CHAPTER 25
ANY PRICE

333 AR SPRING

“YOU’D BEST LIMP QUICKER,” Hasik told Abban with a laugh, “or you will be left behind in the darkness.”

Abban grimaced in pain, sweat running in rivulets down his thick-jowled face. Ahmann set a brutal pace back to the Krasian camp, and he strode ahead with Ashan, leaving poor Abban stuck between Hasik and Shanjat, two men who had tortured him since childhood and did worse now.

Just a week earlier, Hasik had raped one of Abban’s daughters when he came to their pavilion to deliver a message. The time before, it was one of his wives. Jurim and Shanjat had made a point of taking Abban’s nie’Sharum sons under their wing in the Kaji’sharaj, instilling in them such a disgust of their khaffit father that Abban’s heart felt torn. All the Spears of the Deliverer jeered and spat at him, striking him at their pleasure when the Shar’Dama Ka was not about. They all knew Ahmann from of old, and resented that Abban had the Deliverer’s ear as they did not. Abban knew that if he ever fell from Ahmann’s favor, his life would be short indeed.

But the moment they left the forbidding generated by the giant ward of Deliverer’s Hollow, Abban felt his skin crawling, and he was forced to accept that there was nothing the Sharum could do to him that would make him too prideful to beg their protection in the night.

Such was the fate of khaffit.

“I do not understand why you treat these chin weaklings as though they were true men,” Ashan said to Ahmann as they walked.

“These people are strong,” Ahmann replied. “Even their women have alagai scars.”

“Their women are brazen like harlots,” Ashan said, “and should see more of the back of their husbands’ hands. The one who leads them is worst of all! I cannot believe you let her scold you like a…a…”

“Dama’ting?” Ahmann asked.

“More like the Damajah,” Ashan said. “And this woman is neither.”

Ahmann’s face twitched slightly, a barely noticeable sign of irritation that nevertheless would have sent Abban running for cover if there had been any to run to.

But Ahmann kept his temper. “Think, Ashan,” he said. “Should I waste warriors conquering these people for Sharak Ka when they fight the alagai already?”

“They do not fight under you, Shar’Dama Ka,” Ashan pointed out. “The Evejah commands that all warriors obey the Deliverer for Sharak Ka to be won.”

Ahmann nodded. “And so it shall be. But I did not unite the tribes of Krasia by killing men. Unity came from mixing my blood with theirs by marrying their dama’ting. I see no reason not to do the same in the North.”

“You would marry that…that…” Ashan was incredulous.

“That what?” Ahmann asked. “That beautiful woman who kills alagai with a wave of her hand, and wards like a sorceress of old?” He lifted the warded cloak she had given him and held it up to his face, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Even the scent of her intoxicates me. I must have her.”

“She isn’t even Evejan!” Ashan spat. “She is an infidel!”

“Even infidels are part of Everam’s plan, my friend,” Ahmann said. “Can you not see it? The only tribe in the North that fights alagai’sharak is led by a woman, a Northern healer blessed with powers never before seen. By marrying her, I can add their strength to our own without a drop of red blood spilled. It is as if Everam Himself has arranged the match. I can feel His will thrumming in me, and it will not be denied.”

Ashan looked ready to argue further, but it was clear Ahmann considered the matter closed. He scowled, but he bowed. “As the Deliverer wills,” he said through gritted teeth.

They reached the camp at last, and Abban breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Ahmann’s pavilion was raised and waiting. The dal’Sharum surrounded it, sleeping in shifts and ever alert for any threat, demon or otherwise.

“Abban, meet with me,” Ahmann said. “Shanjat and Ashan, see to the men.”

Damaji and kai’Sharum exchanged a bitter look, but they gave no argument and left to comply. Hasik moved to follow Ahmann, but Ahmann stopped him with a look.

“I do not require a bodyguard to meet with a khaffit,” Ahmann said.

Hasik bowed. “When you did not give me another assignment, Deliverer, I assumed my place was with you.”

“My pavilion could use raising,” Abban suggested.

Ahmann nodded. “Hasik, see to it.”

Hasik looked up at Abban, murder in his eyes, but Abban, safe behind Ahmann, gave not the obsequious bow of a khaffit but a full mocking grin.

Abban turned and stepped into the pavilion, holding the tent flap for Ahmann to enter. The impotent rage on Hasik’s face as he closed the flap was poor recompense for his daughter’s virginity, but Abban took his revenge where he could find it.

Jardir turned to Abban once they were alone.

“I apologize for striking you,” he said. “It was—”

“Meant to impress the woman, I know,” Abban cut him off. “And it would have been a fair bargain had it worked, but these chin see the world differently than we do.”

Jardir nodded, thinking of how the Par’chin used to defend Abban. “Our cultures are a natural insult to each other. I should have known better.”

“One must take especial care when dealing with chin,” Abban agreed.

Jardir lifted the Spear of Kaji. “I am a warrior, Abban. My strategies are for conquering men and killing alagai. I am not good at the sort of…manipulation,” he spat the word, “that you and Inevera excel at.”

“Lies have always been bile on your lips, Ahmann,” Abban agreed, with a bow that seemed equal parts deferential and mocking.

“So how do I claim this woman?” Jardir asked. “I saw her eyes upon me. Do you think she has the liberty of dama’ting to choose her husband, or should I approach her father?”

“Dama’ting have their liberty because their fathers are not known,” Abban said. “Mistress Leesha made a point of introducing us to her father, and then gave you the cloak, a clear sign she is open to courting. An ordinary maiden might give a fine robe to a suitor, but her gift is one worthy of the Deliverer.”

“So it should only be a matter of arranging a dower with her father,” Jardir said.

Abban shook his head. “Erny is a hard negotiator, but he will be the simple part. I would be more concerned that the Damajah might oppose the match, and the Damaji support her.”

“I will kill any Damaji who defies me in this,” Jardir said, “even Ashan.”

“What message will that send to your army, Ahmann,” Abban asked, “when their leader kills his own Damaji for the sake of a chin woman?”

Jardir scowled. “What does it matter? Inevera has no reason to oppose it.”

Abban shrugged. “I only suggest it because the Damajah may find she has difficulty dominating this Northern woman as she does your other Jiwah Sen.”

Jardir knew Abban was right. He had always thought Inevera the most powerful woman in the world, but this Leesha of Deliverer’s Hollow seemed to rival her in every way. She would not play the role of a lesser wife, and Inevera would tolerate nothing less.

“But it is that very indomitability that I must have beside me, if I am to lead the chin to Sharak Ka,” Jardir said. “Perhaps I can marry her in secret.”

Abban shook his head. “Word of the union would reach the Damajah eventually, and she could cancel it with a word, which Leesha’s tribe might take as an unbearable insult.”

Jardir shook his head. “There is a way. This is Everam’s will. I can feel it.”

“Perhaps…” Abban began, twisting his fingers through the curl of his oiled beard.

“Yes?” Jardir asked.

Abban was silent a moment, but then shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Only a thought that did not hold water when filled.”

“What thought?” Jardir asked, and his tone made it clear he would not ask again.

“Ah,” Abban said, “I had only wondered, what if the Damajah were only your Krasian Jiwah Ka? If that were so, there might be wisdom to appointing a Northern Jiwah Ka as well, to arrange marriages to chin in the green lands.”

Abban shook his head. “But not even Kaji ever had two Jiwah Ka.”

Jardir rubbed his fingers together, feeling the smooth scars of the wards cut into his skin as he pondered.

“Kaji lived three thousand years ago,” he said at last, “and the sacred texts are incomplete. Who is to say for certain how many Jiwah Ka he had?”

When clever Abban did not immediately reply, Jardir smiled. “You will go tomorrow to the house of Leesha’s father to settle your debt,” he commanded, “and to learn what dower he asks for her.”

Abban bowed and turned to go.

Abban smiled to the greenlanders as he limped through the village on his camel-headed crutch. They stared at him, many mistrustful, but while his crutch was an invitation for violence against him in Krasia, it seemed to have the opposite effect among the chin. They would be ashamed of themselves to hit a man who could not properly defend himself, just as they were ashamed to hit a woman. It explained why their women took such liberties.

Abban found he liked the green lands more and more as time went by. The weather was neither unbearably hot nor unbearably cold, whereas the desert held both extremes, and there was abundance in the North like nothing Abban had ever dreamed. The possibilities for profit were endless. Already his wives and children were making a fortune in Everam’s Bounty, and most of the green lands were as yet untapped. In Krasia, he was wealthy, but still only considered half a man. In the North, he could live like a Damaji.

Not for the first time, Abban wondered at Ahmann’s true thoughts. Did he truly believe himself the Deliverer, and that such things as marrying this woman were Everam’s will, or was that just a pretense for power?

If it were any other man, Abban would have thought the latter, but Ahmann had always been naïvely true about such things, and might well harbor such delusions of grandeur.

It was ridiculous, of course, but the belief in his divinity shared by almost every man, woman, and child in Krasia gave Ahmann such tremendous power that it almost didn’t matter if it was true or not. Either way, Abban served the most powerful man in the world, and if they had not returned to their old friendship, they had at least fallen into its patterns.

But there was a new thread to the pattern now, the Damajah, and Abban was far too skilled a manipulator not to know another one on sight. Inevera twisted Ahmann to her own ends, and those ends were opaque even to Abban, who had made fortunes on his ability to see the desires in others’ hearts.

The Damajah had some unknown power over Ahmann, but it was tenuous. He was Shar’Dama Ka. Dama’ting or no, if he commanded it, the people would not hesitate to tear her apart to please him.

Abban knew better than to come between them, of course. He had survived too long to make so foolish a mistake. The moment Inevera sensed his disloyalty to her, she would crush him like a scorpion beneath her sandal, and not even Ahmann could stop it. Abban was as far beneath the Damajah as she was below Ahmann. Farther.

The only man who can truly handle a woman is a woman, Abban’s father had said to him many times before he died. It was good advice.

Leesha Paper would shake the very foundations of Inevera’s power, perhaps freeing Ahmann of her entirely. And the best part was, the Damajah would never see Abban’s hand in it.

Abban’s smile widened.

Abban was pleased to learn Erny was as formidable a haggler in person as he had been through his Messengers. Abban had contempt for anyone who could not haggle. He excluded only Ahmann from that rule, because it was less that Ahmann could not haggle than that he would not.

The result was a fair price, but after Abban tripled it as Ahmann had commanded, it was a sizable sum. Erny and his wife seemed quite pleased as Abban counted out the gold.

“Stock’s all here,” Erny said, putting the box of Leesha’s flower-pressed paper on the counter and lifting off the lid.

Abban ran his fingers lightly over the top sheet of the colorful paper, feeling the imprint of the artfully arranged flowers embedded in the weave. He closed his eyes and inhaled. “Still smells sweet after all this time,” he said, smiling.

“Keep it dry, and it will last forever,” Erny said, “or close enough for mortal men.”

“Your daughter seems touched by Everam,” Abban said. “Perfect in every way, like a Heavenly Seraph.”

Elona snorted, but Erny glared at her and she fell silent.

“She is,” Erny agreed.

“My master would like to purchase her as a bride,” Abban said. “He has empowered me to negotiate her dower, and will be most generous.”

“How generous?” Elona asked.

“It doesn’t matter!” Erny snapped. “Leesha isn’t for sale like some horse!”

“Of course, of course,” Abban said, bowing to buy himself some time to consider the situation. Erny’s reaction was unexpected, and it was difficult to tell if Abban had given honest offense, or if this was just a haggling tactic to drive up the price.

“Please forgive my poor sense of words,” Abban said. “Your language eludes me at critical times, it seems. I meant no offense.”

Erny seemed mollified at that, and Abban drew his face into the smile that had beguiled thousands of customers into thinking he was their friend. “My master understands that your daughter leads your tribe, and is not some common piece of merchandise,” he said. “He intends her and your tribe great honor, mingling your blood with his own. At his side, your daughter would be first of all the women in the North, and wield influence in both the Deliverer’s court and bed to prevent unnecessary bloodshed as my master comes north.”

“Is that a threat?” Erny demanded. “Are you saying your master will come kill us to take her, if I don’t sell her to you?”

Abban’s face heated. He hadgiven offense, and deeply. The Par’chin had always told him the Krasians were quick to temper, but it seemed the Northerners were no less so if one spoke to them too truly.

Abban bowed deeply, spreading his hands. “Please, my friend, let us begin again. My master makes no threats and wishes to give no offense. Among our people, it is the father’s duty to arrange the marriages of his daughters. Part of the arrangement is that the groom’s family provide the father and bride with dower symbolic of her value. I was given to understand that Northerners shared this custom.”

“We do,” Elona cut in before Erny could reply.

“Some folk might do that sort of thing,” Erny corrected, “but that’s not how I raised my Leesha. Your master wants to marry my girl, he ’ll have to court her just like anybody else, and if she decides she wants him, then he can come and ask my blessing on it.”

It seemed backward to Abban, but it made little difference. He bowed once more. “I will make your terms clear to my master. I expect he will begin to court your daughter immediately.”

Erny’s eyes widened. “I didn’t…ow!” he cried as Elona dug her nails into his arm most unsubtly. Abban noted the move with interest. His wives were by no means docile, but they would never dare unman him so in front of a customer.

“Ent hurtin’ anyone, he comes bringin’ flowers,” Elona said. “You said yourself it’s Leesha’s choice.”

Erny looked at her a long moment, then he sighed and nodded. He took the box cover and slipped it back over Leesha’s paper.

“It’s a heavy box,” he said. “You want me to get a boy to carry it for you?”

Abban bowed. “Please.”

“I think the boys are all busy,” Elona said, “and I could use a stroll. I’ll carry the paper.”

Again Abban was confused. In Krasia, it was expected that women do such labor, but from the way Erny goggled at his wife, Abban could tell he was shocked.

He watched Elona as she came around the counter, taking in her beauty, even with her youth fading. Perhaps she was a pillow-wife, given light work to be kept close at hand should her husband’s lust be aroused. Many Krasian men kept such, but Abban had never tolerated that sort of laziness, expecting his youngest and most beautiful wives to work as hard as the rest.

As they walked down the isolated path from Erny’s shop, Abban turned to her. “I pray to Everam my misunderstanding of your ways gave you and your husband no lasting offense.”

Elona shook her head. “We ent much different from you, only here, fathers approve marriages, but mothers arrange them. Erny ent blessing anything until the dower’s set.”

Abban stopped short, finally understanding. “Of course. I regret that my master’s mother, Kajivah, is still in Everam’s Bounty with his wives. May I negotiate in her stead?”

Elona nodded, but she raised an eyebrow. “He has other wives?”

“Of course,” Abban said. “Ahmann Jardir is the Shar’Dama Ka.”

Elona frowned. “Tell him if he’s wise, he ’ll never so much as mention his other wives to my daughter. Girl gets jealous like a thundercloud.”

Abban nodded. “I will be sure to advise him, thank you. I assume your daughter is a virgin?”

“Course she is,” Elona snapped.

Abban bowed. “Please, take no offense. In Krasia, a man’s First Wife will inspect prospective brides personally, but if that is not your custom, your word will suffice.”

“It sure as the Core ent our custom to let anyone but husbands and Herb Gatherers look between our legs,” Elona said, “so don’t you or your master go getting any ideas about sampling the milk.”

“Of course,” Abban said, nodding and smiling now that the haggling had begun.

Jardir paced his pavilion like an animal, waiting for Abban to return.

“What did he say?” he demanded the moment the khaffit entered the tent. “Is it done?”

Abban shook his head, and Jardir took a deep breath to embrace the disappointment and let it pass through him without harm.

“Mistress Leesha is more like dama’ting than I thought,” Abban said. “She has liberty to choose her own husband, though you must still pay a dower for her father’s blessing.”

“I will pay any price,” Jardir said.

Abban bowed. “So you have said,” he agreed, “but I, your humble servant, have nevertheless begun negotiations to minimize the impact on your treasury.”

Jardir waved his hand dismissively. “So I may approach her directly?”

“Her father has given you permission to court her,” Abban said, and Jardir smiled, snatching up his spear and pausing to check himself in a silvered mirror.

“What will you say to her?” Abban asked.

Jardir looked back at him. “I have no idea,” he said honestly. “But this is Everam’s will, so I trust that whatever I say will be the right thing.”

Abban frowned. “I do not think it works that way, Ahmann.”

Jardir looked at Abban, knowing all the words unspoken. Abban was much like the Par’chin in that regard. Polite. Tolerant. And utterly disbelieving.

Jardir looked at his old friend and felt great pity in his heart, understanding at last what it meant to be khaffit. Everam did not speak to them. Abban might use the Creator’s name in every other sentence, but had never truly heard His voice or felt the rapture of submitting to His divine will. Only profit spoke to Abban, and he would ever be its slave.

But that, too, was part of Everam’s plan, for the khaffit saw things no other man did, things essential to Jardir, if he was to win Sharak Ka.

Jardir put a hand on Abban’s shoulder, smiling sadly. “I know you do not, my friend, but if you do not trust in the Creator, hold faith in me.”

Abban bowed. “Of course. But at the very least, avoid mention of your other wives. Her mother tells me that Mistress Leesha’s jealousy is like a storm.”

Jardir nodded, not surprised in the least that such a woman would know her own worth and expect other women to make way for her. It only made him want her more.

Rojer led his apprentices through their exercises halfheartedly. They had improved a little, but whenever Kendall bent to her fiddle case, he could see the tops of the scars that ran across her chest. A mark of honor demon scars might be, but they were also a reminder to Rojer of just how far his apprentices had yet to come before they could be of any real use in the night. He hoped the instructors from the Jongleurs’ Guild arrived soon.

Across the way, the Cutters trained in the Corelings’ Graveyard. There was plenty of work to be done to build the new greatward, but so long as the Krasians were camped in the clearing, none of the Cutters had any interest in doing it. Gared had groups of them patrolling the town, and the rest had gathered at the graveyard to train and stand ready if needed. Leesha would be furious when she saw the work wasn’t getting done, but even after all she had been through, Leesha was too trusting of people.

There was a shout, and Rojer looked up to see the Krasian leader approaching, followed by his two bodyguards, Hasik and Shanjat. They wore their spears and shields on their backs, but while Jardir looked relaxed and serene, the warriors had the look of men surrounded by enemies. Their hands flexed unconsciously for want of a spear.

Jardir headed toward Rojer, and Gared gave a shout as he and a few Cutters hurried to intercept. Jardir’s bodyguards whirled to face them, spear and shield appearing in their hands instantly. The Cutters lifted their own weapons at the sight, and it seemed a clash was inevitable.

But Jardir turned, taking in Cutter and Sharum alike. “We are guests of Mistress Leesha!” he cried. “No blood will be shed between our peoples until she decrees otherwise.”

“Then tell your men to put their spears down,” Gared said, holding an axe in one hand and his warded blade in the other. Dozens of Cutters hurried across the graveyard and gathered at his back, but Hasik and Shanjat seemed unfazed—more than willing to fight the lot of them. Having seen the Krasian warriors fight, Rojer expected they would give far better than they got.

But then Jardir shouted something in Krasian, and his bodyguards sheathed their spears, though they kept their shields out.

“Din’t say put ’em away, I said put ’em down,” Gared growled.

Jardir smiled. “Guests are not asked to leave their knives at the door, Gared, son of Steave.”

Gared opened his mouth to reply, but Rojer cut him off.

“Of course, you are correct,” he said loudly, looking at Gared. “Put up your axe,” he told the giant Cutter.

Gared’s eyes widened. It was the first time Rojer had ever publicly given Gared an order, and it was one the Cutter might well refuse to accept, for if he put up his weapon, every other Cutter would as well.

Their eyes met, and Gared challenged him in that look, but Rojer was a mummer, and his face easily imitated the harsh look of the Painted Man, his voice deepening to the rasp Arlen used to frighten people and distance himself from them.

“Ent gonna tell you again, Gared,” he said, and he felt it as the giant’s will broke. Gared nodded and stepped back, returning his axe to its harness and his blade to its sheath. The other Cutters looked at him in surprise, but they did the same, taking comfort in their numbers.

Rojer turned to face Jardir. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Indeed,” said Jardir, bowing. “I wish to speak with Mistress Leesha.”

“She’s not in town,” Rojer said.

“I see,” Jardir said. “Can you tell me where I might find her?”

“The Core we will!” Gared growled, but Rojer and Jardir both ignored him.

“Why?” Rojer asked.

“She has given me a gift of incredible value in the cloak,” Jardir said. “I wish to bestow a gift of equal value upon her.”

“What gift?” Rojer asked.

Jardir smiled. “That is a matter between Mistress Leesha and myself.”

Rojer considered him. Part of him screamed not to trust this smiling desert demon who had slaughtered and raped so many, but Jardir seemed to have his own code of honor, and he did not think the man would try to harm Leesha while the truce held. And if the gift he offered was truly magic of equal value, they might be fools to refuse it.

“I’ll take you to her if you leave your warriors behind,” Rojer said.

Jardir bowed. “Of course.” The guards gave a cry of protest, as did Gared and a few of the Cutters, but again Rojer and Jardir ignored them. “My intentions toward Mistress Leesha are honorable, and I will of course accept a chaperone while in her presence.”

It seemed an odd choice of words, but Rojer could not find further cause to argue. Soon they were walking the path to Leesha’s cottage. Gared insisted on coming along, and glared at Jardir the whole way, though the Krasian leader seemed thankfully oblivious.

“Why does the mistress not live on your village’s wondrous greatward?” Jardir asked. “I would think her too valuable to risk to the alagai.”

Rojer laughed. “If all the Core rose up tonight, you’d be safer in Leesha’s cottage than anywhere else in the world.”

Jardir found that hard to believe, but as they came close to the cottage, he found the path laid with a walkway of stone wards, each large enough to stand upon without marring it.

Jardir stopped short, looking at the stones in amazement. He squatted, pressing against the stone with his hand. “Everam’s beard. It must have taken a thousand slaves to carve these.”

“We ent a bunch of filthy desert slavers like you,” Gared muttered. Jardir’s first impulse was to kill the man, but that was no way to impress the mistress. He embraced the insult instead and gave it no further thought, returning his focus to the path.

“The wards were poured, not carved,” Rojer said, “made from a mixture of stone and water called crete, which hardens as it dries. Leesha cut them into the ground herself, and free men poured the stone.”

Jardir scanned the path ahead in amazement. “These are combat wards. And linked.”

Rojer nodded. “Any demon that sets foot on this path might as well step into a sunbeam.”

Jardir realized he had been arrogant and naïve to scoff before. For all their savage ways, not even Sharik Hora held the power of some of the Northern woman’s wardings.

The yard was no less stunning, filled with more crete walkways that wove a complex wardnet around the cottage and its environs. A large garden bloomed brightly, the herbs and flowers arranged in neat groupings, their lines forming yet more wards. Jardir couldn’t recognize many of them, but he saw enough to know that these did far more than banish or kill corelings.

Stronger than ever, he felt Everam’s will thrumming within him. This woman was destined to be his bride. With her and Inevera behind him, what in the world could he not accomplish?

Leesha listened to the comforting rhythm of Wonda chopping firewood as she prepared lunch. The simple task helped give her mind clarity as she went over the night’s events and compared the men she had met with the tales of the refugees and Arlen’s words of warning.

It was not that she did not trust the accounts, but Leesha preferred to form her own opinions. Many of the refugees spoke hearsay and exaggeration, and Arlen’s heart could be hard and unforgiving at times. Something had happened to him in Krasia, some hurt done he could not forgive, but since he would not speak of it, Leesha could only guess as to what it was.

Whatever else might be true of the Krasians, they were warriors without equal. Leesha had seen that instantly as she watched them fight. The Cutters were generally larger and more heavily muscled, but they moved with none of the precision that marked the dal’Sharum. The fifty camped in the clearing could cut a swath of destruction across the Hollow before they were pulled down, and if the rest of Jardir’s army had half their skill, the Hollowers would stand little chance against them, even with all the secrets of fire she could muster.

And so she had determined that they must not fight, if it could be avoided. It was one thing to kill demons, but every human life was precious. The books of the old world said mankind had once numbered in the billions, but how many remained after the Return? A quarter million? The thought of the last men in the world fighting one another sickened her.

Yet neither could she surrender. She would not spit on her hand and wet the Hollow for the Krasians. She had worked too hard to hold the Hollowers together after the flux to assimilate the refugees from Rizon and Lakton to just turn them over. If there was a way to negotiate a peace, she had to find it.

The first meeting with the Krasian leader had seemed to indicate that was a possibility. He was cultured and intelligent, nothing like the rabid animal the accounts had portrayed, and clearly held true to his beliefs, even if Leesha thought them brutal and cruel at times. She had looked deeply into his eyes, and there was no cruelty there. Like a stern father administering a needed spanking, Ahmann Jardir was doing what he thought best for humanity.

Leesha paused in her work, realizing that the chopping outside had stopped. She looked up as the door opened and Wonda stood in the threshold.

“Wash up and set the table,” Leesha said. “Lunch will be another few minutes.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, mistress, but Rojer and Gared are here to see you,” Wonda said.

“Tell them to come in and set another pair of places at the table,” Leesha said.

But Wonda just stood there. “They’re not alone.”

Leesha set her knife on the cutting board and toweled her hands clean as she went to the door. Ahmann Jardir stood on her front porch, standing calmly and ignoring the way Gared glared at him. He wore a fine white robe over his warrior blacks, matching the white turban his crown nestled within. Leesha’s eyes danced across its wards, but she forced herself not to stare. She dropped her gaze to his eyes, but that was worse, for they bored into her with such intensity that she felt as if he could see her very soul.

Jardir bowed deeply. “Forgive my appearing unannounced, mistress.”

“Just say the word and I’ll haul him back where he came from, Leesha,” Gared said.

“Nonsense,” Leesha said. “Welcome,” she told Jardir. “Wonda and I were about to sit down to lunch. Would you care to join us?”

“I would be honored and delighted,” Jardir said, bowing again. He followed Leesha into the cottage, pausing to remove his sandals and leave them by the door. Leesha noted that even his feet were covered in ward scars. A kick from him would likely do as much to a coreling as one by the Painted Man.

The meal Mistress Leesha had prepared was a meatless stew served with fresh bread and cheese. Jardir bowed his head as she invoked a blessing over the food, and then everyone began eating at once. He began to lift his bowl to drink when he noticed the greenlanders were leaving theirs on the table, using some sort of tool to bring the food to their lips.

He glanced at his own setting, and saw a similar utensil there—a wooden strip with a depression at the end. He looked at Leesha and mirrored her actions as he tasted the stew. It was delicious, with heavy vegetables he had never tasted. He began to eat more vigorously, using the thick greenland bread to soak the last drops from his bowl as he saw Gared and Wonda do.

“Exquisite,” he told the mistress, and felt a thrill run through him as he saw her pleasure at the compliment. “We do not have such food in Krasia.”

Leesha smiled. “There is much we could learn from each other, if we can find a way to live in peace.”

“Peace, mistress?” Jardir asked. “There is no such thing on Ala. Not while the alagai hold the night and men cower before them.”

“So the tales are true?” Leesha asked. “You mean to conquer us and levy our people for Sharak Ka?”

“Why should I wish to conquer you?” Jardir asked. “Your people are humble before the Creator, stand tall in the night, and shed blood in alagai’sharak alongside my warriors. That makes you Evejan, though you know it not.”

“It don’t!” the giant growled. “We ent got nothin’ to do with your filthy—”

“Gared Cutter!” Leesha’s voice snapped like a dama’s whip, silencing him. “You’ll keep a polite tongue at my table or I’ll give it such a dose of pepper you can’t talk for a month!”

Gared recoiled, and again Jardir was amazed at the power of the woman. She made the dama’ting seem timid.

Leesha turned to him. “I apologize, Ahmann.” She seemed taken aback when he smiled brightly at her. “What did I say?”

“My name,” Jardir said simply.

“I’m sorry,” Leesha said. “Was that improper of me?”

“On the contrary,” Jardir said. “It sounds beautiful, coming from your lips.”

With no veil to cover her cheeks, Jardir saw how her pale skin reddened at his words. He had never courted a woman before, but it seemed as if Everam himself guided his words.

“More than three thousand years ago,” Jardir said, “my ancestor Kaji ruled this land from the Southern Sea to the frozen waste.”

“So the histories say,” Leesha agreed, “though three thousand years is a long time, and accounts can become…blurred.”

“Perhaps here in the North,” Jardir said, “but the temple of Sharik Hora in the Desert Spear has stood that long and more, and our records are sharp. Kaji did rule this land, sometimes by the spear, and sometimes by building alliance with its tribes and sealing it with blood.”

He looked around the table. “Kaji’s blood is still strong here. Even your name, Deliverer’s Hollow, honors him. You are not chin to be conquered, but lost brethren to be welcomed into our fold. I name you Hollow tribe, and accord you all the rights therein.”

“What rights?” Leesha asked.

Jardir reached into his robe, producing his personal Evejah. Its cover was of supple leather embossed with wards, and its pages were gilded in gold. A red ribbon hung ready to mark a page. The pages were soft and thin from daily use.

“These rights,” he said, giving her the volume.

Leesha took the book as one who knew its value, and he recalled she was a bookbinder’s daughter as she turned it to examine the spine. She pushed her bowl aside and spread the cloth from her lap over the table before laying the book upon it and paging through.

“It’s beautiful,” she said after a time. “But much as I would love to learn the language, I’m afraid I can’t understand a word.” She closed the book and held it out to him.

Jardir held up a hand to forestall her. “Keep it. What better book to help you learn? You may find its truths more in line with your own beliefs than you imagine.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Leesha said. “This is too precious!”

Jardir laughed. “You give me a cloak that rivals Kaji’s own, and you balk at a book of his truths? I can pen another.”

Leesha looked back down at the book, and then up at him. “You penned this yourself?”

“In my own blood,” Jardir said, “during the years I studied in Sharik Hora.”

Leesha’s eyes widened.

“It is not gold or jewels, I understand,” Jardir said. “I would shower them upon you if I could, but I brought no such trinkets north. This is the most valuable thing I own, apart from my crown, spear, and new cloak. I hope you will accept it while Abban negotiates a proper dower with your mother.”

“Dower?” Leesha asked in surprise.

“Of course,” Jardir said. “Your father gave me permission to court you, and your mother will see your price is met. Did they not tell you?”

“No they corespawned didn’t!” Leesha cried, rising to her feet so fast her chair skidded out behind her. In an instant everyone was on their feet. Jardir felt a sudden flash of fear. He had given offense to her, but without understanding how, he could not even apologize.

“Son of the Core!” the giant cried, and swung his meaty fist across the table at Jardir.

Jardir could not remember the last time a man had dared to strike at him. Had they been anywhere but at Mistress Leesha’s table, Jardir would have killed him for the affront, but remembering Leesha’s abhorrence of violence, he acted only in his own defense. He caught Gared’s wrist and pivoted, pulling him clear across the table and flipping him onto his back. He put a single toe into Gared’s throat and held his log of a wrist with only two fingers, but though the giant thrashed, he was held firmly prone and helpless, his face reddening more with every second.

“Your betters are speaking, Sharum,” he said. “I have tolerated your constant rudeness out of respect to Mistress Leesha, but if you try to lay hands on me again, I will tear your arm off.” He gave a slight tug, and Gared roared in pain. Everyone looked to Leesha for how to react.

Leesha crossed her arms. “Serves you right, Gared Cutter. No one asked you to attack anyone in my home.” She nodded to the door. “Out with you. Rojer and Wonda, too. You can all wait in the yard.”

“The Core we will!” Rojer cried, Wonda nodding along with him. “If you think we ’re leaving you alone with this—”

There was a bang and a flash at their feet, and they jumped in shock. Leesha said nothing, but her face was a storm cloud as she pointed at the door. Both were gone in an instant. Jardir released Gared, and he, too, scurried out.

Jardir turned to Leesha and bowed long and deep. “I apologize, mistress, though I do not understand why I have given distress. I have come to you and your family honorably, yet you act as if I tried to carry you off after stealing a well.”

Leesha did not respond for a long time, and her anger was terrible to behold, such that Jardir had an urge to shield his eyes as if in a sandstorm. Slowly, she embraced the feeling, and her features grew calm once more.

“I apologize as well,” she said. “My distress is not directed at you, but at being the last to find out you had come courting.”

“Abban told your parents I would come immediately,” Jardir said. “I assumed they sent you word.”

Leesha nodded. “I believe you. My mother has a history of trying to make such arrangements without my knowledge.”

Jardir bowed. “If you need time to consider, you need not answer now.”

“Yes…,” Leesha began, “I mean, no. That is, I’m flattered, but I can’t marry you.”

You will, Jardir thought. You are destined to love me as I already do you.

“Why not?” he asked her instead. “Your mother says you are unspoken for, and I will meet any dower your family desires. Soon I will control all the Northland, and you with me. What husband could offer you more?”

Leesha paused for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it. “It doesn’t matter. I barely know you, dowers mean nothing to me, and frankly, I don’t know that I want you ‘controlling’ anything.”

“Come with me to Everam’s Bounty,” Jardir said. “Come see my people and what we are building. I will teach you our language as you asked, and you can come to know me and decide what I am…worthy to control.”

Leesha looked at him a long time, but Jardir waited patiently, knowing her answer was inevera. “All right,” she said at last, “but with proper chaperone, and no decision until I am safely returned to the Hollow.”

Jardir bowed. “Of course. I swear it by Everam.”

Rojer paced the yard, staring at Leesha’s cottage. Gared’s clenched fists were like two hams, and even Wonda had fetched and strung her bow. Finally, the door opened, and Leesha followed Jardir out onto the porch. “Wonda, escort Mr. Jardir back to town,” she said. “Gared, you can finish cording the woodpile.”

Gared grunted and picked up Wonda’s axe as she and Jardir headed down the path. Rojer looked at Leesha, who nodded her head back to the door. She went inside, and he followed as she went right to Bruna’s rocker and put on her shawl. Never a good sign.

“How did he take your refusal?” Rojer asked, not bothering to sit.

Leesha sighed. “He didn’t. Told me to take my time and think it through. He’s invited me back to Rizon with him.”

“You can’t go,” Rojer said.

Leesha raised an eyebrow at that. “You have no more say over who I marry than my mother, Rojer.”

“Are you saying you want to marry him?” Rojer asked. “After a single tea and an awkward lunch?”

“Of course not,” Leesha said. “I have no intention of accepting his proposal.”

“Then why in the Core would you deliver yourself into his hands?” Rojer asked.

“There’s an army at our doorstep, Rojer,” Leesha said. “You don’t see value in looking at them with our own eyes? Counting tents and learning how their leader thinks?”

“Not at the cost of our own leader,” Rojer said. “Duke Rhinebeck doesn’t personally go to Miln to see what Euchor’s up to. He sends spies.”

“I don’t have any spies,” Leesha said.

Rojer snorted. “You have over a thousand Rizonans who owe you their lives, many who left family behind. Surely a few could be persuaded to return home and keep their ears open.”

“I won’t order people to put themselves at risk,” Leesha said.

“But you’ll put yourself?” Rojer asked.

“I don’t think Ahmann would harm me,” Leesha said.

“Two days ago, he was the demon of the desert,” Rojer said. “Now he’s Ahmann? What, do you just shine on any man who thinks he ’s the Deliverer?”

Leesha scowled. “I don’t want to hear any more of this, Rojer.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Rojer snapped. “You’ve heard how the Krasians treat women. No matter what that oily snake tells you, the moment you’re out of range of the Hollowers’ bows you’ll be his property, and anyone with you will get a spear in the eye.”

“So you won’t be coming with me?” Leesha asked.

“Night, haven’t you heard anything I’ve been saying?” Rojer demanded.

“Every word,” Leesha said, “but I’m still going. If that’s the kind of man Ahmann is, then war is inevitable and it doesn’t matter what we do. But if there’s even a chance he meant what he said at the table, then there’s a chance we can find a way to coexist without killing each other, and that’s worth more to the world than the fate of Leesha Paper.”

Rojer sighed, plopping down in a chair. “When do we leave?”