The Desert Spear

“And the people living in those villages?” Leesha asked. “What became of them?”

“They live there still,” Abban said, sounding genuinely hurt. “You must think us monsters, to fear we are slaying the innocent.”

“There are such rumors in the North, I’m afraid,” Leesha said.

“Well they are untrue,” Abban said. “The conquered people are taxed, yes, and the boys and men trained in alagai’sharak, but their lives are otherwise unchanged. And in return, they have pride in the night.”

Again Leesha studied Abban’s face for a hint of where exaggeration might become lie, but she found nothing. Levying boys and men to war was a horror, but at least she could tell the distraught refugees back in the Hollow that their captured husbands, brothers, and sons were likely still alive.

There was a buzz through the ranks of warriors at the sight of Leesha and the others, but their white-veiled leaders barked, and the Sharum fell silent and stood for inspection. At their forefront stood two men, one in a white turban above warrior black, the other clad in dama white.

“My master’s first son, Jayan,” Abban said, indicating the warrior, “and his second, A some.” He pointed to the cleric.

Jardir strode out before the men, and the power he radiated was palpable. The warriors looked at him in awe, and even his sons had a fanatical gleam in their eyes. Leesha was surprised to find that after only two weeks of instruction, she understood most of what he said.

“Sharum of the Desert Spear!” Jardir called. “Tonight we are honored to be joined in alagai’sharak by Sharum of the Hollow tribe to the north, our brothers in the night.” He gestured to Leesha’s group, and a shocked murmur went through the warriors.

“They are to fight?” Jayan demanded.

“Father, the Evejah states clearly that women are barred from sharak,” Asome protested.

“The Evejah was written by the Deliverer,” Jardir said. “I am the Deliverer now, and I will say how sharak is fought.”

Jayan shook his head. “I will not fight alongside a woman.”

Jardir struck like a lion, his hand a blur as he seized his son by the throat. Jayan gasped and pulled at his father’s arm, but the grip was like iron, and he could not break it. His feet left the ground, toes barely scraping the dirt, as Jardir flexed his arm to its full length.

Leesha gasped and started forward, but Abban blocked her with his crutch, applying surprising strength.

“Don’t be a fool,” he whispered harshly. Something in the urgency of his voice checked Leesha, and she eased back, watching helplessly as Jardir choked the life from his son. She drew a relieved breath as the boy was cast to the ground, gasping and thrashing but very much alive.

“What kind of animal attacks his own son?” Leesha asked, aghast.

Abban opened his mouth to speak, but Gared cut him off. “Din’t have no choice. Ent no one goin’ into the night followin’ a pa who can’t even keep his own boys in line.”

“I don’t need advice from the town bully, Gared,” Leesha snipped.

“No, he’s right,” Wonda piped in to Leesha’s shock. “I din’t understand what they said, but my pa would’ve smacked my nose off, I took that tone with him. Reckon it’ll do ’im good to eat a little dirt.”

“It seems our ways are not as different as they first appear, mistress,” Abban noted.

Alagai’sharak was a nightly sweep around the perimeter of the city. The Sharum exited the north gate and spread out, shoulder-to-shoulder and shield-to-shield, six tribes heading east and six west, killing any alagai in their path until they met at the south gate. To avoid further conflict, Jardir deliberately sent Jayan and Asome east while taking Leesha and the others west. Abban was left behind at the gate.

None of the Hollow tribe carried shields, so Jardir put them behind the line, personally escorting Leesha with Hasik and a handful of the Spears of the Deliverer. Demons filtered in quickly after the dal’Sharum passed to feed on the corpses of corelings left for the sun, and they did not hesitate to attack the small group.

At first the Krasians had sought to protect them, but as Jardir had hoped, Leesha and the others quickly disabused them of the need. Rojer’s fiddle tricked the demons into traps or set them against one another. Leesha hurled her fire magic at the alagai, scattering them like sand in the wind. Gared and Wonda strode into packs of demons with impunity, the giant Cutter hacking them to pieces with his axe and machete as Wonda’s bow hummed like the strings of Rojer’s fiddle, killing every demon she so much as glanced at from afar. She even took several out of the sky before they could swoop down on the shield wall.

She was well away from the others when her arrows ran out. A flame demon hissed and charged at her, and one of the Spears of the Deliverer gave a cry, rushing to defend her.

He needn’t have bothered. Wonda slung the bow from her shoulder and grabbed the demon by the horns, pivoting to avoid its firespit and turning it to the ground with a smooth sharusahk twist. A warded knife appeared in her hand, slashing the demon’s throat.

She looked up, and the ichor lust in her eyes matched that of any Sharum Jardir had ever seen. She smiled to the dumbstruck dal’Sharum who had a moment before been rushing to save her, but then her eyes widened, and she pointed to the sky.

“Look out!” she cried, too late, as a wind demon dropped from the sky, tearing through the warrior’s armor and laying him open with its deadly talons.

Everyone reacted at once. A warded knife appeared in Rojer’s hand, flying to strike the demon at the same time as Wonda’s thrown blade and three spears, dropping it before it could take back to the sky. Leesha lifted her skirts and ran to the fallen warrior. The alagai was still thrashing, mere inches away, when she knelt at his side. Jardir hurried to join her as Gared and his Spears put an end to the demon and stood watch for others.

The warrior, Restavi, had served Jardir loyally for years. His armor was soaked with blood. He struggled madly as Leesha tried to look at his wound.

“Hold him down,” Leesha ordered, her tone no different than that of a dama’ting, one used to obedience. “I can’t work with him thrashing about.”

Jardir complied, taking Restavi’s shoulders and pinning him firmly. The warrior met Jardir’s eyes, his own wide and wild. “I am ready, Deliverer!” he cried. “Bless me and send me on the lonely road!”

“What’s he saying?” Leesha asked as she cut through his thick robe, casting aside the shattered ceramic plates within. She swore as the size of the gaping wound became apparent.

“He is telling me his soul is ready for Heaven,” Jardir said. “He asks that I bless him with a quick death.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Leesha snapped. “You tell him his soul may be ready, but his body isn’t.”

How like the Par’chin she is, Jardir thought, and found himself missing his old friend deeply. Restavi was obviously dying, but the Northern healer refused to let him go without a fight. There was honor in that, and he knew well the insult she would take if he ignored her wishes and killed the man, even at his request.

Jardir took Restavi’s face in his hands, meeting his eyes. “You are a Spear of the Deliverer! You will walk the lonely road when I command it, and not before. Embrace the pain and be still!”