The Desert Spear by Peter V. Brett Read Free Book Online Page A

enough. “Nie take me!” he cursed as their fingers brushed slightly and the boy dropped away.
    Abban let out a brief wail before striking the ground, and Jardir could see even from twenty feet above that his legs were broken.
    A braying laugh, like a camel’s honk, rang out behind him. Jardir turned to see Jurim slapping his knee.
    “Abban is more camel than cat!” Jurim cried.
    Jardir snarled and clenched a fist, but before he could rise, Drillmaster Qeran appeared. “You think your training is a joke?” he demanded. Before Jurim could gasp a reply, Qeran grabbed him by his bido and hurled him down after Abban. He screamed as he fell the twenty feet and struck hard, then lay unmoving.
    The drillmaster turned to face the other boys. “
Alagai’sharak
is no joke,” he said. “Better you all die here than shame your brothers in the night.” The boys took a step back, nodding.
    Qeran turned to Jardir. “Run now and inform Drillmaster Kaval. He ’ll send men to bring them to the
dama’ting.
”
    “It would be faster if we fetched them ourselves,” Jardir dared, knowing Abban’s fate might depend on those precious minutes.
    “Only men are allowed in the Maze,
nie’Sharum,
” Qeran said. “Be off before the
dal’Sharum
are forced to fetch three.”

    Jardir edged as close as he dared when the
dama’ting
came to speak with Drillmaster Qeran after gruel that evening, straining to hear her quiet words.
    “Jurim broke several bones, and there was much bleeding within, but he will recover,” she said, speaking as if she were discussing nothing more significant than the color of sand. Her veils hid all expression. “The other, Abban, had his legs broken in many places. He will walk again, but he may not run.”
    “Will he be able to fight?” Qeran asked.
    “It is too soon to tell,” the
dama’ting
said.
    “If that is the case, you should kill him now,” Qeran said. “Better dead than
khaffit.
”
    The
dama’ting
raised a finger at him, and the drillmaster recoiled. “It is not for
you
to dictate what goes on in the
dama’ting
pavilion,
dal’Sharum,
” she hissed.
    Immediately the drillmaster laced his hands as if in prayer and bowed so deeply that his beard nearly touched the ground.
    “I beg the
dama’ting
‘s forgiveness,” he said. “I meant no disrespect.”
    The
dama’ting
nodded. “Of course you did not. “You are a
dal’Sharum
drillmaster, and will add the glory of your charges to your own in the afterlife, sitting among Everam’s most honored.”
    “The
dama’ting
honors me,” Qeran said.
    “Still,” the
dama’ting
said, “a reminder of your place will serve you well. Ask Dama Khevat for a penance. Twenty lashes of the alagai tail should do.”
    Jardir gasped. The alagai tail was the most painful of whips—three strips of leather braided with metal barbs all along their four-foot length.
    “The
dama’ting
is forgiving,” Qeran said, still bent low. Jardir fled before either one could catch sight of him and wonder what he might have heard.

    “You shouldn’t be here,” Abban hissed as Jardir ducked under the flap of the
dama’ting
pavilion. “They will kill you if you’re caught!”
    “I just wanted to see that you were well,” Jardir said. It was true enough, but his eyes scanned the tent carefully, hoping against hope that he might see Inevera again. There had been no sign of the girl since the day Jardir broke his arm, but he had not forgotten her beauty.
    Abban looked to his shattered legs, bound tight in hardening casts. “I don’t know that I will ever be well again, my friend.”
    “Nonsense,” Jardir said. “Bones heal stronger when they are broken. You will be back on the walls in no time.”
    “Maybe,” Abban sighed.
    Jardir bit his lip. “I failed you. I promised to catch you if you should fall. I swore it by Everam’s light.”
    Abban took Jardir’s hand. “And so you would have, I do not doubt. I saw you dive to catch my hand. It is not