by Davis Ashura
“My name is Dru Barrier,” the commander said. “I am Major East of the Home Army. Please sit,” he ordered rather than offered.
Rukh had no such intention. To do so would be to accept a position of weakness in front of the major. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “And in my home, it would be considered rude for a host to sit in front of his guests."
“We are not in your home."
"I’m more comfortable standing."
“Despite your injured leg?” Dru Barrier smiled thinly. “So be it.” He turned to one of his men. “Have some chairs brought in.” He turned back to Rukh, not waiting to see whether his orders would be carried out. “Your appearance is a novelty for Stronghold. Other than the original Fifty-Five and your friend, Farn Arnicep, we have never had a Pureblood enter our city. And you’re the first who comes to us begging for sanctuary.”
“I ask for sanctuary,” Rukh said. “I beg from no man.”
“Prideful,” Dru observed with an arch of his eyebrows. “Such is the reputation of your kind. I see it is well-earned.”
The game of whether Rukh could be dominated continued. “No less than your own. The OutCaste girl almost refused my help when we first met simply because it came from a Pureblood. She would have died if she had kept up with her…poor choices.” Again, he chose to diminish his relationship with Jessira.
“OutCaste girl? Is our scout a child in your eyes?”
“In my world, her fighting abilities are those of a child.”
His words elicited an angry shuffling amongst the other warriors. They stilled at a single, warning glance from the major. “You think yourself so much better than us?”
“Only with a blade,” Rukh answered. “Ask the girl and hear what she was to say.”
“We have, as well as her brother. Lieutenant Grey and his sister always struck me as being sensible sorts, but I have a hard time believing their accounts.”
Rukh shrugged. Words wouldn’t answer the major’s doubts. Only actions.
They were interrupted by the returning warrior who brought in two chairs with him.
The major smiled. “There. Now we can sit like civilized individuals. I’m sure much conversation in the city of Ashoka takes place while standing.”
Rukh let the not-so-subtle insult pass by without comment.
“When, where, and to whom were you born?” the major asked after the two of them had settled in their chairs.
“I was born in AF 2042 to Darjuth and Satha Sulle in Ashoka.”
“And you are a Kumma warrior?”
“Yes.”
“And your training. Can you describe it?”
Rukh paused. “Why do you need to know?”
Dru smiled thinly. “I’m just trying to get a sense of who you are.”
“My training began as soon as I could stand.”
“And can you describe it?”
Rukh went over his childhood, the early training under the tutelage of Durmer Volk all the way through his time at the House of Fire and Mirrors.
“Your training required over eighteen years for you to master your Talents?”
“Our training takes a lifetime to master,” Rukh corrected with a smile, quoting one of his favorite sayings.
“Are you considered skilled for one of your kind?”
“I’m competent.”
“There are some who say you are more than competent. That you are an engine of destruction made flesh.”
Rukh laughed, genuinely amused. What a ridiculous notion. “I’m only flesh and blood; not some machine.”
“Did you win the Tournament of Hume? The equivalent to our Trials of Hume?”
“I did.”
“So you’re more than competent.”
“I am competent in my own eyes.”
“And the status of Ashoka’s force structure.”
Rukh frowned. He didn’t know what the major might do with such knowledge, but it was privileged. There was no way Rukh would reveal such information. “I’ve been exiled from Ashoka, but she was long the city of my heart. The knowledge you request is not mine to divulge.”
“I see,” Dru said, looking like he’d expected Rukh’s refusal. “So Ashoka was the city of your heart?”
“I’m exiled. I need to find a new place to consider home.”
“Our histories tell how those who are judged Unworthy are entirely comprised of deviants and traitors. Is this why Ashoka exiled you?”
Rukh exhaled softly. He kept an impassive mien, not letting any of the anger and heartbreak he felt show on his face. “Yes,” he said in a calm, even tone. “I hold Talents not of my own Caste. That is considered deviancy in Ashoka.”
The major grunted. “A foolish notion if I ever heard one,” he replied. “And do you think you can so easily transfer your allegiance to Stronghold?” Barrier snapped his fingers. “Just like that?”
Rukh smiled ruefully. “It’s not entirely my choice.”
“If not you, then who else can choose for you?”
“You, and others like you. Those who can make decisions. Can I find a home here?”
Dru leaned back in his chair and studied Rukh. “Perhaps.” From there, Dru moved on to Rukh’s Trial. He focused on the final hours of the caravan, going over Rukh’s suspicion of betrayal.
“Your men were entirely wiped out by a full Shatter of Chimeras, fifteen thousand of them. What kind of damage did you do?”
“If it was a full Shatter, then we killed four or five thousand.”
One of the warriors openly laughed. “Three hundred killed five thousand?” he mocked. “And how did you manage this, oh great Kumma? Did Fireballs fly from your bunghole?”
The other warriors laughed with him but quickly settled down upon seeing the annoyance on the major’s face. In fact, Dru Barrier hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised upon hearing Rukh’s statement. The man must have already heard a similar account from Cedar and Farn during their debriefing when they had arrived in Stronghold.
“Why are you asking me these questions if you already know the answers?” Rukh asked.
“I have been told all this. I remain unconvinced as to the veracity,” the major replied. He went on to question Rukh about the rest of the events of his first Trial, and his return to Ashoka. Next, Barrier questioned him about the expedition to the caverns of the Chimeras, focusing on the events and findings there. Rukh told him everything he could remember, but he made sure to leave out the part where he saved the remaining Baels. He’d told no one about that, not even Jessira.
“And after losing so many warriors, over a thousand in the caverns and with the three hundred on the Trial, is your army not spread thin?”
Rukh smiled and didn’t bother answering. The major was just fishing for information about Ashoka’s armies.
Then the questions shifted to the journey home.
“Your men saluted you? Does this mean the people of Ashoka might change their thoughts toward us?”
Rukh shifted in his chair, unsure what his brother warriors’ gesture might have meant. He didn’t want to read more into it than was actually there. “My fellow warriors were grateful for my help with saving our brethren, but whether their feelings translate to something more, I can’t say.”
The major nodded as he took in Rukh’s answer, his face indecipherable. Next came questions about the journey from Ashoka to Stronghold. Upon hearing Rukh’s description of the battle with the Ur-Fels and Tigons, Dru smiled. “Yes…the famed Fireballs. Pity your friend, Farn, hasn’t seen fit to show us his Talents as a Kumma.” He glanced at his warriors, a smirk on his face. “I’m sure all of us would have been most impressed by such a demonstration,” he said, his words earning a scornful chuckle from his men.
“Test me and find out.”
“We’ll see,” the major replied, flicking a glance at Rukh’s injured arm. “Perhaps when you can hold a sword.”
“I look forward to it,” Rukh said.
“I’m sure you would.” The major cleared his throat. “And what about your feelings for Jessira Grey?”
Rukh had expected the question, and rather than stiffen with alarm, he merely shrugged in indifference. “She’s a friend.”
“And she feels the same way about you?”
“You’d have to ask her, but I think that’s probably right.”
“Nothing more? She is a beautiful woman, after all, and you are a young man. Surely you were tempted to perhaps start a relationship with her? The two of you being alone in the Wildness for months at a time and all.”
Rukh shook his head. “You misunderstand. Nothing could occur. I am a Pureblood of Caste Kumma. Our honor is intact.”
“Our?”
“She is promised to another. Kummas don’t steal another’s woman. Had she broken faith with her fiancé, I would have sinned just as much as she,” Rukh said. “So my people believe.”
The questions wound down, and the major stood. “It’s late. You’ll stay here the rest of the day and probably tonight as well.”
“Who is seeing to my horses?”
“They will be cared for,” Dru assured him.
“And my weapons?”
“You’ll have them back after I report my findings to those who will decide your fate.”
As the major and his three warriors were getting ready to leave, Rukh called out to them one last time. “The girl seemed sure you’d take me in.”
The major turned back to him. “She may still be right, but she’s also just a private. Promises of sanctuary aren’t hers to make.” He paused at the open door. “Jessira said you broke your leg, and your arm is obviously injured as well. I can send you a Healer if you like.”
Rukh thanked him for his offer, and the Stronghold warriors left, and the door locked shut behind them.
Shortly thereafter, an elderly woman, the Healer, came into the small room, Rukh’s prison cell. She seemed fascinated by Rukh, staring at his face as though witnessing some exotic animal. She Healed his leg, but, unfortunately, she could find nothing wrong with his arm.
Several more meals followed throughout the day before night fell, or at least Rukh thought it must be since the light around the doorjamb slowly faded to darkness. No one else came to see him, and he found himself wondering if it was a good sign or a bad one.
The next morning, Major Barrier returned. He came alone.
“The Home Senate has approved your petition for sanctuary,” he said. “You will need to find employment, though. We do not have the wherewithal or desire to indefinitely support the shiftless.”
Upon hearing the major’s words, Rukh felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Will I be eligible to join the Home Army?” he asked.
The major glanced at Rukh’s right arm, hanging limp at his side and shrugged. “If you can demonstrate the abilities that Cedar, Court, and Jessira insist your kind possess, then perhaps.” He held up a cautionary hand. “But you would truly have to be extraordinary to take the place of one of our own. A position in the Home Army is highly coveted.”
“And if my arm doesn’t Heal?” Rukh asked, working to keep the sudden fear out of his voice.
“Our warriors must be able to fight,” Barrier said. “In such a circumstance, a place in the Home Army would not be available to you.”
“I don’t have any other skills,” Rukh said softly, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what else he could do with his life.
“You’ll have to learn one. Or do manual labor,” Dru said. His professional façade cracked and a flicker of sympathy passed across his face.
Rukh was a Kumma, a warrior by training and birth. He had been bred to protect his home, Ashoka, and those who couldn’t protect themselves. It was all he’d ever wanted to do. And now, with his exile, it had all been stripped away from him. And the chance to start fresh and defend a new home might be stillborn as well if his arm didn’t Heal.
If Rukh couldn’t join Stronghold’s Home Army, he would have to do what the people here demanded of him—manual labor, whatever in the unholy hells that meant. His thoughts spiraled into further worry and dread.
With a sigh, he reined in his circular fears. It was only his second day in Stronghold. His time here wasn’t yet doomed to end in failure. He’d be better off simply getting on with his life and sort out his problems anew with every day.
“Come on,” the major said, interrupting his thoughts and leading him from the room. “There’s someone who’s agreed to take you in. You’ll be staying with him until you get your feet under you.”
“Who is it?” Rukh asked, wondering who would take a chance on a Pureblood. Jessira’s early attitude to his kind seemed to be a common one.
“Him.” Dru pointed to a stocky man waiting outside. “This is Court Deep, your host. I’ll leave you in his care,” he said with a nod as he departed.
Court was a few inches shorter than Rukh, but stockier. His dark hair was cut short as was his goatee, and his skin was swarthy like a Sentya’s. His hazel eyes seemed to briefly assess Rukh before a half-smile creased his face. “You look like Farn. You’ll see him later today after his work is done.”
Rukh studied the man who had agreed to take him in, wondering what Court Deep would get out of this situation. “You’re Jessira’s cousin, aren’t you?”
“I am he,” Court replied in a formal tone. “I’ll be your host. I took in Farn, and for some reason, I’ve ended up feeling a mite responsible for your kind.” He smiled. “Don’t ask me why. I must be a masochist.”
Rukh smiled, warming to the man. “Thank you for letting me stay with you,” he said.
“You’re welcome,” Court said. “I believe these are yours.” He pointed to a number of packs on the ground.
Rukh felt a surge of relief upon seeing his sword and other weapons. He and Court shouldered the bags and made their way out of East Lock, the barracks of Brigade Eastern.
They came upon a wide tunnel, brightly lit with a line of regularly spaced firefly lanterns.
“This is the Southmarch tunnel,” Court explained. “It’s one of the main east-west roads in Stronghold. There’s another one.…”
“Let me guess. It’s called Northmarch,” Rukh said.
Court chuckled. “Only here for a day and already he knows how obvious we are when it comes to naming things.”
Rukh smiled. “Or maybe it’s just efficient.”
“Or maybe you’re being generous in describing our unimaginative nature,” Court said.
The end of the tunnel opened out onto a large courtyard paved with gray bricks, and Rukh found himself at the base of a silo with a ceiling hundreds of feet above. The space was bright and open with a shaft of sunshine somehow pulled into the cavern. The wide beam of light was focused upon the center of the courtyard, a garden where bushes, flowers, and a small glade of grass surrounded a large oak. Further light came from the hundreds of firefly lanterns suspended from the ceiling, hanging from the walls and railings of the various terraces, and the branches of the tree.
From the courtyard, four tunnels branched off, each leading deeper into the mountain. Heavy, ironwood portcullises were raised above all four openings. If an enemy made it this deep into the mountain, further passage could be barred, and with archers up above, the courtyard would become a killing field. Also, Rukh had seen several more stone gates recessed in the ceiling along the portion of Southmarch leading to here, and he guessed all of Stronghold’s tunnels were similarly fortified.
“Crofthold Ware,” Court said, gesturing around them. “There’s ten Croftholds throughout Mount Fort. All of them are built the same as this one. Each one has a central atrium and ten plots rising up to the top of the Crofthold.” He pointed to stairs marching upward to higher floors. “If you want to know where someone lives, all you need is the name of the Crofthold, the plot name, and the flat number.”
Rukh pointed to the far side of the courtyard. “Do those tunnels lead to other Croftholds?”
Court nodded. “All the Croftholds are linked to one another through these base passages.”
“And eventually, the Southmarch leads to the West Lock and Brigade Western? That’s the only other entrance into Stronghold, right?”
Court’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you know?”
“I knew about the East Lock and Brigade Eastern and.…” Rukh’s lips parted into a grin. “I guessed on the name. As for how I knew it was the only other entrance: simple math. The Home Army has fifteen hundred warriors under sword and shield. That many warriors could effectively man only two egress points the size of East Lock. Three gates, and you’d be spread too thin.”
Court whistled. “Impressive.”
“Not really. It’s just simple math.”
“Well, it’s impressive to a simple scout like me,” Court replied.
He led Rukh deeper into the mountain, all the way to Crofthold Lucent—Court’s home—and ascended up to Plot Din, the fourth level.
“Not much further,” Court said. “My flat number is 423.”
Rukh held in a grimace as he followed Court down a whitewashed tunnel. His leg was bothering him again, throbbing like a toothache. His arm wasn’t much better, and he hobbled along as best he could.
“We’re here.”
Thank Devesh.
Court looked at him with concern. “Jessira said you broke your leg and did something to your arm a week or so ago,” he said. “Do you want me to send for a Healer?”
“Saw one last night,” Rukh said with a grunt as he crossed the threshold into the flat. “She said the leg will be fine. The arm.…” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Then please sit down.”
Rukh carefully lowered himself onto the small settee centered on the wall opposite the front door and studied Court’s flat.
The space looked to have been carved directly from the mountain, with thick stone walls smoothed over to an adobe-like finish and painted a happy yellow. The small central space—the hearthspace—doubled as both kitchen and sitting room and past it was a doorway leading to the bedroom. The only illumination came from the warm, mellow light of the firefly lantern on the low table next to the settee, although a few unlit lanterns hung from the walls.