The Desert Spear

enormity of the honor he was offering them.
    And to a one, they refused him.
    In the meantime, the Par’chin kept his word, visiting at least twice every year. Sometimes his visits would last mere days, and other times he would spend months in the Desert Spear and the surrounding villages. Again and again, he arrived at the training grounds, begging leave to join in
alagai’sharak.
    Is the Par’chin the only true man in the North?
Jardir wondered.

    The Pit Warder, falling in a spray of blood, had not hit the ground before the Par’chin was there. He hooked the sand demon’s legs with his own and dropped to the ground, twisting for leverage in a flawless
sharusahk
move. The demon’s knees buckled, and it dropped into the pit.
    As if it had all been one smooth motion, the Par’chin produced a stick of charcoal, repairing the damaged ward and resealing the circle before another demon could escape. He was at the Warder’s side in an instant, cutting at his robes and tossing aside the steel plates pocketed in the fabric to ward off
alagai
claws. The metal was a special protection granted to the Pit Warders, but it was still poor compensation for a shield and spear. Pit Warders needed their hands free.
    The Par’chin’s hands and arms grew slick with blood, but he paid it no mind, digging in his battle bag for herbs and implements. Jardir shook his head in amazement. This was not the first time the greenlander had treated an injured warrior on the Maze floor. Were the Northerners all Warders and
dama’ting
combined?
    The Warder struggled weakly, but the Par’chin straddled him, pinning him with his knees as he continued to clean the wound.
    “Help me!” the Par’chin called in Krasian, but the
dal’Sharum
only watched in confusion. Jardir felt it, too. These were no simple wounds. Could he not see the man was doomed to life as a cripple if he should survive?
    Jardir walked over to the pair. The Par’chin was trying to thread a hooked needle while keeping pressure on the bandages with his elbow. The warrior continued to struggle, making the task impossible.
    “Hold him still!” the Par’chin cried, seeing his approach. Jardir ignored him, looking in the warrior’s eyes. The
dal’Sharum
gave a slight shake of his head.
    Jardir plunged his spear into the man’s heart.
    The Par’chin shrieked, dropping his needle and launching himself at Jardir. He grabbed Jardir’s robes and shoved him back hard, slamming him against the Maze wall.
    “What are you about?” the Par’chin demanded.
    All around the ambush point, warriors raised their spears and approached. No man was allowed to lay hands on the First Warrior.
    Jardir raised a hand to forestall them, keeping his eyes on the green-lander, who had no idea how close he was to death.
    Upon seeing the Par’chin’s eyes, Jardir revised that assessment. Perhaps he did know, and simply didn’t care. Killing the Warder had offended the greenlander beyond reason.
    “I am about letting men die with honor, son of Jeph,” Jardir said. “He did not want your help. He did not need it. He had done his duty, and now he is in Heaven.”
    “There is no Heaven,” the Par’chin growled. “All you did was murder a man.”
    Jardir flexed, breaking the Par’chin’s hold easily. The man had learned
sharusahk
quickly over the last two years, but he was not yet a match for most
dal’Sharum,
much less one trained in Sharik Hora. He punched the Par’chin in the jaw, easily ducking his return swing. He twisted the man’s arm behind him and slammed him to the ground.
    “Just this once,” he whispered in the Par’chin’s ear, “I will pretend I did not hear you say that. Speak your Northern blasphemies again in Krasia, and your life will be forfeit.”

    Keep him close,
Inevera had said, but he had failed.
    Jardir stood alone atop the wall, watching as the
alagai
fled the coming sun. The great rock demon, which his men had taken to calling Alagai Ka, paced before the restored gates, but the wards were strong. Soon he, too, would sink back down to Nie’s abyss for another day.
    Jardir kept remembering the desperation in the Par’chin’s eyes, the need to save the Warder’s life. Jardir knew he had been right to end it and ensure the man glory over a life as a cripple, but he knew, too, that he had deliberately antagonized the Par’chin in the process.
    Among his people, such abject lessons were common, and no man would try to assault his betters for the life