The Desert Spear

“Being
jiwah’Sharum
may appear glorious for the young and beautiful, but they seldom even know whose children grow in their bellies, and their honor fades once their wombs grow barren and their features less fair. Better by far a proper husband, even a
khaffit,
than that.”
    Jardir said nothing, digesting the information, and Abban moved closer, leaning in as if to speak in confidence, though they were quite alone.
    “We could split the profits, my friend,” he said. “Half to my mother, and half to yours. When was the last time she or your sisters had meat? Or more than rags to wear? Honor may help them years from this day, but a quick profit can help them now.”
    Jardir looked at him skeptically. “How will a handful of pots make any difference?”
    “These are not just any pots, Ahmann,” Abban said. “Think of it! These last works of master Dravazi, used by the
dal’Sharum
to help avenge his death and set free the
khaffit
souls of Baha. They will be priceless! The
Damaji
themselves would buy and display them. We need not even clean them! The dirt of Baha will be better than any glaze of gold.”
    “Kaval said all must be sacrificed, to hallow the ground of Baha,” Jardir said.
    “And so everything has,” Abban said. “These are just tools, Ahmann, no different from the spades the
dal’Sharum
used to dig the pits. It is not looting to keep our tools.”
    “Then why hide them under the cart like a thief?”
    Abban smiled. “Do you think Hasik and his cronies would let us keep the profits if they knew?”
    “I suppose not,” Jardir conceded.
    “It’s settled then,” Abban said, clapping Jardir on the shoulder. Quickly they packed the rest of the pottery in the secret sling.
    They were almost finished when Abban took a delicate cup and deliberately started rolling it in the dirt.
    “What are you doing?” Jardir asked.
    Abban shrugged. “This cup was too small to be of use in the work,” he said, holding up the cup and admiring the dust upon it. “But the dust of Baha will increase its value tenfold.”
    “But it’s a lie,” Jardir said.
    Abban winked. “The buyer will never know that, my friend.”
    “
I
will know!” Jardir shouted, taking the cup and hurling it to the ground. It struck the ground and shattered.
    Abban shrieked. “You idiot, do you have any idea what that was worth?” But at Jardir’s seething glare, he wisely put up his hands and took a step back.
    “Of course, my friend, you are right,” he agreed. As if to drive the point home, he lifted another similarly clean piece and smashed that on the ground as well.
    Jardir eyed the broken shards and sighed. “Send nothing to my family,” he said. “I want no profit to come to the line of Jardir from this…low deed. I would rather see my sisters chew hard grain than eat tainted meat.”
    Abban looked at him with incredulity, but at last he simply shrugged. “As you wish, my friend. But if your mind ever changes…”
    “If that day comes, and you are my true friend, you will refuse me,” Jardir said. “And if I ever catch you at something like this again, I will bring you before the
dama
myself.”
    Abban looked at him a moment longer, and nodded.

    It was nighttime on the Krasian wall, and all about him Jardir could feel the thrum of battle. It made him proud that he would one day die as a Kaji warrior in the Maze.
    “
Alagai
down!” Watcher Aday called. “Northeast quad! Second layer!”
    Jardir nodded, turning to the other boys. “Jurim, inform the Majah in layer three that glory is near. Shanjat, let the Anjha know the Majah will be moving away from their position.”
    “I can go,” Abban volunteered. Jardir glanced at him doubtfully. He knew it dishonored his friend to hold him back, but Abban’s limp had not subsided in the weeks since they had returned from Baha, and
alagai’sharak
was no game.
    “Stay with me for now,” he said. The other boys smirked and ran off.
    Drillmaster Qeran noticed the exchange, and his lip curled in disgust as he looked at Abban. “Make yourself useful, boy, and untangle the nets.”
    Jardir pretended not to notice Abban’s limp as he complied. He returned to Qeran’s side.
    “You can’t spare him forever,” the drillmaster said quietly, raising his far-seeing glass to search the skies. “Better he die a man in the Maze than return from the walls in shame.”
    Jardir wondered at the words. What was the true path? If he sent Abban, there was a risk he would