recover.” He left unsaid what they were all thinking: that the Sharach would likely never recover, dying out or being absorbed into another tribe.

Jardir shook his head. “Many units were shattered last night. I will call for dal’Sharum to stand up and honor their Sharach brothers with their spears. You will have warriors under your command this very night.”

The kai’Sharum’s eyes goggled. “That is too generous, First Warrior.”

“Nonsense,” Jardir said. “I could do no less in conscience. In addition, I will purchase wives from my own coffer to aid in your recovery.” He smiled. “If your men bring as much energy for that task as they do to alagai’sharak, the Sharach should recover swiftly.”

“The Sharach are in your eternal debt, First Warrior,” the man said, prostrating himself and touching his forehead to the floor.

Jardir descended from his dais and put his good hand on the warrior’s soldier.

“I am Sharach,” he said, “as are my three sons and two daughters by Qasha. I will not let our tribe fade into the night.” The warrior kissed his sandaled feet, and Jardir felt the tears that fell from his eyes.

“The Kaji and the Majah will not sell wives to another tribe,” Ashan advised when Evakh departed, “but the Mehnding have an abundance of daughters, and are loyal to the Sharum Ka. Their losses were few last night.”

Jardir nodded. “Offer to buy as many as they will allow. Money is no object. Other tribes will need fresh blood to survive this event, as well.”

Ashan bowed. “It will be done. But is rebuilding the tribes not the duty of the Damaji?”

Jardir looked at him knowingly. “Come, my friend, you know as well as I that those old men will not lift a finger to help one another, even now. The Sharum must look to their own.”

Ashan bowed again.

There were more reports, many just as bad. Jardir sat through them wearily, giving aid to all, and wondering at the state of the army that would assemble when dusk came that night.

Finally, the last of his commanders departed, and he sighed deeply.

“Bring in the Par’chin and the khaffit,” he said.

Ashan signaled the guards, and they were escorted in. The dal’Sharum shoved Abban roughly to the floor before the dais.

“You will translate for the Sharum Ka, khaffit,” Ashan said.

“Yes, my dama,” Abban said, touching his head to the floor.

The greenlander said something to Abban, who mumbled a reply through gritted teeth.

“What did he say?” Jardir asked.

Abban swallowed hard, hesitating.

The guard behind Abban hit him across the back with his spear. “The Sharum Ka asked you a question, son of camel’s piss!”

Abban cried out in pain, and the greenlander gave a shout, shoving the warrior back and interposing himself between them. He and the warrior glared at each other for a moment, but the warrior’s eyes flicked to Jardir uncertainly.

Jardir ignored them. “I will not ask twice,” he told Abban.

Abban wiped the sweat from his brow. “He said, ‘It is not right that you should have to grovel so,’ ” he translated, ducking his head and closing his eyes, as if expecting another blow.

Jardir nodded. “Tell him that you have shamed yourself and your family in the Maze, and are no longer fit to stand among men.”

Abban nodded, translating quickly. The greenlander replied, and Abban translated. “He says that should not matter. No man should crawl like a dog.”

Ashan shook his head. “The ways of the savages are strange.”

“Indeed,” Jardir said, “but we are not here to discuss the treatment of khaffit. Abban, you may take your hands from the floor.”

“Thank you, First Warrior,” Abban said, straightening. The greenlander seemed to relax at this, and he and the guard backed away from each other.

“You fought well in the night, Par’chin,” Jardir said. Abban translated quickly.

The greenlander bowed, meeting Jardir’s eyes as he replied in his guttural tongue. “I was honored to stand among men of such courage,” Abban translated.

“Do other men of the North fight as we do?” Jardir asked.

The greenlander shook his head. “My people fight only when they must, to save their own lives or sometimes that of another,” Abban said. The greenlander scowled and added something, spitting on the floor. “Sometimes not even then,” Abban said.

“They are a race of cowards, as the Evejah says,” Ashan said. Abban opened his mouth, and the dama threw a goblet at him, soaking his fine silks in dark nectar. “Do not translate that, fool!” The greenlander clenched a fist, but kept his eyes on Jardir.

“What makes you different?” Jardir asked. Abban translated, but the greenlander only shrugged and did not reply. “You cut the arm from the rock demon?”

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 a ward. 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

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