Jardir was there in an instant, breaking away from an introduction to Smitt as if it were meaningless.
“What have you said to offend our host, khaffit?” he demanded.
Abban bowed as low as his crutch would allow. “It seems I owe her father some money, Deliverer, for paper she and her father made for me years ago that I was not able to claim after our borders closed.”
Jardir snarled, backhanding him viciously to the ground. “You will pay him triple what you owe, immediately!” Abban cried out as he struck the floor, spitting blood.
Leesha shoved Jardir aside, running to Abban’s side and kneeling beside him. He tried to pull away, but she took his head firmly in her hands, examining him. His lip was split, but she didn’t think it would require stitching.
She rose quickly and glared at Jardir. “Just what in the Core is the matter with you?!”
A shocked look came over Jardir’s face, as if Leesha had suddenly grown horns. “He is only khaffit,” he explained. “A weakling without honor.”
“I don’t care what he is!” Leesha snapped, storming up to Jardir so their noses practically touched, her eyes ablaze like blue flame. “He is a guest under our roof, as are you, and if you wish to remain so, you’ll mind your ripping manners and keep your hands to yourself!”
Jardir stood there, stunned, and his councilors looked equally shocked. All turned to their leader for a cue on how to react. The warriors flexed their hands, as if readying them to reach for the short spears slung over their shoulders, and Leesha’s fingers itched to reach into one of the many pockets of her apron for a handful of blinding powder in case they did.
But Jardir broke the stare and stepped back, bowing deeply. “You are right, of course. I apologize for bringing violence to your table.” He turned to Abban. “I will purchase the pages from you at triple what you must pay her father,” he said loudly, turning to eye Leesha. “Anything so precious to Mistress Leesha must be a treasure indeed.”
Abban touched his forehead to the floor, and then braced himself on his cane to rise. Erny rushed over to help him, though the small man could do little to shift the other’s great bulk.
Jardir turned and smiled at Leesha, beaming with pride as if he honestly thought he could impress her any more with a display of wealth than he had with one of violence.
“Handsome or no, he’s a pompous ass,” Leesha muttered quietly to Rojer.
“Perhaps,” Rojer agreed, “but an ass who can crush the Hollow like a bug if he wishes.”
Leesha scowled. “Don’t go betting on that.”
“The Northern women have steel in them,” Hasik observed in Krasian as they were ushered to one of the tall greenland tables with its hard benches.
“Ours do as well,” Jardir replied, “they simply hide it beneath their robes.” All of them, even Abban, laughed at that and did not disagree.
Tea was served by children, along with plates of hard biscuit. The Northern Holy Man cleared his throat, and all eyes turned to him. Ashan stared at the Tender like a raptor watching a rodent. The greenland cleric paled under the dama’s gaze, but he pressed on.
“It is our custom to pray before meals,” he said.
Elona snorted, and Jona glared at her. Jardir ignored the woman, though he was shocked at her rudeness. “That is our custom as well, Tender,” he said, bowing. “It is right to give thanks to Everam for all things.”
Jona’s lip twitched slightly at the name Jardir attached to the Creator, but he nodded, mollified for the most part.
“Creator,” Jona intoned, holding up his teacup in both hands like an offering, “we thank you for the food and drink before us, a symbol of the life and fruitful bounty you have given. We pray for the strength to better serve you, and ask your blessings for ourselves, and all those who have no table to gather at this night.”
“Not so fruitful a bounty this year,” Elona muttered, picking up one of the hard biscuits, her nose crinkling with distaste. The woman gave a sudden start, and Jardir guessed from the way she glared at Leesha that her daughter had kicked her under the table.
“I am sorry we cannot offer you better fare,” Leesha said when Jardir caught her eye, “but depredations of war have been hard on our village, with thousands of refugees having senselessly lost everything they own, and many loved ones, as well.”
“Senselessly?” Ashan whispered in Krasian. “They insult you and your holy path, Deliverer!”
“No!” Abban hissed. “It is a challenge. Answer carefully.” Ashan glared at him.
“Be silent, both of you!” Jardir hissed. He took his eyes from both Leesha and her mother, turning to nod to the Tender.
“Your prayer over bread is much the same as ours,” he said. “In Krasia, we pray over even an empty bowl, for with Everam’s will, it can strengthen in ways a full one cannot.”
He looked back to Leesha. “I am told your village was small and little different from any other a year ago,” he said. “And yet now you are large and powerful. I see no hungry on your streets. No beggars or wailers or cripples. Instead, you stand tall in the night, fighting demons by the hundred. Like steel, my coming has tempered your village and made it stronger.”
“Wern’t you that tempered it,” Gared snapped. “Painted Man done that, back when you were still eating sand out in the desert.”
Hasik tensed. Jardir doubted he understood fully what the greenlander had said, but the giant’s tone was clear. He whisked his fingers at Hasik, calming him.
“I would know more of this Painted Man,” Jardir said. “I have heard much of him in Everam’s Bounty, but nothing from one who had actually seen the man.”
“He’s the Deliverer, that’s all ya need t’know,” Gared growled. “Gave us back the magic we lost all them years ago.”
“Combat wards to fight the alagai,” Jardir said. Gared nodded.
“May I see a weapon he has warded?” Jardir asked.
Gared hesitated, his eyes flicking over to Leesha. Jardir’s naturally followed, and again her blue eyes, like cool water, threatened to drown him in their hidden depths. She smiled, and a thrill went through him.
“We will show you,” Leesha said, smiling coyly, “if you will show us something of yours. Your spear, perhaps.”
Even Abban gasped at her audacity, but Jardir only smiled. He reached for his spear, but Ashan grabbed his hand.
“Deliverer, no!” Ashan hissed. “The Spear of Kaji is unfit for the hands of chin.”
“It is no longer the Spear of Kaji, Ashan,” Jardir said in Krasian. “It is the Spear of Ahmann, and I will do with it as I please. It will not be the first time it has been touched by chin hands, and its blessings remain.”
“What if they try to steal it?” Hasik asked.
Jardir looked at him, his eyes calm. “If they try, we will kill every man, woman, and child in this village and raze it to the ground.”
The matter closed, he lifted the spear horizontally before him. In response, Gared reached to his belt, pulling free a long blade. Hasik and Shanjat tensed, ready to strike, but the giant flipped the weapon over, holding the blade to offer Jardir the hilt. As one, they switched.