The Desert Spear

no offense. In Krasia, a man’s First Wife will inspect prospective brides personally, but if that is not your custom, your word will suffice.”
    “It sure as the Core ent our custom to let anyone but husbands and Herb Gatherers look between our legs,” Elona said, “so don’t you or your master go getting any ideas about sampling the milk.”
    “Of course,” Abban said, nodding and smiling now that the haggling had begun.

    Jardir paced his pavilion like an animal, waiting for Abban to return.
    “What did he say?” he demanded the moment the
khaffit
entered the tent. “Is it done?”
    Abban shook his head, and Jardir took a deep breath to embrace the disappointment and let it pass through him without harm.
    “Mistress Leesha is more like
dama’ting
than I thought,” Abban said. “She has liberty to choose her own husband, though you must still pay a dower for her father’s blessing.”
    “I will pay any price,” Jardir said.
    Abban bowed. “So you have said,” he agreed, “but I, your humble servant, have nevertheless begun negotiations to minimize the impact on your treasury.”
    Jardir waved his hand dismissively. “So I may approach her directly?”
    “Her father has given you permission to court her,” Abban said, and Jardir smiled, snatching up his spear and pausing to check himself in a silvered mirror.
    “What will you say to her?” Abban asked.
    Jardir looked back at him. “I have no idea,” he said honestly. “But this is Everam’s will, so I trust that whatever I say will be the right thing.”
    Abban frowned. “I do not think it works that way, Ahmann.”
    Jardir looked at Abban, knowing all the words unspoken. Abban was much like the Par’chin in that regard. Polite. Tolerant. And utterly disbelieving.
    Jardir looked at his old friend and felt great pity in his heart, understanding at last what it meant to be
khaffit.
Everam did not speak to them. Abban might use the Creator’s name in every other sentence, but had never truly heard His voice or felt the rapture of submitting to His divine will. Only profit spoke to Abban, and he would ever be its slave.
    But that, too, was part of Everam’s plan, for the
khaffit
saw things no other man did, things essential to Jardir, if he was to win Sharak Ka.
    Jardir put a hand on Abban’s shoulder, smiling sadly. “I know you do not, my friend, but if you do not trust in the Creator, hold faith in me.”
    Abban bowed. “Of course. But at the very least, avoid mention of your other wives. Her mother tells me that Mistress Leesha’s jealousy is like a storm.”
    Jardir nodded, not surprised in the least that such a woman would know her own worth and expect other women to make way for her. It only made him want her more.

    Rojer led his apprentices through their exercises halfheartedly. They had improved a little, but whenever Kendall bent to her fiddle case, he could see the tops of the scars that ran across her chest. A mark of honor demon scars might be, but they were also a reminder to Rojer of just how far his apprentices had yet to come before they could be of any real use in the night. He hoped the instructors from the Jongleurs’ Guild arrived soon.
    Across the way, the Cutters trained in the Corelings’ Graveyard. There was plenty of work to be done to build the new greatward, but so long as the Krasians were camped in the clearing, none of the Cutters had any interest in doing it. Gared had groups of them patrolling the town, and the rest had gathered at the graveyard to train and stand ready if needed. Leesha would be furious when she saw the work wasn’t getting done, but even after all she had been through, Leesha was too trusting of people.
    There was a shout, and Rojer looked up to see the Krasian leader approaching, followed by his two bodyguards, Hasik and Shanjat. They wore their spears and shields on their backs, but while Jardir looked relaxed and serene, the warriors had the look of men surrounded by enemies. Their hands flexed unconsciously for want of a spear.
    Jardir headed toward Rojer, and Gared gave a shout as he and a few Cutters hurried to intercept. Jardir’s bodyguards whirled to face them, spear and shield appearing in their hands instantly. The Cutters lifted their own weapons at the sight, and it seemed a clash was inevitable.
    But Jardir turned, taking in Cutter and
Sharum
alike. “We are guests of Mistress Leesha!” he cried. “No blood will be shed between our peoples until she decrees