The Desert Spear

The greenlander nodded. “When I was a boy,” Abban translated, “I ran away from my home. I made a circle of wards when the sun set, and I was surrounded by corelings…”

Jardir held up a hand. “Corelings?”

Abban bowed. “It is the greenland word for alagai, First Warrior,” he said. “It means ‘those who dwell in the center.’ They believe Nie’s abyss lies at the core of Ala, as we do.”

Jardir nodded, signaling the man to continue.

“The rock demon came for me that night,” Abban translated, “and in my foolishness, I made mock of it, jeering and cavorting about. But I slipped and scuffed award. The coreling struck, clawing my back, but I managed to repair the ward before it could cross the circle fully. When the circle reactivated, its arm was severed.”

Ashan snorted. “Impossible. The chin is obviously lying, Sharum Ka. No one could survive a blow from such a beast.”

The greenlander looked to Abban, but when the khaffit did not translate, he turned to Jardir. He said something, and pointed to Ashan.

“What did the Holy Man say?” Abban supplied.

Jardir glanced at Ashan, then back to the greenlander. “He said you are a liar.”

The greenlander nodded, as if he had expected as much. He laid down his spear and lifted his shirt, turning his back to them.

“Nie’s black heart,” Abban said, turning pale at the sight of the thick scars running across the man’s back. They were faded with years, but there was no doubt they were made by claws far larger than any sand demon’s.

The greenlander turned back, staring hard at Ashan. “Do you still think me a liar?” Abban translated.

“Apologize,” Jardir murmured.

Ashan bowed deeply. “My apologies, Par’chin.” The greenlander nodded as Abban translated.

“The demon has stalked you ever since?” Jardir asked.

The greenlander nodded. “Almost seven years now,” Abban translated, “but one day, I will show it the sun.”

Jardir nodded. “Why did you not tell us such a great enemy pursued you? You put my city at risk.”

The greenlander replied, and Abban’s eyes widened. He said something in response, but the greenlander shook his head and spoke again.

“You are not here to hold your own conversations, khaffit!” Jardir shouted, rising from his seat. The dal’Sharum at the door lowered their spears and advanced.

“Apologies, First Warrior!” Abban cried, pressing his forehead back to the floor. “I sought only to clarify his meaning!”

“I will decide what needs clarifying,” Jardir said. “The next time you speak out of turn, I will cut off your thumbs. Now translate everything that was spoken.”

Abban nodded eagerly. “The greenlander said, ‘It was only a rock demon. They are common in the North, and I did not think it worth mentioning that one bore me personal enmity,’ to which I replied, ‘Surely you exaggerate, my friend! There cannot be two alagai so great,’ and he said, ‘No, in the mountains of the North, there are many such.’ ”

Jardir nodded. “What are the weaknesses of the rock demons?”

“So far as I know,” the greenlander said through Abban, “they have none. And I have looked hard.”

“We will find one, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “Together.”

“This level of communication is unacceptable,” Jardir said when the greenlander had been escorted out.

“The Par’chin is a quick study,” Abban said, “and has committed himself to learning our tongue. He will speak it soon, I promise.”

“Not good enough,” Jardir said. “There will be other greenlanders, and I would speak to them, as well. Since none of our learned men,” he looked at Ashan with disdain, “has seen fit to study the tongue of the savages, it will fall to you to instruct us, beginning with me.”

Abban paled. “Me?” he squeaked. “Instruct you?”

Jardir felt a wave of disgust. “Stop your sniveling. Yes, you! Are there any others who speak it?”

Abban shrugged. “It is a valuable skill in the marketplace. My wives and daughters speak a few words, so they might listen in secret as the Messengers talk. Many other women in the bazaar do the same.”

“You expect the Sharum Ka to learn from a woman?” Ashan demanded, and Jardir swallowed the irony. If not for Inevera, he would still be an illiterate dal’Sharum.

“Another merchant then,” Abban said. “I am not the only one who trades with the North.”

“But you trade the most,” Jardir said. “It is obvious from your womanish silks, and the fact that a sniveling fat khaffit like you has more wives than most warriors. More than that, the Par’chin knows and trusts you. Unless there is a true man who speaks the greenland tongue, it shall be you.”

“But…” Abban said, his eyes pleading. Jardir held up a hand, and he fell silent.

“You said once you owed me your life,” Jardir said. “The time has come for you to begin repaying that debt.”

Abban bowed deeply, touching his forehead to the floor.

The city gates were patched by nightfall, and though the giant rock demon continued to attack the walls, the sling teams gave it no more ammunition with which to breach the wards. The Par’chin joined in alagai’sharak again that night, and every night for a week to come. By day, he drilled hard with the dal’Sharum.

“I cannot speak for other greenland Messengers,” Drillmaster Kaval said, spitting in the dust, “but the Par’chin has been trained well. His spearwork is excellent, and he has taken to sharusahk like he was born to it. I started him training with the nie’Sharum, but his form has already surpassed even those ready for the wall.”

Jardir nodded. He had expected no less.

As if he had known they spoke of him, the Par’chin approached them, Abban trailing dutifully behind. He bowed and spoke.

“I will be returning to the North tomorrow, First Warrior,” Abban translated.

Keep him close. Inevera’s words echoed in Jardir’s head.

“So soon?” he asked. “You have only just arrived, Par’chin!”

“I feel that way as well,” the Par’chin said, “but I have commitments to deliver goods and messages that must be kept.”

“Commitments to chin!” Jardir snapped, knowing he had made a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. It was a deep insult. He wondered if the greenlander would attack him.

But the Par’chin only raised an eyebrow. “Should that matter?” he asked through Abban.

“No, of course not,” Jardir said, bowing deeply to everyone’s surprise. “I apologize. I am simply disappointed to see you go.”

“I will return soon,” the Par’chin promised. He held up a sheaf of papers bound in leather. “Abban has been most helpful; I have a long list of words to memorize. When next we meet, I hope to be more adept at your tongue.”

“No doubt,” Jardir said. He embraced the Par’chin, kissing his hairless cheeks. “You will always be welcome in Krasia, my brother, but you will draw less attention if you grow a proper man’s beard.”

The Par’chin smiled. “I will,” he promised.