smattering, but only Abban and Jardir’s inner council were truly fluent. And of those, only Abban would rather talk to the
chin
than kill them.
Like all the prisoners Abban found, these were starved and beaten, clad in filthy rags against the cold. “More
khaffit
merchant lords?” Jardir asked.
Abban shook his head. “No, Deliverer. These men are Warders.”
Jardir’s eyes widened, and he sat up quickly in his seat. “Why have they been so ill treated?” he demanded.
“Because in the North, warding is considered a craft, like milling or carpentry,” Abban said. “The
dal’Sharum
who sacked the city could not tell them from the rest of the
chin,
and many were killed, or fled with the tools of their profession.”
Jardir cursed softly. In Krasia, Warders were considered the elite of the warrior caste, and it was written in the Evejah that they be accorded all honor. Even Northern ones had value, if Sharak Ka was to be won.
He turned to the men, shifting smoothly to their tongue and bowing. “You have my apologies for your treatment. You will be fed and clad in fine robes, your lands and women returned to you. Had we known you were Warders, you would have been honored as your station deserves.”
“You killed my son,” one of the men choked. “Raped my wife and daughter; burned my house. And now you apologize?” He spat at Jardir, striking him on the cheek.
The guards at the door gave a shout and lowered their spears, but Jardir waved them off, wiping the spittle from his cheek calmly.
“I will pay a death price for your son,” he said, “and recompense you others for your losses as well.” He strode up to the anguished man, towering over him. “But I warn you, do not test my mercy further.” He signaled the guards, and the men were escorted out.
“It is regrettable,” he said, as he sat heavily on his throne, “that our first conquest in the North should bring such waste.”
“We could have treated with them, Ahmann,” Abban said softly. He tensed, ready to fall to his knees if his words were not well received, but Jardir only shook his head.
“The greenlanders are too numerous,” he said. “The Rizonan men outnumbered us eight to one. If they had been given time to muster, not even our superior fighting skills could have taken the city without losses we could ill afford. Now that the duke has embraced Everam, it should go easier on the hamlets until we move on to conquer the
chin
city built on the oasis.”
“Lakton,” Abban supplied. “But I warn you, this greenland ‘lake’ is, by all accounts, far bigger than any oasis. Messengers have told me it is a body of water so great that you cannot see the far side, even on a clear day, and the city itself is so far out on the water that even a scorpion could not shoot so far.”
“They exaggerate, surely,” Jardir said. “If these…fish men fight anything like the men of Rizon, they will fall easily enough when the time comes.”
Just then a
dal’Sharum
entered, thumping his spear on the floor.
“Forgive the intrusion, Shar’Dama Ka,” the warrior said, going down to both knees and laying his spear next to him before placing his hands flat on the floor. “You asked to be informed when your wives arrived.”
Jardir scowled.
CHAPTER 4
LOSING THE BIDO
p.
308 AR
JARDIR WAS WHIPPED WITH the alagai tail for letting Abban live, the barbs tearing the flesh off his back, and the days without food were hard, but he embraced the penance as he did all pain. It did not matter.
He had netted an
alagai.
Other warriors had cut the wings from the wind demon, staking it down in a warded circle to await the sun, but it was Jardir who brought it down, and everyone knew it. He could see it in the awed eyes of the other
nie’Sharum,
and the grudging respect of the
dal’Sharum.
Even the
dama
eyed him when they thought no one was looking.
On the fourth day, Jardir was weak with hunger as he made his way to the gruel line. He doubted he
chin
than kill them.
Like all the prisoners Abban found, these were starved and beaten, clad in filthy rags against the cold. “More
khaffit
merchant lords?” Jardir asked.
Abban shook his head. “No, Deliverer. These men are Warders.”
Jardir’s eyes widened, and he sat up quickly in his seat. “Why have they been so ill treated?” he demanded.
“Because in the North, warding is considered a craft, like milling or carpentry,” Abban said. “The
dal’Sharum
who sacked the city could not tell them from the rest of the
chin,
and many were killed, or fled with the tools of their profession.”
Jardir cursed softly. In Krasia, Warders were considered the elite of the warrior caste, and it was written in the Evejah that they be accorded all honor. Even Northern ones had value, if Sharak Ka was to be won.
He turned to the men, shifting smoothly to their tongue and bowing. “You have my apologies for your treatment. You will be fed and clad in fine robes, your lands and women returned to you. Had we known you were Warders, you would have been honored as your station deserves.”
“You killed my son,” one of the men choked. “Raped my wife and daughter; burned my house. And now you apologize?” He spat at Jardir, striking him on the cheek.
The guards at the door gave a shout and lowered their spears, but Jardir waved them off, wiping the spittle from his cheek calmly.
“I will pay a death price for your son,” he said, “and recompense you others for your losses as well.” He strode up to the anguished man, towering over him. “But I warn you, do not test my mercy further.” He signaled the guards, and the men were escorted out.
“It is regrettable,” he said, as he sat heavily on his throne, “that our first conquest in the North should bring such waste.”
“We could have treated with them, Ahmann,” Abban said softly. He tensed, ready to fall to his knees if his words were not well received, but Jardir only shook his head.
“The greenlanders are too numerous,” he said. “The Rizonan men outnumbered us eight to one. If they had been given time to muster, not even our superior fighting skills could have taken the city without losses we could ill afford. Now that the duke has embraced Everam, it should go easier on the hamlets until we move on to conquer the
chin
city built on the oasis.”
“Lakton,” Abban supplied. “But I warn you, this greenland ‘lake’ is, by all accounts, far bigger than any oasis. Messengers have told me it is a body of water so great that you cannot see the far side, even on a clear day, and the city itself is so far out on the water that even a scorpion could not shoot so far.”
“They exaggerate, surely,” Jardir said. “If these…fish men fight anything like the men of Rizon, they will fall easily enough when the time comes.”
Just then a
dal’Sharum
entered, thumping his spear on the floor.
“Forgive the intrusion, Shar’Dama Ka,” the warrior said, going down to both knees and laying his spear next to him before placing his hands flat on the floor. “You asked to be informed when your wives arrived.”
Jardir scowled.
CHAPTER 4
LOSING THE BIDO
p.
308 AR
JARDIR WAS WHIPPED WITH the alagai tail for letting Abban live, the barbs tearing the flesh off his back, and the days without food were hard, but he embraced the penance as he did all pain. It did not matter.
He had netted an
alagai.
Other warriors had cut the wings from the wind demon, staking it down in a warded circle to await the sun, but it was Jardir who brought it down, and everyone knew it. He could see it in the awed eyes of the other
nie’Sharum,
and the grudging respect of the
dal’Sharum.
Even the
dama
eyed him when they thought no one was looking.
On the fourth day, Jardir was weak with hunger as he made his way to the gruel line. He doubted he
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