Destroyer of Worlds Page 13

  The red woman stopped. “Turn her over to me,” she demanded, imperiously. “Now.”

  The Inquisitor sounded so used to people immediately doing as she commanded, she must have forgotten that she wasn’t wearing her mask.

  “What’s going on here?” asked the first warrior.

  “She’s a maniac, trying to kill me,” Rada exclaimed.

  The older warrior glanced between the two women, and then snapped at the third warrior. “Warn the palanquin there’s a disturbance I must investigate.”

  That soldier immediately complied, and ran off, armor clanking.

  “This is none of your business, Warriors,” the Inquisitor snapped.

  The handsome one standing next to Rada must have still thought that he’d interrupted some worker’s spat. “If it’s in the borders of Great House Vadal, then it is our business. So watch your tone, woman.”

  “Identify yourself,” demanded the older, because he recognized from the Inquisitor’s bearing that she was no mere worker.

  Rada hurried and answered before the Inquisitor could. “I’m Senior Archivist Radamantha Nems dar Harban of the Capitol Library, and this woman is an assassin!”

  Either these warriors were exceedingly devout patrons of the library—which she doubted—or they were particularly sensitive to the accusation of assassin, because their reaction was immediate and extraordinary. The handsome warrior shoved Rada violently aside, and in the same movement his spear whipped around, aimed at the Inquisitor.

  “Wait!” said the Inquisitor as she raised her hands revealing that she had palmed a stiletto, and had been keeping the long thin blade concealed along the inside of her forearm.

  “Knife!” At the sight of the readied weapon, the handsome warrior punched his broad spear right through the Inquisitor’s chest.

  There was an odd look on the woman’s face, almost dumbfounded, as she was shoved back until she hit the fence. With a brutal twist, the spear was wrenched free. She tried to say something, but only blood came out. She went to her knees, then flopped over on her face, to lay there, limp.

  Rada cringed. It wouldn’t just be powder staining the streets tonight.

  The party around them had paused as the revelers realized something had gone horribly wrong. Then they saw who had done the stabbing, and that the victim looked as low status as they were, so no one said a word of complaint. They either went about their business or stopped to gawk.

  Rada felt something cold against her neck. Cautiously, slowly, she looked down to find that the older warrior had her on the end of his sword.

  “I—”

  “Not a word until my superior arrives.” He said that to her, but his eyes were nervously flicking over the rest of the crowd. “There’s nothing for the rest of you to see here. Move along.”

  Rada didn’t dare nod because she feared she’d cut her own throat. These warriors were clearly not the hesitating type.

  The younger one used his boot to nudge the knife away from the dead Inquisitor’s hand. “The edge has been coated in something green and oily. Poison for our charge most likely. That’s a weapon for quiet murder if there ever was one.”

  Rada knew that they wanted her alive. The “poison” was more than likely a drug to cause sleep or befuddlement, and the Inquisitor had intended to prick her with it, so they could sneak her away without notice, as she’d read about in her book of spies. Not that she was going to tell them that, for the presence of that substance seemed to confirm to the warriors that they’d done the right thing.

  The young one used the butt of his spear to roll the body over and knelt down next to begin checking through her clothing.

  “Careful,” said the elder. “If she’s one of the assassins we’ve been warned of, she’ll have demon on her.”

  “No, but I’ve found traveling papers.” He was near a pole where an oil lamp hung, so he held the stamped forms out to better read. “She’s from the Capitol.” Then he went back to searching, and his face fell. “Oh, this is not good.”

  “What?”

  He held up an Inquisitor’s mask.

  “Saltwater!” The old warrior flinched so hard Rada felt the sword edge rub against her neck.

  “How was I supposed to know? She was acting like a threat. I was doing my job!”

  “Do you think they’re gonna care? Hide that thing before anyone sees.”

  The young one hurried and stuffed the mask beneath his arm. It was probably a futile gesture, since despite the admonition for the crowd to move on, quite the opposite had happened, and more people were coming closer to see what was going on. When they’d seen the mask they began to mutter. Inquisitors were feared, never loved, but pity the poor bastard who angered that order.

  The way she was being held at sword point Rada figured everyone would assume she was a criminal. If she wasn’t so worried about her imminent murder, she’d have been rather indignant about that.

  Rada noticed a familiar face coming through the crowd. It was the witch hunter, Khoja. He was walking with a limp, and was also stained red, though she feared his wasn’t from powder, but rather the blood of noble Karno. The fact the tiger man was alive didn’t bode well for the safety of her friend. Khoja saw the dead Inquisitor and a look of fury came over his face. Rada knew she was doomed.

  “Here he comes,” the senior warrior warned, but he wasn’t talking about the witch hunter. He was looking in the opposite direction. The spearman moved away from the body and stood at attention.

  She could tell Khoja wanted to snatch her by the hair and drag her from this place, but he stopped, obviously fuming, but not possessing the prideful stupidity of his predecessor. He pointed at her with two fingers, elbow bent, then mouthed the words so only she could see. She thought the message was you are mine, but she supposed it could just as easily been you are dead. Rada couldn’t really read lips, but either way the message was bad.

  A great excitement went through the assembly. There was a rapid spread of awed and fearful whispers such as, “It’s really him,” and mothers warning their children, “Bow your head!” Rada was afraid to turn, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the colorful crowd parting, and more warriors in the same ornate armor approaching. Behind them was a magnificent palanquin, carried on poles by eight burly workers. The curtains of embroidered silk had been pulled aside, so that the rider could enjoy the spectacle of the festival, while remaining in complete comfort and relative isolation.

  With a word from their master, the workers stopped, and then gently lowered the palanquin’s hardwood and carved-ivory compartment to the cobblestones. The armored warriors spread out, forming a protective circle around it.

  The man who got out was truly notable, wearing the finest robes of the Capitol and a sash of Vadal gray. Around his neck was a chain bearing a ruby the size of a baby’s fist. He had a neatly trimmed beard, gone just enough gray around the edges to make him look distinguished and wise. He lifted one hand—every finger bearing a golden ring—and waved at the crowd. They all bowed. Rada could tell that half of them adored him, and the other half were scared of him, and that seemed to make the man happy, for he smiled at the people of his house like a patient father and gestured for them to rise.

  Rada recognized this man, for she’d heard him speak in the Chamber of Argument. He was supposed to be one of the greatest orators in the history of the Capitol, though she had no ear for such things. Any important new change to the Law she’d filed at the library, odds were his signature had been upon it. Her father—who followed politics rather closely—believed him to be one of the favorites to be obligated as the next Chief Judge. While Devedas had warned her that he was a venomous snake, never to be trusted, for though he couldn’t prove it, Devedas believed that this man had been part of the conspiracy to conceal Ashok Vadal’s true identity from the world.

  It was Harta Vadal, the Thakoor and ultimate ruler of Great House Vadal.

  “Greetings, Apura.”

  The crowd we
nt wild. Love him or hate him, it was rare for people in a place like this to actually lay eyes on the man who quite literally owned their lives. Their Thakoor’s presence was obviously unexpected.

  Harta had the orator’s ability to speak from the chest, to make his words clearly heard even though all around them the city was still filled with music. “It has been my great pleasure to partake of your hospitality this Holi. Apura is one of the finest cities in all of Vadal, the most blessed of all the great houses. Let it be known that I am proud to be your leader…” They cheered. “Thank you, thank you. Return to your festival and know that Great House Vadal loves you. That I, Harta, love you.”

  As the cheering continued, Harta walked over to the warrior who was still ready to slay her. He lowered his voice and went from pleased to annoyed very quickly. “What’s all this, Girish? I was told of an assassination plot against me.”

  “Luthra and I were approached by this one here, claiming to be of the first caste, my lord. She warned that the other, the dead one there, was an assassin. When she flashed an assassin’s blade, Luthra dispatched her.”

  “I knew I was right to increase the numbers of my Personal Guard.” Harta scowled at Rada. “Who are you supposed to be?”

  “Senior Archivist Radamantha Nems dar Harban of the Capitol Library, your honor.”

  “Nems of the library…Durmad’s daughter?” Harta snorted as he looked at her purple-stained face. “Bloody unlikely. I was told the daughter of Durmad is a charming young lady of breathtaking beauty.”

  She was sopping wet, covered in clumping dyes, atop clothes filthy and stinking from travel, but still Rada had to try really hard not to take offense at that. “That would be my sister, Daksha. But you’ve seen my name. I’m the one who prepared the report for the judges about the legality of casteless genocide.”

  “Ah, yes.” Harta nodded thoughtfully. “I do recall that particular Nems now.” The way he said that however, Rada didn’t know if it was a good thing or bad.

  “There’s, uh, one problem, my lord.” The younger warrior—apparently called Luthra—came over and handed his Thakoor the dead Inquisitor’s mask. “This was upon the dead woman.”

  “What?” Harta took it in his hands, brows furrowed, and he stared at it for a long time.

  “She wasn’t wearing it when I killed her, I swear.”

  “This particular Order is already a source of great consternation for me. You’d better hope this is a forgery, Luthra.”

  And that was the precise moment that the witch hunter Khoja decided to approach. “It is no forgery.” He had put his own golden mask on, accentuating his fearsome office, and hiding his face from the people he was supposed to spy on.

  Some of the warriors protectively stepped between their Thakoor and the witch hunter.

  “What do you want?” Harta asked, sounding bored.

  Khoja bowed in the northern style, respectfully low. “We are in pursuit of a fugitive.”

  “Her?” Harta asked incredulously. “Is the library supposed to be a hot bed of rebellion now? If so no one informed me.”

  “No, noble Thakoor, it is her alone.” While the last who’d tried to take her had used threats and bluster, Khoja used honeyed words. “The death of my associate was an unfortunate misunderstanding. She was after this fugitive, and meant you no harm. Though I can understand why your guards reacted as they did. These things happen, and I will be sure to personally tell the Grand Inquisitor that the Personal Guard of Great House Vadal did absolutely nothing illegal.”

  “Oh really? How magnanimous of you.” Harta’s words dripped with sarcasm.

  Khoja’s mask hid his expression, but Rada suspected he was grinding his teeth. “The librarian has been summoned to the Dome. She needs to come with me.”

  “Interesting…And why does the spider Omand require her in his web?”

  Khoja paused. It must have been rare for him to find someone brave enough to openly speak ill of the Grand Inquisitor. He was probably used to being able to push people around, but nobody pushed around a Thakoor inside the borders of his own house.

  “Apologies, your honor, the Grand Inquisitor’s reasons are not mine to question. I merely fulfill my obligation and do as I am told.”

  Harta studied Khoja for a moment, and then looked back to Rada. “You don’t look like much of a heretic.”

  Rada spoke carefully, because the old warrior, apparently named Girish, had not yet removed his sword from her throat. “I’ve done nothing wrong. There is a conspiracy among the Inquisitors to break the Law and lie to the judges and—”

  “Enough.” Harta held up one hand. He thought it over for a moment. “Lower your sword, Girish.”

  Rada took a deep and thankful breath after the steel departed.

  “Please, Lord Vadal. It is of utmost importance that I return this fugitive to the Capitol.”

  “I was just in the Capitol myself recently. I’m on my way home because there’s business which requires my personal attention in Vadal City. It is by happenstance that we stopped in Apura to rest for the holiday. But since I am here…Set my mind at ease, Inquisitor. If this woman has been summoned to the dome for questioning, then surely you have the proper paperwork to show me. I am curious to know which of my fellow judges signed this warrant.”

  Khoja was silent for a long time. “Apologies. I do not have that on my person.”

  “Unfortunate. The Inquisition cannot just snatch a member of the highest caste off the street without a warrant. That would be unseemly. I’ve heard rumors of Omand doing such things in recent years, but I had always dismissed such claims as outlandish rumors. Surely the Grand Inquisitor would not do something so clumsily illegal.”

  The masked man had no response. Rada doubted the Inquisition had ever issued any such official thing. That was why at first they’d sent bounty hunters after her in Zarger.

  “I’m afraid that as the Thakoor and supreme arbiter of the Law in this land, I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed the Inquisition to trample upon the rights of our visitors. Convey to your master that I will take this…Radamantha, is it? I will take her into my custody. Once Omand gets his paperwork sorted out, he may officially send for her. She will be a guest at my estate in Vadal City. You are dismissed.” Harta began walking away.

  “You are making a mistake!” Khoja shouted. “I obligated an entire paltan of Zarger warriors and have tracked her for weeks. The Inquisition will remember this!”

  Harta stopped, back turned, but from the hunch of his head and way his hands clenched into fists, it was obvious that the witch hunter had just crossed a very dangerous line. Khoja hadn’t just called him out, but he’d called him out in front of his witnesses. Regular people, who would surely talk. When Harta looked back, the smiling orator was totally gone, replaced with a steel-eyed ruler. The first kind gave flowery speeches. This one ordered men killed.

  “I am Thakoor here. Thus I cannot make mistakes. Anything I say becomes true, because of the act of my saying it.”

  Khoja must have realized he’d gone too far. He glanced furtively to the side, and Rada noticed that a few of the gathering watchers might be the Inquisitors who’d been chasing her. Was this witch hunter bold enough to challenge a Thakoor? Luthra must have noticed that a few of the people in the crowd were acting out of place, because with a nod of his head, another armored warrior moved in that direction to block them. Harta traveled with a seemingly immense number of bodyguards, not to mention there were many regular warriors here as well who would gladly leap to their Thakoor’s aid. The Inquisitors would be ripped to shreds.

  “What’s more, you brought Zarger dogs into Vadal? Which of my foolish arbiters signed off on this, this, incursion?” When no immediate answer was forthcoming, Harta said, “I thought so. Girish, summon the local garrison. Have them find these desert scum and annihilate them. Hound them to the border. Do not stop the chase until they cross it. And then notify the Thao, who I am sure will be equally as furious about t
he Inquisition casually bringing illegal invaders into their lands.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Did you hear that, Inquisitor? The festival will buy you some time for my warriors to assemble. Consider that your head start. You are lucky I have such great respect for the Law or I’d just have you killed here and now.”

  Khoja, knowing that he was defeated, gave Harta a small bow, and then walked away. Many of the locals, having overheard this exchange, started to boo, and then the drunker ones began throwing fruit and even rocks at the retreating Inquisitor. They seemed gleeful about it too. It was as if the presence of their offended Thakoor granted them temporary license to mock an organization they were terrified of, and the chaos of the colorful crowd gave them the anonymity to get away with it.

  Rada felt an emotion somewhat akin to relief, but only briefly, because then Harta grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Come.”

  “I was traveling with a friend—a Protector—when they attacked. He might be dead or captured—”

  “I don’t care,” Harta snapped as he shoved her toward the palanquin. “All that matters to me is that for Omand to be so brazen, you must be very important to him. But he’s not the only one who can play the great game. If the Grand Inquisitor wants something so badly, then that is reason enough for me to take it away. You are property of Vadal now, Librarian.”

  Chapter 14

  It had only been a day since Thera had commanded Ashok to go to war. She’d not expected him to conquer a town already.

  The so-called Voice of the Forgotten had been sitting next to a humble campfire made of old grass and dried dung, when her so-called general had ridden up on a giant white horse to deliver his full report. If the story had come from anyone other than always-truthful Ashok, she might not have believed her ears. The casteless quarter of Dhakhantar spared, three paltans of warriors utterly defeated, twenty hostages taken, including the phontho of the Chakma garrison, and the Sons had only sustained minor injuries in the process.