The Desert Spear

decision to come.
    “Night will fall soon,” Jardir said, changing the subject when she did not reply. “I have come to invite you and your bodyguards to
alagai’sharak.
”
    Leesha looked at him for a long moment, considering.
    “Our war with the
alagai
is the common ground our people stand on,” Jardir said. “It will help my warriors to accept you, if they see we are…siblings in the night.”
    Leesha nodded. “All right, though my parents will stay behind.”
    “Of course,” Jardir said. “I swear by Everam’s beard that they will be safe here.”
    “Is there a reason to worry to the contrary?” Leesha asked, remembering the glare of Damaji Ichach.
    Jardir bowed. “Of course not. I was simply stating the obvious. Forgive me.”

    Leesha was impressed with the tight units the Krasian warriors formed for inspection as Jardir led Leesha and the others to
alagai’sharak.
Abban limped at her side, and Leesha was grateful as ever for his presence. Her understanding of the Krasian language was progressing rapidly, but there were hundreds of cultural rules she and the others did not understand. Much like Rojer, Abban could speak without moving his lips, and his whispered hints of when to bow and when to nod, when to placate and when to stand fast, had kept them all from conflict so far.
    But more than that, Leesha found she
liked
Abban. Despite an injury that put him in the lowest echelon of his society, the
khaffit
had managed to keep his spirits and his humor, and had risen to new power, of a sort.
    “That can’t be all of ’em,” Rojer murmured, looking at the assembled
Sharum,
over a thousand in number. “No way that many men took a whole duchy. We can field that many fighters in the Hollow.”
    “No, Rojer,” Leesha whispered, shaking her head. “We can field carpenters and bakers. Laundresses and seamstresses who will pick up a weapon at need to defend in the night. These men are professional soldiers.”
    Rojer grunted and looked out at the assembled men again. “Still ent enough.”
    “You are correct, of course,” Abban said, obviously having heard every word of their whispered conference. “You see but a tiny fraction of the warriors at my master’s command.” He gestured to the twelve units of men in the courtyard by the great gate. “These are the most elite fighters of each of the twelve tribes of Krasia, chosen as honor guards to their
Damaji
in the city proper. Before you is the most invincible fighting force the world has ever seen, but even they are nothing compared with the million spears the Shar’Dama Ka can muster. The rest of the tribes have dispersed throughout the hundreds of villages in Everam’s Bounty.”
    A million spears.
If Jardir could field even a quarter of that, the Free Cities would be best off to surrender quickly, and she should get used to the idea of being Jardir’s bed toy. Arlen had seemed convinced the Krasian army was much smaller than that. Leesha looked at Abban, wondering if he was being honest. Dozens of questions popped into her mind, but she wisely kept them to herself, lest they reveal even more of her inner counsel.
    Never let anyone know what you’re thinking till they’ve a need to,
Bruna had taught her, a philosophy Duchess Araine seemed to agree with.
    “And the people living in those villages?” Leesha asked. “What became of
them
?”
    “They live there still,” Abban said, sounding genuinely hurt. “You must think us monsters, to fear we are slaying the innocent.”
    “There are such rumors in the North, I’m afraid,” Leesha said.
    “Well they are untrue,” Abban said. “The conquered people are taxed, yes, and the boys and men trained in
alagai’sharak,
but their lives are otherwise unchanged. And in return, they have pride in the night.”
    Again Leesha studied Abban’s face for a hint of where exaggeration might become lie, but she found nothing. Levying boys and men to war was a horror, but at least she could tell the distraught refugees back in the Hollow that their captured husbands, brothers, and sons were likely still alive.
    There was a buzz through the ranks of warriors at the sight of Leesha and the others, but their white-veiled leaders barked, and the
Sharum
fell silent and stood for inspection. At their forefront stood two men, one in a white turban above warrior black, the other clad in
dama
white.
    “My master’s first son, Jayan,” Abban said, indicating the warrior, “and his second,