The Desert Spear

of a cripple. But as Jardir had learned again and again, the greenlanders were not like his people, not even the Par’chin. They did not embrace death as part of life. They fought it as hard as any
dal’Sharum
fought
alagai.
    There was honor in that, of a sort. The
dama
were wrong to call the greenlanders savages. Inevera’s command notwithstanding, Jardir liked the Par’chin. The rift between them gnawed at him, and he wondered at how to repair it.
    “Thought I’d find you here,” a voice behind him said. Jardir chuckled. The greenlander had a way of appearing when Jardir’s thoughts were turned his way.
    The Par’chin stood atop the wall, looking down. He hawked loudly and spit, his phlegm striking the head of the rock demon, twenty feet below. The demon roared at him, and they laughed together as it sank beneath the dunes.
    “One day he will lie dead at your feet,” Jardir said, “and Everam’s light will burn his body away.”
    “One day,” the Par’chin agreed.
    The two men stood quietly for a time, lost in their own thoughts. The greenlander had grown a beard as Jardir had suggested, but the yellow hair on his pale face only made him seem more of an outsider than his bare cheeks had.
    “Came to apologize,” the Par’chin said at last. “It’s not my right to judge your ways.”
    Jardir nodded. “Nor I yours. You acted in loyalty, and I was wrong to spit upon that. I know you have grown quite close to the Warders since you learned our tongue. They have learned much from you.”
    “And I from them,” the Par’chin said. “I meant no insult.”
    “It seems our cultures are a natural insult to each other, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “We must resist the urge to take offense, if we are to continue to learn from each other.”
    “Thank you,” the Par’chin said. “That means a great deal to me.”
    Jardir gave a dismissive wave. “We will speak on it no more, my friend.”
    The greenlander nodded and turned to go.
    “Do all men in the North believe as you do?” Jardir asked. “That Heaven is not truth?”
    The Par’chin shook his head. “The Tenders in the North tell of a Creator who lives in Heaven and gathers the spirits of his faithful there, much as your
dama
do. Most people believe their words.”
    “But you do not,” Jardir said.
    “The Tenders also say the corelings are a Plague,” the Par’chin said. “That the sins of man were so great that the Creator sent the demons to punish us.” He shook his head. “I will never believe that. And if the Tenders are wrong about that, what faith should I put in the rest of their words?”
    “Then why do you fight, if not for the glory of the Creator?” Jardir asked.
    “I don’t need Holy Men to tell me corelings are an evil to be destroyed,” the Par’chin said. “They killed my mother and broke my father. They’ve murdered my friends and neighbors and family. And somewhere out there,” he swept a hand over the horizon, “is a way to destroy them. I will seek until I find it.”
    “You are right to doubt these Tenders of yours,” Jardir said. “The
alagai
are no plague, they are a test.”
    “A test?”
    “Yes. A test of our loyalty to Everam. A test of our courage and will to fight Nie’s darkness. But you are mistaken, too. The way to their destruction is not out there,” he waved his hand at the horizon dismissively, “it is in here.” He touched a finger to the Par’chin’s heart. “And on the day all men find their hearts and stand united, Nie will not be able to stand against us.”
    The Par’chin was silent a long time. “I dream of that day,” he said at last.
    “As do I, my friend,” Jardir said. “As do I.”

    More than two years after his first visit, Par’chin returned once again. Jardir looked up from chalked slates of battle plans, seeing the man cross the training ground, and felt as if his own brother had returned from a long journey.
    “Par’chin!” he called, spreading his arms to embrace him. “Welcome back to the Desert Spear!” He spoke the greenlander’s language fluidly now, though the words still felt ugly on his tongue. “I did not know you had returned. The
alagai
will quail in fear tonight!”
    It was then Jardir noticed the Par’chin came with Abban in tow, though neither he nor Jardir needed the fat
khaffit
to communicate any longer.
    Jardir looked at Abban in disgust. He had grown even fatter since Jardir saw him last, and still draped himself in silk like