by Davis Ashura
Rector Bryce was just as furious as anyone. No woman should have to fear for her safety, and he was determined to see justice done on those who had committed this heinous crime. However, if he wanted to be of use, he had to consider what had happened with as much dispassion as possible. Emotions would be of little use in this situation, and he suspected Bree’s family would be too furious and scared to think clearly.
Thus, the rumor Rector believed most likely to be true was the one that claimed that the attackers had numbered but four, and that it had been Jaresh Shektan who had been the warrior who had saved Bree’s life. It was the least outrageous possibility, and in Rector’s experience, that generally meant it was also the one closest to the truth. Corroboration came when he spoke to the members of the City Watch. They still lingered near the cordoned-off area and according to what they had learned, a single, wounded Rahail had been the only one to escape Jaresh’s sword.
Rector’s opinion of the Sentya rose further when he learned the details of the attack. Two men, ahead and behind, had trapped Bree and Jaresh in the alley, but rather than submit, Jaresh had done as he was trained: he had attacked. He’d fought off four Blended opponents, killing three and wounding the other. And while Bree had been gravely injured, all news said she was likely to recover.
Which meant the most pressing matter was finding the wounded Rahail. The Watch had already begun scouring any nearby hospices where he might have sought help, but so far, they had been unable to find him. Rector suspected they never would, not if they searched for him in a Shiyen-sanctioned hospice. The Rahail likely was a member of the Sil Lor Kum, and for treatment of his injuries, he would need someone discrete, someone who wouldn’t ask questions, and who might not necessarily have a license to Heal.
Rector knew of just such a person. Jaciro Temult, a disreputable Shiyen physician whose addiction to opium and alcohol had resulted in the forfeiture of his medical license many years ago. Jaciro owned a rundown herb shop in the Moon Quarter, selling simple cures for afflictions such as headaches and diarrhea. Rumor suggested that, for the right coin, he also offered back-alley medical services to those for whom discretion was of greater import than legitimate care — men, for instance, like the injured Rahail.
Rector quickly made his way to the Tired Life, the herbal shop owned by Jaciro. He tried the front door, but it was locked, and a sign in the window indicated that the store was closed. Rector peered inside. The firefly lamps were off, and the interior was dim but a light leaked beneath the door leading to the room out back. Someone was there.
Rector made his way to the rear of the building. There, he found another door. This one unlocked. He drew Jivatma and Shielded. Who knew what was waiting on the other side of the door? He eased the door open.
Jaciro had his back to him, facing a man sitting on a table: a Rahail with his leg heavily bandaged. The man saw Rector, and his eyes widened in dismay. Before Jaciro could react, the Rahail spun him about. He locked one arm under the elderly Shiyen’s throat and held a dagger to the side of his neck. “Come closer and he dies,” the Rahail promised.
Rector fully entered the room, closing the door behind him. Despite his feelings toward Jaciro, he didn’t want to see the old Shiyen dead. “There is no reason to hurt the old man,” he said. “He’s done nothing to you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I want you gone, or his blood is on your hands.”
Rector shook his head. “You know I won’t,” he replied. “No matter what you think you can do, your life is over. It cannot go any other way.”
The Rahail smirked, but Rector could see the fear in his eyes. “I have friends who — ”
“I know the kind of friends you have,” Rector interrupted. “And you know what happens to those who are Sil Lor Kum.” Jaciro whitened at his words. So. The Shiyen hadn’t known what kind of a man he had been Healing. “You will be hung, drawn, and quartered with your body left to rot on the Isle of the Crows.”
The Rahail licked his lips and darted a glance at the closed door.
“It doesn’t need to end in such torment,” Rector said. “Make the right choice, and I’ll end you as swiftly and painlessly as possible.” It was an offer meant to simply keep the Rahail from doing anything foolish and give Rector time to think. It certainly wasn’t a promise he wanted to keep. He had never killed a man. His stomach roiled at the thought.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” the Rahail said.
“You were part of the group who attacked Bree and Jaresh Shektan. And you are Sil Lor Kum. Tell me everything, and I promise to finish you here.” Rector swallowed heavily. He was committed now. Hopefully, the fear and uneasiness wasn’t evident on his face. “Otherwise, you will face Dar’El Shektan.” Rector paused. “Or, worse, the one holding the Withering Knife.”
That got the Rahail’s attention. His face tightened with fear. “If I agree, you promise to see me finished quickly?” he asked in a tremulous voice.
“Let Jaciro go, and we’ll talk,” Rector said. “If you tell me what I wish to hear, then your death will be as quick as I can manage.” Rector spoke the words as calmly as he could, but his insides were an agony of rising dread. He would actually have to go through with killing this man, something he knew would haunt him.
Rector’s own inner torment must not have reflected on his features because the energy seemed to drain out of the Rahail. He relaxed his hold on Jaciro and dropped his knife. “What do you want to know?”
Chapter 16: A Trial of a Different Sort
Strive for greatness always and overwhelm mediocrity. Honor those who achieve this guiding principle for their actions are a reflection of Devesh’s glory.
-To Live Well by Fair Shire of Stronghold, AF 1842
Sign craned her head, trying to see past Cedar and get a better view. The Home Arena was packed. Almost everyone was here tonight, including her family. It was the Trials of Hume, after all. Would Wheel Cloud become the greatest champion in the city’s history? No one had ever won three consecutive Trials. Or would a new stud, like Toth Shard or Strive Loane, wrest the title from the aging stallion.
The Arena was as bright as the noonday sun with thousands of firefly lanterns all blazing as brilliantly as Sign’s emotions. She was so excited she could barely sit still.
She just wished she had a better view.
Laya — bless her — must have noticed Sign’s squirming and took pity. She nudged her oblivious husband to move aside. Cedar was a good man. He rose out of his seat without complaint or question. He gestured to Sign as he stepped aside. She took him up on his offer, slipping into his vacated space while he clambered past her in an exchange of seats.
Ahh! Much better. Now she could see everything. The people in front of Sign were all relatively short, and she got to sit next to Jessira and Laya, two of her favorite people in the world.
A roar went up from the crowd as the combatants filed into the stadium, taking their seats along a small section of the stands directly above the arena floor. The warriors were so close that she could make out their faces. Sign looked for those she knew well.
Her regard eventually fell on Rukh. Cedar had risked his reputation by sponsoring the Kumma, and Peddananna and Peddamma had risked their money be paying the cost of his entrance fee. Sign hoped the risks were worth it, and Rukh didn’t end up embarrassing himself or her family.
Sign’s brows furrowed in worry as she studied the Pureblood. What was wrong with him? Usually, he was so lively and funny, but right now, he looked as emotionless as a dead fish. Even his appearance was pallid. Was he scared? It was hard to believe he could be frightened. He should be brimming full of confidence given how Jessira, Cedar, and even Court went on and on about his skills.
Something else must be bothering him.
Sign had heard from Jessira that a few weeks back, Rukh had been ambushed by a group of unnamed warriors. Jessira had said it was the second such assault he had experienced, and both times, the authorities had paid him no heed,
refusing to seek justice on his behalf. Had he been injured in the attacks? Was that the reason for his wan expression? Not that Sign believed he’d been mugged. It simply couldn’t be true. First of all, if Rukh truly had been ambushed, then why wasn’t he injured? Such an assault should have landed him in a hospice. He certainly wouldn’t be walking about without any visible injury and about to take on Stronghold’s best. More importantly, the people of Stronghold were civilized. None of her people would dare tolerate such barbarism. Maybe things like that happened in Ashoka but not here.
While Sign knew some of the OutCastes had been unkind to Rukh, she couldn’t imagine any of them would actually try to hurt him. Yes, Rukh’s life in Stronghold wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t unsafe. She mentally grimaced. Of course, safe wasn’t the same as welcoming, and Rukh deserved at least that much. He was a good man, kind and generous, just like Jessira described him.
Maybe if he won a few matches in the Trials, his life would finally improve. He was a Kumma, after all, and there had to be something to their legendary fighting prowess. Although, looking at him now, as he stood amongst the other warriors, it seemed distinctly unlikely. His bearing didn’t lend confidence that he would somehow beat one of Stronghold’s finest. Her brows furrowed. How could a person manage to look so uninspiring?
In contrast, Stronghold’s warriors held expressions of furious ambition and barely controlled rage. They seethed and walked with the scarcely contained bloodlust of wolves on the hunt. Some seemed to literally growl at Rukh, probably sensing his weakness. Sign felt a surge of pride. These were Stronghold’s greatest warriors: fine, fierce, and unfettered.
It was only too bad for Rukh that one of them would likely finish him in his very first match, which was a shame. She liked Rukh.
Sign left off her worries when Mon Peace, the Governor-General and leader of Stronghold, rose from his seat. The throng quieted, but their energy wasn’t dimmed in the slightest. The crowd’s enthusiasm and excitement were intoxicating. It filled Sign like a heady drink, making her giddy with anticipation. She wanted to jump to her feet and scream defiance; yell at the world, at fate, at the Queen and all her fragging Chimeras. Sign just wanted to do something; something terrible and important.
As a result, she didn’t hear most of Mon Peace’s words.
It took Jessira’s gentle nudge to bring her back to the present. “His first match is against Toth Shard.”
Sign didn’t have to ask who Jessira was talking about. Rukh was to face Toth Shard in his opening match. Sign pitied the Kumma. Other than challenging Wheel Cloud, she couldn’t imagine a harder assignment for him to have received. Toth would make mincemeat out of Rukh, and Sign felt bad for him. She even felt bad for Jessira. While Rukh faced humiliation with his impending loss, Jessira would then have to do an extra month of labor in the barracks. It was all part of their wager, one her cousin should never have taken. Love must have clouded her judgment.
Sign wondered who else might be matched up in the first round, and she looked to the battle board where a list of the competitors and who they would be facing was written out in broad letters that were easily visible throughout the arena. This year there were thirty-two entrants into the Trials. It was an even number, which meant there would be no need for any winnowing contests. It was too bad. Sometimes the early matches were the most entertaining.
She glanced about again, studying the stadium as last second preparations went on. What a grand arena her ancestors had built. What forethought and vision had gone into its planning. A century ago, when construction on the Home Arena began, the senators of the time had designed the stadium with the city’s growth in mind. They hadn’t wanted a structure that would prove to be too small in just a few generations, so they had opted to construct as large a building as they possibly could. From nearby Mount Snow had come the large white stones, which formed the walls and floor of the arena. Each rectangular rock had been floated down River Fled and along Tear Drop Lake before being hauled inside by brute force. The stones had been carried all the way to the Home Croft, the seat of Stronghold’s government and the place where the Governor-General held his residence. The final result was an enormous arena, one able to seat over forty thousand.
Sign glanced over when Jessira inhaled sharply. Her cousin was leaning forward, perched on the edge of her seat. Her worried gaze was focused on the Pureblood.
“I’m sure Rukh will be fine,” Peddananna, Jessira’s nanna, said as he patted her hand.
“Kummas are supposed to be warriors,” Peddamma, Jessira’s amma, said. “I’m sure Rukh will acquit himself well enough.”
“I doubt it. He has to face Toth Shard. I heard Toth has become a demon since the last Trials. I think he’ll win it all this time,” Disbar said.
Sign frowned in annoyance. Annayya — Kart — had invited the jackhole to the Trials, supposedly to help revive Disbar’s engagement to Jessira. Kart had explained his reasoning, saying it was to help salvage Jessira’s honor, but really it was for Annayya’s own benefit. Annayya was nearly religious in his devotion to his reputation. Nothing could be allowed to sully his good name, especially something as stunning as Jessira’s decision to end her engagement to Disbar. Her actions had sent Annayya into a righteous snit. Thus, Disbar’s presence here. Annayya hoped to salvage the situation so he wouldn’t lose any standing with the higher members of Stronghold’s society.
Nevertheless, as much as Sign wished Disbar had done the honorable thing and declined Annayya’s invitation, she quietly agreed with his assessment. She just didn’t want to say so. Jessira already looked upset enough. Sign reached over and gave her cousin’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
“The Kumma will be lucky to last ten seconds against Toth,” Disbar continued on, sounding satisfied.
Sign glared at Disbar. On paper, he had made an excellent match for Jessira, but the more Sign had gotten to know him, the less she liked Disbar. She was glad Jessira had broken off her engagement to the man. Disbar was prickly, boastful, and either too self-absorbed or too uncaring to notice when others were unhappy with him. In the end, he simply wasn’t good enough for Jessira. Her cousin deserved a better man, someone worthy of her warm and generous nature.
“Toth won’t last five seconds against Rukh, unless Rukh allows it,” Jessira said in a voice of quiet certainty. “I know none of you believe my reports — or Cedar’s for that matter — but tonight you’re going to find out I wasn’t exaggerating or making up fables. Rukh is the finest warrior any of us are likely to see. He’ll crush Toth.”
“He told you this?” Kart asked.
“He didn’t have to. I can see it in his expression and carriage. Rukh’s angry with us.”
“Jessira, we’ve given him shelter, a place to stay,” Peddamma said. “What more could he possibly want from us?”
“A home,” Jessira said. She shot a look of disdain toward Disbar. “And justice.”
Sign had heard Jessira’s worries that Disbar might have been involved with the supposed attacks on Rukh but until now, she hadn’t realized her cousin actually believed those rumors. No wonder Jessira seemed so tense. She probably wanted to shake the truth out of her former fiancé — and kick his teeth down his throat if he was guilty.
“What are you talking about?” Kart asked. “Who is he to demand anything of us? Arrogant Pureblood. If he wants more, let him earn it.”
“I agree,” Disbar said. “Wholeheartedly.”
Sign shook her head in disgust. Why couldn’t the man just keep his mouth shut?
“Then you’re a fool,” Cedar said to Disbar. “He’s been attacked in our city, possibly by our own warriors and nothing has been done. Our people humiliate him, and many think it’s a fine joke. It’s not. It’s shame we’ve brought on ourselves. And he’ll pay us back for all of it. He’s going to hurt whoever he faces.”
Cedar’s words elicited an uncomfortable silence. Sign shifted in her seat. She tried not to think about what Cedar had said, mostly becau
se she was afraid he was right and that she’d have to face some hard, ugly truths. After all, Rukh had been an injured stranger seeking shelter, and instead of opening their homes and hearts to him, her people had treated him rather shabbily; all for the sin of being born a Pureblood. Sign swallowed heavily. What did it say about her people that they would treat someone so cruelly? She imagined the rest of her family — other than maybe Kart — were thinking the same thoughts.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Court spoke. “I’ve crossed blades with him,” he said. “He was still recovering from his injuries, but even then, he was hard to handle. Farn was something else entirely. If a Healed Rukh is even better.” He shook his head. “I feel sorry for those men down there.”
“You’ve never mentioned this before,” Sign said.
“That’s because I knew how people would react. They’d have treated me just like they do Jessira and Cedar: with a scornful little pat on the head.”
Sign didn’t have a ready response or quip to Court’s claim, mostly because she knew her brother was right.
“Whatever happens, we’ll find out soon enough. Maybe Rukh will do better than any of us expect,” Laya said, trying to sound upbeat and positive.
*****
Rukh didn’t listen as the Governor-General spoke his words of welcome. Instead, he focused on his opponent, Toth Shard. The man was in his late twenties and a twelve-year veteran of the Home Army. Shard was supposedly at the very peak of his powers and considered one of the finest warriors in Stronghold. In fact, many felt Toth was a favorite to win it all this year.
