Peter Brett – The Desert Spear (страница 15)

“Then why hide them under the cart like a thief?”

Abban smiled. “Do you think Hasik and his cronies would let us keep the profits if they knew?”

“I suppose not,” Jardir conceded.

“It’s settled then,” Abban said, clapping Jardir on the shoulder. Quickly they packed the rest of the pottery in the secret sling.

They were almost finished when Abban took a delicate cup and deliberately started rolling it in the dirt.

“What are you doing?” Jardir asked.

Abban shrugged. “This cup was too small to be of use in the work,” he said, holding up the cup and admiring the dust upon it. “But the dust of Baha will increase its value tenfold.”

“But it’s a lie,” Jardir said.

Abban winked. “The buyer will never know that, my friend.”

“I will know!” Jardir shouted, taking the cup and hurling it to the ground. It struck the ground and shattered.

Abban shrieked. “You idiot, do you have any idea what that was worth?” But at Jardir’s seething glare, he wisely put up his hands and took a step back.

“Of course, my friend, you are right,” he agreed. As if to drive the point home, he lifted another similarly clean piece and smashed that on the ground as well.

Jardir eyed the broken shards and sighed. “Send nothing to my family,” he said. “I want no profit to come to the line of Jardir from this…low deed. I would rather see my sisters chew hard grain than eat tainted meat.”

Abban looked at him with incredulity, but at last he simply shrugged. “As you wish, my friend. But if your mind ever changes…”

“If that day comes, and you are my true friend, you will refuse me,” Jardir said. “And if I ever catch you at something like this again, I will bring you before the dama myself.”

Abban looked at him a moment longer, and nodded.

It was nighttime on the Krasian wall, and all about him Jardir could feel the thrum of battle. It made him proud that he would one day die as a Kaji warrior in the Maze.

“Alagai down!” Watcher Aday called. “Northeast quad! Second layer!”

Jardir nodded, turning to the other boys. “Jurim, inform the Majah in layer three that glory is near. Shanjat, let the Anjha know the Majah will be moving away from their position.”

“I can go,” Abban volunteered. Jardir glanced at him doubtfully. He knew it dishonored his friend to hold him back, but Abban’s limp had not subsided in the weeks since they had returned from Baha, and alagai’sharak was no game.

“Stay with me for now,” he said. The other boys smirked and ran off.

Drillmaster Qeran noticed the exchange, and his lip curled in disgust as he looked at Abban. “Make yourself useful, boy, and untangle the nets.”

Jardir pretended not to notice Abban’s limp as he complied. He returned to Qeran’s side.

“You can’t spare him forever,” the drillmaster said quietly, raising his far-seeing glass to search the skies. “Better he die a man in the Maze than return from the walls in shame.”

Jardir wondered at the words. What was the true path? If he sent Abban, there was a risk he would fail in his duty, putting fighting men at risk. But if he did not, then Qeran would eventually declare the boy khaffit—a fate far worse than death. Abban’s spirit would sit outside the gates of Heaven, never knowing Everam’s embrace as he waited, perhaps millennia, for reincarnation.

Ever since Qeran had made him Nie Ka, responsibility had weighed upon Jardir heavily. He wondered if Hasik, who had once held the same honor, had felt the same pressure. It was doubtful. Hasik would have killed Abban or driven him out of the pack long since.

He sighed, resolving to send Abban on the next run. “Better dead than khaffit,” he murmured, the words bitter on his tongue.

“Ware!” Qeran cried as a wind demon dove at them. He and Jardir got down in time, but Aday was not as quick. His head thumped along the wall toward Jardir as his body fell into the Maze. Abban screamed.

“It’s banking for another pass!” Qeran warned.

“Abban! Net!” Jardir called.

Abban was quick to comply, favoring his good leg as he dragged the heavily weighted net to Qeran. He had folded it properly for throwing, Jardir noted. That was something, at least.

Qeran snatched the net, never taking his eyes from the returning wind demon. Jardir saw with his warrior’s eye, and knew the drillmaster was calculating its speed and trajectory. He was taut as a bowstring, and Jardir knew he would not miss.

As the alagai came in range, Qeran uncoiled like a cobra and threw with a smooth snap. But the net opened too soon, and Jardir immediately saw why: Abban had accidentally tangled his foot in one of the weight ropes. He was thrown from his feet by the force of Qeran’s throw.

The wind demon pulled up short of the opening net, buffeting both the net and Qeran with its wings. The alagai dropped from sight, and the drillmaster went down, hopelessly tangled in the net.

“Nie take you, boy!” Qeran cried, kicking out from the tangle to knock Abban’s legs from under him. With a shriek, Abban fell from the wall a second time, this time into a maze alive with alagai.

Before Jardir had time to react, there was a shriek, and he realized the alagai was righting itself to come at them again. With Qeran tangled, there were no dal’Sharum to stop it.

“Flee while you can!” Qeran shouted.

Jardir ignored him, racing for the nets Abban had folded. He lifted one, grunting at its weight. He and the other boys trained with lighter versions.

The wind demon shot past in a flap of leathern wings, banking hard in the sky for another dive. For a moment it blocked the moon, vanishing in the sky, but Jardir was not fooled, and tracked its approach calmly. If he was to die, he would do so with honor, and take this alagai with him to pay his way into Heaven.

When the demon was close enough that Jardir could see its teeth, he threw. The horsehair net spun as the weights pulled it open, and the wind demon hit the web head-on. Yanking the cord to tighten the net, Jardir pivoted smoothly out of the way and watched the creature plummet into the Maze.

“Alagai down!” he cried. “Northeast quadrant! Layer seven!” A moment later there was an answering cry.

He was about to turn back and free Qeran when movement in the darkness caught his eye. Abban hung from the top of the wall, his fingernails bleeding as they scraped and strained against the stone.

“Don’t let me fall!” Abban cried.

“If you fall, you will die a man, and Heaven await you!” Jardir said. He left unsaid the fact that Abban would never see Heaven any other way. Qeran would see that he ended his Hannu Pash as khaffit, and paradise would be denied him. It tore at Jardir’s heart, but he began to turn away.

“No! Please!” Abban begged, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks. “You swore! You swore by Everam’s light to catch me. I don’t want to die!”

“Better dead than khaffit!” Jardir growled.

“I don’t care if I’m khaffit!” Abban said. “Don’t let me fall! Please!”

Jardir snarled, disgusted, but he bent despite himself, lying flat on the wall and pulling hard on Abban’s arm. Abban kicked and strained, finally managing to crawl up Jardir’s back and onto the wall. He threw himself on Jardir, sobbing.

“Everam bless you,” Abban wept. “I owe my life to you.”

Jardir shoved him away. “You disgust me, coward,” he said. “Begone from my sight before I change my mind and throw you back.”

Abban’s eyes widened in shock, but he bowed and scurried away as fast as his lame leg would allow.

As Jardir watched him go, a fist connected hard with his kidney, sending him sprawling. Agony fired over him, but he opened himself to it, and the pain washed away as he turned to face his assaulter.

“You should have let him fall,” Qeran said. “You did him no favors this night. A dal’Sharum’s duty is to support his brothers in death as well as life.” His spittle splattered on Jardir’s shoulder. “No gruel for three days,” he said. “Now fetch my far-seer. Alagai’sharak does not wait for cowards and fools.”

CHAPTER 3 CHIN

333 AR

ABBAN RETURNED WITH JAYAN and Asome some time later. They dragged with them a number of Northern chin and a single dama.

“This is Dama Rajin, of the Mehnding,” Jayan said, ushering the cleric forward. “It is he who ordered the silos burned.” He shoved the dama hard, and the man fell to his knees.

“How many?” Jardir asked.

“Three, before he could be stopped,” Jayan said, “but he would have kept on burning.”

“Losses?” Jardir looked to Abban.

“It will be some time before I know for sure, Shar’Dama Ka,” Abban said, “but it could be close to two hundred tons. Grain enough to feed thousands through the winter months.”

Jardir looked to the dama. “And what have you to say?”

“It is written in the Evejah’s treatise on war to burn the enemy’s stores, so they cannot make further war,” Dama Rajin said. “There remains grain enough to feed our people many times over.”

“Fool!” Jardir shouted, backhanding the man. There were gasps around the room. “I need to levy the Northerners, not starve and kill them! The true enemies are the alagai— something you have forgotten!”

He reached out and took hold of the dama’s white robe, tearing it from his body. “You are dama no more. You will burn your whites and wear tan in shame for the rest of your days.”