The Desert Spear

But there was a new thread to the pattern now, the Damajah, and Abban was far too skilled a manipulator not to know another one on sight. Inevera twisted Ahmann to her own ends, and those ends were opaque even to Abban, who had made fortunes on his ability to see the desires in others’ hearts.

The Damajah had some unknown power over Ahmann, but it was tenuous. He was Shar’Dama Ka. Dama’ting or no, if he commanded it, the people would not hesitate to tear her apart to please him.

Abban knew better than to come between them, of course. He had survived too long to make so foolish a mistake. The moment Inevera sensed his disloyalty to her, she would crush him like a scorpion beneath her sandal, and not even Ahmann could stop it. Abban was as far beneath the Damajah as she was below Ahmann. Farther.

The only man who can truly handle a woman is a woman, Abban’s father had said to him many times before he died. It was good advice.

Leesha Paper would shake the very foundations of Inevera’s power, perhaps freeing Ahmann of her entirely. And the best part was, the Damajah would never see Abban’s hand in it.

Abban’s smile widened.

Abban was pleased to learn Erny was as formidable a haggler in person as he had been through his Messengers. Abban had contempt for anyone who could not haggle. He excluded only Ahmann from that rule, because it was less that Ahmann could not haggle than that he would not.

The result was a fair price, but after Abban tripled it as Ahmann had commanded, it was a sizable sum. Erny and his wife seemed quite pleased as Abban counted out the gold.

“Stock’s all here,” Erny said, putting the box of Leesha’s flower-pressed paper on the counter and lifting off the lid.

Abban ran his fingers lightly over the top sheet of the colorful paper, feeling the imprint of the artfully arranged flowers embedded in the weave. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Still smells sweet after all this time,” he said, smiling.

“Keep it dry, and it will last forever,” Erny said, “or close enough for mortal men.”

“Your daughter seems touched by Everam,” Abban said. “Perfect in every way, like a Heavenly Seraph.”

Elona snorted, but Erny glared at her and she fell silent.

“She is,” Erny agreed.

“My master would like to purchase her as a bride,” Abban said. “He has empowered me to negotiate her dower, and will be most generous.”

“How generous?” Elona asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Erny snapped. “Leesha isn’t for sale like some horse!”

“Of course, of course,” Abban said, bowing to buy himself some time to consider the situation. Erny’s reaction was unexpected, and it was difficult to tell if Abban had given honest offense, or if this was just a haggling tactic to drive up the price.

“Please forgive my poor sense of words,” Abban said. “Your language eludes me at critical times, it seems. I meant no offense.”

Erny seemed mollified at that, and Abban drew his face into the smile that had beguiled thousands of customers into thinking he was their friend. “My master understands that your daughter leads your tribe, and is not some common piece of merchandise,” he said. “He intends her and your tribe great honor, mingling your blood with his own. At his side, your daughter would be first of all the women in the North, and wield influence in both the Deliverer’s court and bed to prevent unnecessary bloodshed as my master comes north.”

“Is that a threat?” Erny demanded. “Are you saying your master will come kill us to take her, if I don’t sell her to you?”

Abban’s face heated. He had given offense, and deeply. The Par’chin had always told him the Krasians were quick to temper, but it seemed the Northerners were no less so if one spoke to them too truly.

Abban bowed deeply, spreading his hands. “Please, my friend, let us begin again. My master makes no threats and wishes to give no offense. Among our people, it is the father’s duty to arrange the marriages of his daughters. Part of the arrangement is that the groom’s family provide the father and bride with dower symbolic of her value. I was given to understand that Northerners shared this custom.”

“We do,” Elona cut in before Erny could reply.

“Some folk might do that sort of thing,” Erny corrected, “but that’s not how I raised my Leesha. Your master wants to marry my girl, he’ll have to court her just like anybody else, and if she decides she wants him, then he can come and ask my blessing on it.”

It seemed backward to Abban, but it made little difference. He bowed once more. “I will make your terms clear to my master. I expect he will begin to court your daughter immediately.”

Erny’s eyes widened. “I didn’t…ow!” he cried as Elona dug her nails into his arm most unsubtly. Abban noted the move with interest. His wives were by no means docile, but they would never dare unman him so in front of a customer.

“Ent hurtin’ anyone, he comes bringin’ flowers,” Elona said. “You said yourself it’s Leesha’s choice.”

Erny looked at her a long moment, then he sighed and nodded. He took the box cover and slipped it back over Leesha’s paper.

“It’s a heavy box,” he said. “You want me to get a boy to carry it for you?”

Abban bowed. “Please.”

“I think the boys are all busy,” Elona said, “and I could use a stroll. I’ll carry the paper.”

Again Abban was confused. In Krasia, it was expected that women do such labor, but from the way Erny goggled at his wife, Abban could tell he was shocked.

He watched Elona as she came around the counter, taking in her beauty, even with her youth fading. Perhaps she was a pillow-wife, given light work to be kept close at hand should her husband’s lust be aroused. Many Krasian men kept such, but Abban had never tolerated that sort of laziness, expecting his youngest and most beautiful wives to work as hard as the rest.

As they walked down the isolated path from Erny’s shop, Abban turned to her. “I pray to Everam my misunderstanding of your ways gave you and your husband no lasting offense.”

Elona shook her head. “We ent much different from you, only here, fathers approve marriages, but mothers arrange them. Erny ent blessing anything until the dower’s set.”

Abban stopped short, finally understanding. “Of course. I regret that my master’s mother, Kajivah, is still in Everam’s Bounty with his wives. May I negotiate in her stead?”

Elona nodded, but she raised an eyebrow. “He has other wives?”

“Of course,” Abban said. “Ahmann Jardir is the Shar’Dama Ka.”

Elona frowned. “Tell him if he’s wise, he’ll never so much as mention his other wives to my daughter. Girl gets jealous like a thundercloud.”

Abban nodded. “I will be sure to advise him, thank you. I assume your daughter is a virgin?”

“Course she is,” Elona snapped.

Abban bowed. “Please, take no offense. In Krasia, a man’s First Wife will inspect prospective brides personally, but if that is not your custom, your word will suffice.”

“It sure as the Core ent our custom to let anyone but husbands and Herb Gatherers look between our legs,” Elona said, “so don’t you or your master go getting any ideas about sampling the milk.”