by Davis Ashura
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 whom 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 because 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. But instead of opening their homes and hearts to him, her people had treated him 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, “then 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.
And Rukh was matched against him in the first round.
He
smiled at the insult.
In the early rounds of Ashoka’s Tournament of Hume, those considered to be the weakest warriors were paired against those thought to be the strongest. The plan was for the better warriors to win through the early matches and challenge one another in the later stages. The same held true in Stronghold. It said a lot about how little the Strongholders thought of Rukh’s skills for them to match him against Toth Shard in the first round.
Good. Let them underestimate him. When he cut down their finest, the sting of such a loss would hurt all the more.
Toth, for instance, certainly didn’t look worried. Earlier today, he’d looked over in Rukh’s direction once, and flicked a contemptuous gaze up and down before turning away with a sneering, confident laugh.
Toth’s mistake. Earlier in the week, Rukh had scouted out all of the combatants. Toth had some skill. In fact, for an OutCaste, he was actually quite good; but for a Kumma, he was, at best, a raw beginner. He would pose no challenge. None of them would. And though the Constrainers that Rukh wore—as did every other combatant—would significantly limit his Jivatma imbued Talents, such as speed and strength, he was still far more skilled than anyone here.
Rukh carefully watched the first few matches, studying the movements, the patterns and the balance of those he might face. He wasn’t impressed. None of them were any better than he had originally surmised.
Finally, his name was called. He and Toth walked side-by-side as they descended to the hard-packed, dirt floor of the Arena. They passed through the open gate leading into the bowl of the stadium with Toth breaking left and Rukh going right. The Governor-General announced their names, and not surprisingly, the crowd cheered wildly for Toth; but for Rukh, they booed lustily.
Rukh didn’t care. He no longer heard them. His gaze and focus were narrowed down to Toth Shard, thirty feet away and standing as proud as the sun while he lazily gripped his shoke.
It was almost time. Rukh’s features were expressionless as he conducted Jivatma, his senses heightening. The arena grew brighter, the light more vivid and stark. His hearing, sense of smell, all of it sharpened. The world slowed. His muscles twitched, a harbinger of the mind-blurring motion that was as much a hallmark of Caste Kumma as their features. Everyone seemed to move as if their feet were encased in mud.
The Governor-General gave his command: “Fight!”
Rukh was expecting it when Toth formed a Blend. It wasn’t deep enough to completely enfold and hide him—the Constrainers wouldn’t allow it—but even if it had, the Blend wouldn’t have been enough to protect Toth. Rukh had been trained since childhood to fight men in true Blends; to know exactly where they would be, even down to the position of their shokes. Toth’s pale version of a Blend would be easy to defeat.
Rukh surged forward. He had all the time in the world to decide how to seize the brutal victory he intended. A gut kick had Toth tumbling head over heels, losing control of his Blend. Rukh could have finished him right then and there, but he chose to prolong the contest. He waited for Toth to rise to his feet and recover, never bothering to ready his shoke. Instead, Rukh gripped it loosely, almost casually, allowing the tip to dip toward the ground. Toth’s face reddened at the insult. The Strongholder attacked. Rukh defended a strike at his chest. Another aimed for his head and a follow-up at his legs. He blocked a thrust and a slash. Five strikes. It was enough. Rukh dipped low and darted forward. Another gut kick had Toth on his back. Rukh sliced his shoke across the Strongholder’s neck in a throat cutting move.
The fight was over as Toth cried out in pain and clutched his neck.
Rukh sheathed his shoke in an Arena grown silent.
He bowed to his opponent even as physicians raced forward to Heal Toth and rid him of the shoke-induced pain. It shouldn’t be too bad. Rukh had pulled his blow. He didn’t like or respect many of Stronghold’s warriors, but he refused to be as petty or cruel as they had been to him. The truth was, had Rukh wanted to hurt Toth, he could have done so by slamming his shoke against the other man’s neck in a decapitating blow. It would have been agony.
As Rukh approached the open gate and the stairs leading to where the other Trials contestants waited, a half-smile lit his lips. Let the others begin to understand what they faced. He conducted Jivatma and leapt up, soaring fifteen feet into the air before spinning in mid-leap, and landing gently in front of his seat. He gracefully settled himself. Just then, the memory of Kinsu Makren came to him; his fellow Shektan with his unflappable, icy cold demeanor during the Tournament of Hume. It was what Rukh hoped his own face looked like to all who watched.
“What in the unholy hells just happened?” Sign gasped as Rukh stood above the fallen Toth. “What did he do?”
“What Jessira and I have been warning you would happen,” Cedar said, sounding tired. “Rukh is going to let us know exactly how little he thinks of our warriors. And of us.”
“He beat Toth with his off hand,” Jessira commented clinically. “He’s not nearly as good with it.”
Sign gaped, as did many others seated around their family. Off hand? But the speed and skill he had displayed…surely not. What was he like with his on hand? “Devesh save us,” she whispered. “What kind of a man is he?”
“The kind who’ll win these Trials,” Jessira said, seeming to take thorough satisfaction in everyone’s stunned shock. “He could have probably won without even unsheathing his shoke,” she noted.
Disbar looked at her in outrage. “You approve of his actions,” he accused.
“No. I disapprove of ours,” Jessira snapped, turning to face him, the rage radiating off her like a heat wave. “I’ve heard how Rukh was attacked several weeks ago, and no one believed him. Those who harmed him paid no price for their dishonor.”
“Five,” Court said. “A few days before Farn left, Rukh said he had been attacked by five warriors. He had no injuries, so I didn’t believe him at the time.” He nodded his head. “Now I do.”
Until a few moments ago, Sign wouldn’t have believed it either. A single man fighting off five trained warriors? Impossible. But now, after seeing Rukh’s dismantling of Toth, she did. He could have done it. Sign flicked a considering glance at Disbar. Was it truly possible that Jessira had been chained to a man capable of such loathsomeness? If so, she was doubly glad for her cousin’s courage in ending her engagement to such a coward.
“Did anyone else see what he just did?” Peddamma interrupted them, her voice filled with further shock.
Everyone had and the hush in the arena deepened.
Rukh had leapt straight to the sitting area of the other warriors. The jump must have been at least fifteen feet. He settled into his seat. His face was as still and composed as a mountain lake in winter.
After that demonstration, no one had anything else to add. They settled down to watch the rest of the Tournament. The remaining matches were somehow anticlimactic in comparison. They elicited a few perfunctory cheers and whistles; but otherwise, the crowd’s energy had been utterly sapped by Rukh’s performance. When it was time for his next fight, the entire Arena hushed, waiting to see if this would be a repeat of his earlier match.
Jessira heard muttered complaints about the ‘Pureblood bastard’, but when she looked around, she saw how everyone’s rapt attention was focused on Rukh. They might have loathed him, but they were entranced by him as well.
Rukh had leapt down from his place amongst the other combatants, straight to the bowl of the Arena, not bothering with the stairs. His movements were smooth and liquid, like a stalking snow leopard. He was mesmerizing. Even his opponent, Stole Breve appeared hypnotized.
The fight began, and once again, Rukh didn’t bother bringing his shoke to guard. He held it loosely, almost nonchalantly, letting it dangle. But every thrust and slash that Stole tried to execute was blocked by a blinding flash of Rukh’s shoke. There came an instant when Rukh’s bearing changed, and a chill smile came across his face. A punch to Stole’s face was followed by a sweep of his shoke
across Stole’s throat. The fight was over. Once more, Rukh bowed over his fallen opponent before leaping back to take his seat amongst a chastened group of warriors, all of whom eyed Rukh warily. He paid them no attention. He sat still and unmoving.
His next match was ended in an identical fashion as the first two.
“Why does he keep using the same move?” Sign asked.
“He’s laying down his mark. He’s telling our warriors exactly what he intends. He’s daring them to stop him,” Jessira explained.
“And you know this how?” Disbar asked.
“It’s none of your business,” Jessira snapped.
“I think it’s because she knows Rukh,” Cedar offered.
Jessira nodded. “He’s a proud man, and what better way to embarrass your opponent then to let them know what you intend and have them unable to stop it?”
Disbar eyed her askance, his lips curled in disgust. “Are you sure you don’t approve of his actions?” he asked. “Because right now, you sound like you admire him.”
“And I know exactly how much that bothers you,” Jessira replied. Why had Kart invited this bilge-breather to the Trials? What could have been going on his mind? Did her eldest brother really think he could somehow salvage her engagement to Disbar? Save her reputation? It was impossible. Her future with Disbar was over. It was done, and there was no way to recover it. In fact, even if Rukh had never entered her life, Jessira realized she could have never gone through with marriage to Disbar Merdant. He wasn’t a man she could possibly respect, much less love.
Her thoughts were interrupted when it was time for Rukh’s next match. This one ended the same as the first three. He showed no emotion as his downed opponent screamed in pain.
“And you were with this man for months on end?” Kart asked, staring at Rukh in repulsed amazement. “He’s defeating our warriors as painfully as possible. Does he even have a heart to feel pity or empathy?”