At last, she tilted her head toward the exit flap. Jardir nodded, hardly believing his luck. He squeezed Abban’s hand one last time and darted out of the tent.

“You will encounter wind demons upon the walls, but you are not to engage,” Qeran said, pacing before the nie’Sharum. “That duty will be for the dal’Sharum you serve. Still, it is important you understand your foes.”

Jardir listened closely, sitting in his usual spot at the front of the group, but he was keenly aware of Abban’s absence at his side. Jardir had grown up with three younger sisters, and then found Abban the day he came to the Kaji’sharaj. Loneliness was a strange feeling.

“The dama tell us the wind demon resides on the fourth layer of Nie’s abyss,” Qeran told the boys, gesturing with his spear at a winged image chalked on the sandstone wall.

“Some, like the fools of the Majah tribe, underestimate the wind demon because it lacks the heavy armor of the sand demon,” he said, “but do not be fooled. The wind demon is farther from Everam’s sight, and a fouler creature by far. Its hide will still turn the point of a man’s spear, and the speed of its flight makes it difficult to hit. Its long talons,” he outlined the wicked weapons with the point of his spear, “can take a man’s head off before he realizes it’s there, and its beaklike jaws can tear off a man’s face in a single bite.”

He turned to the boys. “So. What are its weaknesses?”

Jardir’s hand immediately shot up. The drillmaster nodded at him.

“The wings,” Jardir said.

“Correct,” Qeran said. “Though made of the same tough membrane as its skin, the wings of a wind demon are stretched thin across cartilage and bone. A strong man can puncture them with his spear, or saw them off if his blade is sharp and the creature is prone. What else?”

Again, Jardir’s hand was the first to rise. The drillmaster’s eyes flicked to the other boys, but none of them raised their hands. Jardir was the youngest of the group by more than two years, but the other boys deferred to him here as they did in the gruel line.

“They are clumsy and slow on the ground,” Jardir said when Qeran nodded to him.

“Correct,” Qeran said. “If forced to land, wind demons need a running start or something to climb and leap from to take to the air again. The close quarters of the Maze are designed to deny them this. The dal’Sharum atop the walls will seek to net them or tangle them with weighted bolas. It will be your duty to report their location to the warriors on the ground.”

He eyed the children. “Who can tell me the signal for ‘wind demon down’?”

Jardir’s hand shot up.

It was three months before Abban and Jurim rejoined the nie’Sharum. Abban walked back to the training grounds with a pronounced limp, and Jardir frowned to see it.

“Do your legs still pain you?” he asked.

Abban nodded. “My bones may have healed stronger,” he said, “but not straighter.”

“It’s early yet,” Jardir said. “They will heal in time.”

“Inevera,” Abban said. “Who can say what Everam wills?”

“Are you ready to fight in the gruel line?” Jardir asked, nodding to the drillmaster coming out with the pot.

Abban paled. “Not yet, I beg,” he said. “If my legs give way, I will be marked forever.”

Jardir frowned, but he nodded. “Just don’t take too long,” he said, “lest your inaction mark you as plainly.” As he spoke, they walked to the front of the line, and the other boys gave way to Jardir like mice before a cat, allowing them to have the first bowls. A few glared at Abban resentfully, but none dared give challenge.

Jurim had no such luxury, and Jardir watched him coldly, still remembering the older boy’s honking laugh as Abban fell. Jurim walked a bit stiffly, but there was nothing of the limp that marred Abban’s once straight stride. The boys in the gruel line glared at him, but Jurim strode right up to his usual spot behind Shanjat.

“This place is taken, cripple,” Esam, another of the nie’Sharum under Jardir’s command, said. “To the back of the line with you!” Esam was a fine fighter, and Jardir watched the confrontation with some interest.

Jurim smiled and spread his hands as if in supplication, but Jardir saw the way he positioned his feet and was not fooled. Jurim leapt forward, grappling Esam and bearing him to the ground. It was over in a moment, and Jurim back in his rightful place. Jardir nodded. Jurim had a warrior’s heart. He glanced at Abban, who had already finished his bowl of gruel, having missed the fight entirely, and shook his head sadly.

“Gather ’round, rats,” Kaval called after the bowls were stacked. Jardir immediately went to the drillmasters, and the other boys followed.

“What do you suppose this is about?” Abban asked.

Jardir shrugged. “They will tell us soon enough.”

“A test of manhood is upon you all,” Qeran said. “You will pass through the night, and we will learn which of you has a warrior’s heart and which does not.” Abban inhaled sharply in fear, but Jardir felt a burst of excitement. Every test brought him that much closer to the coveted black robe.

“There has been no word from the village of Baha kad’Everam in some months, and we fear the alagai may have breached their wards,” Qeran went on. “The Bahavans are khaffit, true, but they are descended from the Kaji, and the Damaji has decreed that we cannot abandon them.”

“Cannot abandon the valuable pottery they sell us, he means,” Abban murmured. “Baha is home to Dravazi the master potter, whose work graces every palace in Krasia.”

“Is money all you think of?” Jardir snapped. “If they were the lowliest dogs on Ala, they are still infinitely above the alagai, and should be protected.”

“Ahmann!” Kaval barked. “Do you have something to add?”

Jardir snapped back to attention. “No, Drillmaster!”

“Then hold your tongue,” Kaval said, “or I will cut it out.”

Jardir nodded, and Qeran went on. “Fifty warriors, volunteers all, will take the weeklong trek to Baha, led by Dama Khevat. You will go to assist them, carrying their equipment, feeding the camels, cooking their meals, and sharpening their spears.” He looked to Jardir. “You will be Nie Ka for this journey, son of Hoshkamin.”

Jardir’s eyes widened. Nie Ka, meaning “first of none,” meant Jardir was first of the nie’Sharum— not just in the gruel line, but in the eyes of the drillmasters, as well—and could command and discipline the other boys at will. There had not been a Nie Ka in years, since Hasik earned his blacks. It was a tremendous honor, and one not given, or accepted, lightly. For with the power it conveyed, there was also responsibility. He would be held accountable by Qeran and Kaval for the failings of the other boys, and punished accordingly.

Jardir bowed deeply. “You honor me, Drillmaster. I pray to Everam that I do not disappoint.”

“You’d better not, if you wish to keep your hide intact,” Kaval said as Qeran took a strip of knotted leather and tied it around Jardir’s bicep as a symbol of rank.

Jardir’s heart thudded in his chest. It was only a strip of leather, but at the moment, it felt like the Crown of Kaji, itself. Jardir thought of how the dama would tell his mother of this when she went for her weekly stipend, and swelled with pride. Already he began to bring back honor to the women of his family.

And not only that, but a true test of manhood, as well. Weeks of travel in the open night. He would see the alagai up close and come to know his enemy as more than chalk on slate, or something glimpsed at a distance while running the walltop. Truly, it was a day of new beginnings.

Abban turned to Jardir after the nie’Sharum were dismissed to their tasks. He smiled, punching Jardir’s bicep and the knotted strip of leather around it. “Nie Ka,” he said. “You deserve it, my friend. You’ll be kai’Sharum soon enough, commanding true warriors in battle.”