The Desert Spear

As
Damaji
to Krasia’s smallest tribe, it was his place to offer the first challenge.
    Jardir smiled. “Nothing, my friend. You
Damaji
fear for your palaces? Keep them, and minister to your tribes as you always have. I ask only a symbolic gesture of support.”
    Kevera’s eyes narrowed. “And that is?”
    “My second son by Qasha is
nie’dama,
” Jardir noted.
    Kevera nodded. “A promising one.”
    Jardir smiled. “I would ask that you keep him ever at your side, that he may learn at your sandals.”
    “And one day succeed me,” Kevera stated more than asked.
    Jardir shrugged. “If that is
inevera.
”
    Jardir eyed the other
Damaji
as they digested the offer, and again marveled at the completeness of Inevera’s planning. His
dama’ting
wives had been fertile, and the dice never failed to predict the right moments to conceive. Each bride had presented Jardir with two sons and a daughter by their fourth year of marriage, and their bellies had continued to swell afterward. He had a
nie’dama
son in every tribe now, to take the black turban when the current
Damaji
died, even as his own wives would do on the passing of their tribe’s
Damaji’ting.
Inevera had laid the groundwork for him to assume power more than a decade ago. It was…unsettling.
    The
Damaji
continued to consider. Their titles were not hereditary, but to a man they had sons and grandsons among their tribes’
dama,
and it was not uncommon for the black turban to be passed along bloodlines. Still, retaining their own power would take some of the sting from his ascension, and if it grated on the
Damaji
to give up aspiration for their sons, it remained preferable to seeing them put to the spear, as Kaji had done to the sons of his defeated enemies. Jardir could easily do that as well, and they knew it. There was no need for him to offer his own sons as hostages, save in a sincere gesture of unity.
    For the lesser tribes, this was enough.
    “Shar’Dama Ka,” Kevera of the Sharach said, bowing and stepping aside.
    The others followed suit, parting before him like
ala
before the plow: The Bajin, Anjha, Jama, Khanjin, Halvas, and Shunjin all let him pass without challenge. Jardir tensed as he approached the Krevakh and Nanji
Damaji.
The Watcher tribes were intensely loyal, and practiced their own schools of
sharusahk,
said to be the deadliest in all the Desert Spear. Jardir felt Everam’s will thrumming in him, and did not fear any man, but he kept on guard, respecting their skills.
    He needn’t have worried. The Watcher
Damaji
were much as their
Sharum,
preferring to observe and advise, not lead. They stepped aside, leaving only the three most powerful
Damaji
standing between him and the Skull Throne: Enkaji of the Mehnding, Aleverak of the Majah, and Amadeveram of the Kaji. These men ruled thousands and lived in lavish excess. Their tribes had dozens of
dama,
including their own sons and grandsons. They would not surrender so easily.
    Enkaji of the Mehnding was a powerfully built man, still robust at fifty-five. He was known as a man of great cleverness as well, leader of a tribe filled with battle engineers. His tribe may have been smaller, but Enkaji was wealthier than the Majah and Kaji
Damaji
combined, and it was no secret the
Damaji
had long meant to pass that wealth to his eldest son.
    Their eyes met, and Jardir thought for a moment the man might actually challenge him. He was readying for the fight when the
Damaji
laughed ruefully and spread his hands in an exaggerated bow as he cleared the path to the dais.
    Aleverak of the Majah was next. The ancient
Damaji
was nearly eighty, but nonetheless he bowed and assumed a
sharusahk
stance. Jardir nodded, and the
Sharum
and
Damaji
at his back spread wide to give the men room to fight.
    Jardir bowed deeply. “You honor me, Damaji,” he said, assuming a stance of his own. He was impressed the old man was still alive, much less still possessed of his warrior’s spirit. He deserved an honorable death.
    “Begin!” Amadeveram shouted, and Jardir shot forward, meaning to grapple and end the battle swiftly and bloodlessly. He might yet force a submission from the
Damaji’s
living lips.
    But Aleverak surprised him, twisting sharply and much more quickly than Jardir would have believed possible. He caught hold of Jardir’s arm and used his own momentum against him.
    Feeling his joints scream, Jardir had no choice but to go limp and follow the
Damaji’s
throw. He landed on his back, and the