Destroyer of Worlds Page 17

Except when he found the station it had been ransacked. The water tank had been punctured and drained. The rations had been stolen. Whatever the raiders couldn’t carry, they’d burned, including the haystacks. Judging by the lukewarm ashes they were at least half a day ahead of him. The handful of warriors who were supposed to be manning the place were missing. Judging by the tracks they’d been quickly overwhelmed and captured by a group of about thirty horsemen. It angered him that there wasn’t even any blood spilled. They’d not even put up a fight.

  It was a slight detour off the main route to Chakma and located in a gully so it wouldn’t have even been visible over the horizon. How had the rebels known about this place? Had they found it by accident? Unlikely on the vast plains. Or had someone betrayed them? There had been talk about Akershani warriors joining the rebel’s cause, but Bharatas had dismissed those rumors as foolishness. Now he was not so sure. The idea that some of his people would fall in with fanatics disgusted him. No. It was more likely the local casteless had known about it. They were idiot savages but they weren’t blind.

  He’d not cared for their orders. Slaughtering casteless seemed like a pointless waste. Yes, there were rebels among them. Bharatas had fought criminals before, but he knew most of the casteless were too stupid and lazy to rebel. Killing such defenseless wretches was beneath their dignity, and most of his brothers felt the same…But the arrival of the Black Heart would change everything.

  That would be a proper war. Even though he was injured, delirious, and had just suffered a terrible defeat, the thought energized Bharatas. Regardless of how low his rebels were, the army that defeated Ashok Vadal would become legend. If their bearer wouldn’t kill Ashok, then Bharatas vowed that he would find a way to destroy the Black Heart himself.

  “Faster, Khurdan. To Chakma.”

  The next day he found his home city at war.

  Chapter 18

  “I will cut a path!” Ashok bellowed at the Sons of the Black Sword. “On me!”

  Shoulder to shoulder and three ranks deep, the Akershani heavy spearmen filled the entire street, their weapons leveled and ready as they quick marched forward. Their armor was made of chain and green lacquered plate, their footsteps in practiced time—they made for an imposing force. Nothing at all like the loose clusters of surprised warriors they’d cut down to make it this far into the heart of Chakma.

  The Sons of the Black Sword ran to keep up as Ashok charged the center of that steel wall. The soldiers seemed surprised, surely wondering what manner of madman would willingly impale himself on their spears. The closest two thrust with an accuracy that would’ve caught any normal man in the ribs, but with the inhuman strength stolen from the Heart of the Mountain, he smashed the attacks aside. Poles splintered. He dodged another point and rolled between the shafts, swinging his sword. That hit, clean beneath the helm. A warrior fell, blood spraying from his neck. Ashok turned into the next and kicked, shattering a knee. As that spearman dropped, Ashok vaulted over him and struck at the next.

  He’d made a hole. As the second rank tried to plug it, the howling, battle-mad Sons rushed to exploit it. Ashok made it wider for them.

  Outside a few feet a spear made for a fearsome weapon. Inside that radius however, its length became a liability, so Ashok went to work. Laying about him with his sword, he kept pushing, staying as close to the enemy as possible, crashing into them, denting helmets with his elbows or cracking skulls with his hardened fists. Anyone he knocked down would be easy to finish by the Sons behind him.

  He could not feel fear, but he could recognize it on the faces of other men. From the look of these poor warriors Ashok must have made a terrifying figure. Per Thera’s command—to do his best to remain alive—he had worn the Protector armor that Gutch had repaired and fitted for him. Except Ashok could not stand the indecency of a criminal like him wearing the symbol of the Law, so he had removed the face, and rather than shame the proud colors of his former order, he had blackened the silver with soot and ash, so that instead of a shining beacon of the Law he had become darkness incarnate, black as a demon.

  The tall brick walls had fallen before the city had even known it was under attack. The rebels had seized the towers and flung open the gates for them. The Sons had ridden inside as all of Chakma had descended into chaos. The rebels were fighting house to house, getting revenge against any who they’d felt had wronged them. And from the amount of bloodshed in this place, that had been a great many wrongs indeed.

  All this Law breaking disgusted him, but he had a mission to complete. Seize the first-caste district and the government house to force their surrender.

  Ashok caught a spear in his free hand an instant before it would’ve impaled him. He sidestepped and yanked the spear forward, jerking the warrior off balance. The handguard of his sword broke jaw and teeth. Another warrior was battling one of the Sons, and Ashok took advantage of that temporary distraction by slicing a leg out from beneath him. A moment later the Son smashed a mace down on the fallen man’s head.

  Most of the city’s warriors had been taken by surprise, but the paltan stationed at their garrison nearest the first-caste quarter had come out ready to fight. Rather than blunder out in small groups to try and stop the rampaging rebels like most stationed here, this risaldar had taken the time to organize, armor up, and stick together. They’d marched to the street that allowed entrance to the estates of their highest-status men. Now that same sharp risaldar was behind his heavy infantry, riding back and forth on a horse so his men could see him, shouting for them to hold the line even as the Somsak kept launching crossbow bolts at him. There was already one bolt that had failed to penetrate sticking out of his breast plate, but he still refused to dismount because his men needed to see him. Ashok knew they would probably have to kill that officer before this was over, but in the meantime, he had earned Ashok’s respect.

  The Sons kept pushing into the gap, swinging swords, axes, and hammers. They took advantage of the violence Ashok caused even as he spread far more, darting between the defenders, slashing and striking.

  Though they’d fought wizards and demons and ambushed many soldiers, this was the Sons’ first stand-up battle. They did not disappoint. Jagdish would have been proud of his fanatics. All Ashok could do was fight as hard as he could to keep the Sons alive.

  Steel rebounding off his lamellar plate, he crashed forward, spreading chaos among the ranks, shoving armored warriors into each other, keeping them off balance, bounding back and forth, preventing them from organizing a good defense, and killing, always killing. Each time a warrior slipped, Ashok took advantage of it and another man died.

  If he’d still had Angruvadal, they’d all be dead already.

  The Sons flowed in around him, stabbing and crushing. There were tall buildings on both sides of them, and as the Sons took the middle the spearmen’s ranks were cut in half, and each half was pressed against the walls. Jagdish would have yelled at them for that because it meant they were now surrounded on three sides, but this had degenerated into something so savage that there was no real strategy at all. The enemy risaldar was screaming for his back rank to drop their spears and draw their swords, but then a bolt hit his mount in the neck and horse and rider went crashing to the stone.

  They were winning, but Ashok saw that reinforcements were running up behind the enemy. These weren’t even real warriors, just a mob of sepoys, worker-caste militia who could be called up and issued weapons in the direst emergencies. They were unarmored and unskilled but numbers could make the difference.

  Eklavya was at Ashok’s elbow, battering the enemy with a war hammer. The young man was obviously frightened but in the moment, too determined to feel it. There was a flicker of movement, the briefest of warning that any normal man would have failed to see, but Ashok reached back with his free hand for the spear that had been flung at his havildar, and caught it with only inches remaining between the blade and Eklavya’s spine. He swung it around, broke the shaft in half over a warrior’
s head, and then hurled the rest end over end into another man’s chest.

  Ashok knew he should not have been able to react so quickly on his own. Once again, it was almost as if Angruvadal was still with him, whispering. Did the shard lodged in his heart still live?

  There was no time for such idle ponderings though. So he grabbed Eklavya by his shoulder plate and spun him around. “Havildar.”

  “Yes, General!” The wide-eyed warrior didn’t even know that Ashok had just saved him from being paralyzed from the neck down.

  “Break down those doors, send archers up the stairs. Fire down into the enemy.”

  “Yes, sir!” Eklavya ran back, shouting commands.

  Ashok returned to the fight. The faster he could beat these warriors, the sooner the city would fall and Thera could order the rebels to stand down, the more lives spared. Though he was unsure if once released, the rebel’s bloodlust could be so easily stopped. As if to accentuate this thought, there was a sharp crack of thunder, as somewhere nearby a rebel unleashed illegal Fortress magic.

  Backs to the brick, the Akershani warriors fought desperately, but it wasn’t enough to stop the brutal assault of the Sons, and the enemy began to fall apart.

  Above them curtains were flung open as the archers of the Wild Men took up position. On this flat street, beyond the line of colliding and moving men, their targets had been limited for fear of hitting their brothers. With a bit of elevation however, their choices must have seemed endless. Bowstrings thrummed. More Akershani warriors fell.

  The sepoys ran forward, carrying cheap short swords that must have felt unfamiliar and clumsy in their hands. The blades were even speckled with rust, probably because they’d been long forgotten and locked up in some storage room. Normally when the bell rang to summon these workers it was to fight fires. Being handed a sword instead of a bucket must have confused and frightened them. It almost made Ashok sad to have them killed.

  Ashok broke past the last of the warriors and launched himself directly at the sepoys. A few of them yelped, turned, and fled when they saw him. The brave ones kept coming. Ashok simply cut the leader’s head off. The body managed to run a few more feet past him before falling over and dumping what to the workers must have seemed a ridiculous amount of blood.

  The workers skidded to a stop. The head landed between them.

  “Flee, or I will kill you all.”

  The drafted workers must have believed the terrifying, blood-soaked, black-clad apparition because they all turned and ran for their lives.

  That problem solved, Ashok turned back to the battle. The Akershani were overwhelmed and crumbling. One of their havildars was shouting for a retreat. Shekar of the Somsak leaned way out one of the upstairs windows to launch a crossbow bolt directly into that warrior’s head. The command had caught the attention of many of the warriors and having the word retreat punctuated with its issuer’s immediate death broke them. Men fled. Others tossed down their weapons and begged for mercy. Swords and hammers were raised—

  “Let them live!” Ashok bellowed. The Sons heard him. Mostly.

  Something warned him to turn and lift his sword. Sure enough, the enemy risaldar was coming at Ashok, curved sword moving in a blur. Ashok met it, steel on steel, then swiftly turned into the man to violently shoulder him to the ground.

  There was no mistaking it that time. That blade should have struck him in the back. That instinct had been Angruvadal’s gift. Like during the duel against Bundit or bringing him back to life on Sikasso’s meat hook, it was plain now the shard in his heart intended to keep him alive by once again granting him the instincts of all its previous bearers.

  That was huge. Amidst all the carnage, Ashok laughed.

  There was not time to ponder on the ramifications of Angruvadal’s gift, because the warrior was getting back to his feet.

  “Surrender, Risaldar. You are defeated.”

  “And let you rebels destroy Chakma? Never!”

  Ashok could have easily killed him on the way up, but he did not wish to. “We will not raze this city. Nor will we execute your men. You have my word.”

  The risaldar extended his sword before him, ready to attack. “What worth is the word of a criminal?”

  “When the criminal is Ashok Vadal, it is worth everything.”

  The risaldar flinched. “Ashok Vadal?”

  “I am.”

  “Better to swordfight a wildfire.” The warrior looked like he was ready to die and would go to the great nothing without a regret—as befitted his caste—but then he looked to his men and saw their sorry state. It was easy for a warrior to think of his own glory, and harder to set it aside for the safety of others. This one was brave, but their battle was lost. Best to save who he could.

  “Do you promise you’ll let my men live?”

  “They will be ransomed back to your house when your Thakoor agrees to spare the casteless.” It was what Thera had decided to do with all the other prisoners they had taken so far. Ashok saw no reason why she would decide differently here. “Until then you will be bound, but neither starved nor tortured.”

  He glanced toward the impressive government buildings behind them. “What of Chakma’s first caste?”

  “Their fate will be theirs to decide. They can be proud, or they can survive.”

  The offer was fair, the stakes high. It was a difficult choice, but the wiser one was made. The risaldar nodded in submission and then placed his sword on the ground at Ashok’s feet.

  Chapter 19

  Taking the city had not proven that difficult. However, keeping the victorious rebels from burning it down was.

  When the rebellion’s leaders had told Thera about their plan—which had been put into place at the mysterious Mother Dawn’s urging—she had seen great opportunity. Thera had never been a raider or played any political games herself, but her father had, and she’d learned much from Andaman Vane.

  The rebels had been smuggling men and weapons—both mundane and Fortress forged—into Chakma for months. With most of the city’s garrison deployed across the region to exterminate the casteless, it was an ideal time to strike a fearsome blow against the Law, or so they had assured her. They intended to seize the city to use as a bargaining chip.

  Their plan made strategic sense, but Thera wasn’t Keta. She had no grand illusions about throwing off the chains of the Capitol and creating a free house where all people could live as equals. She didn’t want to capture territory. She just wanted to be left alone. Only the extermination order against the casteless had changed everything. Thera had no desire to meddle in anyone else’s affairs, but whenever she closed her eyes she was still haunted by the images of those dead children on the plains. If there was a way to stop such horrors, and she didn’t act then she would be every bit as cruel as the judges who’d signed the order.

  Thera was a pragmatic survivor, but that did not make her a coward. Mother Dawn—whatever manner of being she really was—had laid the groundwork for something impressive here. It stood to reason that if the casteless genocide became too costly to continue, then the Thakoor of Great House Akershan would have no choice but to call off his warriors. Losing control of the little coal town of Dhakhantar was one thing but losing the valuable market city of Chakma would be a costly embarrassment. It would be difficult for him to continue dispatching paltans to murder casteless if the First was demanding all the warriors stay in their cities to protect them.

  The opportunity was too great to pass up.

  However, Thera had also seen the madness that accompanied war, especially illegal war, and didn’t want to bring that hell down upon these people. The Law allowed for raids and disputes between houses. In fact that was how her father had become so rich and respected. The judges knew that low-level violence between rivals was inevitable, so the Law included a code of appropriate behaviors for raiders. Stealing was fine but needed to be kept within limits. That way valuable trade could resume as soon as possible. No salting fields or destroy
ing factories for example. Death on the battlefield was expected, but torturing captives was not, so on and so forth.

  These rules enabled her old caste to conduct their bloody business without too much disruption to the others. They were often so good at it she’d even heard rumors of border villages that had changed hands so many times that the worker caste who lived there didn’t even know who they belonged to until it was time to pay their protection notes.

  When warriors weren’t good at it, innocents died, crops were burned, people starved, rats feasted on the fields of bodies, and plagues spread. Whenever raids threatened to spiral into full-blown house wars the Capitol would step in and send their dreaded Protectors to restore order. Thera figured the judges only cared because dead workers couldn’t be taxed.

  As if by a miracle, Thera had been given an army. Only this army had no code of conduct. They had not been raised to understand honor between foes. Her forces consisted of the bitter and oppressed, the grudge holders, the criminals with nothing to lose, and a few she suspected simply wanted to start fires and hurt people. She had long since been forsaken by her caste, but the teachings of Andaman Vane remained. Thera would use this gift army, but she’d be damned if she’d let them run wild in the process.

  So when she had agreed to the rebels’ plan, she had sent them back with a message. They would take the city at her signal, but afterward there would be no revenge killings, no unorganized looting of the city’s store houses, they would take prisoners, and above all, no rape. Thera had seen her husband’s forces do that during the house war in Makao, and the memories still filled her with disgust and revulsion.

  Thera had met many rebels and fanatics over the years, and most were good people done wrong, or true believers, but very few of them were as high-minded as Keta or as faithful as Ratul, and unfortunately she knew many of them were simply opportunistic scum. The ones who had faith that the Voice was really divine would obey, but she suspected a few would not. So to accentuate her commands she had warned them that anyone who failed to obey their prophet’s commands would be dealt with by Black-Hearted Ashok himself.