A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (23 page)

Keemo grinned.  “Let’s do it.”

“Time to get some vengeance,” Farn said.  “For all our fallen.”

Brand shook his head.  “My Amma always warned me to stay away from you crazy Kummas.  Always racing off from one desperate battle to another.”

Farn laughed.  “Didn’t anyone tell you?  Kumma crazy is contagious.  By now, you’ve got it just as bad as the rest of us.”

“As long as I’m not Kumma stupid,” Brand replied.

*****

“
T
he Tigons and Braids are excited,” Li-Dirge noted, standing with his back to the large bonfire at the center of the vale.

“We shouldn’t have brought them,” Reg said.  “In the best of times, they are no more than idiots.  When Mother arrives, they’ll discard whatever small wits Devesh was kind enough to grant them and lose themselves in their religious fervor over a false deity.”

“We need their blades in case the Shylows decide to visit,” Dirge said.  “If nothing else, we can throw our fellow Chimeras at the damn cats until we can make good our escape.”

Li-Brood laughed.  “It’s all they’re good for anyway: fodder.”

Dirge glanced to the darkened skies.  The stars gleamed, twinkling and warm, while a half-moon shone down on them, making visible the heavy clouds lumbering slowly to the northeast.  It wasn’t the lovely sheen of heaven’s vault that caught his attention, though.

There was a power in the skies.

He searched and found a distant place where the clouds swirled madly, lit by lightning.  The sound of thunder carried to him on the night breeze.  Soon it would become a whirlwind.

He trembled.  “She comes.”  He glanced around, gathering the attention of the other Baels.  “Prepare yourselves.”

As one, the Baels fell to their knees, foreheads pressed to the grass of the vale.  And as one, they chanted the prayer taught to them as young worms in the crèche pouches of their Bovar mothers, the improperly named Prayer of Gratitude:

By Her grace are we born

By Her love are we made

By Her will are we shorn

By Her
fire are we unmade

And are reborn once more

Mother Lienna arrived in a tor
rent of lashing wind and sound.  “
My SarpanKum, you have ensured delivery of the trinket?”
the Queen demanded in a voice of pealing thunder and cracking bones.

“It is done,” Li-Dirge replied in a voice far steadier than he felt.

“Good.  It is as it should be,”
She replied. 
“Now listen well for this is My will.  Carry it forth.”

Li-Dirge sweated as the Queen spoke insanity.  In his mind echoed the Prayer of Gratitude, the only means to hide his fear and contempt from Mother.

Before waging battle, the ferocious warrior is certain of his friends.  But
the wise warrior is even more certain of his enemies.

-
The Warrior and the Servant
(author unknown), AF 203

R
ukh crouched next to Brand, Keemo, and Farn behind a pile of boulders, the crumbled remnants of a small monolith that had once jutted up from the wide savannah of the Hunters Flats.  The grass was long and itchy, and the smell of the nearby eucalyptus trees – a lemony kind of scent – blew their way during a restless breeze.  The day had been hot, and the evening humid and muggy.  It was perfect weather for mosquitoes and other pests.  They buzzed around the Ashokans but never settled, their senses thrown off by the Blend each men had conducted.  Sweat beaded on Rukh’s forehead and trickled down his back, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.  He kept still – it was the stillness of a predator waiting to strike.

Before him, meeting in a shallow bowl of land about a hundred feet in diameter
, were a number of Baels clustered in small groups as they spoke to one another.  Based on the number of feathers they wore, all of them looked to be senior Chimera commanders.  So far, the Ashokans had managed to avoid the Tigon and Braid guards with ease.  The Blends – even the ones conducted by the Kummas – worked perfectly…or  at least well enough.  Thirty or so feet from the boulders behind which they crouched stood the Bael commander. Rukh assumed it likely since this was the only black-horned beast with red feather tassels hanging like confetti from his ebony horns.

The Baels were armed with their traditional trident and chained whip, and some even wore sheathed swords at their hips.  The last were likely of Ashokan make, probably weapons the Chimeras had picked off the corpses of those they’d killed
in the caravan.  For the Baels, they would merely serve as long knives.

Bastards.

They wouldn’t be able to take down all the Baels, but the Ashokans could do some heavy damage.  Rukh prepared to give the order to attack.  It would only be a small vengeance for all those killed in the caravan, but it would have to serve.  Just as he was about to give the final command, he paused.  A small voice in his mind whispered for him to wait.  He frowned and rapped the side of his head, not sure where the thought had come from.  He decided it wasn’t important.  Once more, he was about to signal for the Ashokans to attack, but again came the whispered voice, urging him to wait.  Rukh paused, suddenly unsure. Something was going on here.  Something a part of him felt was important.  He stayed his order, choosing instead to remain silent.  He ignored the questioning look in Farn’s eyes.  He wanted to know what the Baels were discussing.

The beasts were in conference, and surprisingly, they spoke Human.  Who would have guessed the creatures would share the same language as their enemies?  The Baels spoke in an old-
fashioned manner, but otherwise, they were easy to understand.  And what they discussed shouldn’t have surprised him. The Baels apparently had little love for their fellow Chims, but the ease with which they discussed disposing of the Tigons and the others in their command was repulsive.  Rukh’s lip curled in disgust.  The primary duty of any commander was to use his warriors wisely and never waste their lives.  Or so Rukh had always been taught.  The Baels believed otherwise, and tonight only served to emphasize how utterly brutal and treacherous all Chimeras were.  It wasn’t much of a surprise given the nature of their Mother.

A flicker of lightning caught his eye, and he looked to the south where a storm was building and heading their way.  His eyes widened.  The storm was moving against the prevailing wind.  He stared harder at the oncoming inky dark clouds moving toward them.  It raced forward, covering the distance more swiftly than any wind could possibly account for.  Rukh’s heart pounded.  He knew what was coming, or rather
who
was coming.  The swirling clouds, moving in warped and incomprehensible patterns…no one had seen Her in a hundred years, but there were enough descriptions for him to know who it was.

“Holy Devesh.  Please tell me I’m not seeing what I think I am?” Farn said, his voice quaking in terror.

“Quiet,” Rukh replied, the sweat on his brow suddenly turned clammy.  “Focus on your Blends.  If She sees us, we’re dead.”

This was a moment rarely reported in Human history: a close encounter with Suwraith, the
Sorrow Bringer in all Her horrific glory.  The clouds raced and swirled before a hurricane wind and lightning coruscated, shooting from sky to earth and back again, while thunder rumbled continuously.  Despite the din, Her voice could be heard, a howling sound like crushed stone and the anguished scream of the tortured.  Rukh had never heard anything so awful or terrifying.  Her voice was like a nightmare made flesh, and he had to stifle an urge to plug his ears and flee for his life.  He had never in his life expected to be so close to the hated being responsible for carnage and murder on such a vast scale that words couldn’t describe the true horror of what She had done.  This was Suwraith.  She was evil made real.

He reached out to Brand, who had risen from his crouch, a look o
f utter panic in his face.  His fellow Ashokans weren’t doing much better, but after a moment, the four of them got their fear under control.  They settled down behind the boulders, waiting and listening to find out what would happen next.

Never before had a meeting between Suwraith and her commanders been recorded.  Until this moment, no one even knew how the Sorrow Bringer communicat
ed with her armies.  After all, the only other times Suwraith had been seen was when She was in the midst of annihilating a city.  Very few people survived such an attack.

She rushed toward the
Baels, flattening the grass for hundreds of paces around with a wind that threatened to lift the Ashokans off their feet and hurl them skyward into the teeth of the storm.  Dust and grit billowed in the air until the only safety was for the Ashokans to mimic the position of the Baels: knees on the ground with bodies curled up and foreheads pressed to the earth.

Suwraith spoke, and Rukh forced himself to listen, despite the awful and hideous sound of Her voice.  Ashoka
’s existence might depend on what he learned in the next few minutes.

What was this about a trinket?  And why did the red-feathered Bael, the general, look so fearful?

“And now take yourself to the gathering of My army.  There you will empty this plain and feed the breeders of the Eastern Caverns so I may have three Plagues with which to attack Ashoka as soon as possible.”

Rukh risked a glance and caught the startled expression on the general’s face.  “
Three?  I can take the city with just two.  Your Sarpans and I are certain of it.”

“And your bravery and great leadership has been noted,”
Suwraith said. 
“But I will have three, for after Ashoka, cancerous Hammer, which mocks Us even now, will be destroyed utterly and completely.”

Hammer?

Rukh’s brow creased with uncertainty.  Hammer was dead.

“Yes.  I shall rend Hammer and crush the very marrow from her bones.  Rumors reach Me of a supposed hero from that foul nest of vipers, a Kumma by the name of Hume Telrest.  One who dares challenge Us, treading the green fields of Arisa without fear or regard.  He despoils Her with his very touch.  Him I will end so grievously that Humanity will quail in fear at the memory of his death for a thousand years
and more.”

Hume?  He was centuries dead.  What were they talking about?  It made no sense.

“If Humanity exists for another thousand years, then am I to assume our great task has changed?” the Bael asked, sounding confused.  “Are we no longer to extinguish the Human vermin?”

“
Absolutely not,”
Suwraith snapped. 
“Nothing has changed.  It is as I have stated from the very beginning when I first birthed the Fan Lor Kum: Humanity is a pestilence upon Arisa, a plague which must be eradicated.”

“Yes, Mother,” the Bael said.

Rukh risked another glanced, doing his best to peer through the grit and dirt swirling about.  He sheltered his eyes.

The Bael appeared lost in thought, but a moment later, he spoke again. “Perhaps rather than Ashoka, we should level the fabled city of Craven?”

“
Craven?” 
It didn’t seem possible, but the Queen sounded just as confused as Rukh.
Her voice firmed. 
“Yes.  I may consider your plan,”
She said
.  “Speak on, for Craven should be ended as well.”

What in the fragging hells was Craven?  Were they talking about some other city?  The Bael and the Queen both spoke Human, but neither of them w
ere making any sense.  It was all gibberish garbage. They spoke as if dead cities and heroes were still alive and imaginary cities were real.

He shared a baffled glance with the other Ashokans.

“What the unholy hells?” Brand mouthed.

Keemo and Farn shrugged.

“Exactly.  As we know, Craven is the hated sister city to Ashoka,” the Bael commander said, sounding disgusted.  “They support one another as grass holds the shape of a hill and prevents the fertile earth from being swept away by the raging spring flood.  When we break Craven, Ashoka will fall like a ripe plum.”

“An interesting idea, my SarpanKum,”
Suwraith said
.  “Explain further.”

“Give me five months, and I will have the Fan Lor Kum trained for winter combat.  They will need it as Craven sits in the northern fastness of the Privation Mountains, a place of perpetual snow.”

“How will you breech Craven’s walls?”

“With your help and guidance, Mother.  Craven is a mountain fortress
with fierce warriors but weak walls.”

“
So you say,”
Suwraith replied.  “
And what of my extra Plagues?”

“Allow the Fan Lor Kum to feast on Craven’s corpse, and within three years, in a place of safety, I can deliver the
extra Plagues you need for Hammer.  Were I to attempt to do all such work here, the Shylows would perpetually work to undo all we attempt.  Or worse, the Ashokans, or some others, might learn of our presence and somehow sabotage our efforts.”

Suwraith did not speak, seemingly lost in thought as the wind roared and danced about the shallow bowl of land where the Baels huddled.
“Yes.  It is a good plan,”
She said
.  “See to it.  With your fine leadership, Craven shall easily be felled.  And then with several seasons to rebuild the Fan Lor Kum…”
Thunder rumbled and Suwraith seemed to smile.  It was something in Her voice and the racing clouds. 
“The trinket will ease our passage, and the Fan Lor Kum will herald My dread arrival as Ashoka is ceased.”

The Bael
might have smiled as well.  “Two cities to kill rather than just one.”

Her words spoken,
Suwraith left, taking her shrieking and tearing gale with her as She soared into the heights.  With Her absence, a thunderous silence settled over the bowl of land as the grit and dirt slowly fell back to the ground in wispy streams of dust.  The Baels remained bent over until the last of Her lightning was no longer visible.

Several eucalyptus trees had been felled, their limbs denuded, and the sharp tangy smell of lemon pervaded the area.

Keemo nudged Rukh, nodding toward the Baels, a question in his eyes.  “Now,” he mouthed, asking if the Ashokans should attack.

Rukh shook his head.  They were missing something.  He didn’t know what it was, but he needed the Baels to talk amongst one another.  Perhaps then this nonsensical conversation he’d just heard might make sense.  He urged the others to stillness.  The Baels were stirring.

“It was a great risk you took,” one of the Baels said to the general, a larger one and obviously important judging by his feathered horns.  “If She were but slightly more sane, She would have seen through your ruse, and we would have all been fodder for the cookpot.”

Rukh shared another confused glance with the others.  What
in the
unholy hells
was going on?  The Bael general had lied to the Queen?  Why?  The Baels couldn’t mean to betray their Mother, could they?  It made no sense.  Why would they?  There was something potentially world changing going on here.  He knew it.  He could almost taste it.  He urged the others to silence.

One of the other Baels, also important judging by his feathers, laughed.  “I had to struggle t
o contain my laughter when She actually believed your Balant excrement about the ‘fabled city’ of Craven,” he said with a chuckle.  “My SarpanKum, you have giant, brass ones.  And where did you even come up with that name?”

“But how could She not know there is no such city as Craven?” one of the younger Baels asked.

“Has She always been this…” another younger Bael spoke, searching for a word.

“Crazy,” the chuckling Bael supplied.

“No.  Evil.”

The large Bael, the one who had initially cautioned the general, was the one who answered.  “She is both insane and wicked and so much more,” he said.  “The question before us,
however, is this: what do we do now?”  He turned to the general.