He’s strong, Vir thought. Both his attitude and his prana spoke to his power as a warrior. Vir suspected he’d find few imposters here, at the Boundary. Only veteran warriors, tempered by battle, made it out here.
“You will learn to survive,” the Overseer continued. “Or you will die. Perform well, and you will be rewarded. Better clothing. Better armament. Better training. And yes, better food and accommodations. Excel, and you might even find a spot for yourself within the safety of this Garrison’s walls.”
The prisoners stole glances at each other. Some had already come to the same conclusion as Vir, while others looked about, confused.
“You heard me right,” the Overseer continued. “I hope you didn’t think you’d be sleeping in here, did you?” He swept his arm across the Garrison. “That privilege is earned. No, you’ll start outside, with the others. If you survive your training, you’ll be granted tents, and you oughta thank us for that. Perform well on your rankings, and you can earn even more.”
“But what of the beasts?” a prisoner asked. “Won’t they attack us?”
The Kothi cracked a nasty grin. “I’m glad you asked. Consider it an opportunity. You all get first blood when they attack. And yes, they will attack. Fight well, and you’ll be promoted to patrol duty. Do well there, and we might even send you into the Ash!”
“That’s suicide!” another prisoner shouted. “I’d rather die by hanging than take my chances in there.”
The Overseer held up a finger. A flash of prana arced out from the prisoner’s collar. He twitched for a single moment, then crumpled to the ground.
His corpse was being hauled away before anyone could even react.
“Insolence will not be tolerated,” the Oversees said. “There’s always one I need to teach the hard way. Do learn. Killing you costs us a good deal of coin, you know?”
The crowd was deathly still.
“Good! To answer the demon’s question, yes. Survive in the Ash, and you’ll be granted a Chitran Laborer Calling. Your criminal records will be wiped, and you can return to living whatever sorry lives you used to lead.”
“What a load of Ash’va dung,” Balagra muttered from beside Vir.
“They’re lying?” Vir asked, eyes darting around to see if any of their guards had heard Balagra’s slander.
“Who knows? I’ve never heard of anyone surviving long enough to take them up on it. They talk of ‘earning’ weapons and armor, but I saw what they dole out. Useless pig iron. The rejects of their forges and foundries, most like. With such equipment, we have no chance in the Ash. Even if we survive the prana poisoning.”
“Quiet!” the Chit Overseer barked, silencing the prisoners. “Now, all of that’s only if you perform. Fail, and you die. Run away, and your collars activate. We’ll hunt you down.”
Vir agreed with Balagra. The Chits might dangle the carrot of freedom before these prisoners’ eyes, but what sense did it make to allow their convicts back into society where they’d cause more harm? It was just a ruse—one designed to get the prisoners to work themselves to the bone on the dim hope of a better life.
In reality, they’d perish, fighting an endless war against the onslaught of beasts from the Ashen Realm. Why let the unwanted rot in a jail cell, when they could be made to fulfill a far more useful purpose before they die?
Vir thought he was going to be sick.
“Now, listen up!” the Overseer said. “I’m going to tell you what will happen. You pathetic chals are going to follow me outside, where you’ll be assigned your berths. Then, six hours from now, you’ll assemble.”
“For what?” a prisoner asked.
“Evaluation! Excel, and you’ll be awarded. Fail, and you will be punished. And may Yuma help those who do.”
38PHYSICAL EVALUATIONS
Just hours after being led to their accommodations—little more than shallow rectangular pits that offered the barest protection from the wind, and none at all from the rain—they were once again herded back to the Garrison.
What scared Vir the most wasn’t the proficiency examination itself, not even the ever-present Ash Beast threat, but rather the physical inspection all prisoners were required to undergo. As Vir stood in line, stripped down to his underwear, he prayed that Cirayus’ new body paint sufficiently protected him from the Chitrans’ prying eyes.
If it didn’t—or worse, if they had an Iksana with Sight in their employ—Vir would be forced to abandon his plans.
He strained to get a good look at the examiner, but the tests were taking place in one of the wooden buildings, and the line extended well outside the Garrison, depriving him of a view. He was just too far to be discovered.
“Relax, friend,” Balagra the Naga—now in his humanoid bipedal form—said. “You should be happy if they fail you. Some of the invalids are culled, but I hear rejects work as janitors and errand boys. Much less likely to die. Though,” Balarga eyed Vir’s tattoos, “I suppose with those tattoos, you stand little chance of that. Are you perhaps afraid that you’ll pass?”
“Nothing like that,” Vir mumbled. After discussing the various options with Cirayus, they’d settled on inscribing a temporary Aspect of the Final Sanctuary on Vir. Final Sanctuary was primarily a defensive tattoo, granting the wielder enhanced protection against various forms of damage. Masters of that tattoo could sometimes even create domes of protection, enveloping those around them, though like all Aspect tattoos, its abstract nature meant its power varied drastically between demons.
For this operation, Vir wasn’t planning on using Prana Darts or any other Ash-based offensive magic. He’d also left his Artifact Chakram and katar behind, so Final Sanctuary made the most sense since it’d allow him to use Toughen and Prana Armor without arousing suspicion.
Even so, he’d been reluctant to paint on any tattoos at all. Cirayus convinced him against that route, however. While it’d posed the least risk, it’d also arouse suspicion when Vir defeated Ash Beasts without using tattoos. It’d make him look like an anomaly, or worse, a genius. Still, while Cirayus had insisted the tattoo wouldn’t easily come off, Vir had his doubts. He’d have to be careful to protect the tribal tattoo on his shoulder at all costs.
“Listen, you seem like a kind soul, so allow me a piece of advice,” Balagra said. “Keep your head down. Don’t make a scene. Stay by my side. I’ll protect you the best I’m able. Maybe it isn’t much, and maybe dying early would be a blessing. But I’ll do this at least.”
“Why?” Vir asked, finally finding an opportunity to ask the Naga the question that had been at the back of his mind. “What’s in it for you?”
“Do I need a reason to be kind to another?”
“You do if it means putting your life in danger. Protecting me could very well get you killed.”
“If I’m to die anyway, at least let it be on my terms,” Balagra said, shuffling forward in the long line.
The demon seemed to have said his piece about the topic, so Vir tried looking for the other two he’d scouted on their journey over, but failed to locate them. The Chits had batched several new arrivals, and there were well over two hundred in line.
“You not only possess an Aspect tattoo, but you also have a Bloodline Art of the Panav,” Vir said, eyeing the beautiful silver tattoo that marked Balagra’s back. While Vir had yet to memorize all the various tattoos, its Water affinity, along with its color, and Balagra being a Panav Naga, made it simple to guess. “That means you’re someone important in the Panav. How’d you end up here, of all places?”