The Desert Spear

undiscovered. There were discrepancies between the maps of the scouts and the ancient scrolls taken from Sharik Hora.
    “We will divide the city by tribe, and set each
Damaji
to oversee excavation of his section, advised by his most learned
dama
and Warders. Every relic uncovered is to be catalogued and presented to me each day.”
    Ashan nodded. “It shall be made so, Deliverer,” he said, and he moved off to instruct the other
Damaji.
    Over the next week, the tribes ransacked the ancient city, breaking through walls, looting tombs, and removing whole sections of warded walls and pillars. There had been little sign of the Par’chin’s passing when they arrived, but the Krasians took no such care to leave the city intact. Rubble piled everywhere, and whole sections of street and buildings collapsed as the tunnels beneath them were compromised.
    Each afternoon, the
Damaji
came before Jardir and piled high their findings. Hundreds of new wards, many of them designed to harm demons or to create other magical effects. Painted weapons and armor, mosaics, and paintings of ancient battles, some even of Kaji himself.
    Each night, they fought. Demons still came thick to the city, and as the sun set Jardir’s men put aside their work and took up spear and shield. With powerful wards on even the weakest
kha’Sharum’s
spear, the
alagai
died by the thousands, and soon there were none left to haunt the sacred sands.
Sharum
continued to patrol, but it seemed the city was scoured clean, like a sign from Everam of the rightness of their path.

    “Deliverer,” Ashan said, entering the tent with Asome and Asukaji. “We’ve found it.”
    Jardir had no need to ask what “it” was, putting down his maps of the green lands and throwing on his white robe. He had not yet made it to the tent flap when Inevera appeared at the head of his
dama’ting
wives, their very presence confirming Ashan’s claim. The women fell silently in behind as he walked through the city.
    “Which tribe had the honor?” Jardir asked.
    “The Mehnding, Father,” Asome said. He was sixteen now, a man in his own right, and moved with the grace one expected of a
sharusahk
master. His soft voice seemed all the more dangerous coming from the tall, lean frame in its white robe, like a spear wrapped in silk.
    “Of course,” Jardir muttered. How fitting that his least loyal
Damaji
should find the tomb of Kaji.
    Enkaji was waiting with Jardir’s Mehnding son Savas, still in his
nie’dama
bido, when they arrived.
    “Shar’Dama Ka!” the
Damaji
cried, prostrating himself on the dusty floor of the burial chamber. “It is my honor to present Kaji’s tomb to you.”
    Jardir nodded. “Is it intact?”
    Enkaji stood, sweeping his arm out toward the great sarcophagus, the stone lid of which had been removed.
    “The Par’chin did his looting well, I’m afraid,” Enkaji said. “The spear is missing, of course, but you have reclaimed that.” He gestured to the dusty rags worn by the skeleton within. “If ever these scraps were the sacred Cloak of Kaji, I cannot say.”
    “And the crown?” Jardir asked as if the item were of no import, though all knew it was.
    Enkaji shrugged. “Taken. The Par’chin—”
    “Didn’t have it with him when he came to the Desert Spear,” Jardir cut him off.
    “He must have hidden it somewhere,” Enkaji said.
    “He’s lying,” Abban whispered in Jardir’s ear.
    “How do you know?” Jardir asked.
    “Trust a liar to know,” Abban said.
    Jardir turned to Hasik. “Seal the tomb,” he commanded. Hasik signaled the
Sharum
in the hall, and they heaved the great stone back into place.
    “What is this?” Enkaji asked as the torchlight from the hall winked out. Only a few guttering torches ensconced in the tomb still gave flickering light.
    “Put them out,” Jardir ordered. “The Damajah will cast the bones to learn who has stolen Kaji’s crown.”
    Enkaji paled, and Jardir knew then that Abban had spoken truth. He advanced on the
Damaji,
backing him up until his back struck the tomb wall.
    “For every minute that the crown is not in my hands,” he promised, “I will castrate one of your sons and grandsons, starting with the eldest.”
    Moments later Jardir held the Crown of Kaji, found in the burial chamber of one of Kaji’s great-grandsons.
    It was a thin circlet of gold and jewels, worked into a pattern of unknown wards that formed a net around the wearer’s head. It seemed delicate, but all