But among them were always one or two who led the rest, who never sickened, who defended the weak and fought off marauders, human and animal alike. They were the descendents of the followers of Ture-asa, the last king of Asiana. Under their protection, small groups managed to survive here and there. And in time, as the poison leeched out of the fields and villages grew into more than just a few wretched huts, from among their number was born the first child who would fashion a blade from kalishium and call herself Markswoman: Lin Maya, the founder of the Order of Kali.
But as the Orders grew in power and strength, so too did the clans of Asiana, until now hundreds of thousands of people lived and farmed on communal land, secure in the belief that they were safe. The dark years were over, the light of the Kanun shone in almost every corner of Asiana, and the towns and villages were well able to deal with the infractions of their local populace. It had been decades since outlaws had dared to attack a major settlement. Clan leaders began to chaff at the authority of the Orders. Why didn’t Markswomen restrict themselves to hunting wyr-wolves and leave the rest to the clan councils?
Then along came the Taus and slaughtered every man, woman, and child in the peaceful little village of Veer. As the terrible news filtered through to the far-flung settlements of Asiana, the clans reacted with horror and fear. In the rumors and retellings that spread, the twelve death-sticks became a hundred, and the number of those killed multiplied to several thousand. The towns tripled their guard; the villages built trenches for self-defense. After all, it could have been any one of them. And it could be their turn next.
The killings at Veer accomplished what decades of diplomacy had not. The clans once again turned to the Orders, begging for help and acknowledging their supremacy.
The Orders moved fast, isolating the remaining known death-sticks in Asiana, and trapping the Taus in the sandy wastes of the Thar Desert. The outlaws would be disarmed and punished eventually, once a proper defense could be mustered. Meanwhile, the clan leaders would not question the continued reign of the Orders of Asiana.
“Fourteen years is long enough for the outlaws to have walked free,” said Navroz. “Don’t forget, there is another Order that can help us.”
Derla threw up her hands. “The Order of Khur?” A note of disbelief crept into her voice. “Don’t tell me you wish to involve those—men—in what is happening in the Thar. Kai is one of theirs. The elders of Khur were his compatriots.”
“You know about that?” said Navroz. “It is something known only to elders. What else has Faran told you?” When Derla made no response, Navroz continued, “The elders of Khur do not like to talk about Kai, but this is precisely why they must be involved. They feel responsible for him and what he has done. Besides, Shirin Mam always believed that the Order of Khur should be treated as equal to the other Orders. She had cordial relations with Barkav.”
“And your new Mahimata?” said Derla slyly. “What does she think?”
Navroz hesitated. Tamsyn’s views on men and their place were rather well known. “The new Mahimata will do what she must, as will we,” she said finally. “Tell Faran we will meet in Sikandra.”
Derla rose to leave, declining their offers of more tea or a hot meal. The day was getting on, she said, and she had a village meeting to attend before sunset. Sandi Meersil was summoned to escort the visitor back to the Ferghana Hub.
When she was out of earshot, Felda said, “We have two problems, Eldest. First, how are we going to deal with the murderous outlaws in the Thar? Second, how are we going to deal with Tamsyn?”
“Pit them against each other,” suggested Navroz, “and hope that Kai Tau wins.”
The two giggled like novices. “She is too strong for us, Felda,” said Navroz at last. “We cannot confront her. We will have to be indirect if we are to find out the truth of what happened the day Shirin Mam died.” She recounted her unsettling encounter with Tamsyn in the Mahimata’s cell.
“You did well not to try to open that package, Eldest,” said Felda. “If it is sealed by a word of power, then only the person it is intended for can safely access the contents. I wonder what’s in it. Perhaps I will make some discreet inquiries.”
A hint of steel entered Navroz’s voice. “You’ll do no such thing. Be careful, Felda. You are sometimes almost as obvious as Kyra was.”
Felda bristled. “I most certainly am not!” she snapped. Her face clouded. “Where is that dratted girl? Those wyr-wolves . . .”
“Led us a merry dance through the woods, didn’t they?” said Navroz. “Yet Akhtar was found coming from the opposite direction, from the hills of Gonur.”
“You think she found a Hub?” said Felda. “It’s the only logical explanation. I hope she hasn’t taken it into her head to go off to the Thar and attempt vengeance on the Taus all by herself.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Navroz. “All the more reason for us to act fast. Yes, child, what is it?”
It was Tonar Kalam, hovering at the edge of the red-brown carpet of leaves. She bowed and said, “To remind you, Eldest, that the petitioners are waiting. There are eleven today, six of them from quite far away. At least four require healing.”
Navroz sighed, and both elders rose. Shirin Mam’s death had done nothing to decrease the flow of petitioners. If anything, there seemed even more of them than usual these days, perhaps because Tamsyn did not deign to meet them. That work fell to Navroz.
She groaned inwardly as she surveyed the group of village folk squatting on the grass beneath the trees in the apple grove. There they were, waiting for their miracles, when all she had to offer was a combination of sensible advice, herbs, and a bit of thought-shaping.
Felda was already mumbling some excuse about a set of derivations and backing away. Happily, Navroz caught sight of Elena going toward the kitchen with her friend Nineth, and hailed the apprentice.
“I need your help, Elena,” she called, and the girl came willingly enough, though Nineth fled into the kitchen as if wyr-wolves were after her—no doubt trying to wheedle food out of Tarshana, the wretch.
Thank the Goddess for Elena with her nimble hands and eager mind. If not for her, Navroz would have been hard put finding anyone to train as her eventual replacement. Not that she planned on dying just yet. Still, she was seventy-seven years old, and of late she had been feeling every one of them.
If only Shirin hadn’t died . . .
But there was no use thinking that. Shirin was gone, but Kyra was still alive, somewhere out there. And one day she would return to the caves of Kali. Navroz held on to that thought like a talisman as she approached the petitioners, Elena in tow.
Part III
From The Weapons of the Great War, recounted by a historian of the clan of Arikken to Navroz Lan of the Order of Kali