozens of alagai in the Maze?
But he would never know the answer, for they left the unconscious Par’chin facedown on the dunes moments before sunrise, miles from the city and more than a day’s walk from the nearest village.
Jardir looked down at him, and the greenlander’s words flashed in his mind. Everam is watching your betrayal! he had shouted.
“Why could you not have left when I begged it of you, my friend?” Jardir asked—one more question the Par’chin could never answer for him.
Jardir regarded his friend sadly as Hasik and Shanjat climbed back into their saddles. He took the skin of cool water from his saddle horn, throwing it to land with a thump in the sand beside the greenlander’s prone form.
“What are you doing?” Ashan asked. “We should kill him now, not help him.”
“I will not stab an unconscious warrior,” Jardir said. “The skin will not fly him across the sands to succor, but he will wake, and drink, and when the alagai come, he will die on his feet like a man, and find his way to paradise.”
“What if he returns to the city?” Shanjat asked.
“Post Mehnding on the walls through the day to shoot him if he tries,” Jardir said.
He looked back. But you won’t, will you, Par’chin? he thought. You have a Sharum’s spirit, and will die fighting alagai with your bare hands.
“He is a chin,” Ashan said. “An unbeliever. What makes you think Everam will welcome him in Heaven?”
Jardir raised the spear, catching the light from the rising sun. “Because I am Shar’Dama Ka, and I say it is so.”
The others goggled, but no one disputed the claim.
Inevera’s words from just hours ago came to him again.
At dawn, you will declare yourself Shar’Dama Ka.
He looked back to the body of the Par’chin.
Die well, he prayed, and when we meet in Heaven, if I have not fulfilled both our dreams, we shall have a reckoning.
He turned his horse, riding back to the city.
His city.
CHAPTER 9
SHAR’DAMA KA
329 AR
“GO NO FARTHER, TRAITOR, ” Dama Everal said, moving to block the entrance to the Andrah’s throne room. He was the oldest of the Andrah’s sons, almost certain to become Damaji on the death of Amadeveram, and likely Andrah after that. At fifty, he was still robust and black-haired, a sharusahk master said to have no equal.
He was also the last of the Andrah’s sons Jardir would have to kill before he could gut the fat old man.
It was not yet a month since, covered in demon gore, Jardir had announced himself the Deliverer in the Maze. Three-quarters of the Sharum had declared for him on the spot. Half the dama as well, with more converting daily. The remainder rallied to their Damaji, who attempted to defend their own palaces at first, but finally, as Jardir’s power grew, fled through the Undercity and barricaded themselves behind the walls of the Andrah’s palace.
His conquest might have lasted days rather than the weeks it had taken, but each nightfall, Jardir blew the Horn of Sharak, calling his warriors to the Maze. The meanest soldier had a battle-warded spear now, and the alagai greeted the sun in droves.
Free to regroup at night, the Andrah and Damaji had thought this a great advantage, but they had not reckoned with the shame this caused their remaining Sharum, denied alagai’sharak by their leaders while Jardir’s men saw endless glory. Warriors deserted nightly, and were welcomed in the Maze without question. At last, there were not enough to hold even the Andrah’s walls. Jardir’s men had taken the gates shortly after dawn, and breached the palace doors soon after. Now there was only one man between Jardir and his vengeance.
“Your forgiveness, Dama,” Jardir said, bowing to Everal, “but I cannot offer you surrender as I have other men, for who could trust a man not willing to die for his own father? Better that you die with honor.”
“Pretender!” Everal spat. “You are no Deliverer, just a murderer with a stolen spear. You would be nothing without it!”
Jardir stopped short, holding up a hand to halt the warriors behind him.
“Think you truly so?” Jardir asked.
Everal spat at his feet. “Put the weapon down and face me without its tainted magic, if it is not so.”
“I don’t want to fight you,” the Par’chin said.
“Then don’t, my friend,” Jardir begged. “Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.” Inevera would call him a fool for the offer. Even his lieutenants murmured in surprise, but he did not care. He prayed his friend would accept, though he knew in his heart that he would not. The son of Jeph was no coward. Behind him in the demon pit, there was a growl. A warrior’s death awaited him.
He fought hard as the dal’Sharum fell upon him, breaking bones but refusing, even now, to kill men. Jardir stayed out of the fray, consumed by his shame.
Finally, it was done, the Par’chin held tight by Hasik and Shanjat as Jardir bent to pick up the spear. Immediately he felt its power and a sense of belonging as his fingers tightened about the haft. Indeed, it was the weapon of Kaji, whose seventh son had been the first Jardir.
“I am truly sorry, my friend,” he said. “I wish there could be another way.”
The Par’chin spat in his face. “Everam is watching your betrayal!”
Jardir felt a flash of anger. The Par’chin did not believe in Heaven, but he was willing to use the Creator’s name when it suited his purpose. He had no wives or children, no ties to family or tribe, but he thought he knew what was best for all. His arrogance knew no bounds.
“Do not speak of Everam, chin,” Jardir said. “I am his Sharum Ka, not you. Without me, Krasia falls.”
They rode out of the city secretly in the predawn light. Most of the alagai had already returned to the abyss, but a sand demon must have heard their approach and waited, because it leapt out at them from the shadow of a dune mere minutes before dawn.
Jardir was ready, and the defensive wards on the shaft of the spear flared as he parried the attack. The alagai was thrown to the ground and glanced at the brightening sky, but before it could dematerialize, Jardir leapt from the back of his horse and skewered it.
There was a pulse of light as the warded spearhead punched through the gritty armor of the demon, and Jardir felt the spear come to life in his hand. A shock ran through him like Inevera’s lightning stone, but where that was agony, this was ecstasy. Immediately he felt stronger, faster. Old aches from injuries long forgotten, pains he had become so accustomed to he no longer noticed them, suddenly vanished, revealing themselves by their absence. He felt immortal. Invincible. He swung his arms effortlessly, hurling the demon’s corpse thirty feet to await the rising sun.
The sense of power faded quickly after the kill, but the healing remained. Jardir was over thirty, but he suddenly remembered what it had felt like when his body was twenty, and wondered how he had ever forgotten.
All this from a single sand demon, he mused. What must the Par’chin have felt when he used it on dozens of alagai in the Maze?
But he would never know the answer, for they left the unconscious Par’chin facedown on the dunes moments before sunrise, miles from the city and more than a day’s walk from the nearest village.
Jardir looked down at him, and the greenlander’s words flashed in his mind. Everam is watching your betrayal! he had shouted.
“Why could you not have left when I begged it of you, my friend?” Jardir asked—one more question the Par’chin could never answer for him.
Jardir regarded his friend sadly as Hasik and Shanjat climbed back into their saddles. He took the skin of cool water from his saddle horn, throwing it to land with a thump in the sand beside the greenlander’s prone form.
“What are you doing?” Ashan asked. “We should kill him now, not help him.”
“I will not stab an unconscious warrior,” Jardir said. “The skin will not fly him across the sands to succor, but he will wake, and drink, and when the alagai come, he will die on his feet like a man, and find his way to paradise.”
“What if he returns to the city?” Shanjat asked.
“Post Mehnding on the walls through the day to shoot him if he tries,” Jardir said.
He looked back. But you won’t, will you, Par’chin? he thought. You have a Sharum’s spirit, and will die fighting alagai with your bare hands.
“He is a chin,” Ashan said. “An unbeliever. What makes you think Everam will welcome him in Heaven?”
Jardir raised the spear, catching the light from the rising sun. “Because I am Shar’Dama Ka, and I say it is so.”
The others goggled, but no one disputed the claim.
Inevera’s words from just hours ago came to him again.
At dawn, you will declare yourself Shar’Dama Ka.
He looked back to the body of the Par’chin.
Die well, he prayed, and when we meet in Heaven, if I have not fulfilled both our dreams, we shall have a reckoning.
He turned his horse, riding back to the city.
His city.
CHAPTER 9
SHAR’DAMA KA
329 AR
“GO NO FARTHER, TRAITOR, ” Dama Everal said, moving to block the entrance to the Andrah’s throne room. He was the oldest of the Andrah’s sons, almost certain to become Damaji on the death of Amadeveram, and likely Andrah after that. At fifty, he was still robust and black-haired, a sharusahk master said to have no equal.
He was also the last of the Andrah’s sons Jardir would have to kill before he could gut the fat old man.
It was not yet a month since, covered in demon gore, Jardir had announced himself the Deliverer in the Maze. Three-quarters of the Sharum had declared for him on the spot. Half the dama as well, with more converting daily. The remainder rallied to their Damaji, who attempted to defend their own palaces at first, but finally, as Jardir’s power grew, fled through the Undercity and barricaded themselves behind the walls of the Andrah’s palace.
His conquest might have lasted days rather than the weeks it had taken, but each nightfall, Jardir blew the Horn of Sharak, calling his warriors to the Maze. The meanest soldier had a battle-warded spear now, and the alagai greeted the sun in droves.
Free to regroup at night, the Andrah and Damaji had thought this a great advantage, but they had not reckoned with the shame this caused their remaining Sharum, denied alagai’sharak by their leaders while Jardir’s men saw endless glory. Warriors deserted nightly, and were welcomed in the Maze without question. At last, there were not enough to hold even the Andrah’s walls. Jardir’s men had taken the gates shortly after dawn, and breached the palace doors soon after. Now there was only one man between Jardir and his vengeance.
“Your forgiveness, Dama,” Jardir said, bowing to Everal, “but I cannot offer you surrender as I have other men, for who could trust a man not willing to die for his own father? Better that you die with honor.”
“Pretender!” Everal spat. “You are no Deliverer, just a murderer with a stolen spear. You would be nothing without it!”
Jardir stopped short, holding up a hand to halt the warriors behind him.
“Think you truly so?” Jardir asked.
Everal spat at his feet. “Put the weapon down and face me without its tainted magic, if it is not so.”
