The Desert Spear

Par’chin was my friend, too,” he said at last, “and you are like he was in some ways, and different in others. The Par’chin had a
Sharum’s
heart.”
    “Meaning?” Leesha asked.
    “Meaning he fought for others to live, as you do, but for himself, he lived to fight. When his body was broken and the odds without hope, he clawed his way to his feet and fought to his last breath.” “He’s dead?” Leesha asked in surprise. Jardir nodded. “Many years since.”

    Leesha worked deep into the night in the surgery of a former Rizonan hospit, cutting and stitching the injured
dal’Sharum
back together again. Her arms were covered in blood and her back ached from bending over the table, but Restavi would live, and likely recover fully.
    The
dama’ting
who had taken over the building whispered among themselves as she worked, watching Leesha in something part wonder and part horror. She could sense their anger at her intrusion, especially at night, and their resentment of her barked orders, but her translator was Jardir himself, and none of the white-covered women dared refuse the Shar’Dama Ka. Wonda and Gared had been forced to remain outside, as had Rojer and Jardir’s bodyguards.
    The
dama’ting,
acting like captives in their own home, breathed an almost palpable sigh of relief when Inevera stormed into the surgery. Her face was livid with rage as she strode right up to Leesha, standing nose-to-nose.
    “How dare you?” Inevera growled, her Thesan heavily accented but clear. Perfume hung about her in a cloud, and her wanton dress reminded Leesha of her mother.
    “How dare I what?” Leesha demanded, not backing down an inch. “Save the life of a man you would have let bleed until dawn?”
    Inevera’s only response was to slap Leesha in the face, her sharp nails drawing blood. Leesha was knocked aside, and before she could recover, the woman drew a curved knife and came at her again.
    “You are not fit to stand in my husband’s presence, much less lie in his bed,” Inevera spat.
    Leesha’s hand darted into one of the many pockets of her apron, and as Inevera drew close, she snapped her fingers in the Damajah’s face, scattering blinding powder in a tiny cloud.
    Inevera shrieked and fell away, clutching her face, as Leesha righted herself. Inevera splashed a pitcher of water in her face, and when she looked back at Leesha, her face powders were running in horrid streaks. Her reddened, hate-filled eyes promised death.
    “Enough!” Jardir shouted, interposing himself between the two. “I forbid you to fight!”
    “You
forbid
me?”
Inevera demanded, incredulous. Leesha felt much the same—Jardir could no more forbid her anything than Arlen—but Jardir was only focused on Inevera. He raised the Spear of Kaji for all to see.
    “I do,” he said. “Do you intend to disobey?”
    Silence fell over the room, and the other
dama’ting
looked at one another in confusion. Inevera might be their leader, but Jardir was the voice of their god. Leesha could well imagine what might happen if Inevera resisted further.
    Indeed, the woman seemed to realize it as well, and deflated. She turned on her heel and stormed from the hospit, snapping her fingers to the other
dama’ting,
who all followed after her.
    “I will pay for that,” Jardir murmured to himself in Krasian, but Leesha understood. For a moment, his shoulders slumped, and he looked not like the invincible and infallible leader of Krasia, but like her own father after a fight with Elona. She could almost see Jardir imagining all the myriad ways Inevera could make his life miserable, and her heart went out to him.
    But then a woman’s scream cut the silence, and the tired man vanished in an instant, replaced again by the most powerful man in the world.

CHAPTER 29
A PINCH OF BLACKLEAF
    p.
333 AR SUMMER

    THE GREENLAND GIANT WAS roaring like a lion when Jardir burst from the
dama’ting
sanctuary, Leesha following close behind. Amkaji and Coliv had put lines on his wrists, and three
dal’Sharum
pulled on the rope to either arm, hauling at him like a raging stallion. One warrior, clung tenaciously to his great back, his arms crossed in front of the giant’s throat in an attempt to choke him down, but if Gared even noticed, he gave no sign. The warrior’s feet swung far from the ground, and even those pulling on the lines stumbled to keep him contained.
    Rojer was pinned helplessly, almost casually, against a wall by another
dal’Sharum
who