She reached out to him, gentling his hair and caressing his face. “Ah, my love,” she said sadly. “How I wish you had not seen this.”

Jardir fought with his tongue, which felt as if it had swollen to fill his entire mouth. “Why?” he finally managed to croak.

Inevera sighed. “The Andrah was going to have you executed for killing his friend with such dishonor. I did what was needed to save your life and gain you power. But fear not. The day is fast approaching when you will take his throne, and on that day, you may cut the manhood from him yourself.”

“Did…” Jardir began, unable to manage more. He swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his tongue, but even that seemed beyond him.

Inevera rose and brought him water, running it over his lips and massaging his throat to help him swallow. She used her silk wrap to dry his mouth, revealing one of her breasts. He wondered how, even now, he could desire her, but it was undeniable.

“Did you know it would come to this,” he asked, “when you had me kill the Sharum Ka?” Again he called upon his limbs to move, and again they failed to respond.

Inevera sighed again. “You have lived but twenty winters, my love, and even you can recall a time when Krasia had ten thousand dal’Sharum. The eldest Damaji can recall when it was ten times that, and the ancient scrolls show our numbers in the millions before the Return. Our people are dying, Ahmann, because they lack a leader. They need more than a strong Sharum Ka, more than a powerful Andrah. They need Shar’Dama Ka, before Nie scatters the last of us to the sands.”

Inevera paused, breaking eye contact, and it seemed she considered her next words carefully. “I didn’t ask the dice if I would ever see you again, that first night,” she admitted. “I asked if there was a man in all Krasia who could pull us from attrition and lead us back to glory, and they pointed to a boy I would find weeping in the Maze, years hence.”

“I am the Deliverer?” Jardir asked, his voice hoarse and disbelieving.

Inevera shrugged. “The dice never lie, but neither do they give absolutes. There are futures where men believe you so, and unite behind you, and others where they unite behind another, or not at all.”

“Then what good are they?” Jardir asked. “If that is inevera, fate will decide it.”

“There is no fate as you understand it,” Inevera said, “save that Sharak Ka, the final battle, is coming, and soon. We dare not let the future go unguided. I have watched you since you first took the bido, my sweet. You are Krasia’s best hope of salvation, and I will seize for you every advantage, even at the cost of my body’s honor, or your own.”

Jardir looked at her with wide eyes. Words failed him as surely as his limbs continued to do. Inevera bent and kissed his forehead, her lips soft and cool. She rose to her feet, looking down sadly as he continued to twitch helplessly on the floor.

“Everything I do, I do for you, and for Sharak Ka,” she said, and left the room.

CHAPTER 6

FALSE PROPHET

“THE CHINARE PROVING ideal slaves,” Jayan said. “Even the least of them put such high value on their own lives that they will never muster the courage to resist. Truly it is a great conquest, Father. Your glory knows no bounds.”

Jardir shook his head. “To shift a few grains of sand is no more a sign of great strength than to see the sun a sign of great sight. There is no glory in dominating the weak.”

“Still, it is a great boon to us,” Jayan pressed. “Our victory is complete, and at no cost to ourselves.”

Across the room, Abban snorted at his tiny writing desk.

“You have something to add, khaffit?” Jayan demanded.

“Nothing, my prince,” Abban said quickly, looking up from his ledgers. He stood and braced himself on his camel-headed crutch, bowing deeply. “It was but a cough.”

“No, please,” Jayan said. “Tell us what amused you so.”

Abban’s eyes flicked to Jardir, who nodded.

“There may have been no loss of dal’Sharum, my prince, but there has definitely been cost,” Abban said. “Food, clothing, shelter, transportation. Keeping such a vast army as ours on the move is costly beyond measure. Your father may control the riches of all twelve tribes, and Everam’s Bounty besides, but even his wealth has an end.”

Asome nodded. “The Evejah tells us: When a man’s purse is empty, his rivals grow bolder.”

Jayan laughed. “Who would dare oppose Father? Besides, why should the Shar’Dama Ka pay for anything? We have conquered this land. We can take whatever we wish.”

Abban nodded. “That is so, but a robbed merchant has no capital to replenish his stock. You can take all the chandler’s candles, but if you do not pay at least their cost, you will find yourself sitting in the dark when the last one burns out.”

Jayan snorted. “Candles are for weak khaffit scroll worshippers. They make no difference to warriors in the night.”

“Wood and steel for spears, then,” Abban said patiently, as if speaking to a child. “Cloth for uniforms and fired clay for armor. Leather and oil for saddle harness. These things do not appear from thin air, and if we steal every seed and goat now, there will be nothing to fill our bellies a year hence.”

“I do not care for your tone, pig-eater,” Jayan growled.

“Be silent and attend his words,” Jardir snapped. “The khaffit is offering you wisdom, my son, and you would be wise to take it.”

Jayan looked at his father in shock, but quickly bowed. “Of course, Father.” His eyes shot daggers at Abban.

Jardir looked to Asome, who had stood quietly through all this. “And you, my son? What say you to the khaffit’s words?”

“The unworthy one makes a fair point,” Asome conceded. “There are still those among the Damaji who resent your rise, and they would use any privation of their tribesmen as excuse to sow discord.”

Jardir nodded. “And what would you do to attend this problem?”

Asome shrugged. “Kill and replace the disloyal Damaji before they grow bold.”

“That would sow discord of its own,” Jardir noted. He looked to Abban.

“It’s too costly to keep our army together in the city,” Abban said. “And so they must be dispersed into the hamlets.” Jardir’s sons looked at the fat merchant incredulously.

“Disband our army? What foolishness is this?” Jayan demanded. “Father, this khaffit is a coward and a fool! I beg you, let me kill him!”

“Idiot boy!” Jardir snapped. “Do you think the khaffit speaks words unknown to me?”

Jayan looked at him in shock.

“One day, my sons,” Jardir said, looking from Jayan to Asome and back, “I will die. If you have any wish to survive the days that follow, you must listen for wisdom from every side.”

Jayan turned to Abban and bowed. It was a minuscule thing, barely a nod, and his eyes shot death at the fat merchant for shaming him. “Please, khaffit, do share your wisdom.”

Abban bowed in return, though even with his crutch he could have gone lower. “With the lost granaries, the central city cannot support all of Krasia’s peoples without privation, my prince. But there are hundreds of small villages, arranged around this city like the spokes of a wheel. We will have the greenland duke provide lists, and divide them among the tribes.”

“That is a vast territory to hold,” Asome noted.

Abban shrugged. “Hold from whom? No army threatens us, and as my prince says, the chin are ideal slaves. Better to let the Shar’Dama Ka’s armies disperse until needed, saving him the need to provide for them. Instead, they each take a territory to forage on and tax, hunting its alagai at night. They can form greenland sharaji to train the boys in their territories, and leave the women and elderly to plant another crop in the spring. A year from now, the tribes will be richer than they have ever been, with thousands of greenland nie’Sharum. Give the tribes wealth instead of privations, and by the time the novices come of age, the Shar’Dama Ka will control the largest army the world has ever known, fanatically loyal, and, best of all, paying for itself.”