The Castes and the OutCastes: The Complete Trilogy

by Davis Ashura

  The Ashokans had been unable to do anything but watch as She desecrated their glorious farms.

  Rukh sat forward just then. “You realize this is the first time we've been alone together for the past two weeks?” he asked.

  Jessira nodded. “Which is why we shouldn't waste this opportunity by just sleeping.

  Rukh grinned lecherously, and Jessira made sure he saw her eyeroll.

  “I meant by eating,” Rukh explained, drawing out a samosa and popping it in his mouth. His face was all innocence.

  Jessira rolled her eyes again even as she laughed. She pulled Rukh to her and kissed him. She didn't mind that his unshaved face was filthy with dust, that his hair hung lank, or that he smelled rank as refuse. He was with her, and that was all that mattered.

  Besides, Jessira wasn't in much better shape. She was just as grimy, gritty, and gamy.

  Rukh passed her the bag of pakoras and samosas. “Who did you send back to the House Seat to get the food?” he asked.

  “Shon,” Jessira answered.

  Rukh's eyebrows lifted in appreciation. “Very clever,” he said. “I should have thought of that. Aia wouldn't have minded. Cook Heltin always spoils them with treats anyway.”

  *Yes, you should,* Aia, his calico-coated Kesarin, said to him. *I might have even suggested it once or twice.*

  *I'm trying to talk to my wife,* Rukh reminded her in a tart tone.

  *Talk?* Aia asked, sounding confused. *Why waste your time talking when you want to mate?*

  *Go away,* Rukh said.

  *If you need instructions, I can provide those to you,* Aia offered, *just as I did when Jessira needed Healing. Remember when you wanted to look at her . . .*

  *Aia!* Rukh warned, scandalized.

  *Fine. I'm leaving,* Aia said with a chuckle.

  Jessira was also laughing. “It's been awhile since we did what Aia suggested,” she said.

  “You don't have to remind me,” Rukh replied with feeling. “It would have been nice if just once, even for one day, we could have lived as husband and wife and all of this fighting for our lives never entered our thoughts.”

  “We wouldn't have to worry about our families being murdered and our homes destroyed,” Jessira said softly, picking up the train of his thoughts. “We could have simply shared our lives with those we love and with one another.”

  “A dream for another life,” Rukh said in a wistful tone, sounding sleepy.

  “A beautiful dream, priya,” Jessira said. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Lienna gnashed Her figurative teeth. She had yet to puncture through the final barrier that protected Ashoka, and time was slipping away. She could feel it running through Her figurative fingers like fog. She had to end this. Three times She had felt Father's power. First, by a small pond in the Privation Mountains. Again in the early part of summer when She'd struck down many of the mangy Ashokans. And a third time just a few weeks ago.

  Mother refused to fully explain Father's absence, but Her muteness on the matter was answer enough. Lienna knew: Father was reborn.

  And with each appearance and confrontation, He had proven Himself to be more sure, more certain, more forceful. His power was still a pale shadow of the puissance He had once possessed—and even more irrelevant compared to what Lienna Herself commanded—but in the end, He was Father. He could not be disregarded.

  Lienna had to kill Him before He became a threat. She had to destroy this wretched city, and soon. She had to blast apart the final gates of Ashoka before Father emerged, strong like He once had been.

  “The closer You grip murder to Your heart, the more likely you will meet Your own demise,” Mother advised. “As You murdered Me, so to shall that be Your final fate. The world will celebrate.”

  Lienna trembled at Mother's words.

  “So boastful and proud were You when You recently confronted Me, but now look at what You've become,” Mistress Arisa sneered. “Where is Your great courage now, weakling? You're as fearful as a hen in a room full of tigers.”

  Lienna wanted to ignore the voices in Her mind, but she couldn't. It was too difficult. Too many of Her children were dead, killed when their treacherous commanders had left them helpless before the walls of several of Humanity's cities. There were barely enough of them to hold Lienna's madness at bay.

  She worried over what would happen if She again lost Her sanity. She chewed over the possibilities like a hyena would a scrap of meat. No answer sparked in Her thoughts, but an undefined time later, the voices of thousands of Her children raised in prayer eased Her mind's concerns. It was the Prayer of Gratitude, a balm to Her soul. The beautiful, symmetrical lines and cadences of the Prayer filled the heavens. It was a rapturous song that always brought Lienna pleasure.

  The Prayer ended, and Lienna descended to where Her Baels had gathered. There were issues for the upcoming battle that needed to be discussed, but as She approached, She broke into a frown. Where was Li-Boil? And his SarpanKi, Li-Torq? Those two had proven trustworthy, unlike the rest of their treacherous brethren.

  Lightning lit a counterpoint to Lienna's annoyance. Thunder rumbled. “Where is My SarpanKum?” She demanded of a Bael who now wore the red feathers of command.

  “The burden of leadership now falls upon my unworthy shoulders,” the Bael announced. “I am Li-Grist. The honored Li-Boil and Li-Torq were killed by the Humans in an unexpected attack.”

  More lightning and growling thunder followed the words of this Li-Grist. Lienna wasn't sure whether to trust him.

  “When did this occur?” Lienna demanded.

  “Several days ago,” Grist answered.

  “Their corpses?” Lienna demanded.

  “Returned as ashes to holy Arisa's bosom.”

  Lienna scowled in frustration, and She took on the appearance of a storm cloud. Rain fell. Thunder pealed. She noticed several of Her children flinch in fear, but She was too caught up in Her anger to care.

  “Then you will be the one to carry out My commands,” Lienna announced. “We will redouble our efforts on Ashoka's final wall. We will destroy it before the end of the week.”

  “It is good You order us to move so quickly,” the SarpanKum said. “When the Humans attacked several weeks ago, they poisoned our water supply. We didn't learn of it until the Pheds started dying. Thankfully, we were able to save most of the herd, but it only leaves us with enough food for several more weeks before we will be forced to return to the Hunters Flats and resupply.”

  Lienna held in Her shock by the barest of margins. How could such an outrage have happened? And why hadn't Boil told Her of it? He should have, no matter that it would have raised questions about his competence. The fact that Boil hadn't told Her but that Grist had, indicated that the new SarpanKum was a more suitable leader of the Eastern Plague.

  Lienna grew increasingly irritated, wondering what other setbacks Boil might have kept to himself. More thunder came, and the rain fell more fiercely. An instant later, She put away Her anger as realization lit Her thoughts. Lienna laughed, and Her thunderstorm clouds became a soft, spring drizzle. “We will not need to resupply,” She said. “When we bring down Ashoka's final protection, My children will use the corpses of that foul city's denizens as their meals. It will be the victor's feast.”

  “As You command,” Grist answered.

  Lienna didn't deign any further reply. Her orders had been given, and She rose skyward, heartened to have such competence as evidenced by her new SarpanKum.

  And after Ashoka's Oasis fell, She would deal with that traitor Hal'El Wrestiva. He was no longer listening to Her. He had Her Knife, and She wanted it back, especially before Father found it. It was the one fear that gnawed into Lienna's good cheer. Father with Her Knife. That couldn't be allowed.

  While blessed Innocence will wear and warp with Time's passage, Love is otherwise. It need never disappear from a person's life. Be wise and always choose it.

  ~The Book of All Souls


  The battle for Ashoka was one in which Rector Bryce had not yet been allowed to take part. When the Fan Lor Kum had first approached Ashoka, he had not been asked to report to duty and defend his home. Even after the Queen's arrival, he had been denied. The Oasis had been pulled back to the Inner Wall, the fields of Ashoka set afire, and still Rector had not been called forth.

  Instead, his superiors had in mind for Rector a somewhat different task, one they felt better suited to his abilities. From the Magisterium itself had come his orders: find Hal'El Wrestiva and kill him. There was no need to offer the traitor a tribunal. One had already been provided him, and Hal'El had been convicted in absentia. He had been found guilty of a long list of crimes, each one worse than the other: treason, membership in the Sil Lor Kum, and finally, murder.

  Nevertheless, Hal'El, despite his depravity and evil, was still accounted one of the most skilled warriors of his generation. Just how skilled was something that Rector knew quite well. He had once crossed blades with the man and had lost badly to him. It had been on the night Mira had been murdered.

  Of all the defeats he had suffered, that was the one that Rector regretted the most. If he'd only possessed a mite more skill, maybe Mira might still be alive. It was an unknowable, unanswerable regret, but one that still clawed at Rector's heart. It was for this reason that he hadn't argued with his orders. He had gladly accepted them. Who knew what new malevolence Hal'El had planned? The treasonous bastard had to be stopped, and the best service Rector could offer his home would be to destroy Hal'El's evil once and for all.

  All this made Rector's progress in finding the former ruling 'El of House Wrestiva all the more frustrating and disheartening. Hal'El had reentered Ashoka—everyone knew it. He'd even murdered one more time, but after that, he seemed to have disappeared. There was no trace of him. He had become a whisper on the wind, a rumor of danger, unseen and unknown, and Rector had been unable to track him down.

  Until now.

  “This is Solair Tumblewash,” Rector said, introducing the bulky Duriah standing beside him. “Tell them what you told me.”

  The Duriah glanced around the room—Dar'El's study in the Shektan House Seat—and licked his lips. He was obviously nervous, and Rector could understand why. The meeting had to be intimidating for Solair. Here he was, the focus of a gathering attended by none other than Dar'El Shektan, a man of fearsome repute. To make matters worse, also present was the equally redoubtable Satha Shektan, her children Bree and Jaresh, and her daughter-in-law, Jessira. All of them carried the surname 'Shektan' and all of them had achieved a certain level of fame or infamy in Ashoka.

  “You'll be fine,” Rector said, urging the Duriah on.

  Solair nodded and cleared his throat. “I own a shop down in Hold Cavern,” he said. “I'm a bowyer, and early this morning a man came into my store. He was a Kumma, older and looking down on his luck. His clothes were a little worn, not fine like you normally see. Plus, he was dressed like it was cold, with gloves on and his hood thrown forward so I could barely see his face. He told me his name was Vale Driven of House Wrestiva and that he wanted a custom-made bow and quiver of arrows. I told him I couldn't get to it any time soon with all the demands of the High Army.” Solair wore a self-deprecating expression. “With the siege, they have me working from sunup-to-sunup. Same with my apprentices,” he explained. “Anyway, the Kumma didn't like that, and he said if I had a bow that was close enough to his specifications, he'd take it. I told him that I couldn't be sure without the Army's approval—”

  “You keep saying 'the Kumma' instead of referring to him by his name,” Dar'El interrupted. “Why?”

  Solair nodded. “I was just getting to that part,” he explained. “The Kumma gave me the address of where I should deliver the bow if one became available. He gets ready to pay me then, and he takes off his gloves. That's when I saw it,” Solair said, giving a pregnant pause and glancing about. “He was wearing a big ring, ironwood with some kind of shiny inlay. It was the ring of an 'El, and it bore the tiger sigil of House Wrestiva.”

  “You're certain?” Satha whispered in her weak voice.

  Solair nodded. “I'm certain. And when I finally caught a good look at his face, I could tell who it was. He's wearing a beard, but it's him. It's that naaja bastard, Hal'El Wrestiva.” Solair bobbed his head in apology to Jessira. “No offense intended, miss.”

  “None taken,” Jessira replied.

  Dar'El stood. “You have the address?”

  Solair slipped him a piece of paper. “Here it is, in his own handwriting.”

  “Thank you,” Dar'El said, offering a faint smile. “You have been most helpful. One of the servants will see you out.”

  After Solair left, Rector straightened from where he'd been leaning against a wall.

  “You think he's telling the truth?” Dar'El asked.

  “I do,” Rector said. Before bringing Solair to the House Seat, he'd already thoroughly interrogated the Duriah. He had sensed no lies from the man. Rector was certain that this was the opening they needed to bring down Hal'El Wrestiva.

  “What about the handwriting from the address,” Satha began. “Is it Hal'El's?”

  Dar'El nodded.

  Jaresh offered a wolfish grin. “Then we have him.”

  Bree looked to Rector. “Why did you bring Solair and his information here instead of to the City Watch?” she asked.

  “Because the Magisterium decided that Dar'El was to have direct oversight of my search for Hal'El,” Rector replied. “And I need more warriors to take him down. The men I would have called on are all at the Inner Wall.” He looked to Dar'El. “You're the only one who can get them released to my command.”

  “A number of warriors were given the day off today,” Jessira said. “Some were of House Shektan. We should be able to round them up.”

  Rector smiled in relief. “Excellent. Is Rukh or Kinsu amongst them?” he asked.

  “I don't know about Kinsu,” Jessira began, “but Rukh's time off begins later in the afternoon, which means he'll arrive too late to join your band.”

  Rector tried to keep the disappointment from his face. In all of Ashoka, only Kinsu and Rukh were as good as Hal'El Wrestiva with a blade. He would have felt better if one of them were amongst his party.

  Dar'El clapped his hands, bringing the meeting to an end. “I'll send runners to gather some warriors,” he said to Rector. “Take a few guards from the House Seat as well. I want you ready to go in two hours.”

  Jaresh stood. “I'll go with you, too.”

  “Thank you,” Rector said in appreciation. Jaresh had the soul of a warrior.

  Jaresh moved to Rector's side and studied the stacked-stone exterior of the restaurant to which the Duriah had sent them. A sign above the entrance proclaimed the name of the place: Tranchers. It was likely the surname of the owner. Narrow mullioned windows opened out to the street, and the building shared a wall with a larger structure to the right. A pencil-thin alley ran to the left.

  If there was an entrance out back, they'd need to make sure Hal'El didn't escape that way.

  Before Jaresh could complete the thought, Rector had gestured to the ten warriors accompanying them, and five of them raced off to the rear of the building.

  “Are you sure this is the address?” Jaresh asked dubiously, glancing at the small, unobtrusive restaurant in Hart's Stand. “This isn't how I would have pictured Hal'El's lair.”

  “This is the place,” Rector said in assurance. “This is the address the bowyer gave us. The owner was likely paid a great deal of money to keep quiet and allow Hal'El to hide out in the cellar.”

  “The cellar?” Jaresh asked in surprise. “Hal'El never struck me as someone who would allow himself to be humbled enough to sleep in a cellar.”

  “Desperation drives men to do all manner of things,” Rector said, “and Hal'El is desperation personified.”

  Rector's words sparked an unformed twinge of worry within Jaresh. “Hal'El would do anything to
gain revenge on those who exposed him as the Withering Knife murderer.” He spoke slowly and carefully, speaking aloud his thoughts as he tried to formulate what had him growing increasingly anxious. “He would hate them above anyone else.”

  Rector bent his head as he considered Jaresh's words. He frowned, and a look of concern replaced his prior surety. “Or the one who led the hunt for him.” Rector blanched, and they shared a dawning look of horror. “The Shektan House Seat is all but undefended,” Rector said. “Most of the warriors meant to guard it are either with us or at the Inner Wall.”

  “We're not going to find Hal'El here,” Jaresh said. Sweat broke on his brow, and a shiver of fear wormed down his spine. “We have to get back to the House Seat.”

  Rector nodded. “We'll do a quick sweep first,” he said. “Very quick.” He gestured to the warriors still with them, and they barreled into the restaurant.

  Jaresh entered the building with the others, hoping that his burgeoning suspicion would prove to be a mistake, hoping he was the victim of an overactive imagination. Seconds later, though his fear was realized. The cellar and the other rooms within carried no sign that Hal'El had ever stayed there.

  Rector led them back to the House Seat at a dead sprint.

  In all his life, patience was a virtue that Hal'El had never needed to master. He was a man of action and movement, of purpose and drive, of decision and execution. Yet, for what he intended today, patience was what was needed. The waiting and stillness required by that soothing but tepid principle would lead him to what he'd been working toward for so long: revenge upon Dar'El Shektan.

  From his vantage point, he could see into the study of his hated enemy. He was too far off to make out much more than a few bland shapes moving about. One figure, though, was unmistakeable—that of the crippled Satha Shektan as she was wheeled about in her chair. Hal'El smiled, knowing her grievous injury had caused Dar'El great anguish.