The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy. Peter V. Brett

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       21

       Only a Chin

      328 AR

      Sharum, Jardir’s elite, moved in to surround Arlen. He knew them all, men he had supped and laughed with that very evening, and fought beside many times before.

      ‘What is this?’ Arlen asked, though in his heart he knew full well.

      ‘The Spear of Kaji belongs in the hands of the Shar’Dama Ka,’ Jardir replied as he approached. ‘You are not he.’

      Arlen clutched the spear as if afraid it might fly from his hands. The men that closed on him were the same warriors he had supped with a few hours before, but there was no friendship in their eyes now. Jardir had done well in separating him from his supporters.

      ‘It need not be this way,’ Arlen said, backing away until the demon pit at the point’s centre was at his heels. Distantly, he noted the hiss of a sand demon trapped within.

      ‘I can make more of these,’ he went on. ‘One for every dal’Sharum. That’s why I came.’

      ‘We’re capable of doing that ourselves,’ Jardir smiled, a cold split to his bearded face. His teeth flashed in the moonlight. ‘You cannot be our saviour. You are only a chin.’

      ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ Arlen said.

      ‘Then don’t, my friend,’ Jardir said softly. ‘Give me the weapon, take your horse, and go with the dawn, never to return.’

      Arlen hesitated. He had no doubt Krasia’s Warders could replicate the spear as well as he. In no time at all, the Krasians could turn the tide of their Holy War. Thousands of lives saved, thousands of demons killed. Did it matter who took the credit?

      But there was more at stake than just credit. The spear was a gift not for Krasia, but for all men. Would the Krasians share their knowledge with others? If this scene was anything to go by, Arlen thought not.

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll have to keep it a little longer. Let me make one for you, and I’ll go. You’ll never see me again, and you’ll have what you want.’

      Jardir snapped his fingers, and the men closed in on Arlen.

      ‘Please,’ Arlen begged. ‘I don’t want to hurt any of you.’

      Jardir’s elite warriors laughed at that. They had all devoted their lives to the spear.

      But so had Arlen.

      ‘The corelings are the enemy!’ he screamed as they charged. ‘Not me!’ But even as he protested, he spun, diverting two speartips with a twist of his weapon and kicking hard into the ribs of one of the men, sending him crashing into another. He dived into the rush, coming up in their midst, whirling his spear like a staff, refusing to use the point.

      He cracked the end across one warrior’s face, feeling his jaw break, and dropped low as he followed through, smashing the metal spear like a club into another man’s knee. A spear thrust cut the air just above him as the warrior dropped screaming to the ground.

      But unlike when he fought the corelings, the weapon now felt heavy in Arlen’s hands, the endless energy that had driven him through the Maze extinguished. Against men, it was just a spear. Arlen planted it on the ground and leapt into the air in a high kick to a man’s throat. The butt of the spear struck another’s stomach, doubling him over. The point gashed a third man’s thigh, making him drop his weapon to clutch the wound. Arlen retreated from the responding press, putting the demon pit at his back so they could not surround him.

      ‘Again I underestimate you, though I promised I would not,’ Jardir said. He waved, and more men came forward to add to the press.

      Arlen fought hard, but the outcome was never in doubt. A shaft struck the side of his head, knocking him down, and the warriors fell on him savagely, raining blows upon him until he let go of the spear to cover his head with his arms.

      As quickly as that, the beating stopped. Arlen was hauled to his feet, his hands pinned behind him by two thickly muscled warriors, as he watched Jardir bend over and pick up his spear. The First Warrior clutched his prize tightly and looked Arlen in the eyes.

      ‘I am truly sorry, my friend,’ he said. ‘I wish there could be another way.’

      Arlen spat in his face. ‘Everam is watching your betrayal!’ he shouted.

      Jardir only smiled, wiping the spittle away. ‘Do not speak of Everam, chin. I am his Sharum Ka, not you. Without me, Krasia falls. Who will miss you, Par’chin? You will not fill so much as a single tear bottle.’

      He looked to the men holding Arlen. ‘Throw him into the pit.’