The Desert Spear

see his mettle in battle. Inevera had foretold he might conquer the green lands one day, and the Evejah taught men to know their enemy before battle was joined.
    “Husband,” Inevera said quietly, touching his arm. “If the
chin
wishes to stand in the Maze like a
Sharum,
then he must have a foretelling.”
    No wonder she had come. She knew there was something special about this man, and needed his blood for a true divination. Jardir narrowed his eyes, wondering what she was not telling, but she had offered him an escape from a difficult situation and he would be a fool not to take it. He turned back to Abban, still hunched in the dirt.
    “Tell the
chin
that the
dama’ting
will cast the bones for him. If they are favorable, he may fight.”
    Abban nodded, turning back to the greenlander and speaking his harsh Northern tongue. A flash of irritation crossed the
chin’s
face—a feeling Jardir knew well, having been a slave to the bones for more than half his life. They exchanged words for some time before the
chin
gritted his teeth and nodded in acceptance.
    “I will take him back to the palace for the foretelling,” Inevera said.
    Jardir nodded. “I will accompany you through the ritual, for your own protection.”
    “That will not be necessary,” Inevera said. “No man would dare harm a
dama’ting.
”
    “No Krasian man,” Jardir corrected. “There is no telling what these Northern barbarians are capable of.” He smirked. “I will not risk having your impeccable virtue sullied by leaving you alone with one.”
    Jardir knew she was snarling under her veil, but he did not care. Whatever went on between her and the greenlander, he was determined to see it. He signaled Hasik and Ashan to follow them back so she could not expel him from her presence at the palace without witnesses. Abban was dragged along with them, though his presence sullied the palace floors. They would need to be washed with blood to remove the taint.
    Soon Jardir, Inevera, and the
chin
were alone in a darkened room. Jardir looked to the greenlander. “Hold out your arm, Arlen, son of Jeph.”
    The
chin
only looked at him curiously.
    Jardir held out his own arm, miming a shallow cut, and holding it over the
alagai hora.
    The
chin
frowned, but he did not hesitate to roll up his sleeve and step forward, holding out his arm.
    Braver than I was the first time,
Jardir thought.
    Inevera made the cut, and soon the dice were glowing fiercely in her hands. The
chin’s
eyes widened at this, and he watched intently. She threw, and Jardir quickly scanned the results. He did not have a
dama’ting
‘s training, but his lessons in Sharik Hora had taught him many of the symbols on the dice. Each demon bone had only one ward, a ward of foretelling. The other symbols were simply words. The words and their pattern told a tale of what would be…or at least what might.
    Jardir caught the symbols for “
Sharum,
” “
dama,
” and “one” among the clutter before Inevera snatched them back up. Shar’Dama Ka. What could that mean? Surely a
chin
could not be the Deliverer. Was he tied to Jardir in some way?
    To Jardir’s surprise, Inevera shook the dice and threw them again, as he had not seen her or any
dama’ting
do since that first night in the Maze. There was nothing but
dama’ting
calm about her, but the very fact of a second throw was telling.
    As was the third.
    Whatever she sees,
Jardir thought,
she wants to be sure of it.
    He looked to the greenlander, but though he watched the proceedings closely, it was clear he saw this only as some primitive ritual required for access to the Maze.
    Ah, son of Jeph, if only it were that simple.
    “He can fight,” Inevera said, removing a clay jar from her robes and smearing the
chin’s
wound with a foul paste before wrapping it in clean cloth.
    Jardir nodded, not having expected more than a yes or no. He escorted the
chin
out of the room.
    “Khaffit,”
he called to Abban. “Tell the son of Jeph he may start on the wall. When he nets an
alagai,
he may set foot in the Maze.”
    “Surely not!” Hasik said.
    “Everam has spoken, Hasik,” Jardir said sharply, and the warrior calmed.
    Abban quickly translated, and the
chin
snorted, as if netting a wind demon were no great feat. Jardir smiled. He could come to like this man.
    “Return to whatever hole you crawled out of,” he told Abban. “The son of Jeph may be worthy to stand atop the wall, but you have lost that right. He will have to speak