The greenlander turned back, staring hard at Ashan. “Do you still think me a liar?” Abban translated.

“Apologize,” Jardir murmured.

Ashan bowed deeply. “My apologies, Par’chin.” The greenlander nodded as Abban translated.

“The demon has stalked you ever since?” Jardir asked.

The greenlander nodded. “Almost seven years now,” Abban translated, “but one day, I will show it the sun.”

Jardir nodded. “Why did you not tell us such a great enemy pursued you? You put my city at risk.”

The greenlander replied, and Abban’s eyes widened. He said something in response, but the greenlander shook his head and spoke again.

“You are not here to hold your own conversations, khaffit!” Jardir shouted, rising from his seat. The dal’Sharum at the door lowered their spears and advanced.

“Apologies, First Warrior!” Abban cried, pressing his forehead back to the floor. “I sought only to clarify his meaning!”

“I will decide what needs clarifying,” Jardir said. “The next time you speak out of turn, I will cut off your thumbs. Now translate everything that was spoken.”

Abban nodded eagerly. “The greenlander said, ‘It was only a rock demon. They are common in the North, and I did not think it worth mentioning that one bore me personal enmity,’ to which I replied, ‘Surely you exaggerate, my friend! There cannot be two alagai so great,’ and he said, ‘No, in the mountains of the North, there are many such.’ ”

Jardir nodded. “What are the weaknesses of the rock demons?”

“So far as I know,” the greenlander said through Abban, “they have none. And I have looked hard.”

“We will find one, Par’chin,” Jardir said. “Together.”

“This level of communication is unacceptable,” Jardir said when the greenlander had been escorted out.

“The Par’chin is a quick study,” Abban said, “and has committed himself to learning our tongue. He will speak it soon, I promise.”

“Not good enough,” Jardir said. “There will be other greenlanders, and I would speak to them, as well. Since none of our learned men,” he looked at Ashan with disdain, “has seen fit to study the tongue of the savages, it will fall to you to instruct us, beginning with me.”

Abban paled. “Me?” he squeaked. “Instruct you?”

Jardir felt a wave of disgust. “Stop your sniveling. Yes, you! Are there any others who speak it?”

Abban shrugged. “It is a valuable skill in the marketplace. My wives and daughters speak a few words, so they might listen in secret as the Messengers talk. Many other women in the bazaar do the same.”

“You expect the Sharum Ka to learn from a woman?” Ashan demanded, and Jardir swallowed the irony. If not for Inevera, he would still be an illiterate dal’Sharum.

“Another merchant then,” Abban said. “I am not the only one who trades with the North.”

“But you trade the most,” Jardir said. “It is obvious from your womanish silks, and the fact that a sniveling fat khaffit like you has more wives than most warriors. More than that, the Par’chin knows and trusts you. Unless there is a true man who speaks the greenland tongue, it shall be you.”

“But…” Abban said, his eyes pleading. Jardir held up a hand, and he fell silent.

“You said once you owed me your life,” Jardir said. “The time has come for you to begin repaying that debt.”

Abban bowed deeply, touching his forehead to the floor.

The city gates were patched by nightfall, and though the giant rock demon continued to attack the walls, the sling teams gave it no more ammunition with which to breach the wards. The Par’chin joined in alagai’sharak again that night, and every night for a week to come. By day, he drilled hard with the dal’Sharum.

“I cannot speak for other greenland Messengers,” Drillmaster Kaval said, spitting in the dust, “but the Par’chin has been trained well. His spearwork is excellent, and he has taken to sharusahk like he was born to it. I started him training with the nie’Sharum, but his form has already surpassed even those ready for the wall.”

Jardir nodded. He had expected no less.

As if he had known they spoke of him, the Par’chin approached them, Abban trailing dutifully behind. He bowed and spoke.

“I will be returning to the North tomorrow, First Warrior,” Abban translated.

Keep him close. Inevera’s words echoed in Jardir’s head.

“So soon?” he asked. “You have only just arrived, Par’chin!”

“I feel that way as well,” the Par’chin said, “but I have commitments to deliver goods and messages that must be kept.”

“Commitments to chin!” Jardir snapped, knowing he had made a mistake the moment the words left his mouth. It was a deep insult. He wondered if the greenlander would attack him.

But the Par’chin only raised an eyebrow. “Should that matter?” he asked through Abban.

“No, of course not,” Jardir said, bowing deeply to everyone’s surprise. “I apologize. I am simply disappointed to see you go.”

“I will return soon,” the Par’chin promised. He held up a sheaf of papers bound in leather. “Abban has been most helpful; I have a long list of words to memorize. When next we meet, I hope to be more adept at your tongue.”

“No doubt,” Jardir said. He embraced the Par’chin, kissing his hairless cheeks. “You will always be welcome in Krasia, my brother, but you will draw less attention if you grow a proper man’s beard.”

The Par’chin smiled. “I will,” he promised.

Jardir slapped him on the back. “Come, my friend. Night is falling. We will kill alagai once more before you cross the hot sands.”

In the months following the Par’chin’s departure, Jardir began observing the other Messengers from the North more closely. Abban’s contacts in the bazaar were extensive, and word came quickly when a Northerner arrived.

Jardir invited each to his palace in turn—an honor unheard of in the past. The men came eagerly after centuries of being treated as filth beneath even khaffit.

“I welcome the chance to practice the Northland tongue,” he told the Messengers as they sat at his table, served by his own wives. He spoke to each at length, indeed honing his speech, but seeking something more.

And when the meals were finished, he always made the same request.

“You carry a spear in the night like a man,” he said. “Come stand with us in the Maze tonight as a brother.”

The men looked at him, and he could see in their eyes that they had no idea of the enormity of the honor he was offering them.

And to a one, they refused him.

In the meantime, the Par’chin kept his word, visiting at least twice every year. Sometimes his visits would last mere days, and other times he would spend months in the Desert Spear and the surrounding villages. Again and again, he arrived at the training grounds, begging leave to join in alagai’sharak.

Is the Par’chin the only true man in the North? Jardir wondered.

The Pit Warder, falling in a spray of blood, had not hit the ground before the Par’chin was there. He hooked the sand demon’s legs with his own and dropped to the ground, twisting for leverage in a flawless sharusahk move. The demon’s knees buckled, and it dropped into the pit.

As if it had all been one smooth motion, the Par’chin produced a stick of charcoal, repairing the damaged ward and resealing the circle before another demon could escape. He was at the Warder’s side in an instant, cutting at his robes and tossing aside the steel plates pocketed in the fabric to ward off alagai claws. The metal was a special protection granted to the Pit Warders, but it was still poor compensation for a shield and spear. Pit Warders needed their hands free.

The Par’chin’s hands and arms grew slick with blood, but he paid it no mind, digging in his battle bag for herbs and implements. Jardir shook his head in amazement. This was not the first time the greenlander had treated an injured warrior on the Maze floor. Were the Northerners all Warders and dama’ting combined?