A Warrior's Knowledge

by Davis Ashura

  Shon blinked in astonishment. *You wouldn’t.*

  *I would.*

  He flopped to his belly and rolled on his back, stretching his legs as far as they would go. He stared at Jessira with his head upside down. *But why?* he cried plaintively.

  Jessira’s annoyance fell apart. She laughed and rubbed at Shon’s chin once again. *Last time,* she said.

  Thrum mewed in sadness. *I want a Human.*

  *I’ll rub your ears if you’ll stop whining,* Rukh offered.

  Thrum immediately flopped to the ground.

  Although she didn’t like Rukh’s hands on another Kesarin, Aia felt sorry for Thrum. She allowed her Human to rub her brother’s ear, but she soon had enough. She pushed between his hand and Thrum, pressing her forehead against Rukh’s chest and rubbing the corners of her mouth against his shoulders. *It is good to hear your voice.*

  *It’s good to see you, too.*

  She let him rub the side of her face before pulling back. *My brothers and I wish to explore the mountains. I will visit you again in a few weeks so you can rub my chin once more.* She laughed. *I know how much pleasure it brings you. And next time, bring others of your kind so Thrum can choose his own Human.* She stepped away from Rukh and called to her brothers, a low, brief growl. Shon and Thrum both stood up and joined her. They paced out of the campsite, the two males eyeing the horse hungrily before exiting the light of the fire. *Goodbye, Rukh. Until next time.*

  *****

  Along the western flank of Mount Fort was a scree scattered trail at the base of a steep ravine. Wide columnar rocks loomed to either side with many of the formations slumping down in broken pieces, littering the trail with their debris. The sun stood high at its zenith, but the spring sunshine was wan and distant in the shadowed gorge within which Rukh and Jessira trekked. Their footfalls crunched on the loose rocks, sounding a counterpoint to the fitful wind moaning with a hollow echo through the ravine.

  This was the final leg of their journey back. Earlier in the day, they’d come across a squad of scouts and dropped their Blends after both parties became aware of one another. The lieutenant in charge had briefly questioned what they’d seen before sending them on toward the Western Gate. He’d also let them know about the surge of Chimera activity this spring. For the past few weeks, the Fan Lor Kum had been seen working their way deeper into the Privations than had ever been recorded. Their presence so close to Stronghold had everyone concerned, especially since there had even been a few sightings of the Sorrow Bringer as well. But then, two weeks ago, it had all stopped. The Chims had pulled back and returned to their more usual spring encampments.

  “It almost seemed like they were searching for someone,” the lieutenant in charge of the scouts had said. “They must have found whoever they were looking for. Poor bastards.”

  Rukh and Jessira had kept silent upon hearing the lieutenant’s questioning statement. Who knew how the scouts would have reacted had they learned the truth. They’d merely mumbled a word salad response of dull and bland sentiment, a reaction unlikely to be remembered or raise suspicion.

  While it was true that Stronghold needed to know of the Queen’s response when Rukh had cracked open The Book of First Movement and the events following, such a discussion was one best held before a closed-door meeting of the Home Senate; not before a squad of scouts.

  “The Western Gate.” Jessira pointed to a narrowing of their trail, a place where large, rectangular rocks leaned against one another and formed a tall, peaked tunnel, one that was invisible from above.

  The sunshine didn’t penetrate far into the passageway, and they walked in a chill and murky darkness. After a final turn, the tunnel brightened under the light of a single, dull-red firefly lamp.

  From there came the actual gate, a slit in the mountain about the same width as the East Gate: twenty feet with a guardhouse hunched above. The portcullis was up and several warriors stood watch.

  Jessira received a cursory glance from the guards while Rukh was favored with a more thorough examination. Some of the scouts eyed him with awe, others with curiosity, and a couple with resentment or even dislike. Overall, it was still a far warmer welcome that he received compared to the last time he had entered the city.

  “Word’s already come down. Major Pile is expecting your arrival,” one of the guards said. “You’re to report to him immediately for debriefing.”

  The lieutenant they’d come across earlier had sent a scout racing back to inform Army West of Rukh and Jessira’s return.

  Jessira saluted acknowledgment of their orders while Rukh merely nodded. He hadn’t yet accepted his commission into the Home Army.

  They passed beneath the portcullis, took another sharp turn, and entered the long throat of Hold Passage West. Murder holes abounded along the length of the passageway and dull-red firefly lanterns provided a dim light. After a quarter-mile or so, the tunnel abruptly widened, opening into West Lock. A thick wall separated the fort from Hold Passage West and was defended by a scored of warriors who nodded a brief welcome to Rukh and Jessira. They were allowed to pass unchallenged through the stout, ironwood gates on into West Lock.

  Once inside, the tunnel opened up even further, becoming a large cavern full of training squares and buildings. After unpacking the gelding and leaving him at the stables, Rukh and Jessira made their way to the major’s office. Rukh fell in behind her.

  “Do we tell the major about The Book?” Rukh asked.

  “We have to,” Jessira replied.

  It had been the answer Rukh had expected. He only hoped the people of Stronghold wouldn’t expect him to turn The Book over to them. He’d been the one who had risked life and limb in order to retrieve it. By his way of thinking, other than him, the only other person who had any claim to it was Jessira. Otherwise, he owned it by all the laws of salvage, but there was also a deeper reason for Rukh’s reluctance to hand it over. He wanted a chance to read it again, somewhere safe and far from Stronghold. He’d witnessed the last moments in the life of Linder Val Maharj, the First Father, but it seemed like there was so much more he could learn from it. He wanted to study The Book of First Movement.

  They soon reached Major Pile’s office and waited a few minutes before they were shown in to see him.

  The major, a graying warrior in his late forties with the softening stomach of someone too accustomed to sitting behind a desk, questioned them at length about their journey, and when they finished, he sighed and rubbed his eyes. His jowls, already sagging, seemed to hang lower. “Rukh Shektan,” he began. “For once, could you please enter Stronghold and not overthrow all we know to be true,” he entreated, sounding simultaneously disgusted and weary by their account. “Can’t you for once just come back and tell us that there’s flooding in the hills above River Tame? Or that the pass through Babylin’s Hope is snowed in?”

  “Sir?” Rukh asked, unsure what he’d done wrong this time.

  “Think about it, and I’m sure you’ll understand what I mean,” he said with another sigh.

  The major sounded upset. Good. Rukh hadn’t forgotten how Pile had treated his request to join Army West. “I will if it would make the major happier, sir,” he replied, unsuccessfully hiding his scorn.

  Major Pile chuckled, apparently sensing the sarcasm. “You’re a handful.” He hesitated a moment. “I am sorry for how I treated you when you came to me. It was wrong of me to have done so. I hope you’ll give me — and all of us, really — a chance to earn your forgiveness.”

  Rukh nodded. He was willing to forgive, but it would take more than a few words for him to do so. He would need actions that matched the major’s generous statement.

  “I almost feel sorry for the senators if they try to take The Book away from you.” He must have noticed Rukh’s sharpened gaze because his own became penetrating as well. “You know they will. You’ll have to fight to keep it.” The major turned to Jessira. “The two of you are to report immediately to the Home Senate. If you’re right about t
he Sorrow Bringer and The Book, they need to know about it. They should be in session right now. I’ll send a runner ahead of you to prepare the way.”

  “Yes sir,” Jessira responded. She snapped off a salute with military precision, turned on her heel, and left.

  Rukh nodded politely before seeing himself out.

  Again, Rukh followed Jessira’s lead. She took them through Stronghold, heading for Home Croft, although she paused on occasion whenever she ran into friends or family. Rukh tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible during those reunions. And thankfully, other than a few hooded glances thrown his way, he was generally ignored during those get-togethers.

  “Stop scowling so much,” Jessira said after one particularly long, dull reunion. “And you are allowed to answer with more than one or two terse words when someone speaks to you.”

  “I’m not scowling,” Rukh protested. “And I’m not saying much so you can have some time to yourself during these reunions.”

  Jessira shook her head in disgust. “How can he see so well and be so blind?” she muttered. She stopped and turned to face him. “People want to get to know you, Rukh. You’re the Trials Champion, the finest anyone has ever seen. Half the people we’ve met so far are in awe of you, and the rest are worried they’ve somehow offended you.”

  “They’re in awe of me?” Rukh asked in disbelief. It was one of the more ridiculous notions he’d ever heard.

  “Of course they’re in awe,” Jessira replied.

  “And the worry? Why would they care? They didn’t last time I was here,” he noted, trying to let go of the bitterness the memories provoked.

  “They’re afraid you might not teach us what you know. They all know you have little reason to love Stronghold, and their own role in that antipathy.”

  Rukh smirked. So, they weren’t afraid of him on a personal level. They were only worried about what he might not give to their precious city. “The famous Stronghold pragmatism.” This time the bitterness leaked out.

  Jessira heard. She knew him too well. The frown left her face. She stepped forward and took his hands. “You’re not a man made to hate, Rukh,” she said, staring him in the eyes before kissing the tip of his nose. “Let it go.”

  Rukh nodded. “I’ll do my best,” he said, relaxing his posture. Until that moment, he hadn’t realized how tense his shoulders were.

  “Good,” Jessira replied. “We’ve a meeting to attend. Try to keep up, love.” She walked away, her gait loose, relaxed, and confident. Jessira was happy to be home, and no matter how conflicted Rukh had been about coming back to Stronghold, he was glad to see her joy.

  Soon, they reached the Hall of Founding where the Home Senate awaited their arrival. Once there, Rukh and Jessira explained all they had seen and encountered. It took hours to relate because the senators kept interrupting every few minutes, wanting clarification on some interaction or observation. They were especially focused — and rightfully so — on the appearance of Suwraith after Rukh’s reading of The Book of First Movement.

  Eventually, the questions trailed off, and they were allowed to depart. Rukh was a bit taken aback that no one had asked him to turn over the Book. But here came the Governor-General, making his way toward them. Now that Mon Peace had them alone, no doubt he would make that very request.

  “Stop it,” Jessira whispered from behind a smile. “You’re scowling again.”

  Rukh quickly made his expression as bland and unintimidating as possible.

  “Now you look constipated.”

  “I hope you’re not getting sick,” Mon Peace said. “Just then your expression — are you sure you’re feeling well?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m fine,” Rukh said, not daring to look at Jessira who wore a look of placid innocence, although he noticed her lips twitching from repressed mirth.

  “No one has probably told you, but I took it upon myself to find you lodgings during your absence,” Mon Peace began. “But don’t worry. The money to pay for the lease didn’t come from your winnings in the Trials. I paid for it out of my own funds. Consider it a bribe,” he said with a wink and a wide grin.

  Rukh laughed. Mon Peace was a politician, but he was also just so damn likable. Rukh found himself warming to the man. “And what would you want in return?” he asked.

  The Governor-General chuckled. “I’ll let you know when I’m more certain you’ll do what I ask.”

  Rukh smiled. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  The Governor-General waved aside his acknowledgment. “Think nothing of it. I was happy to help. And since you didn’t ask, I’ll tell you. Your flat is in Crofthold Lucent, Plot Hie, number eight hundred twenty-three. I’m sure you and your bride to be will be most happy there.” The Governor-General glanced between Rukh and Jessira, an expectant gleam in his eyes.

  After a moment of startled silence, “How did you know?” Jessira blurted out.

  The Governor-General chuckled. “I’m old, but I’m not that old,” he said. “If you haven’t already chosen someone to officiate the ceremony, I’d be honored to do so.”

  Rukh knew the offer was probably just another part of the man’s ongoing effort to win him over, but it was still generous. “We’d be grateful,” he said.

  The Governor-General nodded. “Just make sure my invitation doesn’t somehow get lost.” Just as he was about to turn away, he snapped his fingers. “The other Senators will also expect invitations.”

  Rukh heart sank. “Our wedding is going to be a social event, isn’t it?” he asked after the Governor-General left.

  “I’m afraid so.” Jessira nodded. “My parents are going to be thrilled.” She sounded horrified rather than happy.

  Chapter 30: Those Who are Hunted

  The redemption of the fallen man is neither easy nor quick. It is fraught with hardship and loss, and those who seek to aid someone traveling this twisted path might do best to journey ahead and light the way.

  -The Word and the Deed

  Mira wore a frown of concentration as she studied the documents laid out before her. The papers were important — they had to be — of this, she was certain. A niggling tickle in the back of her mind told her so, but despite spending the better part of three hours trying to tease it out, she had yet to find the elusive answer she sought. The documents were the original death certificates and written testimonies of everyone involved in the Withering Knife murders, and gaining access to them hadn’t been easy. In fact, it had required all of Dar’El’s considerable pull and a few favors owed. But if Mira couldn’t figure out what she was missing, it would all be for naught. And she was missing something; something obvious yet important.

  Mira glowered, cursing under her breath as the answer refused to come, and her initial hopefulness turned to a growing sense of irritation. What was it? Every time she thought she had it, it slipped free, like the half-heard note of a song begging to be identified. Her scowl deepened as she shoved her way to her feet and pushed the papers away. She glared at the documents, trying to force her treacherous memory to serve up what she was overlooking. Mira stared a moment longer before she turned away with a muttered oath and paced the narrow confines of the walled cubicle in the City Watch Archives.

  She was so close. She was sure of it. It was right in front of her, mocking her with its obviousness.

  When she had her annoyance under control, Mira turned back to the papers and sorted through them, putting them back in order. Maybe doing something other than forcing the issue would allow her conscious mind to determine what her subconscious seemed to know. The work went quickly, and Mira quickly finished organizing the documents. Once again, she stared down at them, willing them to give up their secrets. It was right there. All she had to do was make the proper association and she’d have it. She stared so hard and …

  Still nothing.

  With a dejected sigh, Mira gave up. She gathered the documents, ready to slip them back into their binder. Maybe tomorrow she’d figure out what she was missing
. She’d start at the very beginning, with the murder of Felt Barnel. She would read every word of every account. No matter how many times it would take, she would find the answer she was seeking.

  And at least the papers were easy to read. The handwriting of everyone involved was clear and legible. It would be …

  Mira froze. She barely dared to breathe. There was something to what she had just thought. She let her mind play over her words.

  Clear and legible … It was the handwriting!

  With trembling hands, she sat down and pulled the papers out of the binder. She briefly examined every document, studying the handwriting. She moved faster and faster, each paper passing swiftly beneath her hands. She almost missed what she was looking for, but with an almost physical shock, she saw the missing clue.

  The answer was in the documents dealing with the murder of Slathtril Apter, the third Withering Knife victim. There, in her own handwriting, was the witness attestation of Varesea Apter, the man’s wife. Mistress Apter wrote with her left hand, and more importantly, Mira had seen an example of her writing before. She’d seen it in the ledgers from Rector’s warehouse.

  Varesea Apter was the Rahail woman from the Blue Heron. The same one who had tried to have Bree and Jaresh murdered. Mistress Apter was of the Sil Lor Kum. Mira sat down, stunned that the long search was finally over.

  To her chagrin, her first thought was to tell Jaresh about her discovery, but he was a week into the Wildness by now. In thinking about him, she was reminded of Jessira’s offer to take them to Stronghold. What would she have done had she known about the proposal? Would she have accepted? Mira wasn’t sure, which spoke to the depths —

  With a grimace, Mira silenced her thoughts. It was too late for regrets and none of it mattered anyway. She had just learned something monumental, and she had to tell someone about it. The next step had to be planned carefully. But who to tell?

  Mira wanted to smack herself.

  The answer was obvious. It had to be Dar’El. He’d know what to do.