Destroyer of Worlds Page 15

  “Eggs then,” Gutch declared. “Demons must lay eggs.”

  “Hold on now. I didn’t say that. You declare them to be like fish because they live in Hell, but if Keta and the old stories are to be believed, demons aren’t from the sea originally.”

  “As if anyone sane would believe a word Keta said about anything, with his tales of mighty Ramrowan riding a black-steel ship down from the heavens.” But then Gutch stroked his bearded chin as if he were an arbiter reasoning through a fine point of law. “By that logic though, the histories say demons fell from the sky. You know what else lives in the sky? Birds. Which lay eggs.”

  “You have me there, Gutch. Eggs it is.” Jagdish didn’t know how the monstrous things worked, he just fervently hoped he never had to fight one again.

  They consumed their breakfast in silence. Gutch was a giant of a man, barrel-chested, and solid, but like Jagdish, he too had fallen ill with the swamp fever. He’d lost quite a bit of weight, so wasn’t nearly as ponderous as he had been. Living off what you could forage while walking all day didn’t give a man much opportunity to be fat. Though surely Gutch would remedy that situation as soon as they were back in the Law-abiding world. He often said as much himself during their daily march, as he listed off the many items which would be on the menu for the great feast celebrating his return.

  When they were done, the two of them gathered the donkeys they’d taken from the Wild Men and started piling the cargo on their backs. Toramana had not been eager to send so many of his tribe’s precious livestock off with two northerners, but one stern glance from Ashok had settled the debate. Gutch and Jagdish had taken a disproportionate amount of valuable demon, but they’d all had more than they could carry anyway. They had so much weight in magic that unloading so the poor donkeys could rest, and then reloading them to begin their journey anew, took quite a bit of time and labor, but the two men had worked out a system. They took good care of the beasts, because losing one of them didn’t mean just losing an animal, but also leaving behind a fortune in magic.

  “You know, I bet I could find some trustworthy workers in Warun, put together a proper expedition, and go back to gather the bones of that giant fella we left hidden in the swamp. Forget enjoying civilization. With those big old bones we could buy civilization. You don’t need to appease your old Thakoor, Jagdish. With this much money, you could be a Thakoor.”

  “That’s not how it works. A warrior can’t just buy rank and status, Gutch.”

  “Oh, really? And what exactly are you doing way out here in the middle of bleeding nowhere with the world’s most valuable donkey train then?”

  “This is different.”

  “Is it now!”

  Jagdish frowned as he cinched down another sack that probably had enough demon inside to pay the living stipends of fifty warriors for a year. “I’m not buying anything. I earned my place through blood and sweat. I’m using these riches to get back the rank that’s rightfully mine is all.”

  “Men of honor are a rare and dying breed, my friend. Probably because you’re all busy dying stupidly while more pragmatic men rise to the top.” Gutch grew serious. “I am begging you, Jagdish. Don’t go back to Vadal. I can find us buyers in Warun. You can build an estate in Kharsawan or Sarnobat. We’ll get you forged traveling papers for whatever destination your heart desires.”

  “My heart desires my home.”

  “Then your heart is filled with foolish sentiment.”

  “My wife is there. My child I’ve never met is there.”

  “Get new ones!”

  Anyone else, Jagdish would’ve punched them in the teeth for that, but after traveling across a third of the continent, battling smugglers, demons, and wizards together, Gutch was basically his brother, so Jagdish just laughed at the foolishness.

  “I’m not inclined to. I’m rather fond of mine.” His arranged marriage had been a lucky one. Normally when a disgraced warrior was married to a worker girl to seal a contract, you couldn’t expect much. But wise, supportive, beautiful, and kind, Pakpa had turned out to be his treasure. Jagdish happened to love his wife very much.

  “Then create a new identity, settle elsewhere, and send for your baker’s daughter. Pakpa is the same caste as me. We workers are practical! Trust me, she’d rather live in a manor in Kharsawan than a widow’s shack in Vadal.”

  “I’d rather die than give up my caste. My son’s going to be raised as a warrior.”

  “No problem. You want a command again? No other house is going to turn down an experienced officer who shows up on their doorstep with enough banknotes to fund his own garrison.”

  “I don’t want to buy a new name. I want my old name back. I’m no traitor to my house.”

  “Ah! Why have loyalty to a house that had no loyalty to you? The instant Great House Vadal needed someone to blame they tossed you, a blameless man, beneath the wagon wheels. Harta will take your demon, say thank you very much, noble warrior, by the way I heard you’ve been serving as the right hand of the man who cut my mother’s face off, now right this way to our gallows. They’re the finest gallows in all of Vadal.”

  Jagdish groaned. “For the thousandth time, they’ll not execute someone who avenged the murder of the Cold Stream guards and brought back an incredible treasure for his house in the process. I intend to dump a bag of bones and the seal of Sikasso on the throne room floor and declare that offense has been satisfied. That’s what I’ll do, or I am not the warrior Jagdish.”

  “Bravo.” Gutch started to clap as if he’d just enjoyed the finale of a play. The noise even spooked one of the donkeys, who brayed at him in consternation. “They’ll be so impressed they’ll certainly hang you with a chain made of gold.”

  Deep down, he knew much of what Gutch was saying was valid. Depending on the mercy or wisdom of a politician was suicide. Perhaps the worker was right. Perhaps the honorable path only led to a bad end.

  Jagdish just shook his head. “You’re not a warrior, Gutch. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  It was going to be a long walk back to Great House Vadal.

  Chapter 16

  Ashok had ridden ahead to scout for danger and stopped on the hillside overlooking the coal town of Dhakhantar. It pleased him to see that his bloodthirsty Somsak had managed to not burn it down in his absence. That must have been difficult for them, as the Somsak had raiding in their blood.

  Half a mile away, the Akershani warriors’ tents still stood, though they were now occupied by the Sons of the Black Sword. The flag bearing the three red stars over a green field had been pulled down, and in its place hung a ragged strip of black fabric. He called upon the Heart of the Mountain to sharpen his vision. It appeared his men had been busy, as a large number of horses had been gathered. It looked like they had also stolen a few wagons from the town’s workers as well. It simultaneously offended him that his gang of criminals had taken property they had no right to claim, and made him glad that they had shown initiative, because wagons would be useful to haul their supplies and the weakest of their marchers.

  Even setting a brutal pace, it had taken Thera’s pathetic army nearly the entire day to walk to Dhakhantar, and by the time they got there their number had swelled to nearly four hundred. The plains were like a never-ending parade of casteless fleeing ahead of the warriors’ extermination, and Thera seemed determined to keep taking them in like they were homeless pets.

  Ashok was highly annoyed by this, because every sickly casteless who fell in with them made their column that much more vulnerable. Their meager supplies wouldn’t last. Hunting or foraging food sufficient for such numbers would only slow them down more.

  Yet in another respect, Ashok found that he was actually impressed by Thera’s deep sense of responsibility for others. It was a noble trait, though one she normally kept well hidden beneath a hardened shell of self-preservation. Either the visions she’d received in the graveyard of demons had put a crack in her selfishness, or more likely, she was driven by gui
lt because the rebellion she’d inspired was the reason the Capitol had ordered all of these casteless butchered.

  Regardless of her motivations, her mercy toward the casteless was certainly making his obligation to keep her safe more difficult. It was his job to make sure her newfound kindness would not be the death of them all.

  It was curious how you could take someone with a sense of duty and honor, and difficult circumstances could turn them into a criminal. But when given an opportunity, some criminals could still try to do the right thing…Maybe not the legal thing, but the right thing—there being a difference between the two still being a new and uncomfortable concept—but it was enough to make him question the multitude of executions he’d carried out over the twenty years he’d been a Protector of the Law. Were all those criminals as deserving of death as he’d thought they were at the time? Or like Thera, would they have tried to do good if given the opportunity?

  Foolishness. Ashok cursed himself for letting his mind wander. Leisurely philosophy was for the judges. Ashok was a criminal, and he had criminal duties to attend to. Satisfied that there wasn’t an army of angry warriors waiting to greet them, he kneed his horse and set off back toward the column.

  The white stallion he had claimed yesterday was always eager to run. He was truly a magnificent animal, easily the equal in strength and stamina to a mighty Zarger warhorse. He must not have cared much for his previous rider, because he had given Ashok little trouble all day.

  “Good job, Horse.” That name would do, because Ashok had never been creative in the naming of his steeds.

  When he got back, he found Thera marching at the head of the column, red faced and sweating. Their last few miles had featured a gradual but steep climb into the hills around Dhakhantar. In fact, since they were traveling from a swamp by the ocean to the edge of the mountains almost every day of their journey had been, and would continue to be, uphill to one degree or another. Such were the joys of marching. Even though Thera could claim the highest status of their odd band, she was carrying a pack as heavy as anyone else.

  Thera’s ever loyal bodyguard, Murugan, was walking beside her with a bow in his hand. He saw Ashok approaching and shouted, “The general returns.”

  For security, Thera should not have been at the front of the column, but rather in the middle, where it was safest. Ashok had told her that a few times already. Surely Murugan had insisted as well but debating with that woman was about as useful as arguing with a wall. Only the wall was more likely to give.

  “The camp is just over this rise. The Sons await us. Why are you on point?”

  “Somebody needs to set the pace for this lollygagging gang of imbeciles!” Thera shouted back.

  As Ashok got closer he realized the color on her cheeks wasn’t from the exertion, but rather from frustration. “You appear angry.”

  “Of course I’m angry. Some of these damned fool idiots won’t listen. I’ve had two men get into a fight over a woman, and two women get into a fight over who was the rightful owner of a chicken. It turns out that every casteless jealously despises all the casteless from the next village over. They slow us down with bickering and whining, I break them up to make peace, they’re terrified of me, and while I’m there it’s all heads bowed and as you wish, Prophet, until I go to fix the next problem and they go back to squabbling.”

  “Do you wish for me to kill some as an example?”

  “No!”

  “I already offered, sir,” Murugan said helpfully.

  “As you should have.” A good bodyguard tended to unpleasant tasks so that the higher-status person they were protecting didn’t have to worry about it. As for how to deal with this issue, he knew very little about the management of casteless beyond what he’d seen their overseers do. The casteless bargeman, Nod, had taught him that whipping them only made the casteless go slower, but then again Ratul had certainly known how to motivate Protector acolytes. “Perhaps a few beatings then?”

  “Tempting as that is, they’re scared and upset, Ashok. Hurting them more won’t fix that. They’re refugees. They need something to believe in. Something to hope for. Keta would’ve had them singing songs by now.”

  Ashok might not understand much about life among the other castes, but he did understand discipline. “If you treat them as children, they will remain children. You must impose order on them. Every man must have a place.”

  “Don’t quote the Law at me, while we’re actively rebelling against it.”

  “You have said yourself, you don’t hate all of the Law, merely the parts you find unjust. Then I would suggest adopting the parts which suit you, and quickly, before your disorganized rabble gets us all killed…But I did not ride back here to discuss the politics of the casteless.” He held one hand down toward her. “Ride with me to the camp. The column can catch up.”

  Thera seemed torn as she looked at his extended hand. “They’re a mess. I’m afraid they’ll fall apart without me.”

  “If they can’t make it the last few miles on their own then they do not deserve you, and they should die alone on the plains.”

  Thera bit her lip as she thought it over, looked at Ashok’s hand, and then back toward her ragged mob, obviously torn between duty and annoyance.

  So Ashok provided her an honorable way out. “You need to decide what to do about the town and the hostages. Such decisions are not mine to make.”

  “In that case…” She took his hand.

  He effortlessly swung her up behind his back. Horse snorted and stamped, as if to say that he’d never agreed to two riders. “Whoa.”

  Thera had one last command to give. “Murugan, you’re in charge of the column. Let it be known I’ve declared if any of them cause any more holdups, you’ll leave them on the side of the road.”

  “It will be done gladly, Prophet.”

  Ashok nudged Horse into a quick walk. Once they were away from the column, he said, “I have no doubt your bodyguard will fulfill that particular command with great enthusiasm.”

  “He’s a good kid. Murugan’s as faithful as Keta, but only half as obnoxious about it. He’s like my shadow when you’re not around. I’m still getting used to the idea of warriors being willing to sacrifice their lives for mine, but I’ve no doubt that boy would take a blade meant for me in a heartbeat.”

  When the Sons of the Black Sword had encountered the demon in the swamp, it had been young Murugan who had become frightened and ran, attracting its attention. Though Ashok couldn’t himself feel fear, he’d faced enough sea demons to understand why a normal man would be terrified of them. They were pure lethality, bound in near impenetrable flesh walking on near unbreakable bones, and Murugan had panicked. It had only been temporary, and he’d returned quickly to the battle, and from all accounts fought well, but as warrior caste, he’d be forever shamed by that lapse. Ashok wondered how much of Murugan’s devotion to his prophet was due to faith, and how much was compensating for his earlier failure…Ultimately, his reasons didn’t matter, as long as he did his job.

  “That warrior you found who’d punched the Inquisitor and caught an arrow for his trouble will be fine,” she told him. “Disobeying orders to murder casteless doesn’t mean he wanted to join a band of them though, so I had him dropped off at a farmhouse we passed along the way.”

  “Good,” Ashok said. Because even though it was illegal, the idea of striking Inquisitors amused him. It seemed incongruous how he could now simultaneously respect someone for keeping one part of the Law, while flagrantly violating another, but it was what it was.

  It seemed getting away from the refugees had greatly improved Thera’s mood, because she said, “Come on, Ashok, you can tell this stallion wants to run. Let him run!”

  “I didn’t cross half of Lok to save you from wizards, to have you break your neck falling off a horse.”

  “Cram your obligation. I’m a daughter of House Vane. I can probably ride better than you.”

  He doubted that very much. “As you wis
h.”

  Horse needed very little coaxing. Thera had to wrap her arms around Ashok’s waist and hold tight. He found that he didn’t mind the closeness.

  After half a mile at a fierce gallop, feeling the wind on his face, he heard a surprising and unexpected sound. Thera laughing. It was an honest sound this time, not the sardonic, weary noise that she usually made indicating mirth. He glanced back over his shoulder, and found her actually grinning, carefree, while her dark hair whipped in the wind.

  It was a good moment.

  But all moments pass, and as they neared the camp, Thera’s laughter trailed off. He glanced back and noted that she composed herself, and put on a stern face, a commander’s face. It wouldn’t do for the fanatics to see the Voice of their god being unserious. She hadn’t needed to try, because when she saw the buzzards circling over the corpses piled outside the casteless quarter, Ashok could tell it brought reality crashing back, abruptly ending whatever joy she’d felt along their ride.

  He slowed Horse as they approached the camp. It was better not to startle a weary guard and have an arrow launched their way. A couple of Somsak rose from the tall grass where they had been waiting in ambush. Even Ashok hadn’t noticed their hiding places. Their vigilance pleased him.

  The camp was in good order. There were a few spots where blood had turned the ground to mud, but the solders Ashok had killed here had been carried down and thrown upon the corpse pile. The Sons appeared upbeat and had gotten some rest. Their prisoners looked battered and surly, their wrists bound and tied to stakes driven into the ground. There were several strangers present, wearing insignia of various status, their expressions ranging from fearful to curious.

  “General,” Eklavya Kharsawan came out to meet them. “And the prophet! Welcome.”