The Desert Spear

he had never dreamed existed.
    “Everam has charged me with destroying the
alagai,
” Jardir shouted, “but to do that I need
Sharum
!” He swept his hand out over the crowd. “I see among you fit men who were denied the spear as children, forcing you to live in shame and poverty as your brothers and cousins walked in Everam’s glory. Putting shame upon your parents and children, as well.”
    The men Jardir had asked to follow him were nodding and agreeing with his words. “We have the magic to destroy the
alagai
now,” he said. “Our spears skewer them by the hundreds, but we have more spears than men to carry them. And so I offer you all this second chance! Any able-bodied
khaffit
who wishes to join in
alagai’sharak
may present himself to the training grounds tomorrow, where every tribe shall raise a
khaffit’sharaj
to train you. Those who complete the training shall be named
kha’Sharum,
and given warded weapons to buy your way back to glory and Heaven for yourselves and your families!”
    There was a shocked silence as his words sank in. Men who had spent their lives under the heel of the
Sharum,
bent and toiling under the weight of their caste, began to straighten their backs. Jardir could see into their minds, it seemed, as they imagined the glory that might await them, the chance for a better life.
    “Sharak Ka is coming!” Jardir shouted. “There is honor enough for all in the Great War. Who among you will swear to fight it alongside me?”
    The first man Jardir had asked to follow him, the one who had run from his
ajin’pal
in the Maze, pushed to the front of the crowd, kneeling.
    “Deliverer,” he said, “my heart has been heavy since my failure in the Maze. I beg you for a second chance.” Jardir reached down with the Spear of Kaji, touching his shoulder.
    “Rise,
kha’Sharum,
” Jardir said.
    The man did as he was bade, but before he had risen fully, a spear struck him in the back. Jardir caught him before he could fall, looking deep into his eyes as he coughed a gout of blood.
    “You are saved,” Jardir told him. “The gates of Heaven will be open to you, brother.”
    The man smiled as the light left his eyes, and Jardir set him down, looking at the spear jutting from his back. It was one of the short, close-quarter weapons favored by Nanji Watchers.
    Jardir looked up and saw three Nanji approaching, holding short spears in one hand and weighted lines in the other. Though it was day, their night veils were drawn, hiding their faces.
    “You go too far, Sharum Ka, offering spears to
khaffit,
” one of the warriors called.
    “We must end your life,” another agreed.
    They began to advance, but several
khaffit
broke from the crowd, moving to stand protectively in front of Jardir.
    The Nanji laughed. “It was foolish of you to leave your palace without a bodyguard,” one said. “These
khaffit
cannot protect you.”
    It wasn’t surprising that the warriors thought the women and
khaffit
no threat, but Jardir, having felt the crowd’s power just a moment before, wasn’t so sure. Even so, he would ask no one to die needlessly for his sake.
    Project invincibility,
Inevera said,
and even the bravest assassin may reconsider his course.
    “Clear their path!” Jardir shouted as he leapt down from the cart. The startled men stepped aside immediately.
    “You think three warriors can kill me?” Jardir laughed. “If a hundred Nanji skulk in the shadows, I would need no more bodyguard than now.” He rested the point of the Spear of Kaji down in the dirt and threw out his chest, inviting attack. “I am Shar’Dama Ka!” he cried, feeling the rightness of the words. “Strike at me if you dare!”
    The Nanji approached, but Jardir could see hesitation in them now. His very presence unnerved them. Their spears shook in their hands, and they glanced to one another uncertainly as if to decide which should lead the attack.
    “Strike or kneel!” Jardir roared. He brought up the Spear of Kaji, and the bright metal caught the sunlight and seemed to flare with power.
    One of the Nanji warriors dropped his spear and fell to his knees. “Traitor!” the one next to him cried, turning to stab at him, but the third was quicker, darting in and putting his spear through the aggressor’s chest.
    There was a creak behind Jardir. A whisper of sandal on canvas. Knowing Nanji tactics, he turned around, looking up at the true assassin, crouched hidden atop the pavilion behind him. This Watcher