The Desert Spear

be lucky to even remain a
kai’Sharum
after this,” he said. “I killed the Andrah’s friend.”
    “Nonsense,” Inevera said, smiling wickedly. “The Andrah is…pliable. The post is empty now, and you have won glory that even the Majah acknowledge. I will convince him that he can only gain face by appointing you.”
    “How?” Jardir asked.
    “Leave it to me,” Inevera said. “You have other concerns. When the Andrah places the white turban on your head, your first announcement will be an offer to take a fertile wife from each tribe as a symbol of unity.”
    Jardir was scandalized. “Mix the blood of Kaji, the first Deliverer, with lesser tribes?”
    Inevera poked him hard in the chest. “You will be Sharum Ka, if you stop acting the fool and do as you’re told. If you can produce heirs with ties to each tribe…”
    “Krasia will unite as never before,” Jardir caught on. “I could invite the
Damaji
to select my brides,” he mused. “That should gain me favor.”
    “No,” Inevera said. “Leave that to me. The
Damaji
will choose for politics. The
alagai hora
will choose for Everam.”
    “Always the bones,” Jardir muttered. “Was Kaji himself bound to them?”
    “It was Kaji who first gave us the wards of prophecy,” Inevera said.

    The next day, Jardir found himself in the Andrah’s throne room once more. The
Damaji
murmured to one another as he entered, and
Damaji’ting
watched him, inscrutable as ever.
    The Andrah sat on his throne, toying with the white turban of the Sharum Ka. The steel under the cloth rang with a clear note as the Andrah flicked it with a long, painted nail.
    “The Sharum Ka was a great warrior,” the Andrah said as if reading his mind. He rose from his throne, and Jardir immediately sank to his knees, spreading his arms in supplication.
    “Yes, Holiness,” he said.
    The Andrah waved a dismissive hand at him. “You do not remember him as such, of course. By the time you were in your bido, he already had more years than most
Sharum
ever see, and could no longer stand toe-to-toe with the
alagai
as a young man.”
    Jardir bowed his head.
    “It is a failing of the young to think a man’s worth lies only in the strength of his arm,” the Andrah said. “Would you judge me so?”
    “Your pardon, Holiness,” Jardir said, “but you are not
Sharum.
The
Sharum
are your arm in the night, and that arm must be strong.”
    The Andrah grunted. “Bold,” he said. “Though I guess any man who took a
dama’ting
to wife would have to be.”
    Jardir said nothing.
    “You sought to provoke him into attacking you,” the Andrah said. “No doubt you thought such was the way a brave man should die.”
    Again, Jardir said nothing.
    “But if he had attacked you, it would have only shown that he was a fool,” the Andrah said. “And Everam has little patience for fools.”
    “Yes, Holiness,” Jardir said.
    “And now he is dead,” the Andrah said. “My friend, a man who showed countless
alagai
the sun, dead on the floor in disgrace because
you
could not show him the respect he was owed!”
    Jardir swallowed hard. The Andrah looked ready to strike him. This was not going as Inevera had promised, and she was conspicuously absent from the audience. He scanned the room for support, but the eyes of the
Damaji
were downcast as the Andrah spoke, and the
Damaji’ting
simply watched him as if he were a bug.
    The Andrah sighed and seemed to deflate, waddling back to his throne and sitting heavily. “It pains me to see a man who achieved such glory in life die in shame. My heart cries for vengeance, but the fact remains the Sharum Ka is dead, and I would be a fool to ignore the fact that for the first time in centuries, the
Damaji
are in agreement over who should succeed him.”
    Jardir glanced at the
Damaji
again. He might have imagined it, but it seemed as if Amadeveram nodded slightly to him.
    “You will be Sharum Ka,” the Andrah said curtly. “The night will belong to you.”
    Jardir spread his hands and leaned forward on his knees, pressing his forehead into the thick woven carpet before the throne. “I will be your strong arm in the night,” he swore.
    “I will make the announcement at Sharik Hora tonight,” the Andrah said. “You may go.”
    Jardir touched his forehead to the floor again, remembering Inevera’s instructions. Already the
Damaji
were beginning to murmur. If he was going to speak, it must be now.
    “Holiness,” he began, watching the Andrah’s