The Desert Spear

since an Andrah had filled either position with someone from another tribe. It was considered a sign of weakness.
    The Sharum Ka scowled, clearly expecting to have been invited to relate his version first. He stormed over to the tea service laid for him and took a cup. Jardir could tell from the erratic way the steam rose that his old hands were shaking.
    “At the
kai’Sharum
supper this evening, the Sharum Ka gave orders, as he always does,” Jardir began. “My men have found much success in the night and were eager to send more
alagai
back to Nie as ashes.”
    The
Damaji
nodded. “Your successes have not gone without note,” he said. “And your teachers in Sharik Hora speak highly of you. Go on.”
    “We were dismayed to learn we would be sent to the tenth layer,” Jardir said. “Not so long ago, we stood in the first, showing a hundred
alagai
the sun for every man we lost. Then, recently, we were moved to the second, followed soon after by the third. We took it with pride; there is glory enough for all in the lower levels. But instead of moving us to the fourth, as expected, the Sharum Ka sent the Sharach there, giving us their traditional place in the tenth.”
    Jardir saw Damaji Kevera of the Sharach tense, but he was not sure if it was at the dishonor of having his tribe’s “traditional place” be one so lacking glory, or at the sudden change.
    He glanced at the
Damaji’ting,
but they were faceless, and he did not know which of them was Sharach. It mattered little; none of them showed the slightest reaction to his words.
    “The men of Sharach are brave warriors,” he said. “They accepted this assignment with pride. But the Sharach do not bring many warriors to
alagai’sharak.
Even if every man fought as two,” he glanced at Kevera, “and they do, they do not have enough warriors to fully man an ambush point in the fourth.”
    The Sharach
Damaji
nodded, and Jardir felt a surge of relief.
    “So what did you do?” Amadeveram asked.
    Jardir shrugged. “The Sharum Ka gave an order, and we followed it.”
    “Liar!” the Sharum Ka shouted. “You left your post, you son of a camel’s piss!”
    The insult, one no man had dared utter since he had broken Hasik, struck Jardir hard. For a split second he considered leaping across the room and killing the man outright, even though it would likely earn him a quick death at the hands of the Andrah’s guards. Instead he embraced the insult and it passed through him, leaving in its wake a cold, calm anger.
    “We spent half the night in the tenth,” Jardir said, not even turning his head to acknowledge that the man had spoken. “The Watchers saw no
alagai
in our layer, or the ninth, or the eighth. Still we waited.”
    “Liar!” the Sharum Ka shouted again.
    This time Jardir did turn to him. “Were you there, First Warrior, to deny the truth of my words? Were you even in the Maze at all?” The Sharum Ka’s eyes widened, then a look of rage came over him. The truth of the words struck harder than any blow could.
    The Sharum Ka opened his mouth to retort, but there was a hiss from the Andrah. All eyes turned to the man.
    “Peace, my friend,” the Andrah told the Sharum Ka. “Let him tell his tale. You will have the last word.”
    It struck Jardir then just how close these men were. Both had held their respective palaces for nearly four decades. Jardir had held some hope that the Andrah might still desire a strong Sharum Ka, but seeing his bloated form gave him grave doubts. If the Andrah himself had forgotten the warrior way, could he condemn his loyal Sharum Ka for the same offense?
    “There was a horn call for aid,” Jardir said. “Since we were unengaged, I scaled the wall to see if we could answer it. But the call came from the fourth layer, and many battles raged in between them and our position. I was about to descend back into the Maze when the Watcher I sent returned with news that the Sharach were being overrun, and would soon pass from this world.”
    He paused. “All
dal’Sharum
expect to die in the Maze. A dozen warriors, two dozen, even a hundred in a night, what does it matter when we do Everam’s work?
    “Yet there is a difference between losing men and losing a tribe. What honor would I have if I stood idly by?”
    “You said yourself the way was blocked,” Amadeveram noted.
    Jardir nodded. “But my Watcher made it there, and I remember running the walltops with my men as
nie’Sharum.
I asked myself,
Is there