A Warrior's Knowledge Page 2

  Jaresh does so, telling Mira they can’t work together anymore. She hears what he’s really saying and surprises him by kissing him on the lips. Given the prohibition that a man and woman of two different Castes should never touch one another, her expression is a bold declaration of her feelings for Jaresh — as well as a sign of farewell.

  Rukh’s departure to the caverns takes place, and early on, he tells the commanders of his new Talents. They are disgusted by what he can do, considering him a naaja, Tainted, and the information spreads to the rest of the warriors, who share their commanders revulsion. The expedition travels through the Hunters Flats, and Rukh’s diminished status dims further when Aia enters the camp and Rukh is forced to explain her presence.

  It is too many changes for the other members of the expedition to accept and Rukh is essentially thrust out of the brotherhood of warriors. He is forced to work alone, left intentionally vulnerable and exposed with no one to guard his back. Rukh perseveres, but even in the caverns — which are exactly where Li-Dirge said they would be — he is left to fend for himself.

  His situation is dire, but somehow Rukh survives. He even comes across Li-Choke and the last few Baels of the Eastern Plague to survive Suwraith’s pogrom. He leads Choke and the others to safety where they can make their way to the Hunters Flats and, as promised by Aia, find shelter amongst the Kesarins.

  After the battle, Rukh’s ability to Heal proves essential. He is able to keep alive dozens of warriors during the long march back to Ashoka. His selfless devotion to the lives of others slowly changes the opinions of his fellow warriors. They acknowledge his service with gratitude, and even Rukh’s greatest enemy amongst them, his direct commanding officer, Lieutenant Danslo, comes to appreciate and respect all that Rukh can do.

  After weeks of emotional toil, Rukh finally sees hope for the future. If his brother warriors of the expedition can look past their prejudices and accept Rukh, then why not all of Ashoka?

  It is a short-lived hope.

  Days after leaving the city, the Chamber of Lords met and — just as Dar’El had feared — had judged Rukh Unworthy. He is to be exiled. Jessira learns of this just prior to her own departure from Ashoka, and she agrees to delay her leave-taking. She will wait for Rukh’s return and lead him to Stronghold.

  When the expedition to the caverns returns, she meets them a day short of Ashoka and informs Rukh of what has happened. He will never be allowed to enter his home again.

  Rukh is heartbroken and prepares to leave with Jessira for Stronghold, but before he can do so, the warriors of the expedition honor him the Champion’s salute. It is their apology for what they now recognize as their wrongful treatment of him during the long march to the Chimera caverns.

  Jessira leads Rukh away from the expedition. Later, she apologizes for her role in his situation and reaches to console him. They share a deep, but confusing, kiss before she pulls away, and Rukh follows her west.

  Prologue

  Rector Bryce forced stillness into his fisted hands, clenched as they were with nervousness. Now was not the time for the appearance of anxiety, much less that of fear. He sat alone — but likely not unwatched — just outside the carved, mahogany doors leading to the study of Hal’El Wrestiva. The ruling ‘El had postponed their meeting for two hours already — an obvious insult — but it was one Rector was forced to accept. While he was tempted to simply rise up and leave, he knew he couldn’t.

  Dar’El Shektan had been quite clear on the matter. No matter the cost, Rector was to gain admittance into House Wrestiva.

  Rector grimaced, remembering his last meeting with House Shektan’s ruling ‘El. After the exposure of Rukh’s taint to the Chamber of Lords — the younger man’s disgusting possession of Talents only meant for Rahails and Shiyens — Dar’El had been furious. He must have immediately known who had unloosed the truth, and now he was bent on vengeance against both Hal’El Wrestiva and Rector himself.

  “Your actions have betrayed this House, and a price will be paid for your disloyalty,” Dar’El had said, his voice cold and menacing.

  Rector had expected just such a reaction, but he had held no regrets for what he had done. He had done what he had in order to safeguard, not just House Shektan, but all Kummas; Ashoka itself. Rector had gone to the meeting with a clear conscience, with no fear of Dar’El’s threats. His time in House Shektan was over, but so what? Another House, one that was more honorable, would be happy to have him — and Dar’El wouldn’t dare label him ronin; not for what Rector had done, which was simply to expose Rukh for what he was: an abomination. Rector was ready to boldly announce his defiance, but a single sentence from Dar’El had him swallowing his proud words.

  “Your great-grandfather, upon your nanna’s lineage, was Sil Lor Kum,” Dar’El had said. “I have irrefutable proof, from the Chamber’s own library, information accessible only by the ‘Els about known Kumma members of the Hidden Hand.” He had silently passed over a document, and Rector had held it in his suddenly chilled fingers, numbly poring over it. The words written upon the page had been unambiguous: Dar’El spoke the truth. “You should have trusted my judgment and kept silent about Rukh. Had you done so, none of this would have been necessary. Instead, you chose to speak with a braggart’s pride, certain no sin could ever stain your honor or your heritage. Life is never so neat.” Dar’El’s lips had quirked. “Now you have a choice: this information can remain sealed, between the two of us alone, or all of Ashoka will know of your shame. Think hard upon what you say next.”

  Rector’s vision had throbbed in time to his fury, but worse was the bitterness and shame coating his throat in ashes. “What must I do,” he had whispered.

  “You will serve us until I have no further need of you,” Dar’El had promised before summarily dismissing Rector.

  Thus, Rector found himself sitting outside Hal’El’s study. He was to join House Wrestiva; secretly learn all he could of Hal’El’s wealth; and pass the information on to House Shektan. It would be the actions of a dishonorable man, but Rector could see no other way but to obey Dar’El’s wishes.

  If he didn’t, his family’s shame would be made known to all of Ashoka. Two sins trapped him, and the situation had him sick with worry and disgust. All his life, Rector had prided himself on being a man of firm honor, but now he could see no path forward that allowed him to maintain his integrity. It was an intolerable situation; one that had Rector twisting and turning at night, unable to sleep. Even the wisdom imparted by The Warrior and the Servant, the slim text describing Kumma ideals of morality and philosophy, provided no comfort. This despite the fact that the book even described just such a quandary: A warrior must always choose the path of righteousness, but if one isn’t visible, then on his own, he must forge it. Rector couldn’t help but mock the words, cold and lifeless as they were. They provided no solution to his dilemma.

  The door to the study opened, revealing a smiling Hal’El Wrestiva. Rector noticed the smile didn’t reach the ‘El’s eyes, which appeared to be those of a serpent. “Come in Rector,” Hal’El enjoined. “Tell me why you wish to join House Wrestiva.”

  Rector wiped his damp hands on his pants and took a deep breath. Time to watch his honor drift away.

  Chapter 1: Losses and Fears

  Whenever I am blessed by the presence of my children, my soul soars. Whenever they leave, my heart breaks.

  -Our Lives Alone by Asias Athandra, AF 331

  “I never expected her absence to affect me so much,” Dar’El noted. “She’s only been gone two days now.”

  Satha, his wife, looked up from her pile of missives. She sat upon the sofa, feet propped on the marble-topped table with feet facing the crackling logs within the fireplace. “Jessira?” she guessed.

  Dar’El nodded. “The house seems empty without her.” He turned to stare out the windows, wishing he could see so much further than the gardens.

  Instead, the view that greeted him was a damp, drizzly autumn night. The heights
to the west of Ashoka might have even received snow. It was a miserable time to be out in the weather, and Dar’El hoped Rukh and Jessira were encamped somewhere warm and safe. Thinking of them, he glanced around his empty study, wishing they were with him now.

  “She found a home in my heart as well,” Satha said with a laugh. “What an unusual family we have. Two Kummas, a Sentya, and an OutCaste girl.”

  Dar’El smiled. “You know we can’t adopt her and make her Rukh’s sister. He would be furious with us.”

  Satha’s smile slipped. “I wish we could have seen him one last time,” she said with a longing sigh.

  “We will see him again,” Dar’El said, infusing his voice with certainty.

  “You truly believe you can change the minds of the other ‘Els?”

  Dar’El didn’t answer. He eyed the square table beneath the trellis chandelier, the one holding the chess set. Jessira often played against him. She was a fiery young woman, but somehow, she could control that passion and gather her focus when it came to chess. She was almost as good as Bree and better than Rukh.

  There were many good memories associated with that table and that game. In that moment, he would have given all his money and power to play just one more game with his son.

  “You don’t believe, do you?” Satha whispered, reading his silence as easily as she read her missives.

  Dar’El had never been able to hide anything from her. Nevertheless, she needed something to believe in. She needed hope. They all needed it. The House had been trapped in a sullen misery ever since Rukh had been deemed Unworthy. The gloom had certainly ensnared Jaresh. He was usually cheerful and optimistic, but lately, he was more often dour and irritable. Even Bree had been affected. Her calm and collected countenance had been replaced with jagged patterns of edgy anger. She still blamed herself — and Dar’El — for Rukh’s predicament.

  “I do believe,” Dar’El answered. He knew Satha could see through his lies as easily as she could the pebbles at the bottom of a clear stream, but sometimes, like water, words could distort. Then the lie wasn’t so obvious. He hated not telling his wife the truth, but he needed her to believe in him. He needed her strength. “It won’t be easy, but yes, together, I think we will be able to bring him home.”

  Satha stared at him, seeming to study his features. “What do we need to do?” she asked.

  Dar’El hid a relieved exhalation. “We need to utilize the opportunities Rukh left for us. We must trumpet to the Nine Hills everything he did on the expedition to the caverns. The city is already alight with tales of his exploits.”

  Satha raised a questioning eyebrow. “Rukh is my son, but even I find it hard to credit the stories circulating about him. Do you really think he killed hundreds of Chimeras by himself and saved hundreds of our warriors during the return journey to Ashoka?”

  “Whether we believe is immaterial,” Dar’El said. “It’s whether the people believe, especially those of our Caste.”

  Satha chewed a fingernail and wore a thoughtful expression. “We’ll make them believe,” she finally replied, her voice filled with assuredness.

  Dar’El smiled. It was what he needed to hear. Her certainty lifted his spirits. Together, they had always managed to accomplish what others deemed impossible. They had raised a lower tier House to one that was rightly accounted as a power in Caste Kumma. To do so, they had to go against received wisdom and choose an untrod path. But look at the heights upon which they now stood. Why shouldn’t they be able to convince the Chamber of Lords to rescind their judgment on Rukh? It was merely another hurdle to overcome.

  “Yes, we will,” Dar’El said, still smiling. “Especially because I do think the stories about him are true. When Rukh was expelled from the expedition yesterday, his brother warriors hailed him with the Champion’s salute.”

  “Did they?” Satha asked in surprise. “But some of them hail from Houses unfriendly to our own. Did they not know the judgment of their ruling ‘Els?”

  “They knew, but it didn’t matter. They defied their ‘Els,” Dar’El said. “I’ve heard it confirmed from multiple sources.”

  “So the other tales about how the other warriors intentionally placed Rukh in the most dangerous situations might also be true,” Satha mused. “And despite it all, he worked himself nearly to death to save them.”

  Dar’El could tell she was already moving to see how best to put this information to use. “So it seems.”

  Satha shook her head. “I would have never guessed he would grow into such a man,” she said. “As a child, his greatest delight was terrorizing Bree.”

  Dar’El drew himself up. “I knew all along,” he said, mimicking the portentous tone sometimes used by their old friend, Durmer Volk.

  Satha chuckled. “I’m sure you did,” she said dryly.

  Dar’El smiled, pleased to hear her laugh. “His brother warriors have been lauding his name since they returned. Even those in the city who have learned of Rukh’s non-Kumma Talents are praising him to the heavens.”

  Satha nodded in thought. “It’s a good start, and it will help if every story about Rukh references ‘his brother warriors’. It will strengthen the bonds between Rukh and every other Kumma House. We should also emphasize how he risked his life for his brother Murans and Rahails. His standing amongst the other Castes will rise as a result.”

  “It may temper any complaints about his non-Kumma Talents.”

  “And the rest of the city might come to see Rukh’s banishment as a betrayal of the other Castes,” Satha finished.

  “If we can manage it, great pressure will then be placed on the Chamber.”

  Satha looked wistful. “And maybe we’ll see our boy again.”

  “We will,” Dar’El growled. “Even if it means I have to smash together the heads of those hidebound ‘Els until they see sense.”

  “Or stars,” Satha said, smiling. “Knock their heads together until they see stars,” she explained.

  “As long as they make the right decision,” Dar’El said. “So long as Jessira sees them safe to Stronghold, we can send word to Rukh that his exile has been lifted.”

  “I just hope they do make it safe to her home.”

  “I pray so as well,” Dar’El said.

  “Neither of us are what anyone would call pious,” Satha replied, moving to stand behind Dar’El. She rubbed his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. “But I know what you mean.”

  Dar’El patted her hand, squeezing it briefly. “Maybe for once our distant Lord will actually listen.”

  Satha said nothing. Instead, she moved to sit in Dar’El’s lap and kissed him softly.

  “I have news from the last meeting of the Society,” Dar’El said, changing the subject.

  “Oh? And what do the Rajans have to say?” Satha asked in a neutral tone.

  Despite her respectful and interested demeanor, Dar’El wasn’t deceived. Satha tolerated his membership within the Society, but she didn’t think it was a worthy use of his time. But maybe what he was about to tell her would change her mind. “I received word from someone claiming to be a high member of the Sil Lor Kum. A MalDin.”

  “Servant of the Voice,” Satha translated with a grimace. “A high posting — if he or she isn’t lying.”

  “He,” Dar’El said. “Based on the handwriting, I suspect the MalDin is a man.”

  “And what does he want?”

  “Immunity.”

  Satha lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Really? And what does he offer for something so extraordinary?”

  “He’s willing to give up every member of the Sil Lor Kum.”

  “This man has likely worked with the men and women of the Sil Lor Kum for years,” Satha said, shaking her head in disbelief, “and yet he would sell out his fellows so easily?”

  Dar’El scowled. “He’s scum. Of course he would. But as a demonstration of his good intentions, he explained about the Withering Knife and its role in the murders.”

  “Intere
sting,” Satha said, “but we already know about the Knife. What we don’t know about is Sil Lor Kum.” She stroked her chin pensively. “Perhaps the Society does have its uses.”

  Dar’El smiled. “Now was that so hard to say?”

  Satha shrugged, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “How was this message received?”

  “I found it in my jacket after last night’s dinner at the Society Hall.” At Satha’s startlement, Dar’El nodded. “You see it.”

  “Yes,” she said. “The MalDin must either be a member of the Society or a servant.”

  “I would guess a servant.”

  “Why?”

  “The Sil Lor Kum. The Hidden Hand of Justice. What better way to hide then in a profession so easily overlooked?”

  “True, but those of the Sil Lor Kum seek power. I can’t believe they would willingly serve in any capacity, especially not a MalDin.”

  Dar’El knew where Satha’s questions led, but it was a destination he was reluctant to consider. He hesitated but finally had to admit the likely truth. “You’re right,” he said.

  “Then it is more likely a member of the Society itself,” Satha said.

  *****

  As was his wont, Ular Sathin took his nightly tea beneath the clematis-gowned pergola in the rear courtyard of his house. He took a careful sip — his was a quiet and restrained nature, cautious in all things, even in something as prosaic as having his evening drink. He smiled at the peaceful silence, a bare movement of his ascetic lips.

  He lived in Hart’s Stand, an area of row houses, and despite the unobtrusive Rahails living on all sides of his home, Ular found the neighborhood uncomfortably loud. It was noisy here, too busy and brash. The reasons Ular didn’t move were because he had lived here for almost five decades. He had grown comfortable in his home, like a barnacle on a hull. And also, every other neighborhood in Ashoka was even louder and more loutish than this one.