A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (44 page)

She laughed.  “Even for you.”

He shrugged.  “I’ll take them on one at a time then.  I can handle it.”

The worst thing was
that Rukh actually sounded confident, as if he thought he
could
take on anyone in Ashoka.

Ah yes.  The arrogance of young men the world over
, the ones who were inexperienced enough to still believe themselves invincible.  Eventually life intervened, and they either learned wisdom or they died.

Rukh was good – the best Jessira had ever seen – but he couldn’t be
that
good, not when he was barely older than she was, and younger in some very important ways.  After all, this was his first trip into the Wildness, and these past few weeks had likely marked his first true battles.  Back in Ashoka, there were bound to be many warriors who were far cannier and deadlier than Rukh, which was in its own way an even more troubling thought.

She said as much.

Rukh grinned.  “You’re probably right,” he said.  “But a man can pretend, right?”

“As long you don’t do anything reckless,” she said, cautioning him one last time.  He obviously wasn’t taking her warning very seriously, but she wanted to be able to say she’d done her best to get through to him. 

“I won’t,” he said, making it sound like a promise he didn’t plan on keeping.

She mentally sighed.  Oh well.  She’d tried.  It looked like he’d have to learn his lesson the hard way.  She only hoped it was
an instruction he survived without receiving too many bruises in the process.

“But if it happens…” he shrugged, “…you’d be worth it.”

Despite her frustration with his carefree attitude, his words made her oddly happy.

*****

T
wo swords were leveled at their throats while another scout had an arrow drawn and aimed.

Rukh kept his hands clear of his weapons.  Taking on Chims at odds of ten-to-one
was one thing, but taking on two Kummas and a Rahail with a bow at the ready?  It was a death wish.  Even taking on two Kummas alone would have been suicidal.

“You’re a long way from home warrior,” the lead scout said, his sword not wavering.  “How is it we find you wandering alone in the Wildness?”  He turned to Jessira.  “And who is this Muran woman with you?”

Rukh had expected both their discovery by Ashoka’s scouts and the questions directed at Jessira.  The rough trail upon which they stood was the very same one he had taken on leaving Ashoka almost four months earlier.  The High Army routinely patrolled it and all other routes leading to the city, as well as all the borderlands within a day’s travel.  Rukh would have been horrified if he and Jessira hadn’t been challenged before approaching the city’s Outer Wall.

The scouts – Rukh vaguely recognized them as being from Houses distant to his own – waited for an answer,
each wearing expressions of polite interest.  Their relaxed curiosity would change in a heartbeat if they guessed an OutCaste, a ghrina, stood in their presence.  They might even go so far as to kill Jessira on sight if they knew what she was.

As a result, Rukh had decided the safest way to gain entry into Ashoka would be to hide the truth of Jessira’s origins.  Her emerald green eyes for which nothing could be done were clearly of Caste Muran, and so her other features would have to match them.  T
hey had dirtied her skin – this only hours after she had just washed off weeks worth of road grime and sweat – dulling its natural red-gold Cherid hue until it resembled the golden-brown color of the Muran.  Nothing could be done about her fine Cherid features or her honey-brown hair – a color seen only amongst the Rahail – so instead; they had wrapped a rough shawl around her head, draping it over her face.  Their explanation was she had disfiguring scars so hideous that no man had offered to marry her, and the emotional pain from such rejection had led her to quit the city’s safety for the dangers of the Wildness.  It wasn’t an unknown means of suicide among the city’s destitute or desperate, although few spoke about it.  Rukh’s plan was to then describe how he had found her a few miles from Ashoka, sick and alone.  Jessira, of course, would say nothing.  Her accent would mark her as being from somewhere other than Ashoka.

“I was with the caravan to Nestle,” Rukh answered.  “I came across this woman while making my way home.”  He
explained finding Jessira alone in the hills west of Ashoka.

“No point in life if I can’t find a husband,” Jessira said in a passable Muran d
rawl, sounding dull and broken.

“Why are you dressed in camouflage clothing,” the lead scout asked
, flicking a glance at her torn clothing.

“I figured it was the best way to survive the Wildness,” Jesssira drawled.

The lead scout flicked her a final cursory examination before turning back to Rukh.  “What happened to the caravan?” he asked.

“Nothing good, warrior,” Rukh replied.

The scout’s eyes narrowed.  “Was it…”

Rukh shook.  “I can’t tell you; not until the Magisterium hears of it.”

“That bad.”

“Worse.”  Rukh hesitated.  “Can you send one of your men ahead to the gate commander and tell him to expect our arrival.  I don’t want to be unnecessarily delayed.”

“I’ll see to it,” the lead scout said.  He nodded to the other Kumma, who took off at a dead sprint.

Just as he and Jessira were about to
depart, the Rahail spoke.  “Rukh Shektan,” the man said with a grin.  “It is you beneath all that hair, isn’t it?”

Rukh nodded, working to hide his wariness as the lead scout studied him through
suddenly narrowed eyes.  He sensed Jessira tense up next to him.

“I lost a lot of money on you,” the
Rahail said, amiably.  “Never thought I’d see a Virgin win the Tournament, especially against Kinsu Makren.  He was the best I ever faced.”

Rukh grinned.  “If I was a gambling man, I wouldn’t have bet on me either.”

The lead scout smiled.  “Travel safely, Champion,” he said, stepping aside for Rukh and Jessira.

Rukh nodded
as he and Jessira went on their way, continuing along the rough trail to Ashoka.

Once out of earshot, Jessira lowered her scarf and turned to him.  “What Tournament?”

“The Tournament of Hume,” Rukh said, distractedly.  “Why?”  He glanced at her, only then noticing her expression of open amazement.

Jessira frowned in puzzlement. 
“Is it some kind of competition?”

“It’s a contest,” Rukh said.  “Every three years, those Ashokan warri
ors who wish to test themselves face one another in single combat to determine who has the swiftest blade.”

“
And you won?” Jessira asked sounding as though she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “We have something similar in Stronghold.  We call it the Trials of Hume.”

Rukh
smiled, bemused as he wondered why the OutCastes would also develop such a similar martial competition.  “Strange that our two cultures would both honor a Kumma like we have,” he said.

“
Not as strange as someone winning it on his first entry and without ever having faced battle in the Wildness,” she said, appearing both incredulous and exasperated.

Rukh nodded, not sure what had her upset.
  For him, it felt like ancient history, unimportant given everything he’d been through since.

“So there really isn’t anyone in Ashoka to challenge you?” Jessira mused
, looking annoyed with him.

“Well I wouldn’t go that far.  All I said was that
I could handle myself,” Rukh replied, not sure why she was mad at him.

She shook her head in obvious disgust.  “Men.”

*****

I
ronically, it was twilight by the time they arrived at the Twilight Gate guardhouse.  Twilight was one of the three major gates of the Outer Wall, and at all times it was heavily garrisoned by the High Army – the first line of defense into the city.

As they approached
the gate’s gaping maw, Rukh saw a line of warriors waiting for them.

“You Purebloods sure build them big,” Jessira noted as they approached the Outer Wall.

Rukh could tell she was impressed and trying not to show it.  He smiled.  “It’s about sixty feet tall and thirty deep,” he said.

“And how many miles long?”

“Fifty.”

“You have enough warriors
to defend such a length?” she asked.

“No.  The Outer Wall is only meant to slow down the Chims. The Inner Wall is Ashoka’s true bulwark.”

“But all your fields are between the Inner and Outer Walls,” Jessira remarked.  “If there is a siege, how do you plan on feeding the populace?”

“There’s enough food and water stored within the city proper to feed Ashoka for six months.  Add in the fishing fleet and the ar
able land inside the Inner Wall and the city should be able to last a year or more.”

“If what we heard on the Flats is true, and the Queen comes for Ashoka, you might find those claims put to the test by
next spring,” Jessira said.  Just then, she stumbled, and Rukh quickly steadied her.  It had been a long day, and her shoulder was bothering her again.

“We’re almost there,” Rukh encouraged.

Jessira nodded.  “I can make it.”

The warriors manning
Twilight’s entrance were led by Marshall Vol Lumer, a man Rukh knew from the House of Fire and Mirrors as a Martial Master.  Before his time as an instructor, the Marshall had been a famous and decorated veteran of six Trials, captaining the final two.  Now, he was a senior commander in Ashoka’s High Army.

Rukh came to a halt and saluted.

“At ease, warrior,” Marshall Lumer ordered.  He studied him, taking in his ragged appearance before his eyes briefly lighted on Jessira, dismissing her out of hand.  He turned back to Rukh.  “Rukh Shektan,” he said.  “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

“Devesh has plans none of us can fathom,” Rukh replied.

“And is it Devesh who impels your travels?” the Marshall asked.  “You never struck me as a particularly religious man.”

“The Wildness teaches us humility,” Rukh said, repeating one of the Marshall’s favorite aphorisms.

Marshall Lumer’s lips quirked into a brief smile.  “Rumor has it something happened to the Nestle caravan,” he said.  “Two other survivors made it back a few weeks ago, but they were nearly dead when we found them.  The Shiyens aren’t sure if they’ll ever wake up.”  He paused and studied Rukh’s studiously bland expression.  “So what’s the real story about what happened out there?”

Rukh shook his head.  “I don’t want to say.  The Magisterium needs to hear of it first.”

“Was it Chims?” the Marshall persisted.

Rukh hesitated.  “I don’t want
to spread false rumors.  It’s best if I say nothing for now.”

The Marshall studied him through narrowed eyes before nodding a
pproval.  “So be it,” he said.  “I’ll make sure you have a horse and send word to the Inner Gate so you aren’t delayed further.  One of my men will see to the Muran.  She looks in need of a physician.”

Jessira shifted uncomfortably next to him.

“I appreciate the offer, but I promised her I would personally see her home.  She made me swear on my honor before agreeing to come back to the city.”

“Who is she to you?”

“Someone I found on my way home.  She was alone in the Wildness.”

“I see,” Marshall Lumer said, understanding the implications of Rukh’s statement.

“I was waiting to die,” Jessira added in her slow drawl.  “When the Kumma showed up, he told me to come back with him to Ashoka.  I figured him being there and all, maybe Devesh wasn’t done with me yet in this world.”

“Then I leave her to your hands,” the Marshall said.  “Good luck.”  He
signaled to one of his men, nodded to Rukh, and swiftly marched away.

Their horse
turned out to be a placid old gray gelding of far better temperament than the stallion Rukh had ridden on the Trial.  The animal took their weight without complaint and ambled along with a slow, steady pace best described as a plodding walk.

After passing
without significant challenge through Kubar Gate and the Inner Wall, they stopped at a nearby Shiyen hospice.  It was located just south of the Inner Wall in Stone Cavern, a neighborhood which was home to many Duriahs. No matter how careful, the life of a craftsmen often resulted in small injuries from time-to-time.  To care for the frequently injured, the hospice here had been built large and was well staffed, with many physicians available.  Even this late, just before dusk, it was still brightly lit with radiant, white firefly lanterns reflecting off the smooth, pale-yellow tiled floors.  There was a smell about a hospice, a mix of blood, antiseptic, and putrification, and this one was no different.

Rukh wasn’t bothered by the
odor. He was more concerned with making sure to find a physician able to treat the infection still present in Jessira’ shoulder.  Also, while the claw marks themselves were no longer infected, they’d heal with heavy scars without a Shiyen’s help.  Jessira hadn’t complained about it, but Rukh could tell it bothered her.