Peter Brett – The Desert Spear (страница 27)

Again, Jardir said nothing.

“But if he had attacked you, it would have only shown that he was a fool,” the Andrah said. “And Everam has little patience for fools.”

“Yes, Holiness,” Jardir said.

“And now he is dead,” the Andrah said. “My friend, a man who showed countless alagai the sun, dead on the floor in disgrace because you could not show him the respect he was owed!”

Jardir swallowed hard. The Andrah looked ready to strike him. This was not going as Inevera had promised, and she was conspicuously absent from the audience. He scanned the room for support, but the eyes of the Damaji were downcast as the Andrah spoke, and the Damaji’ting simply watched him as if he were a bug.

The Andrah sighed and seemed to deflate, waddling back to his throne and sitting heavily. “It pains me to see a man who achieved such glory in life die in shame. My heart cries for vengeance, but the fact remains the Sharum Ka is dead, and I would be a fool to ignore the fact that for the first time in centuries, the Damaji are in agreement over who should succeed him.”

Jardir glanced at the Damaji again. He might have imagined it, but it seemed as if Amadeveram nodded slightly to him.

“You will be Sharum Ka,” the Andrah said curtly. “The night will belong to you.”

Jardir spread his hands and leaned forward on his knees, pressing his forehead into the thick woven carpet before the throne. “I will be your strong arm in the night,” he swore.

“I will make the announcement at Sharik Hora tonight,” the Andrah said. “You may go.”

Jardir touched his forehead to the floor again, remembering Inevera’s instructions. Already the Damaji were beginning to murmur. If he was going to speak, it must be now.

“Holiness,” he began, watching the Andrah’s eyes return to him with irritation, “I ask your blessing, and that of the Damaji, to take a fertile wife from each tribe, as a show of unity among the Sharum.”

The Andrah goggled at him, as did the Damaji. Even the Damaji’ting stirred, betraying their sudden interest.

“That is an unusual request,” the Andrah said at last.

“Unusual?” Amadeveram demanded. “It is unheard of! You are Kaji! I will not bless your wedding to some—”

“You need not,” Aleverak cut in, smiling openly. “I am more than willing to perform the ceremony, should the Sharum Ka wish a Majah wife.”

“You would be happy to dilute the pure blood of Kaji, I have no doubt,” Amadeveram growled, but Aleverak did not rise to the bait, simply grinning.

“I will bless a wedding to a daughter of Sharach, as well,” Damaji Kevera of the Sharach said. Within moments the remaining Damaji followed suit, all of them eager to have a permanent voice in the First Warrior’s court.

“Surely you cannot agree to this!” Amadeveram said, turning to the Andrah.

“I am Andrah, not you, Amadeveram,” the Andrah said. “If the Sharum Ka wishes unity and the Damaji agree, I see no reason to refuse. Like me, the First Warrior relinquishes tribe when he dons his turban.”

He turned to regard the Damaji’ting for the first time Jardir had seen. “This matter lies more in the realm of women than who carries the first spear,” he said, addressing none of the women in particular. “What do the Damaji’ting say to this proposal?”

The women turned their backs on the men and clustered together in a buzz of muffled whispers, impossible to understand. In moments, they finished and turned back to the Andrah.

“The Damaji’ting have no objection,” one of them said.

Amadeveram scowled, and Jardir knew he had angered the man, perhaps irrevocably, but there was nothing to be done for it now. He had three Kaji wives already, including his Jiwah Ka. That would have to be enough.

“It’s settled then,” Aleverak said. “My own granddaughter is just fourteen, Sharum Ka, beautiful and unknown to man. She will bear you strong sons.”

Jardir bowed deeply. “My apologies, Damaji, but the duty of choosing my brides must fall to my Jiwah Ka. She will cast the alagai hora to ensure the blessings of Everam for each union.”

There was another buzz among the Damaji’ting, and Aleverak’s wide smile vanished in an instant, as did those of many other Damaji. But it was too late for them to take back their support. Amadeveram’s scowl became a look of smug satisfaction.

“Enough talk of brides!” the Andrah barked. “You have your boon, Sharum Ka. Go now before you disturb my court further!”

Jardir bowed and left.

“Are you a fool?” Amadeveram demanded. Jardir had not made it out of the Andrah’s palace before the old Damaji had caught up to him, dragging him into a private room.

“Of course not, my Damaji,” Jardir said.

“Only ‘yours’ for a few hours more, it seems,” Amadeveram said.

Jardir shrugged. “I will still be ruled by the council of Damaji, who speak with your voice. But as Sharum Ka, I must represent warriors of all tribes.”

“The Sharum Ka does not represent warriors, he rules them!” Amadeveram shouted. “That you are Kaji is proof that Everam wishes the Kaji to rule! You cannot go through with this mad plan.”

“For the good of all Krasia, I can and will,” Jardir said. “I will not be a weak figurehead for you, like the last Sharum Ka. The warriors need unity if they are to be strong. Becoming one with all of them is the only way to win their devotion.”

“You are turning your back on your tribe!” Amadeveram shouted.

“No, I am turning to face the others,” Jardir said. “I implore you, turn with me.”

“Face our blood enemies?” Amadeveram said, aghast. “I would sooner die in shame!”

“There was only one tribe in the time of Kaji,” Jardir reminded him. “Our blood enemies are also our blood.”

“You are no blood of Kaji,” Amadeveram said, spitting at Jardir’s feet. “The blood of the Shar’Dama Ka has turned to camel’s piss in your veins.”

Jardir’s face grew dark and, for a moment, he considered attacking him. Amadeveram was a sharusahk grand master, but Jardir was younger and stronger and faster. He could kill the old man.

But he was not Sharum Ka yet. Killing Amadeveram would only unravel Inevera’s plans and cost him the Spear Throne.

Am I doomed to always have success without pride? he asked himself.

“The Sharum Ka is dead!” the Andrah cried to the assembled warriors in Sharik Hora. The Sharum filling the rows of the great temple howled at the news, banging spear against shield in a great cacophony meant to announce the First Warrior’s coming to Everam.

“But we will not cede the night like those to the north!” the Andrah cried when the noise died down. “We are Krasian! Blood of Shar’Dama Ka himself! And we will fight till the Deliverer returns, or the spear falls from the hands of the last nie’Sharum and Krasia is buried in the sand!”

The warriors hooted at that, thrusting spears in the air.

“And thus, I have chosen a new Sharum Ka to lead alagai’sharak,” the Andrah said. “When he was nie’Sharum, he was made Nie Ka and stood on the walls at twelve, the youngest in a hundred years! He was not there six months before he netted a wind demon that had killed his Watcher and knocked his drillmaster prone. For this, he was brought to the Kaji pavilion, the youngest to come since the Return. He fought so well on his first night of alagai’sharak that he was sent to Sharik Hora, studying five years with the dama to first don his blacks as kai’Sharum, the youngest such since the time of the Deliverer himself!”

There was a murmur at this among the Kaji, who knew Jardir’s accomplishments well. The Andrah paused a moment to let the sense of excitement travel, then continued. “Two nights ago, he led his warriors in a daring rescue of the Sharach, who stood on the brink of destruction, killing alagai with his bare hands while his men still readied their spears!”

The murmuring grew to a buzz. There was not a man, woman, or child in all Krasia who had not heard that tale by now.

“Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am’Jardir am’Kaji, stand before the Skull Throne!” the Andrah commanded, and the warriors cheered and banged spear and shield as Jardir appeared, dressed in his Sharum blacks, his head bare.

Inevera walked silently at his side as he went to the Skull Throne and prostrated himself, kneeling quickly to lay the Andrah’s Evejah under his forehead as he pressed it to the rug. The holy book was inked with dal’Sharum blood on vellum made from kai’Sharum skin, bound in leather from a Sharum Ka. It would sear his skull if he should utter a lie while touching it.

“Do you serve Everam in all things?” the Andrah asked.

“I do, Holiness,” Jardir swore.

“Will you be His strong arm in the night, giving all honor to the thrones of Sharik Hora?”

“I will, Holiness.”

“Are you prepared to hold the reins of alagai’sharak until the Shar’Dama Ka comes again, or you be dead?” the Andrah asked.

“I am, Holiness.”

“Then rise,” the Andrah said, lifting the white turban of the Sharum Ka high for all to see. “The night awaits its Sharum Ka.”

Jardir rose, and the Andrah turned to Inevera. He handed her the turban, and she placed it on Jardir’s head.

The Sharum roared and stamped their feet, but Jardir barely noticed. Why did the Andrah not put the turban on his head himself, as was the custom? Why give the honor to Inevera?