The Desert Spear

Krasia, but after months of sleeping in tents since leaving the Desert Spear, it was a welcome touch of civilization.
    In his right hand, Jardir clutched the Spear of Kaji, using it as one might a walking stick. He needed no support, of course, but the ancient weapon had brought about his rise to power, and it was never far from his grasp. The butt thumped against the carpet with each step.
    “Abban is late,” Jardir said. “Even traveling with the women after dawn, he should have been here by now.”
    “I will never understand why you tolerate that
khaffit
in your presence, Father,” Asome said. “The pig-eater should be put to death for even having raised his eyes to look upon you, and yet you take his counsel as if he were an equal in your court.”
    “Kaji himself bent
khaffit
to the tasks that suited them,” Jardir said. “Abban knows more about the green lands than anyone, and that is knowledge a wise leader must use.”
    “What is there to know?” Jayan asked. “The greenlanders are all cowards and weaklings, no better than
khaffit
themselves. They are not even worthy to fight as slaves and fodder.”
    “Do not be so quick to claim you know all there is,” Jardir said. “Only Everam knows all things. The Evejah tells us to know our enemies, and we know very little of the North. If I am to bring them into the Great War, I must do more than just kill them, more than just dominate. I must
understand
them. And if all the men of the green lands are no better than
khaffit,
who better than a
khaffit
to explain their hearts to me?”
    Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Abban came limping into the room. As always, the fat merchant was dressed in rich, womanly silks and fur—a garish display that he seemed to wear intentionally for the offense it gave to the austere
dama
and
dal’Sharum.
    The guards mocked and shoved him as he passed, but they knew better than to deny Abban entry. Whatever their personal feelings, hindering Abban risked Jardir’s wrath, something no man wanted.
    The crippled
khaffit
leaned heavily on his cane as he approached Jardir’s throne, sweat pearling on his reddened, doughy face despite the cold. Jardir looked at him in disgust. It was clear he brought important news, but Abban stood panting, attempting to catch his breath, instead of sharing it.
    “What is it?” Jardir snapped when his patience grew thin.
    “You must do something!” Abban gasped. “They are burning the granaries!”
    “What?!” Jardir demanded, leaping to his feet and grabbing Abban’s arm, squeezing so hard the
khaffit
cried out in pain. “Where?”
    “The north ward of the city,” Abban said. “You can see the smoke from your door.”
    Jardir rushed out onto the front steps, immediately spotting the rising column. He turned to Jayan. “Go,” he said. “I want the fires out, and those responsible brought before me.”
    Jayan nodded and vanished into the streets, trained warriors flowing in behind him like birds in formation. Jardir turned back to Abban.
    “You need that grain if you are to feed the people through the winter,” Abban said. “Every seed. Every crumb. I warned you.”
    Asome shot forward, snatching Abban’s wrist and twisting his arm hard behind him. Abban screamed. “You will not address the Shar’Dama Ka in such a tone!” Asome growled.
    “Enough,” Jardir said.
    Abban fell to his knees the moment Asome released him, placing both hands on the steps and pressing his forehead between them. “Ten thousand pardons, Deliverer,” he said.
    “I heard your coward’s counsel against advancing into the Northern cold,” Jardir said as Abban whimpered on the ground. “But I will not delay Everam’s work because of this…” he kicked at the snow on the steps, “sandstorm of ice. If we need food, we will take it from the
chin
in the surrounding land, who live in plenty.”
    “Of course, Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said into the floor.
    “You took far too long to arrive,
khaffit,
” Jardir said. “I need you to find your merchant contacts among the captives.”
    “If they are still alive,” Abban said. “Hundreds lie dead in the streets.”
    Jardir shrugged. “Your fault for being so slow. Go, question your fellow traders and find me the leaders of these men.”
    “The
dama
will have me killed the moment I issue a command, even if it be in your name, great Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said.
    It was true enough. Under Evejan law, any
khaffit
daring to command