A Warrior's Knowledge

by Davis Ashura

  The SuDin blinked, his only reaction to the insult. He continued on. “Your skills will be sorely missed by the Council,” he said, “but another will be raised to take your place and — ”

  Pera snorted. “There are only four Duriahs in all the Sil Lor Kum,” she said. “One of them is competent in his current role, but none of them have the requisite skills to do the job as I have.” She grinned evilly. “Good luck replacing me.”

  Ular mentally groaned. The woman needed to just shut her mouth. What an idiot. She had just let everyone know the strength of her Caste. It was as weak as Pera’s intelligence. As for the SuDin’s vow to see her settled in another city — if Pera truly believed him, she was an even bigger fool than Ular had taken her for. This procedure meant to replicate death would more likely result in Pera’s actual demise.

  The others watched, rapt as starving dogs offered a steak while the Su Din continued his explanation of what he intended. Ular discounted it all.

  What lies.

  *****

  Hours later, Hal’El finally had an opportunity to break away from House Wrestiva business and see Varesea. It had been weeks since the two of them had found time to be alone, and as such, he had a far different reunion in mind than the one in which they were currently engaged.

  Varesea was waiting for him in their Stone Cavern room, The Tryst Palace. Her unhappy countenance as she tapped her fingernails on the pine table spoke to a deep-seated annoyance. Hal’El hoped her disquiet wasn’t because of her dead husband. She still had episodes when Slathtril’s voice would rise in her mind, haranguing her, raging with fury, and promising bitter punishment. Over time, Varesea had learned to shut out her husband’s lunatic ravings. She no longer tore at her hair or screamed silently, but by the time her husband’s voice finally subsided into silence, she was often left limp and drained.

  But right now, she appeared anything but exhausted. She looked angry.

  “What is it?” Hal’El asked, taking a seat across from her.

  “You’re sending Pera to her death,” Varesea charged.

  Hal’El scowled. Why did she care so much if he sent that pompous, potato-faced Duriah to her well-deserved ending? “No I’m not,” he lied.

  Varesea took a moment to study his face before she snorted in derision. “You’re lying,” she accused. “Perhaps by omission but it’s still a lie. If you aren’t sending her to her death, nevertheless, you will see her dead.”

  Hal’El sighed. He could never fool Varesea. She was too perceptive. “It is necessary,” he said.

  “Why?” Varesea challenged.

  “Why do you care?”

  “Because the others aren’t stupid. They’ll know death awaits them. Even if Mesa and Yuthero have agreed to lie on your behalf, they’ll eventually learn the truth and pull you down.”

  Hal’El sat back in his chair and worked through his response. He was unprepared for this conversation. The questions were ones to which he didn’t have a complete answer. “There truly is a drug and procedure that can do as I promised.”

  “And Mesa and Yuthero think you’ll keep your promise to them?” Varesea scoffed.

  Hal’El stiffened in irritation. Varesea’s demeanor toward him was no longer gentle and loving. She had changed. Too often, she was curt and disrespectful. Hal’El didn’t appreciate it. He had even spoken to her about it on several occasions, and while Varesea would tearfully promise to curb her tongue, thus far, she had not done so. Hal’El suspected she might not be able to, something to do with her dead husband. Varesea had never been the same after Slathtril’s murder. He realized she likely never would be … but Hal’El loved her just the same.

  “Mesa and Yuthero are too clever to eliminate in such an obvious fashion, but I still plan on ridding myself of that pest, Pera Obbe,” Hal’El said.

  “Why do you need to get rid of her?” Varesea asked, this time her tone more courteous.

  “The Queen wants the Sil Lor Kum pacified,” Hal’El explained. “I must do as She demands given how I’ve defied Her on other matters.”

  Varesea startled. She leaned forward wearing a look of worried interest. “What aren’t you telling me,” she said. “In what way have you defied the Queen?”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone else,” he said. “Van Jinnu was the last person either of us killed.”

  “What about Dr. Verle,” Varesea reminded him. “We both know he didn’t hang himself.”

  Hal’El grimaced. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “If I’d been minutes slower, Bree Shektan might have caught me at the doctor’s residence.”

  It was Varesea’s turn to grimace. “Bree Shektan,” she spat. “She and that naaja brother of hers need to be ended.”

  Hal’El smiled at her vindictive tone. Varesea could be generous and patient but not with those who she deemed an enemy. “All in good time,” Hal’El promised.

  “You still haven’t explained what you mean by ‘defying the Queen’,” Varesea reminded him.

  Hal’El had hoped she’d forgotten, but it was too much to expect. “The Withering Knife,” he said. “The Queen demands more deaths.”

  Varesea brows knitted in thought. “There has to be a reason why the Queen wants this,” she said. “Her claptrap about weakening the Oasis has never made sense.”

  “I think you’re right,” Hal’El said. “The Queen said something once — it was in the midst of Her mad ranting, and I was meant to know it — but according to Her own words, the deaths committed with the Knife prime it.”

  “Prime it?” Varesea’s brows remained knitted. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Hal’El replied, “but I won’t do what She wants.”

  Varesea hissed. “She’ll punish you if you don’t.”

  “Let her,” Hal’El said, his words sounding bolder than he felt. “I am punished enough as it is. What’s one more raving voice in my head?”

  “You still hear them?” Varesea asked in a soft, worried tone. She pulled his hands into her own, searching intently into his eyes.

  “I hear them,” Hal’El answered, not wanting to admit the truth. The murmurings of those he had murdered, Aqua Oilhue, Van Jinnu, and Felt Barnel, continued. At first, he had been able to pretend they were merely his imaginations, but the voices persisted, growing steadily louder and more distinct. At times, he could even hear words amongst the rumbling susurrations. What they vowed was a painful death for Hal’El.

  The Withering Knife stole Jivatma, and those so killed never truly died but lingered on in the minds of their murderers. Of this, Hal’El was now certain, just as he was certain that Varesea’s ordeals with Slathtril was real. Slathtril was real. He lived on, hidden in some dark, deep recess of Varesea’s mind; just like Aqua, Van, and Felt hid within Hal’El’s. The notion left him cold with terror.

  “You think they’re real, too, don’t you?” Varesea whispered. “The voices.”

  Hal’El tried to shrug off her worry. “Who can say?” he answered, hoping she didn’t hear the lie. “Perhaps we could learn the truth if we had more time to understand the Knife.”

  “Time is not on our side,” Varesea said.

  “No it isn’t,” Hal’El agreed. “The Queen vows to come for Ashoka as soon as She completes the destruction of some place named Craven.” He snorted. “She claims it’s Ashoka’s sister city.”

  “There is no such place,” Varesea said. “She truly is mad.”

  “Yes, She is,” Hal’El said. Unvoiced was the thought: and all-too soon, we shall be as well.

  *****

  After an early lunch, Jaresh sat at a table in the sunroom, poring over some financial documents Amma wanted him to audit. She could have had the matter looked into by Magistrate Belt’s forensic financial service, but instead she had asked Jaresh to do the work. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at her trust. Amma didn’t offer false praise.

  Jaresh’s lips pursed in concentration as he tried to make sense of the sloppy recor
d-keeping and read the crabbed handwriting. He traced numbers across columns and rows, trying to understand what was being recorded. Whoever had kept the records needed a remedial course in handwriting and basic bookkeeping. What a mess. Mistakes were piled upon more mistakes, growing more obvious with every page. Profits were shown where there should have been a loss and vice versa. Finally, there came a quarterly report where the author of the accounts claimed that one of House Shektan’s holdings included a negative amount of wheat.

  Jaresh groaned at the incompetence. He was wrong about the record-keeper. A remedial course in handwriting or bookkeeping wouldn’t have done him any good. The man should simply have been fired. He thumbed through the rest of the thick ledger. It would take him hours to audit it.

  And there were three more volumes to go after this one.

  With a disappointed shake of his head, he returned to the work. It was going to be a long day.

  “What a beautiful day,” Bree said, walking into the room. She stood by the windows, basking in the happy sunshine pouring in.

  Jaresh looked her way. It was good to see her up and about. For most of the three weeks since the attack in the alley, Bree had been convalescing at home. In fact, she’d only started using stairs a week ago. Until then, she had essentially been a prisoner in her bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” Bree asked, walking over to the table and peering over his shoulder.

  Jaresh explained his work to her.

  “Do you want any help?” she asked.

  Jaresh glanced at her in surprise. Bree generally detested anything to do with record-keeping.

  She laughed at his reaction. “We both know I hate accounting,” she said, unconsciously echoing his thoughts, “but there’s only so much sitting around a person can do. I need to be useful.” She looked to Jaresh with a hopeful expression.

  Silently, he passed her one of the ledgers. She winced as she pulled it toward her.

  “Still hurts?” Jaresh asked.

  She nodded. “A little less every day,” she replied. “I’ll be happy when I can take a deep breath without hurting.”

  They fell into silence, concentrating on the work at hand. Bree’s mien grew increasingly irritated. “Who kept these records?” she complained. “Did he understand even the basics of arithmetic?”

  “I’m doubting he knew the basics of anything,” Jaresh said. “Half the time, it looks like he just puts numbers in columns and rows without any regard for what they’re supposed to mean.”

  Bree grumbled something under breath. Minutes later, she pushed the ledger away. “I take it back,” she said a frustrated huff. “I think I’d rather be bored than try to decipher this illegible scribbling.”

  “If Amma hadn’t specifically asked me to look into this, I’d be right there with you.”

  “We should be trying to find the people who attacked us,” Bree said, staring moodily out the window. “I’d like to have a long discussion with them. One with me slicing off parts of their anatomy.”

  Jaresh understood her desire for vengeance, but it was too late for her to exact it. “Rector already took care of the attacker who got away,” he reminded her.

  “And let him off too easily,” Bree muttered. “They almost killed us. I’d like to have had a chance to kill them back.”

  “It’s better that you didn’t,” Jaresh said. “If you had just killed them out of hand, we would have never discovered that the person who ordered the attack was probably the same Rahail woman from the Blue Heron,” Jaresh said. “Rector’s way was better.” With a start, he realized, he was defending Rector Bryce. It was an improbable occurrence.

  “He never learned this Rahail woman’s name, though,” Bree replied.

  “He can’t hand everything to us on a plate of gold,” Jaresh answered. He hid a wince. There he went again: defending Rector.

  “I suppose not,” Bree said with a defeated exhalation. “Our list of suspects for the murderer still stands at twenty-three, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Jaresh admitted.

  “There’s no other way to bring the number down?”

  “If there is, I haven’t been able to figure it out.”

  “Too bad,” Bree said. She returned to staring moodily out the windows. “At least Rector learned about the snowblood. It’s all the opening Nanna needs to trounce House Wrestiva in the Chamber and bring Rukh home,” Bree added.

  Something she said sparked an idea. Jaresh quickly followed the line of his thought. “What if we assume the murderer comes from House Wrestiva?” he asked. “We could bring the list of suspects into the single digits if we did.”

  “A pretty large assumption, though, don’t you think?” Bree said with an arch of her eyebrows.

  “It’s not as large as you might think,” Jaresh said. “Who else would produce snowblood other than the Sil Lor Kum?”

  Bree’s expression cleared. “No one,” she said. “And since Rector found the ‘lost’ ingredients for it within House Wrestiva’s records, it stands to reason that someone from that House has to be a member of the Sil Lor Kum.” She grinned, the first time Jaresh could recall her smiling since the attack. “Not bad.”

  Jaresh arched his eyebrows. “Your euphemism for sheer genius could use some work, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

  Bree laughed. “Try this for ‘sheer genius’,” she said. “There’s also another murder we can follow.” He looked at her quizzically. “The murder of Dr. Grasome Verle,” she explained.

  Jaresh wanted to smack himself in the head. Of course!

  Bree wore a predatory expression. “We’ll have whoever this Tainted bastard is soon enough,” she vowed.

  Later, as they spoke of how to proceed with their plans, Nanna intruded on their meeting. His demeanor was as excited as Jaresh could ever recall seeing on him. “We’re gathering in the study,” Nanna said, breaking into a wide grin. “Farn Arnicep has returned to Ashoka.”

  Chapter 24: Prelude to a Tribunal

  Have respect for the authority of others or be prepared to challenge their power.

  -The Warrior and the Servant (author unknown)

  Farn slouched in one of the chairs facing the hearth in Dar’El’s study and enjoyed the heat of the crackling fire. The room was comfortable, and he exhaled heavily as he relaxed. The tension left him, and his eyes grew heavy, slowly shuttering as he rested, dozing while he waited for the House Council. The call for their presence had already been sent to them, but it would still take some time for all of them to gather. In the meanwhile, Farn enjoyed the sensation of being warm, something he had sorely missed for the past two months.

  It had been a long journey from Stronghold and tired didn’t begin to describe how Farn felt. Wrung out and spent with nothing left to give was a better approximation. The last leg of the trip had been especially taxing, with supplies running low and the cold an unrelenting misery. He was lucky to have survived the passage. In fact, he wouldn’t have if not for the provisions provided by Cedar’s family and Farn’s new Talent for Blending. He was grateful for the former, and he had come to accept the latter as simply being a part of who he was now.

  He hoped his family would feel the same way. He had yet to see them. Upon entering Ashoka proper, Farn had decided to make his way straight to the House Seat. Duty had weighed heavily on his mind. After all, his family would learn soon enough that he was home, while Rukh’s parents would always be desperate for news of their son. Farn judged that a quick debriefing with the House Council was of more pressing import. Afterward, he could see to his own needs.

  Farn cracked open his eyes and looked around the empty room. He was surprised his parents hadn’t been waiting for him at the House Seat, but somehow he must have outrun the rumors of his return. Farn had arrived unannounced and unexpected. He smiled. They’d probably be here in the next few minutes, Amma, Nanna, and his brothers and sisters. He couldn’t wait to see them.

  Just then, the door to the study opened, and Farn r
ose to his feet. Dar’El entered the room, trailed by Satha, Jaresh, and Bree, all of them wearing broad smiles.

  “Welcome home,” Satha said, pulling Farn into a warm embrace.

  “Farn … ” was all Jaresh got out before the two of them were hugging.

  It was good to see his cousin again. Despite being a Sentya, Farn had always thought of Jaresh as a brother. His Caste had never been an issue between them. Or if it had, Keemo and Rukh must have convinced him that it shouldn’t be. And they had been right. It didn’t matter. In fact, the most important moments in Farn’s life had always been shared with the other three. Jaresh, Keemo, Rukh, and Farn — the four of them had been inseparable. Farn’s throat caught. Only he and Jaresh were left of their quartet. Keemo was dead and Rukh was exiled, but Farn would never forgot his friends, his brothers, who were gone; Rukh with his moral compass and forgiving soul, and Keemo’s generous spirit and laughing heart. Farn swallowed heavily, holding back the threatening sobs. Now wasn’t the time to break down and blubber like a child.

  He wiped away his wet cheeks and moved on to greet Bree. She was as beautiful as he remembered. She had always been reserved in his presence or regal in her cool disregard, but today, even she was teary eyed.

  “The rest of the Council should be here eventually,” Dar’El said, “but I thought we could get started without them. We can have a more thorough debriefing tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to see your family and get some rest.”

  Farn nodded, grateful he wouldn’t have to wait for the rest of the Council to arrive.

  “Cook Heltin has also been informed,” Dar’El continued. “She should have some refreshments prepared in a few minutes.” He guided Farn back to his seat before the fireplace. “In the meantime, rest.”

  “I’ve sent word to your family,” Satha said. “I imagine they’ll be here shortly.”

  “We should get started then,” Farn said. “Let me tell you about Rukh.”