The Desert Spear

and shield alongside the other
dal’Sharum,
and they acquitted themselves well. Gared might be too clumsy for
sharusahk,
but in a shield-press, there was no one stronger, no one who could reach his spear farther from the warded shield wall.
    But Rojer felt his absence acutely as he, Leesha, and Jardir followed the press with several Spears of the Deliverer, even though Rojer kept them bathed in his music and the demons did not approach. Sooner or later, Jardir would ask Rojer’s intentions toward his daughter and niece, and if his answer was not satisfactory, violence and death might quickly occur. His.
    But thus far, Jardir only had eyes for Leesha, doting on her like a man truly in love. Of course, that made spending time around him no easier, especially when Rojer caught Leesha returning the gazes. He wasn’t a fool. He knew what that meant even if she didn’t.
    Rojer breathed a sigh of relief when the sweep ended and they were dismissed into the city. He was thoroughly miserable, his fingers numb from playing and every muscle in his body aching. He was bathed in sweat and coated in a greasy layer of soot from burning demons.
    It didn’t help that Gared and Wonda, flushed with demon magic, looked as if they had just hopped out of bed instead of heading back to it. Rojer had never tasted the magic. After seeing the Painted Man dissipate and talk of slipping into the Core, it terrified him. Better to keep the demons at a distance with music and throwing knives.
    But after close to a year in Deliverer’s Hollow, the effects of the magic on those who regularly partook were obvious. They were stronger. Faster. Never sick, never tired. The young ones aged faster, and the old ones aged slower, or in reverse. Rojer, on the other hand, felt like he was going to collapse.
    He stumbled to his bedchamber, thinking to fall into oblivion for a few hours, but the sweet-smelling Krasian oil lamps in his room were lit, which was odd, since it had still been light out when he left. A pitcher of cool water was on his nightstand, along with a loaf of bread that was still warm to the touch.
    “I have had Sikvah prepare you a bath as well, intended,” a voice said behind Rojer. He shouted in fright and spun around, throwing knives coming into his hands, but it was only Amanvah, with Sikvah kneeling behind her beside a great steaming tub.
    “What are you doing in my room?” Rojer asked. He told his hands to put the blades away, but they stubbornly refused.
    Amanvah knelt smoothly, ritually, touching her forehead to the floor. “Forgive me, intended. I have been…indisposed of late and depended overmuch on Sikvah in my recovery. My heart aches that we have not been able to attend you.”
    “It’s…ah, all right,” Rojer said, making the knives vanish. “I don’t need anything.”
    Amanvah sniffed the air. “Your pardon, intended, but you do need a bath. Tomorrow begins the Waning, and you must be prepared.”
    “The Waning?” Rojer asked.
    “Dark moon,” Amanvah said, “when Alagai Ka the demon prince is said to roam. A man must have bright Waning days to hold him steady in darkest night.”
    Rojer blinked. “That’s beautiful. Someone should write a song about that.” Already he was thinking of melodies for it.
    “Your pardon, intended,” Amanvah said, “but there are many. Shall we sing one while we bathe you?”
    Rojer had a sudden vision of being strangled in the bath by the two of them, nude and singing. He laughed nervously. “My master told me to beware things too good to be true.”
    Amanvah tilted her head. “I don’t understand.”
    Rojer swallowed hard. “Perhaps I should bathe myself.”
    The girls giggled behind their veils. “You have already seen us unclad, intended,” Sikvah said. “Do you fear what we may see?”
    Rojer blushed. “It’s not that, I…”
    “Do not trust us,” Amanvah said.
    “Is there a reason I should?” Rojer snapped. “You pretend to be innocent girls who don’t speak a word of Thesan, then you try and kill Leesha, and turn out to have understood every word we ’ve said. How do I know there isn’t blackleaf in that tub?”
    Both of them put their heads to the floor again. “If that is your feeling, then kill us, intended,” Amanvah said.
    “What?” Rojer said. “I’m not killing anybody.”
    “It is your right,” Amanvah said, “and no more than we deserve for our betrayal. It is the same fate we will face if you refuse us.”
    “They’ll kill