333 AR Autumn

'Shar'Dama Ka, the khaffit is here to speak with you.'

Jardir nodded, dismissing the guard as Abban limped into his map room. The khaffit wove unsteadily towards one of the soft chairs. He stumbled, but managed to guide his fall into the seat. He gave a sigh of relief.

Jardir's nose knew the cause even before he could look into his friend's aura. 'Nie's black heart, you dare come before me drunk on couzi?'

Abban looked at him flatly. 'The Par'chin is alive, Ahmann.'

The words, and the truth he could see behind them, cut off all other thoughts. Jardir shook his head slowly, turning away while he embraced his feelings.

'I had suspected,' he admitted. 'Months ago when we first heard of this "Painted Man".'

Abban nodded. 'We all did.'

'But I told myself it was ridiculous. We left him for dead in the dunes.' He looked back at Abban. 'How did he survive? Did he shelter in one of the khaffit villages?'

'I did not ask,' Abban said. 'What does it matter? It was inevera.'

Jardir conceded the point with a wave. 'What did he want?'

Abban produced a simple roll of parchment, tied with rough cord. 'He asked me to give you this.'

Jardir took the paper, slipping off the string and reading quickly.

Greetings, Ahmann asu Hoshkamin am'Jardir am'Kaji, in this year of our Creator, 333 AR- I testify before Everam that you, my ajin'pal, have broken faith and robbed me on the sacred ground of the Maze, in the night when all men are brothers.

In accordance with Evejan law, I demand you meet me in Domin Sharum, an hour before dusk on the autumnal equinox, when Everam and Nie are in balance.

As the aggrieved, the location will be a place of my choosing. You will be given its location one week in advance, and allowed to arrive first, ensuring there is no trap. We will each bring seven witnesses, no more and no less, to honour the seven pillars of Heaven. We will settle our differences as men, and let Everam judge.

The alternative is for our men to meet in the field, shedding red blood in the day instead of black ichor at night. I hope you will see there is no honour in this.

I await your response, Arlen asu Jeph am'Bales am'Brook Jardir shook his head. Domin Sharum. Literally it meant 'two warriors', referring to trial by single combat as prescribed in the Evejah, based on the rules agreed upon by Kaji and his treacherous half brother before they fought to the death.

'Autumnal equinox,' Abban said. 'One month to the day before we invade Lakton. It's as if he knew.'

Jardir smiled wanly. 'My ajin'pal is no fool, and knows our traditions well. But though he speaks of Everam and Heaven, he does not believe their truth in his heart.' He shook his head. 'The "aggrieved", he calls himself. As if taking back what he stole from my ancestor's grave was common robbery.'

The question had gnawed at him for years. 'Was it?'

Abban shrugged. 'Who can say? I've done worse to men; even lied to the Par'chin for my own profit. But for all that, I was fond of him. He was very true. When I was around him, I felt ...'

'How?' Jardir asked. They had both known the man well, but in very different ways.

'Like I once did around you, when we were boys in sharaj,' Abban said. 'That he would stand in an instant between me and any harm, as he did when you called us before the Spear Throne so many years ago. He made me feel safe.'

Jardir nodded. The way they had known him was not so different after all. 'And now?'

Abban's aura became unreadable and he sighed, taking a small clay bottle from his vest and pulling the stopper.

'Do not ...' Jardir began.

Abban cut him off with a roll of his eyes. 'The blood of thousands pools at your feet, Ahmann. Are you truly about to lecture me about drinking couzi like I'm a drunken Sharum in the Maze?'

Jardir frowned, but he did not protest further as Abban took a thoughtful pull, his eyes distant. The khaffit looked back at him, holding the bottle out. 'Drink with me, Ahmann. Just this once. These are things best discussed with lips of cinnamon.'

Jardir shook his head. 'Kaji forbids-'

Abban threw back his head and laughed. 'He forbade it because his men were slaughtered in Rusk by a force they outnumbered five to one after spending the night before celebrating a battle that had not yet been won! It was a decree meant for uneducated sheep with weapons, not two men sharing a cup during the day at the centre of their stronghold.'

Jardir looked at Abban sadly. He could see in the man's aura that he not only did not understand, he thought Jardir the fool in this exchange. 'This, my friend, is why you are khaffit.'

'Why?' Abban asked. 'Because I do not treat every single utterance of Kaji as the direct word of Everam? You are Shar'Dama Ka now, Ahmann, and I've known you a long time. You are a brilliant man, but you have said and done many a stupid and naive thing over the years.'

Such words might have got him killed in open court, but Ahmann could see his friend spoke from his heart, and could not fault him for that. 'I make no claims to divine infallibility, Abban, mine or Kaji's. You are khaffit because you are unable to see that the reasons for Kaji's decree do not matter. What matters is your obedience and submission. Your sacrifice.'

He pointed to the cup. 'Everam will not damn me to Nie's abyss if I drink that, Abban, nor Kaji's spirit grow restless. But remembering the lesson of the defeat at Rusk is well worth the sacrifice of couzi, just as remembering the betrayal of Kaji's half brother is worth the taste of pig, no matter how succulent you claim it to be.'

Abban looked at him a moment, shrugged, and drank again. 'The Par'chin is the man I knew, and he is not. I never felt for a moment he would harm me, or let harm come to me, but he was nonetheless ... unsettling.'

'The rumours are true?' Jardir asked. 'He has warded his flesh with ink?'

Abban nodded. 'Much as you have with scars.'

Jardir shook his head. 'My wards are made of my own flesh. I have not profaned the temple of my body with-'

'Please,' Abban said, holding up a hand to cut him off while rubbing his other hand against his temple. 'My head hurts enough already.

'The Par'chin did not spare his face, as you did,' Abban continued, 'but he was never handsome as you. I suppose even the Damajah has a limit to how much she will ... sacrifice.'

Jardir felt his jaw tighten. 'I have been most tolerant of you today, Abban, but there is a limit.'

Abban's aura went cold, and he bowed as much as he could without rising. 'I apologize, my friend. I meant no dishonour to you or your Jiwah Ka.'

Jardir nodded, whisking a hand to dismiss the matter. 'You once told me that if one of us were the Deliverer, it was the Par'chin. Do you still think it so?'

'I do not know that there is such a thing as a Deliverer at all.' Abban drank again. 'But I have looked into the eyes of thousands of hagglers, and in all my years met only two men I judged to be true. One of them was the Par'chin, and the other, Ahmann, was you.

'Ten years ago, our people were splintered. Weak. Unable to control even our own city. Great warriors, perhaps, but fools, also. Spending and spending, but never turning a profit. Our numbers were dwindling, women had no rights to speak of, and khaffit were beneath contempt.' He held up his couzi cup. 'Drinking couzi could get you executed.

'You might have stolen the throne, but you brought wisdom to it. United our people and made them strong again. Fed the hungry. Gave women and khaffit paths to glory. Our people owe you a great debt. Would the Par'chin have done as well? Who can say?'

Jardir frowned. 'So what would honourless Abban do? Is there profit in my fighting the Par'chin?'

'What does it matter?' Abban asked. 'You and I both know you are going to accept his challenge.'

Jardir nodded. 'It is inevera. But I would hear your counsel all the same.'

Abban sighed. 'I wish the Par'chin had never made this challenge. I wish he had taken my advice and run to the ends of Ala and beyond. But I saw in his eyes he means to fight you, Domin Sharum or no. If that is so, you are better off with a private battle over one held before all with untold thousands of bystanders ready to join the slaughter.'

'This is why we have Domin Sharum,' Jardir said. 'For when wishes come to naught. I will go, and I will fight the Par'chin with all I have, and he me. One of us will walk away, and upon his shoulders rest the fate of humanity. Let Everam decide who it shall be.'

Jardir looked at Inevera as she lay waiting for him in their bedroom. They had not spent a night apart since they had reconciled, weeks ago. His other wives clamoured for his attention, but Inevera's power over them was absolute, and none dared come to his pillow chamber uninvited.

Jardir could see the love and passion radiating from his wife, and steeled himself for what was to come. He could only hope she would forgive him.

'The Par'chin is alive,' he said, blurting the words and letting them hang in the air much as the khaffit had done.

Inevera straightened in an instant, her aura losing its warmth and invitation as she stared at him. 'Impossible. You told me you put your spear between his eyes and left his body on the dunes.'

Jardir nodded. 'That was all true, but it was the butt of the spear. He was alive when we dumped him on the dunes.'

'He was what?!' Inevera shouted so loudly Jardir wondered if even her sound-blocking hora magic could keep it from echoing throughout the palace. The anger in her aura was terrifying to behold, like looking over the edge of Nie's abyss.

'I told you I would not murder my friend,' Jardir said. 'I took the spear as you said, but had mercy on the Par'chin, leaving him alive to face the coming night on his feet that he might die a warrior's death on alagai talons.'

'Mercy?' Inevera was incredulous. 'The dice made clear you will not take your place until he is dead. How many thousands of lives will we pay for that "mercy"?'

'Take my place?' Jardir asked. The words tickled something in his memory, and he probed deeper with his crownsight. 'Of course. The Par'chin.'

'Eh?' Inevera asked.

'You lied to me when you said I was the only man with the potential to be the Deliverer. I had thought you hiding an heir, but it was the Par'chin, wasn't it? Did the dice command I kill him at all, or was that simply you?'

She did not need to open her mouth for him to see it was so.

'No matter,' he said. 'He is alive, and has challenged me to Domin Sharum. I have already accepted.'

'Have you gone mad?' Inevera demanded. 'You accepted without even letting me cast the dice?'

'To the abyss with your dice!' Jardir snapped. 'It is inevera. Either I am the Deliverer, or I am not. The alagai hora are no different from Abban's tallies, tools for educated guessing.'

Inevera hissed, and he could see he had gone too far. She might lie to him about their meanings, but in her heart the dice were the voice of Everam.

'And perhaps they were right,' he conceded. 'Perhaps the Par'chin is the Shar'Dama Ka. The Sharum in the Maze followed him without question when he first brandished the Spear of Kaji. A spear he bled and risked his life for. A spear he used to kill the most powerful demon Krasia had ever known, one that had brought short the lives of thousands of dal'Sharum. It was he that found the holy city of Kaji, not me.'

'You are Kaji's heir,' Inevera said.

Jardir shrugged. 'Kaji took Northern wives when he conquered the green lands. I have seen his blood run true in places like Deliverer's Hollow. After three thousand years, the son of Jeph could be as much Kaji's heir as I. Perhaps my part in Everam's great plan is simply to bring the unified armies of Krasia to him, and then die.'

Inevera leapt from the bed, wrapping him in her arms. 'No. I refuse to believe it.' And she did. He could see her will preventing the very idea from taking hold. 'It is you,' she said. 'It must be you.'

Jardir put his arms around her, nodding. 'I think so, too. But I need to be sure. Can you understand that, my Jiwah Ka? It must be true, or the blood at my feet is for nothing.'

32.

Domin Sharum

333 AR Autumn

'Tell me again how you know this isn't a trap?' Thamos asked as they left the contingent of Cutters and Wooden Soldiers behind to ride up the steep rock face. Behind the count rode Leesha and Wonda, followed by Rojer and Amanvah, with Gared bringing up the rear. Renna rode at Arlen's right, the count, his left.

'Your own scouts have confirmed there are only eight people up there, one a woman and one an old man,' Arlen said.

'There could be others in hiding,' Thamos said. 'The scouts also say they have a full company of men camped a mile to the south.'

Arlen pointed to the cliff face they approached. There was only one narrow path up the sheer slope, the rock bare and cold. 'Where do you think these others might be hidden, Highness? Will they drop on us from the clouds?'

Thamos frowned, and Arlen realized he was costing the man too much face before Leesha, Gared, and the others. If this continued, he would become an increasing hindrance, if only to show his own strength.

'I know Ahmann Jardir, Highness,' Arlen said. 'He would sooner throw himself off that cliff than violate Domin Sharum.'

'This is the same man stabbed you in the back, ay?' Renna asked.

'Figuratively,' Arlen said, sparing her an annoyed glance. She grinned in the face of it, and he wanted to laugh. 'In truth, he had the stones to look me in the eye.'

'Makes it so much better,' Renna muttered.

Arlen could see Thamos remained unconvinced. He sighed, lowering his voice. 'You don't need to risk yourself, Highness. There is still time for you to turn back and send Arther or Inquisitor Hayes in your stead.'

He of course wanted no such thing, but the challenge to the count's courage worked where other tactics failed. Thamos straightened in his saddle, his aura becoming steady and confident once more.

'We should all turn back,' Leesha said. 'This whole ritual is barbaric. A bunch of meaningless rules to give the illusion of civility to murder.'

'Ent murder when the other man sees it coming and means to kill you, too,' Arlen said. 'And the rules have meaning. Seven witnesses, so all those affected by the outcome can see the truth of it. A remote location difficult to stage an ambush. A fight right before dusk, when all men set aside their differences and become brothers, to force peace on the witnesses when it is done.'

'None of which makes it civilized,' Leesha said.

'Would you rather thousands die on the field?' Arlen asked. 'So long as men eat and shit and grow old and die ...'