The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  “The what?”

  “The skulk. It’s a group of foxes.”

  Jessira stared at him, an expression of skepticism on her face. “You made that up.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Rukh protested. “It’s what they’re called.” He sniffed in disdain. “I can’t help it if you’re uneducated.”

  “And I’m sure your education will keep you comfortable tonight when you’re hungry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why should I take care of you when you insult me?”

  The flaw in his earlier comment suddenly came clear. Jessira held a serene expression on her face before heeling her horse forward. A half-mile passed in silence, and Rukh rode alone, trying to figure out if Jessira had been joking. “You weren’t serious, were you?” he asked.

  Jessira laughed, patted him fondly on the cheek and rode on.

  Rukh couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Recently, his sense of her thoughts and emotions had failed him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Jessira would do exactly as she had threatened. “So, is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” he asked to her retreating back.

  The warmth following the freakish blizzard didn’t last long. The wintry cold soon reclaimed the mountain heights, but Rukh and Jessira had to press on, including through another snowfall. A week later, they found themselves about a day short of Stronghold, and in the evening, they made camp under a rough overhang, just large enough to keep the weather off.

  Rukh’s leg was still sore, and he had it stretched out in front of him as he tried to rub out the achiness. It was especially bad at night when it seemed to throb in time to his pulse. The pain was annoying, but he knew the leg would eventually be fine. He was more concerned about his right arm. Sometime during the accident with the gelding, he must have injured it. Initially, it had hurt like the unholy hells, but now, in addition to the pain, there was a creeping numbness and weakness extending from the elbow down to his fingertips. He couldn’t even grip a sword. Jessira had examined him as best she could, but so far, she hadn’t been able to find anything wrong with the arm. He hoped the physicians in Stronghold could do better. He had always planned on joining the High Army, but if he couldn’t hold a sword, how could he be an effective warrior? And if he couldn’t earn his keep as a warrior, then what would he do with the rest of his life?

  Rukh tried to set aside his concerns and simply enjoy the tranquil stillness of the mountains, a meditative quiet. Tonight would be his last night alone with Jessira. After their arrival in Stronghold, she would have other duties and responsibilities, and he would have to figure out what to do with himself. He knew it was a life Jessira couldn’t share.

  In fact, it would be best if her people didn’t even think he and Jessira were close. Given how much time alone they had spent in the Wildness, gossips would gossip and put out all sorts of scandalous stories about what might have occurred between them. But such rumors might not crop up if the two of them were thought to dislike one another.

  But Jessira couldn’t know about his plan. She wouldn’t go along with it. She would ignore the damage done to her reputation while she tried to help him settle into Stronghold. All the while, rumors would rise like a swarm of locusts, spreading everywhere and ruining her future. Rukh would have to push her away. It would be the final time he could save her.

  He’d miss her company, though. He enjoyed being near her. They sat close to one another, leaning back against their saddles with legs stretched out on their bedrolls.

  “We’ll probably reach the Croft by mid-afternoon,” Jessira said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “When will we start seeing patrols?” Rukh asked, wondering how far out Stronghold scouted.

  Jessira shrugged. “They might have already seen us, but they won’t reveal themselves until they know who we are, especially with you being Kumma.”

  “They won’t challenge us?”

  “They will, but only once they’ve made sure we’re alone. I’m sure they’ve marked us and are backtracking our trail. I’d expect them to stop us sometime tomorrow morning.”

  Rukh nodded. It’s what Ashoka would have done as well, although the challenge would have come much sooner. “Think they’re watching us now?” he asked.

  Jessira glanced out into the gloom. Their firelight didn’t do much to push back the darkness. Nights were bleak and lonely in the mountains. “Maybe,” she said.

  Rukh figured they were being watched. Stronghold might only have several thousand warriors under arms and the lands surrounding the city were vast, but he and Jessira were traveling what she said was one of the more easily accessible paths to her home. It was likely to be one that was closely guarded.

  They fell into a companionable silence, although there was a question Rukh had, one he wasn’t sure he should ask, but one he dearly wanted answered. He shifted about on his bedroll, trying to figure how to broach the topic.

  “Ask me,” Jessira said. She turned to him with a smile. “It’s written all over your face.”

  Rukh took a deep breath. She wouldn’t like his question. “What does priya mean?” As expected, Jessira’s smile turned into a flat look of annoyance, and her shoulders tensed. “I heard you say it to me once.”

  “When?”

  “Back in the cave when you were Healing my lung.”

  Jessira didn’t respond at first. She stared into the campfire, not meeting his questioning gaze. “It means close friend,” she finally said.

  Rukh could tell her answer wasn’t the entire truth. The word meant something more. It certainly did in Ashoka. “In Ashoka, it means.…”

  “I know what it means in Ashoka,” Jessira interrupted in a tart tone. “But we aren’t in Ashoka anymore.”

  “No, we aren’t,” Rukh agreed, letting the matter drop. He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place.

  Silence reined between them once more, although now it was Jessira who shifted about on her bedroll now and then. Once or twice, she opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, but each time, she closed it again without saying a word.

  “What is it?” Rukh finally asked.

  “I would appreciate it if you told no one I called you…you know…what I said.”

  She couldn’t even bring herself to say the word, at least not in his presence.

  Rukh nodded, understanding what she couldn’t tell him. “As you wish…priya,” he replied. It might be the only chance he would get to let her know how he felt.

  Jessira gave him a startled, uncertain look before quickly rising to her feet. “I need to check on the horses,” she said. She walked out of the camp and into the darkness.

  Rukh wished he’d just kept his stupid mouth shut.

  Well before sunrise the next morning, it started to rain. It was a cold, damp drizzle mixed with icy sleet, promising to turn into either a heavy snowfall or a freezing rain. The wind kicked up, blowing hard and directly in their faces, pelting them with stinging rain and ice crystals.

  The weather was dismal and progress slow, but Jessira’s heart soared. She recognized these mountains. This was where she had trained as a nugget, where she’d scouted with the Silversuns. This was the valley directly east of her home.

  She had trouble containing her bubbly excitement. By the end of the day, if Devesh was kind—which was a big ‘if’ given the current weather—she would be home. She would see her parents, her brothers, her family—all the people she loved. She ignored the wicked voice of her conscience that asked why Disbar Merdant wasn’t included in the list of those she cared about.

  Shortly after mid-day, a group of scouts—five of them—suddenly materialized before them, no more then twenty feet away. They studied her and Rukh with hard, unwelcoming eyes, faces hidden by close-fitting hoods and tightly wrapped scarves to protect their faces.

  Jessira startled at their sudden appearance even as she reined in her mare. She hadn’t been paying attention and hadn’t noticed their Blends until the last moment. Than
kfully, Rukh had been more alert. He had brought his horse to a halt a few paces behind her. Jessira looked back at him. He nodded to her in brief acknowledgement, looking unsurprised by the sight of the scouts.

  “You’re a long way from home, Purebloods,” the lead scout said, likely their lieutenant.

  Jessira frowned. Purebloods? She wasn’t a Pureblood. Only Rukh. A moment later, she understood the scouts’ confusion. To keep the weather off, she’d wrapped a shawl around her face. Meanwhile, Rukh had long since lifted the hood of his coat, leaving his face bare and his Kumma heritage obvious. Stronghold’s warriors thought she was one as well.

  Jessira studied the scouts standing in a rough semi-circle before them. She probably knew these men and women, although it was difficult to tell their identities with their faces wrapped and hidden. Jessira smiled as recognition came to her. She dismounted and pulled aside her shawl. “Only a dimwit Shadowcat would mistake a Silversun for a Pureblood.”

  Her appearance set the scouts chattering in amazement as their hostility dissipated.

  “Jessira Viola Grey?” the lead scout said, sounding hesitant.

  “Hello, Hart Drape.”

  Her words were a signal, and the scouts moved to converge around her and offer joyful greeting.

  “Halt! Maintain positions!” Hart Drape shouted. “I know you, Jessira, but him I do not. Who is he?” He pointed to Rukh.

  “A close friend,” Jessira answered.

  “A close friend?” Hart said, shades of meaning in his words. “I had understood you were engaged to my cousin, Disbar Merdant.”

  “Priya,” she heard Rukh mutter with a suppressed chuckle, his voice loud enough only for her to hear. She bit back an oath. How could she have been so stupid as to have said such a thing to him? She’d have to deal with her thoughtlessness some other time, though. Hart Drape was waiting for an answer.

  “And I mean to keep my promise,” Jessira said. “This man is a close friend because he saved my life countless times and returned me to health. And it was his nanna who provided me with supplies enough to return home.”

  “Then we should honor him,” said another scout—a woman—grinning widely. The warrior disregarded Hart’s insistent command to maintain ranks and rushed forward.

  It took Jessira a moment to recognize her. She only had time to make out long, dark hair, dark eyes and a winsome crooked smile before she was drawn into the scout’s embrace. “Welcome home, sister,” the scout said. It was Sign Deep, Jessira’s cousin. Sign and her brother Court had been adopted into the Grey household after the death of their parents when the two siblings had been but children. Growing up, Sign had often been a self-centered pain, but she was still family—and Jessira loved her like a sister.

  Jessira hugged her cousin hard, overwhelmed by the feeling of belonging. Tears tracked down her cheeks. She was home. She was never leaving again…or at least not for a long, damn time.

  “So who’s the Pureblood?” Sign asked. She gave Rukh a measuring glance, boldly eyeing him up and down before smiling sardonically. “I figured they’d be taller.”

  Jessira smiled. There was the Sign she knew and loved: all bravado and affected haughtiness. “His name is Rukh Shektan.”

  “And he travels with you for what reason?” Hart Drape asked.

  “Because he is like our ancestors: a man without a home.”

  The scouts frowned and gave Rukh measuring stares. But Hart’s gaze locked on Jessira. “Tell me you haven’t compromised yourself with him.”

  Sign hissed in outrage.

  “No,” Rukh answered, speaking up for himself as he also dismounted. “Jessira’s honor and my own are intact. I was judged Unworthy because I learned Talents not of my own Caste.” He glanced behind him, staring at empty space. “Will those four warriors behind us remain Blended until we reach Stronghold?”

  How had he…Jessira hadn’t been paying attention, but she sensed the Blends now. She looked at Hart, who wore a pinched expression of displeasure. He barked a command, and four more scouts appeared behind them.

  “Talents not of your own Caste?” a young scout mused. “You wouldn’t happen to be the legendary Rukh Shektan?”

  For the first time since their encounter with Hart and the Shadowcats, Rukh looked surprised. “How did you know?”

  The scout smiled. Jessira remembered him now. Tire Cloud. He was young, only having finished his training when she had shipped out with the Silversuns all those many months ago. “Cedar Grey and Court Deep made it home along with another Kumma, who has a Talent not of his own Caste.”

  “Cedar!” Jessira shouted in elation. “He’s alive?”

  Hart nodded.

  “And Farn?” Rukh asked in budding joy. “Is he still here?”

  “He is,” Hart answered. “Although he’s not right in the head. I’m told he has dizzy spells and starts throwing up if you look at him funny. Our physicians have been helping him, but until a few weeks ago, nothing they did seemed to be working. I understand he’s finally improving.” He gave Rukh a quizzical look. “Cedar says you took down two Shylows. Is that true?”

  Rukh shook his head. “No. I’ve never killed a Shylow.” A fleeting expression of sorrow flashed across his face.

  Jessira realized he was probably thinking about Keemo. She saw the Shadowcats sharing knowing smirks. No doubt they thought the legend of Kumma fighting prowess was as exaggerated as she had once believed. She looked forward to witnessing their expressions when Rukh practiced against them. “It was one of the Kummas under his command, Keemo Chalwin, who killed the Shylows,” she said, temporarily halting the self-satisfied chuckles.

  “Well, I don’t know anything about that. All I know is this Farn Arnicep won’t spar with us,” another scout said into the temporary silence. It was Just Joint, the oldest of the Joint brothers, all three of whom were enlisted in the Home Army. In fact, his youngest brother, Divit, stood next to him. A fellow Shadowcat.

  Jessira turned to Just with a questioning look. “I thought Hart said he’s injured.”

  “He is. Or at least he was,” Divit Joint piped in. The scout was a few years younger than Jessira, but just then, she felt infinitely older. In the past half-year, she’d gone through so much. “But how are we supposed to know how good he really is?” Divit continued.

  “Cedar says he’s like nothing we’ve ever seen, like he’s the wind and fire made flesh,” Sign said with a roll of her eyes.

  Tire Cloud, a scout who had been a nugget during the same time as Jessira, snorted in disbelief. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said. “They can’t be as great as Cedar says. Certainly not better than Wheel.”

  Jessira wasn’t surprised by Tire’s words. Wheel Cloud, Tire’s older brother, was the current Champion of the Trials of Hume.

  “I’ve seen Farn fight. He’s everything my brother said,” Jessira replied. “Once Healed, he would wipe the floor with the best of our warriors and probably not break a sweat. And Rukh is even better. I saw four of them take down thirty Tigons and suffer no casualties.”

  The scouts stared at Rukh in mingled uncertainty and doubt, as if he’d suddenly sprouted a Bael’s horns. But just as clearly, they didn’t believe or want to believe that Rukh and his kind were so much better with the sword than they.

  “Perhaps the great Kumma can demonstrate his amazing skill with a blade before we lead him into our home,” said Yalla Dark, the only other woman in the Shadowcats. Her suggestion was offered in a voice filled with loathing.

  Jessira’s hackles rose at the other woman’s demeanor. Who was she to think so poorly of someone she’d only met a few minutes earlier?

  “The great Kumma would be happy to oblige, except his leg is still healing,” Rukh said, sounding rueful and ignoring Yalla’s ugly tone. “Broke it a few weeks back.” His voice suddenly turned hard and just as cold as Yalla’s had been a moment earlier. “Give me a week, though, and I’ll be happy to test you.”

  Rukh rode within a co
coon of the Shadowcats. All the Stronghold warriors appeared edgy, with hands straying to their swords whenever Rukh shifted in his saddle. Most eyed him with curiosity while some were merely professional, going about their duties as a proper warrior should: alert and ready. Others, though, glared at him, the hostility evident in their expressions.

  It was annoying, and he did his best to ignore their dislike. Rukh was a warrior. He knew nothing else, and these were the people he’d have to impress if he wanted to make a new life for himself here. However, he also knew he couldn’t be a mouse and let them get away with staring at him with such contempt. Give a bully an inch, and he’d take the mile. Another aphorism from his nanna. It had been right back when Rukh was a child, and it was right now.

  Finally, one of the scouts glared a little too hard and a little too obviously.

  “You’ll want to move your eyes, or you’ll be finding out just how ugly a Pureblood can be,” Rukh said to the man, who gave him a look of loathing in return. Anger roared to the surface. Without a further thought, Rukh dismounted and got straight in the scout’s face, standing toe-to-toe with him. “You want to say something to me, say it,” he challenged in a voice full of menace.

  Hart Drape was there in an instant. “What the fragging hells is going on!” he demanded.

  The scout stepped away from Rukh and came to attention. “Nothing, sir!” he replied.

  “Then make sure it stays that way,” Drape said in a growl. “Stop eyeing the Kumma like he’s given your sister a disease and get your ass to the front of the line. Send Bild to take your place.”

  “Yes, sir!” the scout said, moving off.

  Drape turned to Rukh. “And you. Don’t pick fights with my warriors.”

  Rukh stared the lieutenant in the eye, not willing to back down. “I won’t break your scouts,” he said. “But I also won’t just sit there and take it when someone insults my honor.”

  “What honor?” Drape asked. “I thought you were found Unworthy.”