Chapter 11
Three days had passed since Jagdish and Gutch had entered the city of Neeramphorn. Three days without word…Ashok had grown restless.
They had taken over an abandoned mining camp, and there they had hidden like criminals, avoiding all contact. They had gathered wood and taken several deer for meat. By day Keta would tell his made-up stories, and how soon they would recover the prophet, their magnificent army would journey south, join with the rest of the rebellion, and go forth righting past wrongs, so that the gods would once again smile upon the land which had forsaken them. So on and so forth. Ashok suspected that if he had not been present to frighten them, the Somsak raiders were restless and bored enough they’d have turned to banditry. Even fanatics could only take so much preaching.
The first day he had been annoyed by the delay. So he had found an old wood cutter’s ax and split enough logs to last a small village the whole winter, thinking the entire time about how if he was still a Protector he could have just walked into Neeramphorn and started executing criminals until someone drew him a map to the Lost House.
It was exceedingly difficult. He had only one reason to live, one goal to focus upon, and no good way to achieve it. He hated depending on others. Protectors usually worked alone. Ashok had enjoyed that.
The second day, he decided that he needed to do something useful to keep from dwelling on his oath. He had passed the time in prison by training with Jagdish, so Ashok decided to do the same thing here. The Somsak were fearless as normal men could be and didn’t need much encouragement. They considered it an honor to spar against the man who had defeated their army by himself. Even though this time he was armed with a stick rather than Angruvadal, they still hadn’t done much better than they had in Jharlang.
By lunch time all the Somsak were exhausted, nursing bruises, and putting snow on their swelling joints. So Keta had approached Ashok with a bizarre request.
“It’s nice you’re sharing your knowledge with the warriors.”
Ashok didn’t know if it was sharing, so much as pummeling them gave him something to do. Except he knew from his own time as a student of Master Ratul that there was a lesson to be learned from every beating.
“They are fierce, but clumsy. Their house has not trained them sufficiently. They expect aggression to carry the day. It can, until it does not. Determination rarely beats skill, and determination alone never beats skill and determination…” Ashok stopped, not sure why he was explaining the martial philosophies of the Protector Order to Keta, whose knowledge of combat was limited to swinging about a meat cleaver with wild abandon. “What do you want, Keeper?”
“A small request, nothing more.” The middle of the old mining camp was open. The snow had been trampled flat by shuffling feet and falling bodies. Keta gestured toward where the rest of his new followers were repairing an old shack so they’d have a warmer place to sleep. “What of them?”
“What of them? They’re worker caste. They’re doing what they’re supposed to. As are the warriors.”
Keta was a thin, balding man. He had a love of rhetoric, more passion than sense, and was too clever for his own good, a terrible combination of traits for one born casteless. If he’d been born of first-caste parents he probably would have wound up an arbiter by now. “Come now, Ashok, you are still trapped in your old way of thinking. The castes are a lie, created to keep everyone inside a fence that does not really exist. We are not cattle to be herded.”
“Every man has his place. To break that fundamental truth is to endanger all of the Law.”
“Where is your place then, Ashok?”
“Here.” He frowned. “Apparently.”
“That’s right. Outside the stifling confines of your Law, where free men are able to choose their own way. Their fate decided by the sweat of their brow rather than the station of their birth. Those men aren’t just workers any more than I’m just a casteless butcher.”
“How joyous. We can all be criminals together.”
“I think some of Thera’s sarcastic nature rubbed off on you during our journey. Though it’s an improvement over when we first met and you were continually threatening to kill me, and that one time you nearly strangled me. But think of it, the gods want you to lead the rebellion’s army, but that army will not be made up of just warriors, it will be made up of everyone who desires freedom.”
Ashok had his reasons. Anyone else who chose this path willingly was a fool. He had no desire to be a curator of fools. “Once I have found her, I will do as the prophet orders. Nothing more, nothing less. If I’m told to train workers or non-people to fight—disgusting violation of the Law that may be—I’ll do what is commanded.”
“You shouldn’t do it because it’s ordered, but because it’s right! You’re a free man now. You need to learn to understand that.”
He had spent his entire life being told what was wrong and right, first by the Law, and now he was condemned to be told the same things by the supposed voice of the gods. “Tell me your request so that I can be spared your philosophy lesson.”
“Teach those workers to be soldiers. I know we are few here, but there are a multitude waiting at our hidden fortress in Akershan. It is still small, but the rebellion is growing. The seeds you plant now will someday bloom into mighty—”
“All this talk makes me want to return to the days of threats and choking. Fine. You are the representative of the prophet I must serve. Send over those workers, I will teach them.”
Keta grinned. He seemed to savor these small victories.
“But I warn you now, Keeper, everyone has a place for a reason. We are only what we are.”
The odd little man seemed to thoroughly enjoy these talks. “Yet before me stands arguably the greatest combatant in the world, who was once a little starving casteless blood scrubber. So much accomplished from so very little. Your very existence disproves the basic premise of the Law. From nothing you rose to the top of an elite order of the highest caste.”
Ashok ground his teeth. “Now I’m back to nothing. Like everything which strays from the Law, the aberration was corrected. And when the time comes for your rabble to face a real army, made up of warriors who’ve trained hard their whole lives, then your people will fail and they will die. That will be on your head, not mine.”
“Don’t worry. There is already a prophecy about that. When we truly go to war I know that the Forgotten will provide the weapons necessary for us to prevail.”
“So your god is going to just give us weapons?”
“He gave us you, did he not? Have some faith, Ashok!”
He could not say it aloud because of his vow of secrecy, but Ashok’s thought was Grand Inquisitor Omand and a group of vengeful judges assigned me to you, not your god. “Send them over, Keta. Let’s get this over with.”
So on the afternoon of the second day, Ashok tried to teach the workers. It went far worse for them than the Somsak. They at least knew how to hold a sword. But the workers were tough and could deal with more pain and discomfort than expected, he’d give them that. They’d all been miners, and swinging a pick all day had given them strong arms, but they had a long way to go before they would ever be anything beyond an embarrassment on the battlefield.
Though deep down, Ashok had to admit that if given time they did not have, then there was potential. Realistically, he was not the man to teach them how to be soldiers, because Ashok was not himself a soldier. Protectors were an elite group of specialists, not the rank and file spearmen who took and held ground. The Order did not have its own army. It did not know how to build or maintain one. When a Protector arrived somewhere they simply commanded the local warriors to obey, and they did, or they’d face the full wrath of the Law. Nobody could outfight a Protector, but there was far more to soldiering than being good with a sword. It was about discipline, responsibility, and accountability. These men would be far better off with someone like Jagdish to guide them, not that he thought Jagdish would dishonor himself by giving warrior secrets to a lower caste.
On the third day, Ashok continued working with his army.
He made them fight so he could observe. The warriors embarrassed the workers, easily defeating them, but then Ashok in turn embarrassed the warriors. As his own sword masters had taught, humility was vital. A student was more likely to listen when they knew their teacher could destroy them with ease. And Ratul had beaten Ashok, many, many times.
One part of him wanted these men to fail because they were enemies of the Law. Only in the moment, when sticks crossed, and the combatants were struggling for breath, muscles aching, being thrown down over and over, he didn’t think about such high-minded things. There was just the repetition, the violence, and hopefully, improvement.
For the first time, Ashok bothered to learn all of their names.
Though, he still did not want to hear their stories. For whatever reason whenever there was a lull, one of them would always feel compelled to try and explain why they had chosen to join the Sons of the Black Sword. Something about how they truly believed in the Forgotten, or they had somehow been wronged by the Law, or whatever their justification was. The miners talked about being down in the dark, with tons of rock creaking over their heads, and praying to gods begging not to be crushed. They didn’t know these gods, but the Capitol couldn’t save them down in their holes. Only gods could keep them from being buried. So gods had to be real, because the miners needed them to be real.
Whenever they started talking like that, Ashok took that as a sign that they’d caught their breath, and then put them back to practicing their forms again. The only way they would receive his approval today was through their efforts. No matter how much they implored their gods for mercy, Ashok would give them none during training.
As the sun went down, they gathered for the dinner that Keta had prepared—venison again—and ate in exhausted silence. Ashok was thankful for that. It reminded him a bit of his time as an acolyte, when they’d been pushed so hard all day that there was no conversation over meals, just tired children inhaling their rations as quickly as possible, afraid that the masters would decide to interrupt their meal time in order to send them back out. Only the winter was far milder here in the east than in the high mountains of Devakula.
The Keeper was smart enough to spare them a sermon that night. If he had tried, Ashok would have made sure Keta participated in training the next day. They’d see how much energy he had to preach then. Ashok decided he might just do that anyway, the Keeper might as well learn how to use that meat cleaver he always kept hidden in his coat.
Dinner was interrupted by the return of their lookout. He heard the scuff of boots on rocks, and the creak of a crossbow on its sling, long before the returning Somsak reached the shack. It was Shekar’s turn on watch, but he should have waited out there for his relief. He had been stationed where he had a good view of the main road. Something must have happened.
Ashok stood and opened the door, filling the shack with freezing wind. Everyone else quit eating to see what was happening. “What is it, Shekar?”
He was the oldest of the Somsak, but that wasn’t saying much. The mountain raiders tended to die young. “A rider carrying a lantern passed on the road. He barely slowed as he reached our trail, but it was obvious he was looking for the sign for this old mine. He paused just long enough to drop this in the middle of the road where it would be seen.” The warrior handed over a wooden tube. “I didn’t want to abandon my post, but I figured you would want to see it right away, General.”
Ashok took it and removed the cap. There was a sheet of paper rolled up inside. “It’s almost time for change of watch anyway. Get some food and warm yourself by the fire. Who is next?”
“I am, General,” said a worker named Gupta.
“Then go before we are overrun with Inquisitors.”
The men laughed. Ashok’s scowl told them he wasn’t joking. Gupta picked up his gloves, wool hat, and still-unfamiliar spear and hurried into the dark. “Try to at least scream a warning as you are murdered!” one of his friends shouted after him. In answer, Gupta waved his hand as if it were a swimming fish, an extremely rude gesture among the lower castes.
Ashok removed the letter and silently read it by the light of their fire. The men went back to their exhausted chewing, but they were curious.
“What is it?” Keta asked.
“A message from Gutch…”
“Is all well?”
To answer truthfully would demoralize the men. “Let us speak outside, Keeper.”
It is with great sadness that I write this letter, for I, your loyal servant Gutch, am in need of assistance. Upon arrival it was discovered that my former associates have had a falling out and are engaged in a gang war of the utmost brutality. I have been captured and am being held for ransom.
The bodyguard you so thoughtfully provided kept me safe for a few days, until this morning, when we were inadvertently separated. I do not know his location or condition. However, I was unable to escape.
My capturers originally intended to execute me as punishment for some perceived wrongs made against them many years ago. However, once I explained that you, my noble employer, were a rich and powerful high-status arbiter come all the way from the Capitol seeking the discreet purchase of certain items, they changed their minds and have decided to ransom me back to you for the paltry sum of five hundred notes. This is a truly humble amount considering the value I bring to your estate.
My capturers are watching as I write this, and helpfully suggested that I should include the fact that if you do not pay this ransom, I shall be killed in an extremely gruesome manner, which they are now describing to me with great zeal in excessive bloody detail.
Please bring the ransom to an establishment called the Face of the East, in the pleasure district of Neeramphorn, by midnight tomorrow, or I shall die. They now add that it only takes one servant to make a delivery, and if more are seen, I shall die. It seems that the longer I write the more caveats they are adding, all of which result in my death, so I shall cease now.
Sincerely your ever faithful servant Gutch
A hasty post script! Because I know my master values his privacy, he should be aware that some of his old friends from the Capitol are here in the city, and it would be best if he avoided them.
* * *
Keta finished reading the letter. “He’s a long-winded sort.”
That comment showed a remarkable lack of self-awareness. “Without the smuggler, our only path to find Thera is closed.”
“But, Ashok, what if he’s turned on us? This could be a trick, luring us out to be captured.”
“A possibility, though by the mention of old friends, I believe Gutch speaks of Protectors in Neeramphorn.” Very few people could ever be accused of being Ashok’s friends. “If it was a trap, why warn me of their presence?”
“I don’t know. He’s an untrustworthy worker. They lie and cheat each other constantly!”
“Only yesterday you were lecturing me about how the castes were a fabrication.”
“That was before I was worried about the possibility of walking into a trap! We’re criminals because we’re standing up against an oppressive regime. Gutch is a criminal because he’s greedy…But we have to find Thera. Ah!” Keta threw up his arms in frustration. “I don’t know what to do.”
That was because Keta was more of a talker and a thinker than a man of action. Ashok didn’t have that problem. While Keta had been reading the note, Ashok had begun strapping on weapons and gathering supplies from the packs outside. Their tiny building was too small to hold them and their equipment. “Do you have five hundred notes left?”
“Not even close at this point.”
“Then a trade is not an option. I shall go into the city to find Gutch and Jagdish. They gave us until tomorrow, so they will not expect me tonight. If it is a trap, I will kill everyone involved. Then I will find the illegal magic–smuggling gang, on my own if necessary, and make them talk.”
“That’s madness with Protectors there.”
“I will find a way. However, regardless of what happens in Neeramphorn, you must take these men and go south. It is time for you to return to your rebellion.”
“What? No. Not as long as Thera—”
Ashok held up one hand. “Do you trust me, Keeper?”
Keta hesitated a bit too long. “Yes…Mostly.”
“Then understand, if the Protectors discover I am here, escape will become very difficult. The rest of you are not fast enough. They will find you and kill you.”
“She’s the prophet, Ashok. I can’t just abandon her.”
“You’re not. I will find her. The rest of you will only slow me down.”
Keta was obviously torn. He suspected that the little man cared for Thera as a woman, and not just as his prophet, but Ashok also knew that he had been agonizing over being away from his rebellion for so long. He babbled perpetually about how good life was in their hideout. Keta had been sending them secret messages through a network of casteless insurgents, but coded notes were not the same as real leadership. He had inspired them, guided them, and kept them alive despite being hunted by the forces of the Law, and now he was worried they were falling apart without him.
“Promise me, Ashok, that you won’t give up on her.”
“Do you question the word I have already given?” Now that was insulting, but Ashok kept his anger in check. For a fanatical criminal, Keta meant well. “I have already given an oath more powerful than anything you will ever understand. I have sworn to protect her, so it will be done.”
“Poisoned, half drowned, and delirious you mentioned this oath. I know you made one to somebody, but I don’t know to who or why. You’ve never spoken more of it.”
“And I never will. Now I must go. In the morning, ride south. I’d suggest avoiding the city. It may be in turmoil.”
The Keeper of Names paced back and forth as he ran his hands through his wispy hair. “Fine! The Sons of the Black Sword will ride for Akershan. After you find Thera, please, you must bring her back to our hidden fortress.”
It was hidden well enough that even the Protectors had not found it despite searching for a couple of years. Thera knew the way. Ashok did not. They had wisely kept that secret from him. “And if she is already dead?”
Keta cringed. He’d been avoiding thinking about that all-too-likely possibility. “Then you can still join us. The Forgotten chose you. The rebellion still needs you. I will tell you how to find the secret entrance.”
Ashok shook his head. “No need. If the prophet is gone, then my duty is finished. Principle demands I avenge her and punish all responsible, but then I will gladly walk into the sea and trouble this world no more. Farewell, Keeper.” He started toward the road.
Keta called after him. “I know she lives! The prophecies are not yet fulfilled. We will meet again in Akershan, because the gods are not done with you yet!”
Ashok did not give a damn about gods’ opinions on the matter.