you’ll end up
khaffit
like your father!”
The hurt in Abban’s eyes cut at him, but Jardir spoke the truth. Abban knew it, too. He sucked in a breath and got to his feet, stumbling after the others. He kept up for some time, but again began to drift to the back of the line, frequently bumping into other boys and being shoved about. Kaval, ever watching, took note and moved up to walk next to Jardir.
“If he slows our march, boy,” he said, “it is you I will take the strap to, for all to see.”
Jardir nodded. “As you should, Drillmaster. I am
Nie Ka.
” Kaval grunted and left it at that.
Jardir went to the others. “Jurim, Abban, get on the carts,” he ordered. “You’re fresh from the
dama’ting
pavilion, and not ready for a full day’s march.”
“Camel’s piss!” Jurim snarled, pointing a finger in Jardir’s face. “I’m not riding the cart like a woman just because the pig-eater’s son can’t keep up!”
The words were barely out of Jurim’s mouth before Jardir struck. He grabbed Jurim’s wrist and twisted around to push hard against Jurim’s shoulder. The boy had no choice but to go limp lest Jardir break his arm, and the throw landed him heavily on his back. Jardir kept hold of the arm, pulling hard as he put his foot on Jurim’s throat.
“You’re riding on the cart because your
Nie Ka
commands it,” he said loudly as Jurim’s face reddened. “Forget that again at your peril.”
Jurim’s face was turning purple by the time he managed to nod, and he gasped air desperately when Jardir released the hold. “The
dama’ting
commanded that you walk farther each day until you are at full strength,” Jardir lied. “Tomorrow you march an hour longer.” He looked at Abban coldly. “Both of you.”
Abban nodded eagerly, and the two boys headed for the carts. Jardir watched them go, praying for Abban’s swift recovery. He could not save face for him forever.
He looked to the other
nie’Sharum,
staring at him, and snarled. “Did I call a halt?” he demanded, and the boys quickly resumed their march. Jardir called the steps at double time until they caught back up.
Night came, and Jardir had his
nie’Sharum
prepare the meals and lay bedrolls as the
dama
and Pit Warders prepared the warding circle. When the circle was ready, the warriors stood at its perimeter, facing outward with shields locked and spears at the ready as the sun set and the demons rose.
This near to the city, sand demons rose in force, hissing at the
dal’Sharum
and flinging themselves at the warriors. It was the first time he had seen them up close, and Jardir watched the
alagai
with a cold eye, memorizing their movements as they leapt to the attack.
The Pit Warders had done their work well, and magic flared to keep the demons at bay. As they struck the wards, the
dal’Sharum
gave a shout and thrust their spears. Most blows were turned by the sand demons’ armor, but a few precise blows to eyes or down open throats scored a kill. It seemed a game to the warriors, attempting to deliver such a pinpoint blow in the momentary flash of the magic’s light, and they laughed and congratulated the handful of warriors who managed it. Those who had went to their meal, while those who had not kept trying as the demons began to gather. Hasik was one of the first to fill his bowl, Jardir noted.
He looked to Drillmaster Kaval, coming out of the circle after killing a demon of his own. His red night veil was raised, the first time Jardir had ever seen it so. He caught the drillmaster’s eye, and when the man nodded Jardir approached, bowing deeply.
“Drillmaster,” he said, “this is not
alagai’sharak
as we were taught it.”
Kaval laughed. “This is not
alagai’sharak
at all, boy, just a game to keep our spears sharp. The Evejah commands that
alagai’sharak
only be fought on prepared ground. There are no demon pits here, no maze walls or ambush pockets. We would be fools to leave our circle, but that is no
khaffit
like your father!”
The hurt in Abban’s eyes cut at him, but Jardir spoke the truth. Abban knew it, too. He sucked in a breath and got to his feet, stumbling after the others. He kept up for some time, but again began to drift to the back of the line, frequently bumping into other boys and being shoved about. Kaval, ever watching, took note and moved up to walk next to Jardir.
“If he slows our march, boy,” he said, “it is you I will take the strap to, for all to see.”
Jardir nodded. “As you should, Drillmaster. I am
Nie Ka.
” Kaval grunted and left it at that.
Jardir went to the others. “Jurim, Abban, get on the carts,” he ordered. “You’re fresh from the
dama’ting
pavilion, and not ready for a full day’s march.”
“Camel’s piss!” Jurim snarled, pointing a finger in Jardir’s face. “I’m not riding the cart like a woman just because the pig-eater’s son can’t keep up!”
The words were barely out of Jurim’s mouth before Jardir struck. He grabbed Jurim’s wrist and twisted around to push hard against Jurim’s shoulder. The boy had no choice but to go limp lest Jardir break his arm, and the throw landed him heavily on his back. Jardir kept hold of the arm, pulling hard as he put his foot on Jurim’s throat.
“You’re riding on the cart because your
Nie Ka
commands it,” he said loudly as Jurim’s face reddened. “Forget that again at your peril.”
Jurim’s face was turning purple by the time he managed to nod, and he gasped air desperately when Jardir released the hold. “The
dama’ting
commanded that you walk farther each day until you are at full strength,” Jardir lied. “Tomorrow you march an hour longer.” He looked at Abban coldly. “Both of you.”
Abban nodded eagerly, and the two boys headed for the carts. Jardir watched them go, praying for Abban’s swift recovery. He could not save face for him forever.
He looked to the other
nie’Sharum,
staring at him, and snarled. “Did I call a halt?” he demanded, and the boys quickly resumed their march. Jardir called the steps at double time until they caught back up.
Night came, and Jardir had his
nie’Sharum
prepare the meals and lay bedrolls as the
dama
and Pit Warders prepared the warding circle. When the circle was ready, the warriors stood at its perimeter, facing outward with shields locked and spears at the ready as the sun set and the demons rose.
This near to the city, sand demons rose in force, hissing at the
dal’Sharum
and flinging themselves at the warriors. It was the first time he had seen them up close, and Jardir watched the
alagai
with a cold eye, memorizing their movements as they leapt to the attack.
The Pit Warders had done their work well, and magic flared to keep the demons at bay. As they struck the wards, the
dal’Sharum
gave a shout and thrust their spears. Most blows were turned by the sand demons’ armor, but a few precise blows to eyes or down open throats scored a kill. It seemed a game to the warriors, attempting to deliver such a pinpoint blow in the momentary flash of the magic’s light, and they laughed and congratulated the handful of warriors who managed it. Those who had went to their meal, while those who had not kept trying as the demons began to gather. Hasik was one of the first to fill his bowl, Jardir noted.
He looked to Drillmaster Kaval, coming out of the circle after killing a demon of his own. His red night veil was raised, the first time Jardir had ever seen it so. He caught the drillmaster’s eye, and when the man nodded Jardir approached, bowing deeply.
“Drillmaster,” he said, “this is not
alagai’sharak
as we were taught it.”
Kaval laughed. “This is not
alagai’sharak
at all, boy, just a game to keep our spears sharp. The Evejah commands that
alagai’sharak
only be fought on prepared ground. There are no demon pits here, no maze walls or ambush pockets. We would be fools to leave our circle, but that is no
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