The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  “Good to see you again, Miss Shektan, especially under less trying circumstances,” Dr. Lindsar said with a smile, referring to Jaresh’s Tribunal. “I understand you’re interested in Drin Port.” He indicated the folder in his hands. “I have his file right here. A year ago, we started keeping duplicate autopsy reports of any strange deaths. Now let me see.” He thumbed through the papers. “Ah yes. I remember now. It was odd. Mr. Port had too much drink and fell off a pier into Bar Try Bay. The poor fool drowned.”

  Bree’s brows furrowed. “Why is that unusual?”

  “The death itself isn’t. It happens about three or four times a year actually,” he replied, sounding clinical. “No. This was unusual because the nurse who assisted the autopsy, came to me later on and said that Mr. Port had what she thought was a knife wound to his heart. It wasn’t in Dr. Verle’s original report, and when I asked him about it, he said the guard who had pulled Mr. Port out of the water had done so with a fishhook. He said it must have been the puncture wound the nurse noticed.”

  “Were you able to examine the body yourself?” she asked.

  “No. By the time the nurse came to me, Mr. Port’s remains had already been cremated. I insisted that Dr. Verle amend his findings, though. It was the best I could do.”

  Bree considered Dr. Lindsar’s explanation impassively even as her mind raced. Given the effort by which Dr. Verle was avoiding her, it was more likely that Mr. Port had been murdered, stabbed through the heart. Dr. Verle had known, which meant he was part of the Sil Lor Kum. It made it even more imperative that she confront him.

  “What is this about?” Dr. Lindsar asked. “Why this sudden interest in a man who died almost a year ago?”

  Bree shook off her thoughts. Right now, she had no idea who in the medical examiner’s office, or anywhere in Ashoka for that matter, might be corrupted. She couldn’t afford to trust anyone. “Mr. Port worked in one of our warehouses. We have insurance policies on all our employees. If any one of them are injured in the performance of their duties, the insurance pays out. One of Mr. Port’s cousins filed a claim, wanting to collect the death benefits. The autopsy report would save us a lot of trouble.”

  Dr. Lindsar considered her words for a moment. “I see,” he said. “I can have a copy of my files made and sent to House Shektan’s Seat.”

  Bree gave him a grateful smile. “That would be wonderful.” She turned to leave but paused on her way out. “One last thing: do you have Dr. Verle’s home address?”

  It was late afternoon by the time Bree reached Sunpalm Orchard. Like most Shiyens, this was where Dr. Verle lived. His home was an unassuming row house set along a narrow road that was barely wide enough for two carriages to pass by one another. Dwarf maples lined the sidewalk interspersed with black lampposts already lighted for the coming evening. Most of the houses were bright and cheery with laughter and conversation spilling out from open windows.

  Bree glanced at Dr. Verle’s home. His windows were all dark, and her skin prickled. Something was wrong. She could sense it. Bree did her best to set aside her dread and knocked on the front door. There was no answer. She tried again. Still no answer. She tried the handle. It turned easily, and she pushed the door open.

  She clutched a hand to her mouth, stifling a cry of horror. Hanging from a stout beam in the front room was the slowly swaying corpse of Dr. Verle.

  Farn huddled before his thin fire, the packhorse a welcome warmth next to him. The wind whistling through the ice-sheathed ravine was like an eldritch knife, slicing through his coat and clothes. He shivered and tossed on another log. The fire blazed for a moment, embers glowing and sparks lighting the darkness all around. Farn was grateful for the shallow cave he had discovered. It provided a barrier, dulling most of the wind’s cutting breath.

  In times like this, when it felt like his blood was slowly congealing, he wished he’d heeded Rukh’s advice and stayed in Stronghold until spring. Of course, had he done so, he might very well have been faced with another problem: that of the spring-swollen River Gaunt. Rather than freeze to death, he might have drowned.

  The safest time to travel to Ashoka would have been in the summer, but Farn couldn’t stay that long. His family probably thought him dead. He couldn’t wait, safe and secure, while those he loved suffered his absence. Besides, while he didn’t hate Stronghold or its people—he was grateful to them for taking him in—his time there hadn’t always been pleasant. Farn had struggled with the work he had been expected to do. It felt like it was beneath him, and to have so many of the OutCastes secretly laugh at his humiliation only made it more insulting.

  He wondered how Rukh would manage. Of course, his cousin had said that as soon as he won the Trials of Hume—and Farn had no doubt he would win—he planned on leaving Stronghold for a while. He wanted to travel to Hammer and reclaim the fabled Book of First Movement. It hadn’t seemed like a good idea, but Rukh wouldn’t listen to reason. His mind had been made up.

  Farn figured some of it had to do with how Rukh felt about Jessira. His cousin loved the OutCaste woman, and Farn suspected she loved Rukh as well. Unfortunately, Karma being a frigid bitch, she wouldn’t allow them to be together. Jessira was engaged to that jackhole Disbar Merdant.

  Farn shook his head. How could Rukh have allowed himself to fall in love with a woman who was already engaged?

  Idiot.

  Farn shook his head again in disbelief, but when he reconsidered the situation, he realized maybe Rukh’s feelings for Jessira weren’t so hard to understand. After all, the few times Farn had interacted with her, it was obvious the passion with which Jessira lived her life; the devotion she felt for those she loved. But when the situation required it, Farn suspected Jessira could also be as composed and capable as any veteran he had ever met. She had a cool intelligence easily missed behind her fiery persona.

  Three months alone with a woman like Jessira…perhaps it wasn’t so unexpected that Rukh would have fallen in love with her. Maybe the more pertinent question was why had Jessira fallen in love with his cousin?

  Farn chuckled at the thought, but the laughter quickly faded. Rukh had so many burdens: his unfair treatment by far too many OutCastes, an unattainable love, and exile from Ashoka. It was too much for one man to bear. Farn prayed for his cousin’s well-being.

  With a start, he realized that the Trials of Hume had taken place a week ago. Rukh had already left Stronghold. Even now, he was traveling alone—just like Farn—but heading west rather than east. Also, while Farn journeyed home, to family and warmth, Rukh headed to a dead city with no future or hope.

  Farn eyed the surrounding darkness, lost in sudden worry for his cousin. Where was he right now? What kind of provisions did he have? Did he have enough food? Clothing? Was he safe? He wished he could have gone with him. He had offered to do so on more than one occasion, but each time, he had been steadfastly refused. Rukh had told him in no uncertain terms that a living Ashoka was Farn’s destiny, not a dead Hammer.

  While true, such knowledge carried a hollow, unfulfilling comfort. Farn still felt like he’d abandoned Rukh in his cousin’s greatest moment of need. It was a shame that left his stomach gnarled with guilt.

  And what could he say to Rukh’s amma? To his nanna? Or to Jaresh and Bree? What could he tell them of their son and brother? Of his ultimate fate? How could he tell them he’d left Rukh alone and forsaken?

  The knowledge left Farn with a chill in his heart, one colder than the icy wind gusting through the ravine.

  Farn stared into the fire and did the only thing he could think to do. He prayed once more for his cousin’s safety.

  Who has the greater courage: a man willing to give his life for a just cause or a man willing to live for that same purpose?

  ~The Warrior and the Servant, (author unknown)

  Jaresh held the door open as he and Bree entered the Blue Heron, the pub that Drin Port, Felt Barnel, and Van Jinnu had all frequented. As soon as he stepped inside, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
The air was ripe with the stink of smoke, stale beer, and vomit. A man’s loud guffaw came from what Jaresh guessed was probably the kitchen while a few patrons sat quietly at the long bar, nursing their ales. Even this early—mid-afternoon—most of them appeared drunk as rats in a vat of wine. They looked up with bleary eyes, giving him and Bree desultory looks before returning their attention to their mugs.

  “Lovely,” Bree murmured.

  Jaresh echoed her sentiment. The Blue Heron was a seedy dive, but there had to be something to the place; something to connect the three murdered men; something that had ended up marking them for death. Perhaps someone here could tell them what it was.

  As they stepped further into the pub, Jaresh carefully eyed the two, large Duriahs tasked with keeping peace within the place. If these were the guards, then the Blue Heron must be a rough place. They sat on stools, almond-shaped eyes staring into the nearly empty pub with identical expressions of dull boredom. Sometimes, their hands stroked the truncheons tucked into their belts. They seemed the kind of men who enjoyed cracking skulls because they had nothing better to do and had the toughness to put down any challenge.

  However, when Jaresh examined the Duriahs more closely, he reevaluated his initial assessment. The guards looked hard and dangerous, but they had an air about them, something that said they were mostly all bark and bullying. Most of their bulk was fat, and they had the slow-gazed appearance of thugs, men who allowed their size to intimidate others. It had likely been years since either one had truly been tested.

  Jaresh would have dismissed the guards as a threat, but the way they eyed Bree was like dogs salivating over a piece of meat. Such disgusting behavior couldn’t be left unchallenged.

  He was about to say something, but Bree must have noticed their vulgar stares as well. “Move your eyes,” she snapped, withering the Duriahs with a contemptuous look.

  Both guards stiffened, their faces red with either anger or embarrassment. “And you should watch what pub you enter, little girl,” one of them threatened. He reached for a truncheon.

  Bree stared at the Duriah as his hand curled around the handle of his weapon. She very deliberately allowed her hand to fill with a Fireball.

  “Are we going to have a problem?” Jaresh asked, his hand on his sword. Most of the time, he hardly ever walked around Ashoka with anything more than a dagger. There was no need. The city was safe, but some parts, like the Moon Quarter, could be a little rough. And the Blue Heron, located as it was in a poorer district, likely catered to an even harder clientele. It seemed like he had been right to be cautious.

  “Leave off, or she’ll burn the whole place down,” the other guard—probably the smarter of the two—said to his partner. He pushed the other man’s hand off his truncheon before turning to Jaresh and Bree. “What do you want?”

  “A drink,” Jaresh said with a bright smile. “And you’re welcome to join us if you’re allowed.”

  The words earned him a grudging nod from both guards.

  “A drink sounds fine,” the smarter guard—name of Drog—said. He called over a waitress and ordered four ales.

  It arrived shortly, and while Jaresh managed to hold the swill down, Bree took one sip and pushed hers aside. “We are looking for some information,” she said. “About three men: Felt Barnel, Drin Port, and Van Jinnu.”

  The duller guard, Crode, furrowed his brows, looking either confused or ignorant. “They’re all dead,” he said. “Two of them were murdered by that Withering Knife,” he added with a shudder. “Nasty business. Whoever it is going around killing people, I hope they find the fragging bastard and string him up on the Isle of the Crow.”

  “So do we all,” Bree agreed. “Did you know them? The men, I mean?”

  “We knew them,” Crode answered. “They were regulars. Used to gather here and drink all night. Or at least they did until Drin got himself drowned in the harbor.”

  “They were friends,” Jaresh said, trying to mask his rising excitement.

  “Didn’t I just say so?” Crode replied. “They drank together near every night.”

  “Was there anything else to their relationship?” Jaresh asked. “Were they business partners, maybe?”

  The dull guard laughed. “Business? Drin worked in one of the warehouses here in the Quarter. He was as poor as they come.”

  “Didn’t have two coins to rub together,” Drog added. “Half the time it was Van and Felt paying for his drinks.”

  “But he had a mouth on him,” Crode said. “He was always going on about how he had some scheme that would bring him all the coin he could ever want, like he knew someone rich to help him out.”

  “Which made him an even bigger fool than he already was,” Drog added. “Why would someone rich help someone poor? Makes no sense. What does the rich person get out of it?”

  Jaresh didn’t bother pointing out the benefits of investment, not just in businesses, but in people, which was far more important. Such advice would have been lost on these two. “Was there anything peculiar that might have happened on the night Drin died?” he asked.

  The dull guard laughed. “That was a long time ago,” he said. “Probably just a night like any other.”

  “You remember that Kumma who nearly kicked Drin’s tenders up his throat?” Drog asked his partner. “Remember? Drin comes in here all full of vinegar and venom, staring around like he could throw thunder, and this old Kumma didn’t like it. He was pissed, and he comes walking over—”

  “He had a limp,” Crode said. “The Kumma. He was using a cane—”

  “Which side was the limp?” Bree interrupted.

  The Duriahs looked at her in confusion.

  “How the frag should I know?” Crode asked. “He was just an old Kumma with a limp. Anyway he walks over, all cold and deadly, looking like he was going to kick Drin’s nuggets through his skull.” He cackled in laughter. “I thought old Drin would piss himself.”

  Afterward, the guards had nothing else to add, so Jaresh and Bree left the Heron.

  But just outside the front door, they were hailed by Drog. They waited as he ambled forward. “There was one other thing. This fine Rahail woman was here the night Drin died. Never seen her before or since, but she had business with the Kumma.”

  “What did she look like?” Jaresh asked.

  “She wasn’t old, but she wasn’t young,” Drog said, “but still easy to look at. Can’t really describe her any better than that.”

  An older Kumma man and a Rahail woman. Was there a connection between them? Jaresh looked to Bree, who shrugged minutely.

  “You think Drin was murdered, don’t you?” Drog asked, speaking into the quiet his words had caused. “That’s why you’re here. You think it was this Kumma who did it, maybe doing all the killing.”

  “We’re just asking questions,” Jaresh said. He lowered his voice. “It’s best if no one knows we asked them.”

  “But—”

  “If you really think this Kumma might be a murderer, do you really want your suspicions getting back to him?” Bree explained.

  Drog gave a brief grimace of distaste. “I think I’m seeing the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut,” he said.

  Bree felt eyes upon her. She and Jaresh had reached the heart of an alley, which they’d planned on using to bypass the heavy traffic of Bellary Road. She glanced behind her and frowned. Two men stood at the alley’s entrance, darkening it. They were large and wore angry scowls. Bree looked forward. Dimming the opposite end of the alley were two more men, similarly large and rough in appearance. All four men walked forward with a forbidding purpose. As they continued their steady advance, Bree tried to fathom what they might want. What was their intent? Surely not to attack her and Jaresh? Assaults like that simply didn’t happen in Ashoka. Her home was civilized, a place of beauty and learning.

  But the expressions on the faces of the advancing men was anything but. If anything, their scowls had grown deeper, uglier and more threatening. Their jaws firmed
in what Bree finally realized was a promise of violence. Deadly intentions were clearly written on their faces.

  Bree took an involuntary step toward her brother. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart raced. These men had to be Sil Lor Kum. Who else would have reason to attack her and Jaresh? She had the sudden realization that she and her brother might die in this alley.

  Jaresh must have come to the same conclusion. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword and worry lit his face. “This isn’t training,” he warned Bree in a whisper. “Those men mean to hurt us. Have your Shield up and be careful with your Fireballs. We don’t want to burn down this whole block.”

  Bree glanced at the wood-clad buildings all around them. One errant Fireball would send the entire alley up in flames. She cursed. She couldn’t readily use her greatest weapon. Whoever these men were, they’d chosen the site of their ambush well. Bree wished she’d been wise enough to bring a weapon with her instead of simply trusting to Jaresh’s sword.

  “Stay calm,” Jaresh said. “We can survive this if we’re smart. Deep breaths. Remember what you’ve been taught.”

  Bree nodded and did her best to set aside her fear. She tried to do as Jaresh had suggested. She took deep breaths, slow and steady, exhaling fully and willing the terror to leave her. Reason told her there was no point to being scared, but right now, reason was an empty solace.

  The breathing exercises helped, or so she told herself; and while her heart no longer pounded, her legs still trembled. Bree continued breathing in and out, slowly and controlled. She focused her mind on the details that might help her survive the looming fight. She studied the approaching men, the way they walked and carried themselves. They weren’t like Drog and Crode, the guards at the Blue Heron. These men moved with wary grace and coiled energy, like trained warriors. Soon enough, their features became clearer. Two Rahails and two Murans. Bree cursed again. The men coming toward them might be able to Blend.