The Desert Spear

they had not reckoned with the shame this caused their remaining
Sharum,
denied
alagai’sharak
by their leaders while Jardir’s men saw endless glory. Warriors deserted nightly, and were welcomed in the Maze without question. At last, there were not enough to hold even the Andrah’s walls. Jardir’s men had taken the gates shortly after dawn, and breached the palace doors soon after. Now there was only one man between Jardir and his vengeance.
    “Your forgiveness, Dama,” Jardir said, bowing to Everal, “but I cannot offer you surrender as I have other men, for who could trust a man not willing to die for his own father? Better that you die with honor.”
    “Pretender!” Everal spat. “You are no Deliverer, just a murderer with a stolen spear. You would be nothing without it!”
    Jardir stopped short, holding up a hand to halt the warriors behind him.
    “Think you truly so?” Jardir asked.
    Everal spat at his feet. “Put the weapon down and face me without its tainted magic, if it is not so.”
    “Acha!”
Jardir said, and tossed the spear to Everal. The
dama
caught the weapon reflexively, his eyes widening as he realized what he now held.
    Something changed in Everal then, a subtle shift in his stance and disposition. The others might not have noticed, but it was as clear to Jardir as if the
dama
had spoken. Before, he had thought himself a doomed man, determined only to inflict some damage before he died. Now Dama Everal had a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a belief that he might kill Jardir and end the rebellion that had pierced the heart of Krasia.
    Jardir nodded. “Now your soul is prepared to meet Everam with honor,” he said, and launched himself at the
dama.
    Everal was a
sharusahk
master, but the Evejah forbade clerics the spear, and in all Jardir’s years in Sharik Hora he had never seen that law broken. He expected the
dama’s
spearwork to be poor and easily defeated.
    Seek every advantage,
Khevat taught.
    But Everal surprised him, spinning the spear about like a whip staff. It moved invisibly fast as the
dama
came at him, and for a few moments it was all Jardir could do to keep from its path. Everal’s moves were fast and precise, one attack flowing smoothly into the next as one would expect from a man who had spent four decades in Sharik Hora. Everal brought the point into play at last, scoring a line on Jardir’s cheek, and another cut in his arm.
    At last, Jardir saw the rhythm behind the
dama’s
attacks and came in quick to hook his arm around the spear’s shaft and pivot, throwing the
dama
across the hall where he struck a column and landed heavily.
    Jardir waited for Everal to roll to his feet, then laid the spear on the floor. The
dama’s
eyes widened.
    “You are a fool to give up your advantage,” Everal said, but Jardir only smiled, having taken the cleric’s measure. He came in with his arms spread, and Everal met him, more than willing to grapple.
    To the untrained eyes of the
Sharum,
what followed must have appeared a simple struggle that strength would tell, but in truth the hundreds of subtle shifts and twists were
sharukin,
designed to turn an opponent’s own energy against him.
    Little by little, Jardir worked his way toward a death hold. It was in evitable, and he could see in the
dama’s
eyes that Everal knew it, too.
    “Impossible,” Everal gasped as Jardir’s hand came around his throat.
    “There is a difference,
dama,
” Jardir said, “between strength gained fighting air, and strength gained fighting
alagai.
” He pulled hard, and Everal’s neck snapped with a sound that echoed in the hall.

    The
Damaji
were clustered at the foot of the dais to the Andrah’s throne. They looked up as one when Jardir’s men smashed in the doors. The Andrah cowered and cringed on the Skull Throne, gripping the arms so tightly his knuckles showed white.
    Jardir looked at the cluster of old men with a predatory eye. Evejan law gave each of them the right to challenge him to single combat on his way to the dais. Jardir did not fear the
Damaji,
but he had no wish to kill them.
    “Kill them if you must,” Inevera had said, “but your conquest will be more complete if you break their will for the fight.” She had even told him what to offer.
    “Damaji,” he said. “All of you are loyal servants of Everam, and I wish no quarrel with you. I ask only that you step aside.”
    “And what will become of us, after you sit the Skull Throne?” Kevera of the Sharach asked.