Destroyer of Worlds Page 5

  “Death will come sooner rather than later once Harta finds out that you’ve been serving as his most hated enemy’s second-in-command.”

  Jagdish gave him a lopsided grin. “I can handle Harta Vadal, the fop, I know him from my time in the Personal Guard. He can spin some pretty words, but our house’s new Thakoor isn’t near as tough as his mother was. Besides, I’ll come bearing gifts.”

  “Sacks of demon bone may be valuable, but they’re not nearly enough to make up for the loss of their house’s ancestor blade.” They’d had this discussion many times, and Ashok knew that he could not shake Jagdish from the path he considered most honorable, but he still had to try. “The Sons of the Black Sword will be lessened by your absence.”

  “I’ve trained them hard. They sure won’t miss all the drills I put them through, that’s for sure…” It was no exaggeration. Even while the men had been weak with the swamp fever, their risaldar had made them train. Even dizzy and sluggish contact drills were better than none at all. When they’d been too weak to stand, Jagdish had made them lay upon the grass while he’d lectured them on battle strategies. “Take care of my boys, Ashok, and I know they’ll do you proud.”

  Ashok was the far better combatant, but he knew that he’d never be half the commander Jagdish was. Some men were simply born to lead other warriors into battle. One of Ashok’s greatest shames was that his fall had brought dishonor upon someone who was such an exemplar of everything the warrior caste should strive to be.

  “I will do my best.”

  “Unlike most, a promise from you really means something, I know. They may be fanatics believing in idealistic foolishness, but they’re good men. I’ve been proud to lead them. Even if I get my old rank back and am given fifty of Vadal’s finest warriors, I don’t know if they’ll be able to compare to the Sons.”

  “If they survive, it will be because of what you taught them.”

  Jagdish grew solemn. The crafty warrior hadn’t been quite as liquored up as he’d first acted. “I’ve thought upon the offer to stay on as your second, many times…But I’ve come a long way to redeem my name, and still have a long way to go before I get home. I know it might all be for nothing, but more than anything else I just want to see my wife again. I hope it doesn’t make me seem weak to admit I miss Pakpa. I was lucky to be given her as a bride. She was pregnant when I left. Imagine that. By the time I get home I’ll have a child…Surely, a son! A warrior needs a good woman to come home to…Speaking of which, with you and Thera both outside the Law, it isn’t like you’d even need an arbiter to arrange a marriage.”

  “Such tenacity. You’re not going to let that go until I demand a duel, are you?”

  “Ha! No, I’ve not had nearly enough to drink to work up that much courage. I’m just saying, Ashok, to the oceans with the Grand Inquisitor and whatever his mysterious orders were. You’re on your own now. This is your life, make the best of it…Now I’ve got to go make arrangements for tomorrow. These villagers have shown us their hospitality, so I’m going to make sure the Sons pay them back by keeping them safe all the way to the fanatics’ hidden kingdom.” Jagdish gave Ashok a deep bow. “Good luck in the south, my friend.”

  Ashok returned the respectful gesture. “Good luck in the north, brother.” He’d not even intended to use that honorific. It had just slipped out, as if it was the old days, and he’d been speaking to a fellow Protector.

  Jagdish seemed moved by that. “Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you with Harta.”

  Ashok rarely laughed, but he couldn’t help it when the sheer absurdity of that idea struck him.

  Jagdish left to have a few last discussions with the men. Their risaldar would be sorely missed by the Sons. They had killed a demon together and lived to tell about it. That was a bond that transcended house or caste.

  Ashok leaned against a tree and watched the village for a long time, until the bonfire was dying down, the musicians done, the dancers spent, the fog came creeping back in. Most of the villagers were going to sleep or leaving to make last minute preparations. In the morning these people would abandon the only home they’d ever known and join their new cause. The Sons of the Black Sword had turned into something somewhat resembling a small army, only it was made up of warriors, workers, casteless, freed slaves, and an outsider tribe, all led by a fake Protector and a reluctant prophet.

  It was a very strange thing they’d built.

  Though it was their last night here, and ostensibly a night of celebration, the Wild Men still set guards in each of their tree-stand towers. They lived in a perpetual state of alert. Demon incursions were rare, but always a possibility this close to the sea. Several of the deadly creatures had been killed at the House of Assassins—including the biggest one anyone had ever heard of—yet over the ensuing months they’d found fresh signs of other demons while out hunting.

  By these people’s standards, the secret place Keta had built really might be a paradise.

  In the silence, Ashok mulled over Jagdish’s words. The warrior had guessed right about the Grand Inquisitor’s orders. Making a man whose very existence was based upon the Law live out as his days as a criminal was the worst punishment he could imagine. Yet, what if instead of this particular criminal, he had been charged to be in the service of a mad raider like Nadan Somsak? Or a merciless assassin like Sikasso? Mighty Angruvadal had been destroyed, but it had been destroyed stopping an abomination, not aiding one. What foul deeds could a leader like those have accomplished with the greatest swordsman in the world at their command?

  The prophet he’d sworn to serve had been revealed to be a woman who—despite being a criminal—retained a certain sense of honor. His obligated master didn’t want to destroy the world, she just wanted to be left alone. Thera was no power-hungry conqueror, just someone who had been forced into a role not of her choosing…Just like he had been.

  It could have been so much worse.

  Perhaps he owed Thera an apology.

  The rest of the newcomers had been crammed into various buildings for the winter, but the villagers had given Thera her own hut. Being religious fanatics, they had been so excited at having a real prophet in their midst that the headman had given up his own home, which was by far the biggest in the village, though still humble by the standards of even the poorest in the rest of Lok. Ashok walked to it.

  The young warrior, Murugan Thao, was guarding the entrance. He had been assigned to be Thera’s personal bodyguard during the battle for the House of Assassins and had been solemnly fulfilling that assignment ever since. “Greetings, General.”

  Ashok hated that archaic title, but since it had been handed down by their supposed god, all the men insisted on using it. “I need to speak with Thera.”

  “My apologies, but that’s not possible.” Like most of the Sons of the Black Sword, Murugan was obviously intimidated by Ashok. Even in a band that was attempting to do away with castes and status, when you could fight a small army on your own, you still received greater deference. “I mean no offense, but she told me that she’s retired for the evening and not to be disturbed.”

  Thera called through the deer hide curtain that served as a door. “It’s fine, Murugan. Let Ashok in before he gets grumpy and tosses you into the trees.”

  “I would not have done that,” Ashok assured him. “I will watch over her tonight. You are relieved of duty. Be elsewhere.”

  Murugan obediently stepped out of the way as Ashok climbed up the small ladder. Every hut in the village was elevated because of the occasional flooding…He couldn’t imagine living on top of water. Riding on a barge was one thing, but having malicious water creep beneath your home while you slept was a terrible feeling. This truly was a dismal place.

  It was rather dark inside, but Ashok called upon the Heart of the Mountain so his eyes could gather more light. The rough wooden walls were decorated with the biggest antlers from Toramana’s many hunts. Thera was sitting up on the pile of soft furs atop straw that se
rved as the headman’s bed. Apparently he had interrupted her in the process of undressing, as the ties of her shirt were undone. She didn’t even bother to close it, though she surely knew by now he could see in the dark when he felt like it.

  When they’d first met, he’d found her decent looking enough—for a criminal—but it hadn’t been until they’d been silently digging up tubers from the mud together, that he’d glanced over and it had struck him that Thera was truly beautiful. It was odd, how perspectives changed.

  “What is it now? Did we forget something about tomorrow?”

  “No. Our preparations have been thorough. I’m here because I believe I may have inadvertently given offense.”

  “You’re like a never-ending river of offense.” She undid the cord that was holding back her long hair and shook it free. “What makes this particular one special?”

  “I have come to apologize.” Then Ashok realized he wasn’t really sure how to proceed. He could never tell her of Omand’s final command, but he needed to get this off his chest. “I wish to say, that of the many different criminals I could have pledged myself to, you are probably the least offensive of them.”

  “Really?” Thera was perplexed. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

  He thought about it for a moment. “In a manner, yes.”

  “That’s good, I suppose.” She sat there, waiting, with the curve of one breast peeking out from around the fabric of her shirt.

  It had been a very long time since he had been with a woman. Trying to recall, it had been before prison in Vadal, before traveling to and from the Capitol, before his assignment to Gujara even…His mind had been trained to remember everyone he’d ever killed, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d shared a bed with another. That was something a Protector simply did when the mood was upon him.

  “Anything else, Ashok?”

  There was an awkward silence. His assumption had been that she had wanted company for the night, but perhaps he had interpreted that incorrectly. He was a man of accomplishment by any measure, able to read an opponent and predict their moves long before they made them, who had traveled many times from one end of the continent to the other, and had even died and come back to life, but the basic whims of the female remained a mystery to him.

  “That was all. I will leave you now.”

  “Hang on…” Thera seemed incredulous. “You barged in here to tell me that? That’s it? That wasn’t even proper flattery to try and get beneath a girl’s skirts. What is wrong with you?”

  “A great many things, I suppose.”

  “Maybe I was just caught up in the moment, a new year, a new beginning, and all that. Maybe I was a fool to think there could be something more…Are you afraid of girls, Ashok?”

  “You know that my ability to feel fear was taken from me by magic.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I am familiar with such matters. Wherever Protectors go, the local authorities are quick to provide all manner of gifts to show their loyalty, but you are not some mere pleasure woman, whose feelings don’t matter. You are far more than that.”

  Thera cocked her head to the side. When she did the cloth slipped from one shoulder, leaving the skin bare. He suspected she might have done that on purpose. “What am I to you then?”

  It was a good question.

  “You’re the one I’ve sworn to obey. If you ordered me to wade out into the ocean, I’d do so without hesitation. Yet I also know of your suffering. You were driven from your house, lost your family, your people, your very caste, and that you have been crushed beneath the weight of great responsibility ever since. You’ve been through much but know there is more to come. I would not complicate this burden any more than it already is. You are the one who regardless of where your path leads, I will be there by your side. That is who you are to me.”

  “Oh.”

  He was not an eloquent man, but he needed her to understand this. Ashok went to the edge of the furs and knelt close to her. “I can protect your life. I’m very good at that. That is my duty. Only I don’t know how to protect you from your own sadness. That is not my obligation, but I would like to try.”

  Thera seemed at a loss for words.

  “Did I give offense?” he asked.

  “No…I just didn’t expect that. For a man who almost always says the wrong things, sometimes you say something surprisingly…decent. You honestly care about me?”

  “I do.”

  Apparently, their last night in Bahdjangal wasn’t going how either of them had expected.

  Thera placed her damaged hand against his neck, and then realizing what she’d done, immediately snatched it away, embarrassed. But Ashok caught her hand, and gently pressed it back against him. Her fingertips were hard with scar tissue, but he didn’t care. He had plenty of his own scars, inside and out. She’d earned those injuries destroying a demon god. That made her even more beautiful to him.

  Ashok discovered that a kiss was an entirely different experience when it wasn’t merely a transaction. Together they sank down onto the furs.

  It was good to not be alone.

  Chapter 5

  In the morning, the Wild Men said their final goodbyes to their village. That included tearful farewells to all the guardian spirits they claimed lived in the trees, and to their ancestors who supposedly had watched over them all these years. If you counted all the invisible imaginary things which supposedly lived here too, it was a very crowded place. They were truly an odd people. It was amazing how only a few generations cut off from civilization was enough time for a group to make up all manner of crazy superstitions.

  Ironically, it was Thera who would be providing them with new ones.

  She just shook her head at the absurdity of her life and went back to practicing. She hurled another knife at her target. Like the vast majority of her previous attempts, the blade twisted in her clumsy fingers before release, and clanged off the wood sideways.

  But that one had felt close.

  So Thera walked over to the stump and retrieved all the knives. Not too long ago she would’ve had to wrench each one out, because they’d have been reliably planted deep, right where she wanted them. Now it was all about bending over and picking them off the dirt. For a child of Vane, that was downright degrading. But House Vane had two things in great abundance, pride and stubbornness, so she walked back to the line she’d set at fifteen paces to try all over again.

  Even though the village was being busily broken down, no one interrupted her. A month ago she’d lost her temper and snapped at one of the warriors who’d come over to pester her, asking some annoying questions about the will of the gods or something. Lucky for him, when he’d failed to take the hint to shut his mouth, the knife she’d thrown at him had gone sideways and bounced off his boot. But the message had been received, and ever since then they all knew to leave their prophet in peace while she practiced.

  She may have been the Voice of a god, but that didn’t mean she knew a damn thing about their inscrutable will. So she wished people would quit asking her about it. Keta was always quick to come up with an explanation for everything, whether it rained or you got stung by a bee, Keta always had some reason why that had been the will of the gods, and he actually believed it.

  Honestly, the gods’ motives remained a mystery to her. People were asking for her to do things like bless their crops, or heal their sick children, but in her experience all the gods did was meddle and complicate. To hell with making the garden grow, all the gods had gotten her was kidnapped by wizards or into a fight with some hellish nightmare being left over from the rain of demons.

  The next knife bounced off the bark a foot away from target.

  “Oceans,” she muttered.

  The sun was rising over the swamp. Soon they’d begin the long march to the Creator’s Cove. She could only hope that Keta had made it back there safe and sound before winter had gotten bad, and that the place was still in one piece. Her
worst fear was that they’d cross the plains only to discover that the Inquisition had found the rebellion’s home, and all that would be left of her adopted people was buzzard-picked bones.

  Everything of value these people owned was being taken with them, on their backs or in a handcart. The Wild Men—as the Sons called them—or People of the Woods—as they called themselves—were a hardy bunch, but they didn’t need to carry that much, because they were rather poor.

  Well, they had been poor. After butchering the demons they’d killed and salvaging what they could from the smoking wreckage of the House of Assassins, her humble group of refugees were probably per capita the richest bunch in Lok. Every single one of them, man, woman, and child, would be carrying at least a few pounds of demon flesh and bone, rich with potent magic, and incredibly valuable on the black market.

  They’d taken the Lost House’s jewels and banknotes too. And whatever they couldn’t carry, they’d hidden in a cave so that they could come back and claim it later. Including the bones of the great demon that were so heavy it would take teams of oxen to carry them back to civilization. If they could ever sell all of it on the black market, the rebellion would suddenly be rich as her old house.

  That thought amused her greatly. Her next knife hit the target, but her release had been timed wrong so it landed handle first…But hard enough to make a dent, so that was an improvement. She used to be good enough to pin a running rat to the ground, so it was incredibly frustrating to fail over and over again, but her father had always said that a warrior needed to be realistic about assessing his abilities. So she was still a miserable frustrating failure, but an improving miserable frustrating failure.