A long silence ensued. For the next four hours, Indira watched as the young human leaders, consulting frequently with Nukurren, began changing and adapting their tactics. They were fumbling, at first; grew more assured as time went by. But still, Indira knew, they were groping for answers.
The voice of Ghodha interrupted her thoughts.
“You are fortunate to have Nukurren. She was the greatest warrior of the Anshac legions.”
Indira turned and looked at the Pilgrim war leader.
“I did not realize you knew her.”
Ghodha made the gesture of negation.
“I did not really know her, Inudira.” A faint ochre ripple, with a hint of brown. “The caste divisions in Ansha are rigid. I was high caste—not Ansha, like Ushulubang or Rottu, but very high. Nukurren belonged to no caste, not even a low one. She was born into a helot slave pool. Clanless and outcast.” Another ripple, the brown now predominant. “As such, and despite her incredible prowess, she was despised by such as—myself. In my former time, as a high commander.”
Ghodha paused, took a deep breath. (In this, humans and gukuy were quite alike—a thing difficult to say was usually prefaced by a full intake of oxygen.) The brown ripples spread and suffused her entire mantle. That shade of brown which signified remorse.
“All my life, before I decided to adopt the Way and follow Ushulubang, I have been trained in arrogance. It comes very easily to me. I have tried to combat it, but it is often difficult. I shall try harder in the future. I will not always succeed, I fear, but I will try.”
Indira began to speak, but was interrupted by Dhowifa. The little male’s voice was even softer than usual.
“Nukurren thought you were the best of the legions’ high commanders,” he said.
An orange ripple broke up the brown of Ghodha’s mantle.
“It’s true,” added Dhowifa. “She told me several times.” The quick, complex wash of ochre/pink/azure which suddenly colored the little male’s mantle was exquisite in its subtlety. Indira was not certain, but she thought it was a brilliant emotional exhibition of diffident apology, leavened by humor (no, not humor—good feeling).
“Actually, she thought the best tactical commander was Ashurruk.”
“Of course!” exclaimed Ghodha. “Ashurruk was superb on the battlefield.”
“But she thought you were the best thinker. The best—I can’t remember the word, I’m not a warrior—the best—”
“Strategist?” asked Ghodha.
A lightning-quick ripple of greenish color. “That’s the word!” said Dhowifa.
Ghodha turned and gazed down at the training field.
“So.” A whistle. “I must apologize to her.”
“Oh, you needn’t,” said Dhowifa. “Nukurren was never offended by you.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Ghodha. The former Ansha commander’s mantle was suddenly replaced by a dull, matte black. (Stolid determination, Indira knew, closely related to the ebony sheen of implacable purpose.) “I hope not. But my offense is much deeper. Until this very moment, I had never realized that common warriors thought about their commanders. Assessed them, even, much as commanders assess their troops.” A short silence; then, a ripple of yellow contempt. “As if commanders are the only ones who think. As if warriors are but brainless beasts.”
Indira felt a sudden wave of immense affection for Ghodha sweep over her. In that one moment, she felt a deep regret that she had no way of showing her feelings on her skin as could a gukuy.
She was born into an Anshac upper caste, and trained as a high commander of the legions. For such as she haughtiness and condescension and insult are as natural as breathing. Yet only such a one who also possessed a great soul would have left it all to follow a despised and outlawed sage, for no other reason than devotion to some higher purpose.
She turned away and gazed back onto the training field. The tactics which the young human leaders were developing, working with Nukurren, were beginning to crystallize. But it was also obvious to Indira that they were still hesitant, still uncertain, still unsure of themselves.
She watched as Jens Knudsen, passing by Nukurren during a pause in the action, casually stroked the huge warrior’s scarred mantle. She watched as Ludmilla exchanged banter with the outcaste veteran. She watched as Joseph stood by the despised pervert, the former helot, the soulless monster whose mantle never showed any color; stood by her, deep in conversation, his brow furrowed with thought.