“The birthplace of the Deliverer?” he asked. “The Spear of Kaji is a myth, Par’chin, and the lost city has been reclaimed by the sands.”

The Par’chin shook his head. “I’ve been there. I can take you there.”

Jardir hesitated. The Par’chin was no liar, and there was no jest in his voice. He meant his words. For a moment, an image flashed in his mind: he and the Par’chin out on the sands together, uncovering the combat wards of old. It was only with great effort he recalled his responsibilities and shook the image away.

“I am Sharum Ka of the Desert Spear, Par’chin,” he replied. “I cannot just pack a camel and ride off into the sand looking for a city that exists only in ancient texts.”

“I think I will convince you when night falls,” the Par’chin said.

Jardir bent his mouth into a smile. “Promise me that you will not try anything foolish. Painted spear or no, you are not the Deliverer. It would be sad to bury you.”

“Tonight is the night,” Inevera said. “Long have I foreseen this. Kill him and take the spear. At dawn, you will declare yourself Shar’Dama Ka, and a month from now you will rule all Krasia.”

“No,” Jardir said.

For a moment, Inevera did not hear him. “…and the Sharach will declare for you immediately,” she was saying, “but the Kaji and Majah will take a hard line against…Eh?” She turned back to him, her eyebrow disappearing into her headwrap.

“The prophecy…” she began.

“The prophecy be damned,” Jardir said. “I will not murder my friend, no matter what the demon bones tell you. I will not rob him. I am the Sharum Ka, not a thief in the night.”

She slapped him, the retort echoing off the stone walls. “A fool is what you are!” she snapped. “Now is the moment of divergence, when what might be becomes what will. By dawn, one of you will be declared Deliverer. It is up to you to decide if it will be the Sharum Ka of the Desert Spear, or a grave-robbing chin from the North.”

“I tire of your prophecies and divergences,” Jardir said, “you and all the dama’ting! All just guesses meant to manipulate men to your will. But I will not betray my friend for you, no matter what you pretend to see in those warded lumps of alagai shit!”

Inevera shrieked and raised her hand to strike him again, but Jardir caught her wrist and lifted it high. She struggled for a moment, but she might as well have struggled with a stone wall.

“Do not force me to hurt you,” Jardir warned.

Inevera’s eyes narrowed, and she twisted suddenly, driving the stiffened index and middle fingers of her free hand into his shoulder. Immediately the arm holding her wrist went numb, and she twisted out of his grasp, slipping back a step and straightening her robes.

“You keep thinking the dama’ting defenseless, my husband,” she said as he goggled at her, “though you of all people should know better.”

Jardir looked down at his arm in horror. It hung limply, refusing his commands to move.

Inevera moved over to him, taking his numb hand in hers, and pressing her free hand to his shoulder. She twisted his arm and pressed hard, and suddenly the numbness was replaced with a sharp tingle of pins.

“You are no thief,” she agreed, her voice calm once more, “if you are only reclaiming what is already yours by right.”

“Mine?” Jardir asked, staring at his hand as its fingers began to flex once more.

“Who is the thief?” Inevera asked. “The chin who robs the grave of Kaji, or you, his blood kin, who takes back what was stolen?”

“We do not know it is the Spear of Kaji he holds,” Jardir said.

Inevera crossed her arms. “You know. You knew the moment you laid eyes on it, just as you’ve known all along that this day would come. I never hid this fate from you.”

Jardir said nothing.

Inevera touched his arm gently. “If you prefer, I can put a potion in his tea. His passing will be quick.”

“No!” Jardir shouted, tearing his arm away. “Always the path of least honor with you! The Par’chin is no khaffit, to be put down like a dog! He deserves a warrior’s death.”

“Then give him one,” Inevera urged. “Now, before alagai’sharak begins and the power of the spear is known.”

Jardir shook his head. “If it is to be done, I will do it in the Maze.”

But as he walked away from her, he was not sure it was to be done at all. How could he stand tall as Shar’Dama Ka if it was atop the body of a friend?

“Par’chin! Par’chin!”

The cries echoed throughout the Maze. Jardir watched from the walltop as the greenlander led the dal’Sharum to victory after victory. No alagai could resist the Spear of Kaji.

He is the brave outsider tonight, Jardir thought. Shar’Dama Ka tomorrow.

But perhaps this was Everam’s will? When He formed the world from Nie’s void, had He not created the greenlanders, as well? Must He not have a plan for them?

“But the Par’chin does not believe in Everam,” he said aloud.

“How can a man who does not bow to the Creator be the Deliverer?” Hasik asked.

Jardir drew a deep breath. “He cannot. Gather Shanjat and our most loyal men. For the sake of all the world, it must be someone else.”

Jardir found the Par’chin at the head of a host of Sharum chanting his name as they thundered through the Maze. He was covered in black demon ichor, but his eyes were alive with fierce joy. He thrust his spear high in salute, and Jardir’s heart wrenched for what he must do to his ajin’pal— worse by far than Hasik had done to him.

“Sharum Ka!” the Par’chin cried. “No demon will escape your Maze alive tonight!”

War is deception, Jardir reminded himself, and forced himself to laugh and raise his spear to return the Par’chin’s salute. He came and embraced the man for the last time.

“I underestimated you, Par’chin,” he said. “I won’t do so again.”

The Par’chin smiled. “You say that every time.” He was surrounded by warriors, glorying in their victory. Already they could not be trusted to do what must be done.

“Dal’Sharum!” he called to the warriors, gesturing to the slaughtered alagai on the streets of the Maze. “Gather up these filthy things and haul them atop the outer wall! Our sling teams need target practice! Let the alagai beyond the walls see the folly of attacking the Desert Spear!”

A cheer rose from the men, and they hastened to his bidding. As they did, Jardir turned to Arlen. “The Watchers report there is still battle in one of the eastern ambush points. Have you any fight left in you, Par’chin?”

The Par’chin showed Jardir his teeth. “Lead the way.”

Leaving the Sharum behind, they sprinted through the Maze, down a route already cleared of witnesses. Like a Baiter, Jardir led the Par’chin to his doom. At last, they came to the ambush point. “Oot!” Jardir called, and with that, Hasik stuck out a leg, tripping the Par’chin.

The greenlander rolled with the impact as he hit the ground, coming right back to his feet, but by then Jardir’s most trusted men had cut off his escape.

“What is this?” the Par’chin demanded.