A Warrior's Knowledge

by Davis Ashura

  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 the 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?”

  “No, he’s not,” Sign disagreed. “He’s barely hurting them.”

  “And he does feel empathy,” Laya confirmed. “I know him. He is a good man. And my parents have labored beside him. They say he is hardworking and humble.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Something ugly has crept into his heart. He wouldn’t act like this otherwise.”

  “His actions are those of a creature, not a good man,” Disbar muttered.

  Jessira’s anger and disgust with him flared once more. A wise man would have recognized the mood of everyone around him and kept his mouth shut. Instead, Disbar insisted on continuing with his insults toward the man that many members of Jessira’s family clearly liked and respected. Her teeth ground. She wanted to tell Disbar to go away, to leave her in peace, but to do so would have been unforgivably rude. He was Annayya’s guest, which meant she couldn’t tell him what she really felt.

  “And does denying him his Humanity make you feel better?” Cedar asked, seemingly speaking up in her place. “This man brought Jessira safely home even though it cost him everything he loved. And how have we repaid him? Because of our prejudices, we’ve denied him a place in the Home Army. Because of our prejudices, we deny him justice. And we dare call him uncivilized because he’s offended by our shameful behavior?” Cedar shook his head in disgust.

  Jessira felt like cheering. Rukh deserved so much more than her kind had offered him. She just wished she’d spoken up more forcefully early on, convinced the officers of the Home Army to test Rukh and see just how skilled he really was. If she had, maybe all of this could have been avoided. But she had been too much a coward. She hadn’t stayed true to their friendship.

  She was so caught up in her guilt, that she almost missed Laya’s words.

  “Perhaps those with the wisdom to lead will see the error of their ways,” Laya said, gently. “After what he’s done here, they would be fools not to.”

  Court spoke up just then. “Last night, he packed up all his bags,” he said. “Rukh, I mean. I asked what he intended, and he said as soon as the Trials were over, he was moving out. He thanked me for taking him in, but I think it goes deeper than that. I think he means to leave Stronghold.”

  Jessira shot to her feet. “That idiot!”

  *****

  It was the final match. The Arena was as silent as a funeral. The Strongholders were obviously in shock over what Rukh had done to their finest warriors, and their dismay almost brought a smile to his face. He’d enjoyed shattering the beliefs of all these conceited people.

  Plus, his laborer friends from Crofthold Lucent had probably made a loot betting on him. Just before the Trials, Rukh had shown them how he could move. He’d even demonstrated a Constrained Fireball. Afterward, his friends had grinned like sharks. The rest of Stronghold believed Rukh had little chance of winning, and the odds set on the possibility of his victory had been steep. If Rukh’s friends had wagered on him, they were likely dreaming of what fine purchase to make with their winnings.

  Rukh drew his attention back to the present. He hadn’t won yet. There was still one final fight: Wheel Cloud, the defending champion.

  “I know you’re going to win,” Wheel said, turning to Rukh.

  Rukh maintained his flat expression of calm disinterest, although a bit of annoyance and confusion leaked out. Why was Wheel Cloud talking to him now? Before today, Rukh hadn’t been worth piss in this man’s chamber pot, and now he wanted to have a conversation? Well, it was too damn late, both in the day and Rukh’s time in Stronghold. “Then forfeit the match and save yourself the pain,” Rukh said.

  “You know I can’t,” Wheel said.

  “Then I can’t help you.”

  Wheel fell silent for a moment. “Why do you hate us? We took you in, fed you, kept you warm and safe. But the way you’ve defeated the other warriors, the painful blows you’ve delivered — you could have chosen a less ugly means to defeat those men.”

  Rukh finally turned to him, disbelief breaking through the ice of his winter lake tranquility. “I passed you once in the halls of West Lock when I went to inquire about joining the Home Army. Major Pile told me there would never be a place for me in the Home Army, not because of who I am, but because of what I am. I’m a Pureblood bastard. Those were his words. And yours.”

  Wheel flushed. “And maybe you are exactly what I said: a Pureblood bastard,” he said. “Only an ungrateful wretch like you would bite the hand that feeds him. As I said, we took you in when we didn’t have to. We’ve kept you — ”

  “You kept me a slave,” Rukh snarled. “You and the rest of your kind offered me one choice: starve or lick your boot heels, and for this I should say ‘thank you’?” Rukh snorted in derision. “Stick it up your ass. I’d rather starve. But maybe you’re right, and I am being an ungrateful bastard. For that reason and that reason alone, I’m going to tell you exactly what I plan on doing in our fight. I’m going to kick you in the liver. I haven’t decided whether to break your ribs or simply knock the wind out of you. Either way, my shoke will take you at the neck. And this time, it won’t be a slice. It’ll be hard enough to feel like a decapitation.”

  Wheel looked at Rukh, his face aghast in horror. Broken ribs and a shoke connecting against his neck. The pain would be terrible. “Have we really been so cruel?”

  “You are a ghrina,” Rukh said, reminding Wheel of the word he and all other OutCastes despised above all others. “How differently do you imagine my kind would have treated you compared to how you have actually treated me?”

  Their conversation lapsed into silence, and moments later it was time.

  Wheel Cloud swallowed heavily as the Governor-General called them forward for the final match. The crowd was still, none of the rowdiness and yelling from before Rukh’s first contest. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to accomplish. The OutCastes were probably horrified by what he’d done to their precious warriors. One mor
e to go, and their horror would be complete: a Pureblood Champion.

  The call came. “Fight!”

  Rukh was about to charge forward, but he noticed something in Wheel’s posture. Instinctively, he Shielded. Something like a flickering green globe surrounded him just as Wheel hurled his shoke. A foolish move to throw away one’s weapon. The shoke bounced off Rukh’s Shield. Rukh leapt toward his opponent. A flicker of compassion took him. He aimed a gut kick and connected solidly. Wheel was thrown to the ground, the wind knocked out of him. He fell over on his back, gasping for breath. Only then did Rukh unsheathe his shoke. But instead of hammering it against Wheel’s neck in a decapitating blow as he'd , he simply rested it gently against the Strongholder’s neck.

  Wheel nodded once and managed to gasp out the words. “I yield.”

  The world returned, but Rukh felt no sense of triumph, no elation. He knelt, taking a moment to Heal Wheel’s broken ribs. He’d kicked the man harder than he had intended, partially striking him in the ribs when he’d intended a liver shot. While he did so, the watching crowd was as silent as if they were attending a funeral.

  Wheel stared at him in astonishment.

  “I may be a Pureblood bastard, but I won’t let any of you steal my Humanity or my compassion,” he explained in answer to Wheel’s bewilderment.

  When Rukh stood, scattered applause trickled down for him from a few lonely fools who were probably too drunk to realize the Pureblood bastard had won. Rukh bowed before his still-downed opponent, bowed to the Governor-General, and walked out of the Home Arena. He paid no attention to the petty functionaries who told him he had to wait for the awards ceremony. He brushed past them. The Trials was finished, and he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do.

  Chapter 17: An Offer

  A man’s wealth is not measured by the sum of his possessions, but by the joy with which he lives his life.

  -Saying from Stronghold, attribution unknown