The Desert Spear

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.
    “How went your first day?” he asked.
    “She has a fast mind,” Abban said. “I started by teaching her simple phrases, but she was dissecting the sentence structure in minutes. She ’ll be able to introduce herself to anyone and discuss the weather by the time we reach Everam’s Bounty, and proficient by winter.”
    Ahmann nodded. “It is Everam’s will that she learn our tongue.”
    Abban shrugged.
    “What else did you learn?” Ahmann asked.
    Abban smiled. “She likes apples.”
    “Apples?” Ahmann asked, confused.
    “A Northern tree fruit,” Abban said.
    Ahmann frowned. “You spoke to the woman all day, and all you learned was that she likes apples?”
    “Red and hard, fresh picked from the tree. She laments that with so many mouths to feed, apples have become scarce.” Abban smiled as Ahmann’s face deepened into a scowl. He reached into his pocket, holding up a piece of fruit. “Apples like this one.”
    Ahmann’s smile nearly