“How do you know of that?” Jardir asked.
Inevera dismissed the question with a wave. “The Par’chin was a grave robber, nothing more. A brave one,” she allowed, putting a finger to Jardir’s lips to forestall his protest, “cunning and bold, but a thief all the same.”
“And what am I, but the one who robbed him in turn?” Jardir asked.
“You are what you choose to be,” Inevera said. “You can choose to be the savior of all men, or you can sulk over past deeds and let pass the opportunity before you.”
She leaned in, kissing him. It was deep and warm, a kiss that gave without asking, one that reminded Jardir that even now, he still loved her. “I have faith in you, even if you do not. The dice speak Everam’s will, and neither they nor I would have aided in your rise if we did not believe that you, you and no other, could shoulder this burden. Killing the Par’chin was a necessary evil, like killing Amadeveram. You would have spared them, if you could.”
She slid into his arms, and as he embraced her, he felt something of his strength return. Necessary evil. The Evejah spoke of it, as Kaji accounted his own subjugation of the northern chin. Every alagai killed helped to balance those scales, and Jardir meant to kill them all before he went to the Creator to have his life’s deeds weighed and judged.
The scout rode his camel up to Jardir on his white horse, stopping at a respectful distance and punching a fist to his chest.
“Shar’Dama Ka,” he greeted him. “We have found the lost city. It is half buried in the sand, but much of it seems intact. There are several wells that we believe can be restored to service, but little in the way of food or grazing.”
Jardir nodded. “Everam has preserved the holy city for us. Send an advance group to map the city and prepare the wells. We will slaughter the livestock and preserve the meat to save our grain stores.”
“Dangerous,” Abban said. “Slaughtering all the animals gives no way to replenish stock.”
“We must trust in the green lands to provide,” Jardir said. “For now, we need as much time as possible to explore the sacred city.”
The bulk of his people moved slowly, and it was days before they caught up to the scouts, who by then had mapped the sprawling city in some detail, though it was larger by far than the Desert Spear, and there might yet be parts 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 Jardir’s strength couldn’t make the slightest bend in the gold.
Inevera bowed and took the crown, slipping it over his turban. Though light as a feather, Jardir nevertheless felt a great weight lay upon him as it settled at his brow.
“Now, we can invade the green lands,” he said.
SECTION 2
OUTSIDE FORCES
CHAPTER 12
WITCHES
333 AR WINTER
LEESHA’S PARENTS’ HOME CAME into sight. It was a modest house, considering her father’s means, but it served her family well enough, built against the back wall of her father’s paper shop. The path leading to the front door was warded.