A Warrior's Knowledge

by Davis Ashura

  Before the final battle even began, Jessira had already left the Arena. She didn’t bother stopping and explaining to her family and friends where she was going or what she had planned. A more important concern occupied her thoughts: convincing Rukh to stay in Stronghold. It wouldn’t be easy. The man was as stubborn as the mountains. Once he had his mind set, it was almost impossible to change. But she had to try. She waited for him near Court’s flat, knowing he had to come back here to collect his gear.

  “I was hoping to find you here,” she said when Rukh arrived. She pushed off the wall upon which she had been leaning.

  Rukh didn’t look surprised — or pleased.

  So, it would be one of those meetings, like the last time when he hadn’t given her a chance to talk, explain, or apologize. He’d basically told Jessira to go away and never come back. He’d even refused to look at her, staring past her, at the wall or somewhere else. She wanted to see his eyes this time. His eyes always gave him away. She’d know the truth if she could just get Rukh to look at her.

  He did so. His lips held a bitter cast but his eyes … he was as furious as an unbroken stallion with the bit in his teeth.

  She followed him as he went inside. “You don’t have to leave,” she said.

  “Yes, I do,” he replied, sounding annoyed that she’d guessed his intentions. He already wore his camouflage pants and a white undershirt. Over this, he buttoned up his thick, fleece-lined camouflage jacket.

  “Can’t we discuss this?” Jessira asked. Her voice quavered, betraying the anxiety she felt, the fear that he would be forever gone from her life. She wrung her hands. She just needed him to slow down long enough to listen.

  “Talk all you want,” he said, not slowing down. He’d removed the sandals worn by Trials combatants and slipped on a couple pairs of thick socks.

  “Why do you have to leave?” she asked. “Is it because of me?”

  “No,” he said, succinctly, not bothering to look up.

  “They why?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “You could have been the First Mother Herself declaring me Her son, and I doubt your people would have cared. I think you overestimated their capacity for kindness.” He sounded both angry and disappointed as he tied off the last few laces of his packs.

  “You can still have a place here,” she argued, trying to get through his obstinacy.

  “And do what? Slave away as a pet Pureblood laborer? So your children can point me out and fling rotten eggs at me?”

  “No one did anything like that!”

  “No. They did worse. Your people didn’t offer me justice. Warriors attacked me and no one cared.”

  “Why is that so important?” Jessira asked. She knew the question was stupid even before the words finished leaving her mouth. Rukh had a finely hewn sense of right and wrong, and while he readily forgave those who had harmed him, he only did so once they admitted their transgressions. Otherwise, he was implacable in his anger.

  Rukh gaped at her in amazement. “You once told me this is a place of equality. What about equality under the law? You said this is a place of liberty. So why am I forced to work as a laborer with no opportunity to change my fate? You said this is an openhearted city where a man’s worth is based on his work, not his birth.” He snorted in derision. “The unholy hells will steal me away before I ever agree that your people are as openhearted, free, or equal as the Castes of Ashoka.”

  Jessira flinched. His words struck a chord, but she couldn’t let it be the end of the matter. She had to try again. “The Trials Champion receives a large stipend. It’s enough to maintain a small flat without needing to work.”

  “No thanks. The sooner I wipe the dust of this small-minded city off my boots, the better I’ll feel.”

  “You can’t mean that,” Jessira said.

  “I mean exactly that,” Rukh snapped back.

  Jessira stood silently and watched him pack. She knew Rukh had faced slights and insults, but despite it all, he seemed to have been finding a way in Stronghold. He’d made friends with Court, Cedar, and some of the laborers, but then had come the attacks. He couldn’t — and shouldn’t have to — overlook such a despicable offense. She had no defense for her people.

  Rukh took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He opened them a moment later, and his eyes were clear of his bitter anger. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m frustrated and unhappy, but I should never have lashed out at you like I just did. You don’t deserve it.”

  Jessira took a shuddering breath, relieved he was finally talking to her. “Can you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

  Rukh sighed. “Farn left, and everything that’s happened before and since, I’m just not feeling very generous to your people. I want to but … ” He paused.

  “But what?” Jessira gently urged.

  “There are those who simply won’t leave me in peace. And where there’s one, there’s likely to be more. I can’t promise not to hurt them worse next time they come after me.”

  Jessira cursed under her breath. Disbar. Her one-time fiancé had ruined any hope of keeping Rukh in Stronghold. “Where will you go?” she finally asked.

  “Hammer,” he said as he belted on his sheathed sword.

  “And after Hammer? What then?” she asked. “What if you need a place of safety? Somewhere to rest and recover? Why not stay long enough for the Champion’s Banquet when the Governor-General presents you with your winnings. At least that way, if you ever have need of a place to get out of the weather, you’ll have it.”

  He seemed to mull it over before eventually shaking his head in negation. “It would be better if I just left. For both of us.”

  “How would be better for both of us?” Jessira demanded, amazed by his obtuseness.

  “It just would. You can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine.”

  “My life is where I make it, and with whom I make it.”

  Rukh shook his head again. “But it can’t be with me,” he said. “You’ve already lost enough on my behalf.”

  His face was obdurate, and Jessira realized with a sinking heart that there was nothing she could say to sway him from his path. He would be gone from her life. Her fear turned to grief. “Then I could go with you,” Jessira said. The moment the words left her mouth, she recognized the rightness of her offer. Her life was where and with whom she made it. And she couldn’t imagine her life without Rukh.

  His face softened momentarily. “Your home is here,” he said. “I won’t let you throw it away. Not for me.”

  “My home is where I choose,” Jessira replied.

  “You can’t come.”

  “Then stay for the celebration. Wait until then before you make your decision.”

  Rukh stood before her, mulling over her words as he stared at the wall. He finally turned back to meet her gaze and dropped his packs. They thudded to the floor. “When is it?” he said with a sigh.

  “Tomorrow night,” Jessira replied. Her legs trembled with relief as if a crushing weight had left her. “And the Champion usually chooses what is to be served on the menu,” she added.

  “Just have them make whatever they did at the last Champion’s dinner. I don’t care.”

  “But you’ll be there?” Jessira asked, needing to hear his promise.

  “I’ll be there.”

  *****

  There were a lot of Strongholders attending the Champion’s Gala. An unholy number of them. All the Trials combatants were there, each with a family member or spouse. That made sixty-four. Throw in the senators and councilors of each Crofthold, and that came to an additional sixty. Then there was the Governor-General, the Colonel of the Home Army, the majors of Army East and Army West, a number of captains, all their spouses, a number of assorted wealthy Strongholders and Rukh’s ten guests — originally he’d only invited Court and Cedar, but then Court had ruined it by inviting the rest of his family, including Jessira and, somehow, even Disbar. All told, there were at least
two hundred Strongholders present.

  And the only place spacious and fancy enough to host such a large gathering was Home House, the Governor-General’s mansion.

  The building was three stories tall, huge by Stronghold standards. The top floor was given over to the private residence of the Governor-General and his family while the first housed the various departments needed to help administer the city. Most of the second floor was for official functions, such as tonight’s party, and the room hosting the Champion’s Gala was a large, rectangular hall. It had a twenty-foot coffered ceiling painted a simple gray to provide a sense of openness and five large chandeliers provided brilliant lighting. Softening the whitewashed walls were tapestries depicting Stronghold’s history. They were weavings of men and women in heroic poses as they struggled to build and maintain Stronghold. Rukh had no idea who they were. A small group of musicians quietly played music in the corner. They had an interesting concept of rhythm.

  Rukh studied the crowd and shook his head in disgust. None of those in attendance were here for him. This was a high society event, a place to see and be seen. He just wished it would end soon. He had never enjoyed large gatherings, and the steady din of the crowd, droning like cicadas, grated on his nerves. As a result, Rukh stood alone in a corner and imagined himself somewhere else, somewhere quiet and cold with the moon and stars above. He nursed a bitter ale, and a swallow of it elicited a pained scowl.

  A woman nearby laughed softly. Sign Deep. Sometimes, she had dinner with him and Court, and Rukh considered a familiar face in a sea of strangers. She was also an interesting person: highly opinionated but generous; sarcastic but funny; seemingly flighty but occasionally the mask would slip and her intelligence and perceptiveness would shine through. Rukh liked her.

  “You don’t need to frown so severely,” Sign said. “We aren’t your enemy.”

  Rukh gave her a rueful smile. “I wasn’t frowning,” he said. “It’s the ale.”

  “Bitter?”

  “Very.”

  “Try the apple wine,” Sign suggested, handing him a goblet from the tray of a passing waiter.

  The drink was pale yellow, the color of nectar with a hint of honeysuckle aroma. Rukh took a tentative sip and let the wine rest on his tongue. It had a tart sweetness but a mellow aftertaste and was surprisingly good. He took a larger swallow and smiled. “Much better,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sign replied, her dark eyes glittering. Her blue dress swirled about her knees as she stepped closer. “I wanted to congratulate you on your victory. It was … impressive.”

  Rukh shrugged. “Looks can be deceiving,” he said. “For impressive, you should have seen Kinsu Makren in the Tournament of Hume.”

  “Didn’t you defeat him?”

  “It was luck more than anything else,” he said with a smile.

  “And will. Jessira says that your desire to win carried you that day. Or at least that’s what your brother and sister told her.”

  “Will helped, but so did luck.”

  “I’ve been wondering about something,” Sign said, taking a sip of her wine. “Why didn’t you just show us what you could do? Show us how fast you are, your skills — your life would have been a lot easier if you had. Instead, you waited until the Trials.”

  “I could have done that, and a lot of times, I was tempted to do so,” Rukh answered. “But with the way things have been for me here … ” He shrugged. “ … There came a point when I just didn’t care about impressing anyone.”

  “Court said you applied to join the Home Army.”

  Rukh nodded. “I did,” he confirmed. “Major Pile basically told there was no room for me in the Army and that there never would be, while Major Barrier at least wanted me to demonstrate some sword-forms. They just weren’t the patterns I’m used to.”

  “It didn’t go well?” Sign guessed.

  “I was terrible,” Rukh replied with a wry smile. “I can’t hold the stiff postures Stronghold teaches. I was always instructed to flow with balance and precision, to move like water and bend and shape myself to the world.”

  “You could have still done something to show us how good you are,” Sign persisted.

  “I suppose so, but after my poor outing with the sword forms, the major didn’t want to hear my explanations of why I couldn’t do as he’d asked. He just walked out. And the other warriors who’d been watching made sure I didn’t linger. They basically cursed me out of East Lock,” Rukh said with a scowl. “Pureblood bastard was one of the less offensive phrases I heard.”

  “So why not throw a Fireball and change their minds?”

  “By then, I didn’t care what they thought of me. I’d come to Stronghold thinking the people here were open and accepting, but most are just as bigoted as any Pureblood. And after the way the warriors treated me, the way Major Pile spoke to me, I had to wonder if joining your Army was really wanted I wanted.” He shrugged. “I needed some time to think, and in the end, I figured they weren’t worth impressing. Frag them,” Rukh said. He grinned a moment later. “Besides, surprising them all like I did in the Trials was a lot more fun.”

  Sign didn’t smile back. Instead, she looked dismayed and contrite. She reached for him and squeezed his arm. “Well, I’m sorry for how you were treated,” Sign said.

  “Yes. We should all apologize to you,” a new voice said, cutting through the nearby loud conversations. It was Senator Shun Morn of Crofthold Clannad. He was a tall man, almost able to look Rukh in the eyes, and he still maintained the military posture and build he’d earned from his twenty-five years of service in the Home Army. After his discharge, Senator Shun had become a wealthy crofter. “I’ve recently learned of your shabby treatment by those who should have known better.” His glance took in several nearby captains in the Home Army.

  Rukh listened with bemusement to the senator but was unsure whether to believe him or not. Was he sincere in his apology, or was he simply throwing the Home Army officers under a wagon in order to win Rukh’s trust? After all, the man was a politician, and he spoke like one. Lies and false promises could roll off his tongue as easily as water across a hot skillet.

  “Yes. Please accept our apologies,” another voice added. This time it was Senator Frame Seek of Crofthold Healed. Tall and spare of frame, he was an old man, well into his seventies. Unlike many others, his wealth had come from his work as a craftsman, specifically as a plumber. The old man blinked owlishly. “You should never have been left to work as a common laborer. The Home Army is your natural home.” He gripped one of Rukh’s biceps. “I would be more than happy to put in a kind word in the proper ears if you wish it. And as an aside, there are many fine flats in my Crofthold if you wish a change of residence.”

  “He is of Crofthold Lucent,” a deep voice claimed. Rukh turned and saw another old man, about the same age as Senator Seek, but shorter and even slighter of build with thick glasses and a white, downy beard. It was Senator Thistle Rub of Crofthold Lucent. “Isn’t that right, Rukh?”

  Rukh smirked. Only a few days earlier, he’d been nothing but dirt beneath the fingernails of these fine senators. Now they were arguing over him like a pack of hyenas over a slab of meat.

  Sign had stayed nearby, and he was grateful when she saved him from the politicians. She took him by the hand and pulled him from the midst of the grasping senators. “Gentlemen. You can’t expect to monopolize all of the Trials Champion’s time. There are many more people who wish to meet Rukh. I’m sure you understand.” She smiled sweetly.

  Rukh waited until they were a distance away before pulling his hand free from hers. “Thank you for that,” he said. “I’m not good at handling politicians.”

  Sign chuckled dryly. “Neither am I.”

  Rukh thought he was safe from further grasping politicians, but a moment later, a new voice intruded. At least it was only Jessira’s nanna. “Might I have a word with the Champion,” Master Grey asked. “Alone,” he added pointedly.


  Sign nodded, but before she slipped away, she gave Rukh a look of sympathy.

  Accompanying Master Grey was his formidable wife. Neither of them looked happy. And their ire seemed directed at him.

  Rukh stifled a groan. What now? He forced a cheery smile on his face. “How can I help you?” he asked.

  “Rumor has it that you might be leaving us soon,” Mistress Grey said. “Is this true?”

  Rukh nodded. “You and Master Grey have been wonderful, but it’s time for me to go. As soon as this ceremony is over, I’m leaving Stronghold.”

  “Why?” Master Grey asked, sounding genuinely dumbfounded. “You could have a wonderful life here. A happy home.”

  “I’ve met some good people in Stronghold, but there are also some who don’t want me here,” Rukh answered. “They’ve made their feelings on the matter quite clear.” There was no reason to rehash his sense of betrayal at the justice he’d been denied. It was pointless to do so.

  “And there are also those who wish you to stay,” Mistress Grey said. “You have friends here, like Court and Cedar and Sign. You like her.”

  Rukh’s brows furrowed in confusion. Court and Cedar were friends, but Sign? No. He liked her well enough but not enough to call her a friend. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at,” Rukh said.

  “You and Sign. You like her. She likes you. The two of you would make a good match,” Master Grey explained.

  Rukh kept his mouth from gaping by the slimmest of margins. He and Sign? Matched? He could honestly say he’d never considered such an idea. It wasn’t preposterous, but Sign was Jessira’s cousin. It felt … wrong. Besides, he was leaving Stronghold. The Wildness was his future. There was no place for a woman in his life.

  “Don’t disregard our proposition so quickly,” Master Grey said, reading the antipathy on Rukh’s face. “Sign is a lovely young woman. You could do far worse.”

  “And you know Jessira should not be yours,” Mistress Grey added softly. “Her reputation has suffered enough on your behalf.”

  “Speaking of our daughter,” Master Grey began. “What intentions do you have for her?”