The Desert Spear

anger. Inevera said it should make him feel powerful to flaunt something other men coveted, but even after two years the opposite still held true.
    But like it or not, both Abban and Inevera had skills Jardir needed, skills that the
dama
and
Sharum
sorely lacked. Abban’s tallies and Inevera’s dice gave only brutal truth, while every other man in Krasia fell over himself to say only what they thought Jardir wished to hear, even if the words held no truth at all.
    Jardir had grown to depend on them, and both knew it, continuing to dress outlandishly, adorned with golden trinkets, as if daring Jardir to punish them.
    “Damaji Enkaji is powerful, Deliverer,” Abban reminded him, “and his tribe’s engineering skills are essential to your preparations for war. You already slight him by denying him a place in your inner council. Perhaps now is not the time to follow a trail that may lead to him and force you to act publicly.”
    “Savas is not yet old enough to become
Damaji
of the Mehnding,” Inevera added, speaking of Jardir’s Mehnding son. “They will not follow a boy still in his bido.”
    They were right. If Jardir killed Enkaji before Savas earned the white robe, the black turban would simply pass on to one of Enjaki’s sons, who would bear Jardir the same animosity their father did, if not more.
    “Very well,” he said at last, though it sickened him to play Inevera and Abban’s games. “Spin your web over Qavan. Now on to the tallies.”
    “As of this morning, there are 217
dama,
322
dama’ting,
5,012
Sharum,
17,256 women, 15,623 children, including those in
Hannu Pash,
and 21,733
khaffit
living in the Desert Spear,” Abban said.
    “That isn’t enough warriors if we are to march in another summer,” Jardir said. “Only a few hundred come out of
Hannu Pash
each year.”
    “Perhaps you should delay your plans,” Abban suggested. “In a decade, you could double your forces.”
    Jardir felt Inevera’s hand squeeze his leg, her long nails digging into flesh, and shook his head. “We delay too long as it is.”
    Abban shrugged. “Then you will have to march with the warriors you have next year. Not six thousand.”
    “I need more,” Jardir insisted.
    Abban shrugged. “What can I do? It’s not as if
dal’Sharum
are stores of grain hidden in the bazaar, with merchants waiting for the price to go up before bringing them out.”
    Jardir looked at him so sharply that Abban flinched.
    “Something I said?” he asked.
    “The bazaar,” Jardir said. “I haven’t been there since the day Kaval and Qeran took us from our homes.” He stood up, drawing a white outer robe over the
Sharum
blacks he still wore. “Show it to me now.”
    “Me?” Abban asked. “You wish to walk the street next to a
khaffit
?”
    “Is there anyone better suited?” Jardir asked. Everyone else in the room turned to stare at Jardir in horror.
    “Deliverer,” Ashan protested, “the bazaar is a place for women and
khaffit…
”
    Aleverak nodded. “That ground is not worthy of the Shar’Dama Ka’s feet.”
    “I will decide that,” Jardir said. “Perhaps there is yet some worthiness to be found there.”
    Ashan frowned, but he bowed. “Of course, Deliverer. I will prepare your bodyguard. A hundred loyal
Sharum—
”
    “No bodyguard is necessary,” Jardir cut in. “I can protect myself from women and
khaffit.
”
    Inevera stood, helping Jardir arrange his robes. “At least let me throw the dice first,” she whispered. “You will draw assassins like a dung cart draws flies.”
    Jardir shook his head. “Not this time,
jiwah.
I feel Everam’s hand today without that crutch.”
    Inevera did not seem convinced, but she stepped aside.

    A weight lifted off Jardir as he strode from the palace. He could not remember the last time he had left its walls in daylight. He had loved the feel of the sun, once. His back straightened as he walked, and something in Jardir…hummed. He felt a rightness to his actions, as if Everam Himself guided them.
    Time seemed to stop as Jardir and Abban walked through the Great Bazaar, merchants and customers alike freezing in place as they passed. Some stared in wonder at the Deliverer, and others stared in greater shock at the
khaffit
by his side. Whispers grew in their wake, and many began to drift after them.
    The bazaar ran along the lee side of the city’s inner wall for miles to either side of the great gate. Seemingly endless tents and carts, great pavilions and tiny