A meaty fist missed Anakai’s chin by a finger’s breadth as he leaned back and spun away. The still-healing wounds on his back cracked open, the sting stealing his breath. Quay kicked the back of his knees, and Anakai fell to the hard, rocky earth of the Kelda Canyons.

He’d endured eight lashes of the whip fourteen days prior; that alone put him at a disadvantage, but Quay had recruited two other true-sons, Tarrek and Bohkan, to help him. It was three against one. Those two had become Quay’s shadows as of late, eager to join the cause to keep slave-sons in their place. His only advantages were that slave-sons trained harder and that they were all the same age, none of them quite at their thirteenth name day.

Anakai yanked his foot from Tarrek’s grasp, causing the boy to fall flat on his face. Then, Anakai scrambled to his feet and backed up near the wall, careful not to press against the rock lest the rough surface scrape his wounds. He gingerly reached behind him, his fingers touching a trickle of blood on his back. With an entire span of healing behind him, he had hoped he could avoid breaking the wounds open again.

So much for that. Anakai grimaced as he rolled his shoulders. At least he’d had the sense to remove his tunic before the fight started in earnest. It took a lot of work to get blood out.

The three true-sons could have closed in on him quickly. Instead, Tarrek and Bohkan waited for Quay’s instruction like obedient pups.

Hatred simmered in Quay’s dark expression as he stood before Anakai. “My brother’s death will be paid for in full, you mongrel.” He spat.

“Reddin’s death was his own fault,” Anakai said, keeping his voice steady. Sharp pain shot through his shoulders and back with even the smallest movement, and a forming bruise on his left side coupled with more pain spoke of cracked ribs.

“You should be dead instead of him.” Quay made fists at his sides. “I plan to fix that. I’ll be doing your father a favor. You are an embarrassment to his blood.”

Anakai ground his teeth at the insult.

Bohkan lowered his fists. “You didn’t say anything about killing him,” he said. “That could get us in trouble.”

Tarrek scoffed. “He’s a weapon of the Adikean Army, and true-sons are meant to wield their weapons as they see fit.”

Quay’s lips twisted into a malicious smile. “Reddin’s life was worth more, but three of them dead will satisfy the blood debt—once Anakai’s gone, Zan and Scurr are next.”

A spike of adrenaline shot through Anakai. He straightened, his heartbeat pounding more fervently. “They have nothing to do with this!”

The two older slave-sons had been with Anakai on the mission to rid warrior territory of therbaks via killing the bull and females who’d settled on the fringes of their borders. Reddin had been their commander. Their group had been tasked with poisoning and killing a female, and Reddin had sabotaged Anakai, trying to get him killed. In the end, Reddin’s plan backfired, and he got himself killed.

Zan and Scurr had been punished for Reddin’s death, too, but before he died, Reddin had held no animosity toward them, not like he had toward Anakai. The fight was between Anakai and Quay, and it always had been. Except Quay rarely fought his own battles. Even now, he left most of the work to Tarrek and Bohkan.

Anakai snarled. “I should have let you fall to your death during training, Quay. I should have never saved you. It was one of the worst mistakes I made when I first came to the canyons.”

Quay bared his teeth. “You humiliated me that day,” he said. “How dare you suggest you had a hand in my success!” After three long strides forward, Quay grasped Anakai’s shoulder with one hand and punched under his ribs with the other.

Running was Anakai’s only option. He could think of five ways to use his dagger to kill all three true-sons and escape, but killing a true-son, even in self-defense, would be punishable by death.

“Stop!”

Quay looked over his shoulder, moving just enough for Anakai to see Jerg in the small clearing behind Bohkan and Tarrek. Quay laughed, and Anakai’s blood burned hot at the sound. To take such pleasure in his cruelty and their inability retaliate… 

He has no honor, Anakai thought, wishing he could carve the smile right off his face.

“Is that an order?” Quay asked, straightening as he stepped away from Anakai.

Seeing his chance, Anakai bolted, but Tarrek was fast. He blocked Anakai and shoved him to the ground. The reddish-brown sandstone of the canyon wall scraped off the scabs covering his back, tearing his skin. Anakai grunted in pain and bit his lip to keep from crying out. Blood smeared the rock, and sandstone dust and grit bit into his wounds.

Jerg, eyes wide, held up both hands. “Let me take him,” he said. “You had your fun. Let him go. I won’t tell nobody and neither will he.”

“You can either leave,” Quay said, “or you can die with this scum.”

“Go, Jerg!” Anakai shouted. “Just go!”

“No, stay. There’s not enough fight in this one alone to make this much fun,” Tarrek said.

Bohkan rubbed the back of his neck and threw an uncertain look between Anakai and Jerg.

Anakai, on hands and knees, willed his friend to turn around and flee. I can’t have your blood on my hands, brother, he thought. Jerg would regret agreeing to meet Anakai in training instead of walking with him that day, but he’d be alive.

“Go!” Anakai said again, pleading.

Jerg pressed his lips together like he did when he was determined, but then he turned his back and ran.

Anakai could only stare after him, a bit shocked that his friend had listened. It was what he’d wanted, but he’d doubted Jerg would listen. Relief mixed with a feeling of abandonment that didn’t make sense.

Jerg doesn’t deserve to die like this. Anakai nodded once and firmly to himself, putting away irrational emotions and choosing strength. He looked up from the ground and dared to glare at Quay as the boy laughed and faced him.

“Your friend is as big of a coward as I thought.”

If that was intended to stir Anakai’s anger, he refused to take the bait. He was in control. His Adikean blood was strong. There was only one honorable thing left for him to do. “If you kill me, leave the others out of it,” he said. “This is between us. It has been between us since the obstacle course.” He turned to Bohkan who lacked the bloodlust so prevalent in Tarrek and Quay’s eyes. “You already admitted this will get you into trouble, and you were right. Maybe one murder will earn some sort of minor punishment, but three?” He shook his head. “Talk some sense into him.”

Quay’s smile vanished. “Bohkan trusts my judgment. He’s not stupid enough to take advice from a half-breed like you.”

“Half-breed or not,” Bohkan said, “think about it, Quay. He’s right. If we get sent home, we’ll bring dishonor upon our families.”

Tarrek lowered a raised fist poised and ready to strike at Quay’s command. “Is that true? We could get sent home?”

Quay scowled down at Anakai. “Don’t listen to him, Tarrek. I say we shut him up. Go on, you two. Let’s see if we can make him grovel.”

Anakai—grimacing against the pain of movement, covered in a sheen of sweat, back bleeding, head pounding—took a deep breath and sat cross-legged. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to do it on his knees. He would die calmly, with honor, showing deference to the Pure Born. The pain would last only a short time; he would be welcomed into the Hall of the Ancestors when it was done.

“What is he doing?” Bohkan asked.

If he’d run at first sight of Quay…

If he’d taken the threat more seriously, been more careful…

No, he thought. Regret is for the weak minded.

If he somehow survived, he would not find himself in that particular situation again. But he would not play the game of what-ifs.

Quay scoffed. “Doesn’t matter what he’s doing.” And then Quay took two steps forward and drove his knee into Anakai’s face.

A sickening crack was followed by hot blood gushing from Anakai’s nose. Though he was knocked back, he sat up straight again, resting his hands on his knees. His stomach lurched, his vision blurred, and his head swam. He wasn’t sure how long he could remain upright. Through the ringing in his ears, however, he recognized a new voice.

“What do you three think you’re doing?”

As his surroundings came back into focus, Anakai blinked several times to ensure that he hadn’t passed out and conjured a dream of those who crowded the canyon corridor.

Chur had asked the question, and he wasn’t the only true-son to join them. Hallvore stood by his side. The two of them had nearly completed training, two men about to become Commanders, ready to lead the Adikean Army to victory. It had been Chur who’d led the victory over the therbak bull on the mission that had gotten Quay’s brother killed. That victory—and many others—had earned him a place of honor. Hallvore was not far behind him in terms of respect amongst true-sons and slave-sons alike.

And behind them, Jerg stood with Scurr and Zan, his eyes wide and set on Anakai.

He didn’t abandon me. He went to get help. Anakai breathed out slowly and then smiled at Jerg, though he winced immediately. His lip was split, and besides that, blood still flowed from his broken nose. The coppery taste on his lips made him spit to the side. As it seemed he would not die that day, he wiped the blood from his face and gingerly pinched his nose to attempt to stop the flow.

Quay and his friends stepped away from Anakai toward Char and Hallvore, giving no acknowledgement to the others.

“He got my brother killed,” Quay said. “I’m returning the favor.”

“Reddin got himself killed, by all accounts,” Hallvore said.

“By whose accounts?” Quay shouted. “Slave-sons with foreign blood?”

Scurr and Zan remained still, only narrowing their eyes and tightening their lips at the remark. Jerg balled his fists at his sides and opened his mouth but seemed to have the presence of mind to snap it shut again.

Char walked up to Quay and put a hand on his shoulder. “Brother, we cannot bring Reddin back. You mourn, and rightfully so, but torturing and killing this pup won’t help. Besides that, it is not honorable to unjustly destroy an asset of Adikea.”

“You’ll bring fines upon your father’s house,” Hallvore said, “and it will be said that you cannot control your impulses. You will all three be sent home.”

Quay shook off Char’s hand and stepped back, lowering his eyes. He did not argue or offer any more of his opinions. Tarrek and Bohkan mimicked Quay’s submissive posture, though Bohkan was the only one to mumble an apology.

“Go back to quarters,” Char said. “Get some food, a little ale. Let the shadows of the caves cool your temper. You will see we’re right given some time.”

Quay turned and stormed off without another word, but he did manage a murderous glare at Anakai before he was out of sight. Tarrek and Bohkan followed.

Char shook his head. “He’s got passion, that one. He’ll make a fine commander one day if he can leave behind the foolishness that overcame his brother.” He sighed and walked a few steps before looking back at Hallvore and frowning.

Hallvore’s eyes were on Anakai. “I’ll meet you later,” he said.

“Hall,” Char said, glancing at Anakai as well, “we’ve done our part.”

“A good sword is useless without the hand that wields it,” Hallvore said, quoting a saying Anakai had heard many times sitting beneath General Vordon’s teaching. “I could use some practice learning to guide the blade.”

Char shrugged and left them there. Anakai did not stand; he wasn’t sure he could do so on steady legs. He instead scooted closer to the canyon wall and leaned his shoulder against it. His back was on fire as his wounds bled. He couldn’t see how bad it was, but the pain was enough to make him worried.

Scurr, Zan, and Jerg stood by, tense and waiting. As long as a true-son remained, they could not take action. Hallvore scratched his chin and walked over to Anakai, first examining his back. The true-son then crouched in front of Anakai. His dark eyes held compassion in them as he spoke.

“Take this.” Hallvore took a small square cloth from his pocket, ripped it in two, and handed it to Anakai. “Stop your nose from bleeding the best you can.”

Anakai stuffed the cloth in his nostrils, and his eyes watered at the pain of touching his nose at all.

“This won’t be the end of it,” Hallvore said.

“I know,” Anakai said grimly.

“I am… conflicted.” Hallvore seemed to study Anakai’s face. “Reddin wasn’t good at keeping secrets. He told a few true-sons what he’d planned, and word has gotten around after his death about what he’d intended for you. Coupled with the rumors coming from the slave-sons… well, if half of what is being said is true, you did well on the therbak hunt.” He shook his head. “The Ancestors know I’ve seen you rise above your equals in training, but… how can I support a slave-son stirring division amongst my brothers, whether it be his fault or not?” He shrugged. “Then again, how can I leave such a fine warrior to the likes of Quay?” He tilted his head. “How old are you?”

“Nearly thirteen, sir,” Anakai said.

“You are young,” Hallvore said, “yet I see something special in you. You haven’t reached your full potential.” He took a deep breath and stood. “We are all watching to find out just how strong your blood is.” Hallvore stepped away from Anakai and addressed Scurr, Zan, and Jerg. “You were right to bring Quay’s actions to our attention. You have all four honored your fathers by keeping to your place and allowing us to handle it.”

Scurr bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said.

“Ancestors be blessed,” Zan added.

“Get your friend to the infirmary,” Hallvore said, “and I suggest you travel in packs for a while, until Quay has had a chance to rethink his plans. He has support, and while there are those who think him brash and irresponsible, others are of the same mind. Look out for each other.”

“Yes, sir,” Scurr and Zan said together. Jerg added his own, “Yes, sir,” in a murmur. He was tapping his fingers on the sides of his legs, a sign of impatience.

“Good,” Hallvore said. “Come to me or Char should you need help again. Let’s keep the generals out of it. Quay is misguided in this matter, and he is leading Tarrek and Bohkan astray. But they are all three of strong bloodlines. The Army would not do well to lose them and the support their families bring.”

“Understood,” Scurr said.

Hallvore gave Scurr a hearty pat on his shoulder and nodded at Zan. “I intend to request you both once I have a command,” he said. “I hope to enter this war together with you. We will unite Leyumin and prove our Adikean blood superior.”

Scurr and Zan both grew a little taller.

“No one will fight harder for you than us,” Zan said.

Hallvore nodded again, seeming satisfied, and strode away, leaving Anakai alone with his fellow slave-sons. Jerg rushed to Anakai’s side.

“I thought he’d never stop jabberin’,” Jerg said. “You look terrible.”

“Jerg, careful what you say,” Scurr said. “Hallvore did us a great service today.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jerg said. “I get it. But did he have to give a speech?”

Zan smirked and shrugged. “He’s a true-son. The best of them can’t help but give a few speeches.”

Scurr nodded. “Those are the ones you want commanding your unit in the middle of war, if they tend to follow through with what they promise, which Hallvore does.”

“We’ll be valued under his command,” Zan said. “We’ll get a shot at glory without being driven to a breaking point. Others, like Quay, will push their unit over the edge. There will be glory to be had either way, but with one type of commander, you’ll be able to revel in it.”

“And with the other,” Scurr said, “your life will be miserable enough to drive you to recklessness in hopes of meeting the Ancestors early. Those types don’t give speeches; they give orders which lead to death.”

Anakai shuddered at the thought of being assigned a unit under Quay, and the motion sent waves of pain through his body. He moaned, the first real utterance of agony he’d allowed past his lips.

“Ancestors be praised for Char and Hallvore,” Anakai managed.

The two older slave-sons nodded in agreement, but Jerg seemed more focused on Anakai’s wounds.

“Can you stand?” Jerg asked. “We got to get you to Master Orduke.”

“Come on.” Zan held out a hand. “We’ll get you to the infirmary. Let’s be quick about it. We all have posts or training. Can’t be late.”

“I have training,” Anakai said. “Today was my first day back. General Vordon—”

“Isn’t a madman,” Scurr said gently. “He will get a report from Master Orduke, and he’ll extend your hiatus.”

“He won’t like it, but he won’t take it out on you,” Zan said. “He’s smart. He knows how it is. With the physician’s report and all the tension lately, he’ll put it together, figure out what really happened.”

Zan nodded to his outstretched hand, Anakai took it, lettting the young man pull him to his feet. Though he was a bit unsteady, his legs were able to support his weight.

“I will go on my own, then,” Anakai said. “I cannot allow any of you to be late on my behalf.”

“You’re in luck. I’ve got guard duty at the infirmary,” Zan said, hooking his arm with Anakai’s. It seemed they weren’t going to give him much of a choice.

“You were fortunate today,” Scurr said. “Your grandfathers are watching over you.”

Anakai smiled and then winced as his lip cracked and started bleeding again. Still, the thought of his Adikean ancestors showing favor upon him lifted his spirits.

“I’ll catch dinner tonight,” Jerg said. “Maybe that fat bird that’s been taunting us for days. How’s that?”

“Sounds delicious,” Anakai said, “if you can catch it.”

Jerg sniffed and raised his chin. “Yeah, I’ll get him. And you’ll rest. Got it?”

“I’ve been resting for too long already,” Anakai said.

Jerg narrowed his eyes.

There was no use in arguing with Jerg. “Fine,” Anakai said.

“See you at home?”

“See you at home.”

Even as Jerg walked away—seeming hesitant to leave him—Anakai started thinking of the tasks he could do that Jerg wouldn’t kick him for attempting.

I can’t just sit around any longer and do nothing! He wanted to scream at the thought that Quay may have made him useless for another few days. Jerg doesn’t deserve dead weight.

The two had allied and become fast brothers when they’d arrived in the canyons over three years prior. Only three more cycles, and it would be a full four years in the Kelda Canyons. In all that time, they took care of each other. But Anakai was getting tired of needing care.

“You ready?” Zan asked as he nodded goodbye to Scurr and took the first step down the corridor.

Anakai hobbled forward, using Zan’s arm for support. “Have you and Scurr been friends since the beginning, like me and Jerg?”

Zan laughed. “No, actually. I used to hate him.”

Anakai’s surprise caught in his throat. He coughed, leaving bloody spittle on his arm. He spit to the side and traced the inside of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, finding a cut where he’d bitten his cheek but no loose teeth.

Zan continued. “It came to fists over shelter the first night. I lost and ended up in a shallow crevice.” 

“The first night is the worst,” Anakai said, frowning at Zan’s light tone. “You sound like you remember it fondly.”

“That first night, I became part of something big, Anakai,” Zan said. “I passed the test. And the next one, and the next. My father’s blood has only grown stronger ever since.”

Anakai hadn’t thought of it like that. “Then,” he said as he took the next step and the next, “I’m grateful for my first night in the canyons, too.” He frowned. “But how did you two become so close?”

“Stopped seeing each other as competition. Realized we could survive together. Watch out for that rock.” Zan indicated the tip of a stone sticking out of the canyon floor, nearly hidden as it blended perfectly in color and was shored up on all sides by sandy dirt.

Anakai stepped over it. “Thanks,” he said. “What made you stop?”

“Competing?” Zan shrugged. “Eventually, only the strongest of our year were left. Once the weaklings were gone, it was time to think about working together on the battlefield.”

“You’re not as close to the others,” Anakai said.

“I saved Scurr’s life once. Made us more like brothers. It was a practice run in the mountains, in the caverns and tunnels underground.” Zan shuddered. “Dark, cold place. Hated it.” He paused to readjust his helping hold on Anakai as they walked. “Scurr broke his ankle. I wouldn’t leave him behind. Nobody deserves to get gutted by one of the nasty creatures that lives down there.”

“I’m not looking forward to that test,” Anakai said.

“You’ll live, like me and Scurr did.” Zan pointed ahead as the corridor walls fell away and they stepped into one of the smaller clearings.

The clearing was used for lectures on topics ranging from history to battle techniques; a cavern yawned widely opposite the corridor. Younger slave-sons sat on the rocky ground of that clearing, paying attention to a cleric of the Order of Being. He was explaining the ways in which they might die with glory to earn an afterlife of honor with the Ancestors.

Sight of clerics always made Anakai uneasy. Though he could barely remember his mother’s face, he could remember his mother’s hatred for the Order of Being. She’d said they rejected the true God, which of course, was due only to her weak blood. How could a foreigner without strong Ancestors adhere to the Order of Being? They could not, except as servants both in life and death.

She had said other things about them, about their cruelty and corrupted ways. Anakai was frightened of clerics as a small child. His father, though, had brought clerics to visit Anakai’s half-brothers and half-sister, the true-children of the Dakkan household. A few times, a cleric had visited Anakai, examining the tattoo of the Dakkan Household emblem which had been given to Anakai shortly after birth. All slave-sons were marked in such a way, not by clerics but rather by wrinkling old women. His mother had called the ritual dark, had said the tattoo was a stain upon his soul that only the Sustainer could rectify. She’d seemed certain that in his mercy, her God would do so if Anakai wanted that.

As the cleric’s voice carried through the clearing, Anakai glanced at his household emblem, which was located on the underside of his right forearm. Three vertical dots enclosed in a thick-lined rectangle declared that he was the son of the Dakkan Household. The mark was smooth and black and bold, proof of his Adikean heritage. He was proud of it; he always had been.

Why then, he thought, do I still feel uneasy when I’m near a cleric?

He put the question aside as they left the cleric and the small class of boys; they entered the shadows of the cavern. Torches threw flickering light onto the ceiling and walls.

“Almost there,” Zan said as they approached a doorway carved out of the rock at the back of the cavern. He nodded to two slave-sons standing on either side of the doorway. “I’ll take my shift in a moment.”

“What about Nisos?”

Zan waved off the concern. “Eh, he’ll be here. He’s never late.” With that, Zan led Anakai through the doorway to a much smaller room carved out of the rock.

They were greeted with a scream that reverberated off the walls. Anakai drew back, his injuries making him slow as he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and searched the room for danger.

But there was none. Master Orduke stood over a small body on a tall, flat rock. The boy must have gone unconscious after he’d screamed. The physician tossed a bloody arrow shaft over his shoulder and started sewing the wound shut.

Zan looked back at Anakai, wincing. “Sounds like that hurt.”

“One of the most common injuries around here,” the physician said. “I can care for an arrow to the arm with my eyes closed, as long as it doesn’t nick an artery.” Orduke looked up with a wide smile that turned quickly into a frown. “Sparring turned bad?”

“Something like that,” Zan said.

“I’ll get to him when I’m done here,” Orduke said. “Let him rest until then.”

Zan led Anakai to one of half a dozen oblong holes in the wall. It was just tall enough for him to sit if he hunched over a bit. There was no bedroll, only a blanket rolled up at one end. Anakai lay on his side as Zan stuffed the blanket under his neck.

“I’ll take you home at midday when my guard duty is done,” Zan said. “There’ll be some time before training.”

“Yeah,” Anakai said, “I’ll wait.”

“Good.” Zan nodded and then left the room, though it was comforting to know he wouldn’t be far.

“A little early for sparring practice,” Orduke said from the center of the room where he worked on the unconscious boy, spreading a green paste over the stitches.

“It wasn’t in the sparring ring,” Anakai said. “It was… extra practice.” He couldn’t put blame on a true-son; that wouldn’t get him anywhere.

“Someone went a little too far, then.” Orduke shrugged without looking at Anakai. “It happens. Must have been one of the younger boys.” He laughed and shook his head, sighing as he bandaged the wound. “True-sons can be enthusiastic.”

Anakai ground his teeth but didn’t say anything. Enthusiastic didn’t seem the right word to describe attempting to murder slave-sons.

The physician didn’t know the whole story, but his opinions could be the same even if he did. What kind of Pure Born is he? Anakai thought. Are we only assets to him? He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.

Mastor Orduke finished with the boy and walked over to a washstand against the far wall. He cleansed his hands and then pulled a stool over to where Anakai waited.

Orduke poked and prodded Anakai’s ribs and stomach. “Seems no broken bones. That’s good. Belly is soft. Good, good.”

“They will bruise, though,” Anakai said. “I can feel it.” He winced as the physician touched a particularly tender spot on his ribs.

“Yes, but not broken.” Orduke made a circle with his finger. He leaned closer to Anakai’s face. “Nose is broken, though.”

Anakai leaned back as the physician brought cupped hands toward his face.

“If I don’t reset it, it’ll heal crooked.” He quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t want that.”

Anakai swallowed hard and nodded. Orduke’s work was quick, and his nose popped as it was reset. Anakai’s vision doubled for a moment, and he held his breath until the pain started to subside.

Orduke wasted no time moving on to his other injuries. “Turn around. Let me see the back.” When Anakai obeyed, the physician whistled. “I’ll need to clean this up to see the damage.”

Anakai looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps. Master Orduke was looking up at a string of dried herbs. He tapped one, gripped it, and yanked.

“This will keep the inflammation down and stop rot from settling in.” He picked the leaves off and dropped them into a small bowl as he talked. “Worked before. It’ll work again.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you a little less from now on.”

Anakai frowned. “I don’t want to be here,” he said.

Orduke gave him a flat look. “None of you warriors have any sense of humor.”

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind.”

Orduke ground the herb with a splash of water, grabbed a small bucket, and came back to Anakai. Strips of cloth floated in clear liquid inside the bucket. The strong scent of alcohol burned Anakai’s throat as he breathed in the fumes.

“This’ll sting,” Orduke said as he grabbed a strip. “Best turn back around so I can get to work.”

Anakai did as he was told. He balled his hands into fists and tensed every muscle, fighting against an outcry as the physician put cloth to wound.

“I’ve got to get all the debris out,” Orduke said, and after a few more minutes of agony: “It looked worse than it is. The scabs are torn away in several places, but the wounds were healing well enough before. They’re not as deep as they were after the whip.”

The physician slathered the herbal paste he’d made onto Anakai’s back; it soothed the stinging a bit. Next came the wrap. Orduke had him stand and wrapped long bandages around his torso in three places.

“That should do it.” Orduke walked over to the boy still unconscious on the rock slab at the center of the cavern. “I’ll send Zan to give the general a report at the end of his shift. You should rest a while longer.” He frowned at the boy, picked up a vial, uncorked it, and waved it beneath the boy’s nose.

He wakened slowly and, before he even opened his eys, turned his head from the vial with a look of disgust. “What is that?”

“Special concoction,” Orduke said. “Good for bringing people out of deep sleep. You passed out, but you’re fine. Time to get off my table.”

The boy sat up groggily and held his arm, freshly mended, close to his body. “It still hurts.”

The physician sighed. “You have to learn to deal with a little pain.” Orduke waved to the blood congealed on the rock where the boy had been laying. “Clean that up, and then you can rest for a short time. You can use a rag from that bucket.”

The boy was a few shades paler than he was supposed to be. He was small, much smaller than Anakai remembered being at that age. After sliding off the rock, he had to use it for support. He looked at the bucket, still near Anakai, and his gaze swept over to one of the beds carved into the rock wall.

Anakai sighed and got to his feet. His legs were still a bit wobbly, but he’d had a bit of time to rest, and his back was feeling a bit better. A sharp pain shot through his ribs as he reached into the bucket and grabbed a strip of cloth, and though he had to inhale sharply, he was able to straighten without crying out.

“I’ll do it, if you don’t care either way, Master Orduke,” Anakai said.

Orduke slid into one of the beds—the only one with furs for comfort—and lay with his hands hooked behind his neck. “As long as it gets done,” he said, “and it gets done quietly. There’s only one of me, and your kind injure themselves on the hour. Imagine if a true-son needs me, and I’m too exhausted to do the job properly!” He huffed at the idea and closed his eyes, wiggling and nestling down into the furs.

Anakai lowered his voice and spoke to the boy, nodding at one of the stone beds. “Go on and rest for a bit.”

The boy didn’t argue. He hobbled to a bed and tucked himself into a ball, his back to Anakai.

The top of the reddish-brown sandstone slab was stained so that Anakai could no longer see the striations of cream that ran through it. Even after cleaning it, the brighter stain of fresh blood stood out. Eventually, it would darken and blend in and be forgotten.

Anakai laid a hand on the center of the rock. How many slave-sons have shed their blood here? he asked himself. How many have died?

The stains were a part of hundreds of slave-son stories, some of which marked a decisive end. He turned back to look at the doorway.

I’m not going home, he thought.

If it was up to him, he’d leave, but he needed Zan. And so Anakai waited and rested and prepared himself.

When midday came, Master Orduke called Zan into the infirmary and gave him a short message for General Vordon. “Tell the general Anakai will need half a span more before returning to training. Seven days should do the trick.”

Zan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“What if I feel I can return to training sooner?” Anakai asked.

Both Zan and Master Orduke looked at him, Zan with a chastising frown and Orduke with a contemplative one.

“I think it unlikely you would be ready before seven days are up,” Orduke said. “No, I think you should keep away until then. It’s best you don’t run into any more… enthusiastic true-sons.”

“Thank you, Master Orduke,” Zan said as he stepped back and indicated Anakai should follow with a sharp nod toward the doorway.

Anakai left the infirmary with Zan. His knees were scraped up and sore, and his legs might as well have been tied down with weights, but he managed not to limp or drag his feet. They crossed the small clearing outside the cavern and entered the maze of corridors, sandstone walls rising high on either side. The walls themselves were bulbous in some spots, recessive in others; their curves shaped the path and never allowed it to be straight for long.

When they were out of earshot of anyone else, Zan threw a disapproving look at Anakai. “Why would you ask Master Orduke if you can return to training?”

“Because that’s what I plan to do,” Anakai said.

“You have a chance to heal in peace.” Zan took a turn down a corridor that would lead to the little cavern Anakai and Jerg called home.

“I’m not going that way,” Anakai said. “I want to go with you to see General Vordon.”

Zan pursed his lips. “I’m giving him the message from Master Orduke. You can’t stop me. It was an order.”

Anakai nodded. “I wouldn’t try.”

“He’s going to tell you to leave.”

“Maybe not.” Anakai shrugged. “I have to try. I don’t want to go back home and sit alone, waiting and watching, always on my guard lest Quay send someone stupid enough to try to kill me. We have our defenses, but I don’t want to have to use them.”

“You think you’ll be safer out where everyone can see?” Zan scoffed. “Is that what you thought this morning?” Zan sighed as Anakai stayed put, refusing to put even one toe into the offshoot corridor that led home.

“I won’t go anywhere by myself,” Anakai said.

Zan shook his head and let out a frustrated sigh, but he led Anakai away from his home and toward the clearing where slave-sons were practicing on their own. Dozens of boys about Anakai’s age, ranging from their twelfth to fourteenth year, practiced formations in unison. General Vordon watched, hands clasped behind his back.

Anakai kept in Zan’s shadow, feeling smaller with every step he took toward the man he most wanted to be like when he was grown. The general towered over other men, his broad shoulders and firm stance bringing terror to any who might cross him and reassurance to those who relied upon him. His long, matted locks displayed interwoven silver thread; this was a sign of a slave-son warrior who had reached the highest position possible for their kind. He was above Anakai in every way imaginable, yet in him, Anakai felt a kinship. They approached, waiting for General Vordon to acknowledge them.

“Speak,” General Vordon said, keeping his eyes on the slave-sons. Anakai imagined him noting every flaw in those movements so that he could correct them, so that he could keep the slave-sons under his care alive for as long as possible.

“Master Orduke has sent me to give you a message,” Zan said.

When the message had been given, General Vordon finally looked at Anakai. His brow furrowed just slightly, but other than that, he showed no reaction to Anakai’s bruised state. “Why are you here, then, if you are to rest another half span?”

“To watch and learn alongside my brothers,” Anakai said. “To hear words of instruction and words of wisdom. I have been by myself long enough.”

“Come back in seven days,” General Vordon said.

Anakai dared to shake his head. “Sir, I will bring water to my brothers. I will sharpen arrowheads. I can’t train, but I can do something.”

One corner of General Vordon’s mouth turned upward for half a second. “Your blood is strong,” he said. “I will allow it.” He nodded at Zan. “You may go to your next task.”

“Yes, sir,” Zan said, but before he left, he stopped for a moment to whisper to Anakai, “Go nowhere alone, as you said.”

“I swear it,” Anakai said.

He didn’t seem pleased about it, but Zan had no choice; he left Anakai there with General Vordon and the other boys in his age group.

“The arrows do need sharpened, some of them repaired,” General Vordon said.

Anakai nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“If you are unable to do the tasks you are assigned well, there will be consequences, as there always are. I will not lessen standards because you are injured.”

“I understand.” Anakai made his way across the clearing to a stash of weapons.

After formations, the slave-sons would practice with various weapons, including short swords, rock slings, and bows and arrows. Those weapons were neatly arranged, hanging on the canyon wall or stored in wicker trunks. The arrows by which he sat were in a haphazard pile.

Anakai got to work, and all the while he could feel the weight of dozens of eyes upon him, stealing glances at him whenever they could. He did not return even one curious stare. Setting his jaw, he put a sharpening stone to an arrowhead’s edge.

He was battered but not broken. His enemies wanted him dead; he was alive. If I play the game right, he thought, I might just stay that way.