He blinked in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe he was free, then his face twisted in rage, and he went for the sword at his belt.
Ashok moved quickly. He crouched, swept the man’s legs out from under him and pulled the sword from his scabbard, disarming the warrior before his back hit the floor. He tossed the weapon to Skagi, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Cree, Chanoch, and Vedoran.
Skagi looked like he was trying not to smile. “I’ve called the Guardians,” he said. “They should be here in a breath or two. Aren’t you glad we decided to celebrate?”
Ashok picked up his wine. “Definitely,” he said.
Vedoran left Hevalor while his companions were still immersed in their celebrations, giving the excuse that he needed to have his blade worked on by the forge masters before the next training session.
When he was outside the tower, he stopped and probed his right flank with his fingertips. Fire licked his ribs. Vedoran savored the painful breath as his chest rose and fell, but he knew the feeling couldn’t last. At least two of his ribs were broken, possibly more. He’d suspected the injury after a particularly hard training session two days before, but he’d done nothing about it, on the chance the bones were merely cracked. He wished he had known better. If he didn’t seek out healing before his next training session, he might start bleeding inside.
Vedoran had had few occasions to seek out the clerics, but when he did he went deep into the trade district market, to a small, well-kept building with a green-painted door. Carved into the stone above the door was the symbol of Beshaba, the lady of misfortune.
Vedoran knocked on the door, then pushed his way inside to a dark, herb-scented chamber. There were three beds arranged along one wall, a fire pit in the corner, and an altar to Beshaba opposite the door.
A curtained doorway near the altar led to an inner room, and from that room Vedoran heard the sound of prayer. When he closed the door behind himself, the chanting ceased, and he heard footsteps.
A shadar-kai cleric pulled back the curtain and came into the room. He wore Beshaba’s vestments and had thin black hair and a scar that half-closed his left eye. There were three such clerics that shared the small temple, but the scarred one tended to Vedoran most often when he came. His name was Traedis.
“Greetings, Vedoran,” the cleric said. “Are you in need of Beshaba’s blessing?”
“I have flesh that needs mending,” Vedoran said gruffly. “Beshaba can give her blessing or not, it makes no difference to me.”
The cleric smiled. “You never change, Vedoran,” he said. “I believe the Lady enjoys this trait in you. Please sit down.”
When Vedoran was seated, the cleric probed his wounds. “You were right to come to me,” he said. “These blows are serious. You must be facing a mighty opponent in your training sessions.”
Vedoran scowled. “Ashok is not so mighty,” he answered. “He’s undisciplined. He fights every sparring match as if he’s going to be killed. But his control improves daily.”
“And a good thing for you that it does,” Traedis said. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer. By the time he had finished speaking, Vedoran’s wounds were healed.
“My thanks,” Vedoran said. He left a handful of coins on the bed as an offering and rose to leave.
“You say this warrior’s name is Ashok?” Traedis asked. “I’ve heard his name around the city. There are whispers that he is The Watching Blade’s pet.”
Vedoran shrugged. “If he is, it’s nothing to me,” he replied.
“Isn’t it?” Traedis said. “From what I’ve heard, Ashok and Vedoran have much in common. They are both great warriors, though neither one worships Tempus.”
Vedoran stared at the cleric. “And what interest could that hold for anyone?” he said.
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Traedis said, his voice deceptively casual. “I make it a point to know who in this city follows the warrior god, and who chooses not to be swept along by Uwan’s will.”
“I see,” Vedoran said carefully. “But those individuals … their numbers can’t be large, can they? It’s no secret that Uwan’s way is the way to power and prominence in Ikemmu. Most choose to follow his path.”
The cleric shook his head. “There are more of us than you think, Vedoran,” he said. Many believe that Uwan has led the shadar-kai according to his-and Tempus’s-whims for too long. Perhaps you and this Ashok should think about your place in this city and your future.”
Vedoran stood with his hand on the door latch. “You speak persuasively,” he said. “But I have a secure place in Ikemmu. I’m not ready to trade that for the word of one Beshaban cleric.” He opened the door and stepped through.
“Come and see me again, Vedoran, when you have need,” Traedis called after him. Vedoran detected amusement in the cleric’s voice. “That day might come sooner than you think.”
CHAPTER TEN
The following day Ashok spoke to Skagi and Vedoran after their training session ended. Cree and Chanoch were off sparring with some of the other shadar-kai. After those first two tendays, Jamet had widened their pool of fighting partners to give them experience battling different types of weapons and fighting styles.
Skagi grinned when Ashok told them Olra’s conditions for training the nightmare. “As if we’d miss that spectacle,” he said. “Of course I want to be there when the beast plants you in the dirt. I’ll tell the others.” He moved off.
“The Tet bell,” Ashok called after him.
Vedoran hadn’t spoken, though that was no surprise. The shadar-kai rarely spoke in mixed company, Ashok found, unless it was to trade barbs or jests. He regarded Ashok in a considering silence.
“What is it?” Ashok asked, finally growing impatient.
“I must congratulate you,” Vedoran said.
“For what?”
“You are a Camborr now, or soon will be. I didn’t quite believe it before, but there can be no doubt.”
“I was never truly a warrior in training,” Ashok said. “One can’t move up to a rank when he started with none.”
“Even so,” Vedoran said, “Uwan favors you with a great honor.”
“You mean a great honor for a prisoner,” Ashok said.
“More than that,” Vedoran said. “You refuse to wear Tempus’s mark. You reject Ikemmu’s god, yet you’ve earned the city’s favor.”
Though he hadn’t agreed to Ashok’s request, Vedoran started walking in the direction of the Camborr pens and outbuildings. Ashok followed, considering the shadar-kai’s words.
“Does it give you hope?” he asked.
Vedoran glanced at him sidelong. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Ashok chose his words carefully. “Hope that someone of Vedoran’s prowess might hold military rank one day, under the banner of whatever god he chooses,” he said.
“Or no god at all?” Vedoran said.
“Or no god at all,” Ashok replied.
Over their shoulders, the canyon wall cast long shadows. The wind blew cold against Ashok’s face.
“I have worked my sword for the merchant lords these past six years,” Vedoran said. His voice betrayed no emotion, but his black eyes smoldered. “I began with nothing. I had no place but a guard’s standing in front of a store of food crates. But I worked my sword.”
“Now you have the ear of the lord himself,” Ashok said.
“Lord Karthen has rewarded me well for my service,” Vedoran agreed. “But the path I’ve followed, the line behind me, ends at the same place, the same store of food. What is that worth, after all?”
“Everyone in Ikemmu must eat,” Ashok said.
“Yes,” Vedoran said bitterly. “Every animal must take from the trough.”
Ashok thought of Gaina, and his uncomfortable truth of the shadar-kai race. Darnae had said the same thing, though far more diplomatically. Some tasks were not meant for the shadar-kai. What they considered lesser
