“If I’d known you were in Gujara I would have sent for you. I could have used the help last night. I’m not too proud to admit that I only survived by luck.”
“I’ll say you did. Two? I hope this doesn’t mean the ocean is acting up again.” Devedas scanned the surf, but the waters were their normal, unclean blue. Not the agitated red that often warned of a larger raid.
It had been two full seasons since the last time their duties had put them in the same province at the same time, but they’d both grown up in the brutal confines of the Order’s program. They’d survived the harshest training in the world together and fought at each other’s side so many times that it was like no time had passed at all. They didn’t look alike at all, with Ashok being taller and darker in both temperament and features, but they had often been mistaken for real brothers of the same house. They might not have had the same father, but they had the same swordmaster, and to a Protector that was nearly the same thing.
“A pair is an anomaly, but it’s not unheard of.”
“Looking at your face, those demons must have beaten you like a practice dummy.” It was the sort of blunt assessment that could only come from an equal in station. An inferior would not have been so honest and a superior probably wouldn’t have cared. “You look awful.”
And that was with having most of the morning to allow the Heart to help him recover. It took a long time to dig a hole when one arm was so battered that the elbow didn’t want to bend. “It was a good fight.”
“You’re not usually one to put comfort over presentation. These Gujarans are going to think the Order’s gone sloppy. Why are you out of uniform?” All of them were hard as nails, but Devedas was a southerner, and he’d still arrived in this awful sweltering, chafing jungle dressed in the full regalia and armor of the Order. “Where’s your armor?”
Ashok pointed toward the pile of steel and leather resting in the shade. His ancestor blade was sheathed and lying across the top of his damaged armor. Devedas’ eyes lingered on the mighty sword just a moment too long.
“I still can’t believe you just put that sword on the ground like that,” Devedas said incredulously.
“Sometimes you need to. It isn’t welded to my hand.”
“But still . . . What if someone tries to pick it up?”
“They’d immediately regret it. Angruvadal is easily displeased.”
“If I possessed such a thing I would never put it down. It seems disrespectful.”
“But practical. If it feels dishonored, it’ll abandon me, I’ll die in battle, and then it will pick a new bearer. I didn’t choose Angruvadal. It chose me,” Ashok explained for the thousandth time. Devedas might have been jealous of the sword’s power, but Ashok was the only one who understood the particular burden that came from bearing an ancestor blade. “It’s mighty, but it is still only a sword, Devedas. Religion is false and illegal, so don’t start worshipping it.”
“Coveting a holy relic is a serious offense . . .” Devedas snorted. “I’d have to arrest myself . . . Sorry.”
He knew exactly what Devedas was thinking about, and experience had taught him it was best to change to a lighter subject before his brother fell into one of his dark moods. “I don’t know how whole men live in this place. I was dying inside my armor. Remember Pratosh from the program?”
“The kid with the lazy eye?”
“He was obligated to the Order by House Gujara. He grew up in this very jungle. I remember he used to say that you got used to the heat. Now I know why he never liked to wear a proper amount of clothes.”
“And also why he was always complaining about how cold the barracks were.” Devedas chuckled. Not that the acolytes’ barracks hadn’t been miserably cold, but complaining only made the other acolytes meaner. “Whatever happened to him anyway?”
“Dead.” Ashok had to stop and think about it for a moment. Protectors died so often, usually alone and in the most forsaken corners of the world, that sometimes it was hard to keep every story straight. “He finally made senior at eight years, went to Zarger to stop an uprising, and ended up getting his throat slit on the way by desert raiders.”
“Well, at least he died where it was warm . . . But considering it was Pratosh, his last words were probably complaining that it was a dry heat.”
“He was a good man.”
“More than I can say for most of us. Hold on,” Devedas glanced around. “I’ve been running since dawn. Nobody spotted me, so I wasn’t even properly announced. What does a man have to do to get food in this swine hold?”
“Forgive the inhospitality. In their defense, half the place burned down last night.”
“That’s no excuse for incivility.” Devedas spotted a worker carrying a wrapped bundle of demon parts to a nearby wagon and shouted at him, “You there! I am Devedas, Protector of the Law, twenty-two-year senior.” He added that last part for Ashok’s benefit, because no one outside of the Order gave a damn about their relative experience or the fact that Devedas technically outranked him. In this backwater province, either of them was of far higher status than just about anyone they were likely to run into. “Fetch us some wine and something to eat. The wine had better be good. None of that watered-down swill.”
The worker dropped the heavy package in the wagon and then ran as if the demons had returned. He didn’t know Devedas. A demon was less dangerous. “You shouldn’t have announced yourself. Now the local warriors will descend on you with great ceremony and ass-kissing.”
Devedas sat on the grass in the shade a big tree. “I don’t know about ass-kissing, but I could certainly use a foot rub. It’s a long run from the great house to here. What do Gujaran pleasure women look like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been too busy following a demon raider up and down the coast for the last few weeks to request any.” Ashok sat next to Devedas. The ache of his stiff muscles warned him that if he stayed still too long he would have a hard time getting back up, but it beat being dead. “So why were you looking for me?”
“I was sent here because the Inquisition requested a Protector in Gurjat. It’s a stinkhole of a city a few days from here. Smugglers found some old temple to the Forgotten out in the jungle and have been digging up artifacts to sell to wizards without papers. I’m to execute them all.”
“Do you need help?”
Devedas shook his head. “There’s only supposed to be twenty of them, worker caste so they won’t know how to fight, and they’ve got no useful magic to speak of. The only reason they requested a Protector is politics. Some Thakoor’s firstborn has been taking bribes, and you can’t have the locals disgracing each other and starting blood feuds when an outsider is more convenient. If one of us lops off his head, nobody will say a word. We’re impartial like that. If you hadn’t been busy chasing demons they probably wouldn’t have sent me. Anyways, I encountered a herald on the road to Gurjat. He saw my uniform and thought I was you. The man must have been half blind to mistake Devedas the Magnificent for some glorified northern cow herder with a magic sword.”
“I swear, you’re not going to be happy until I agree to duel you again, will you?”
“Someday, I’ll get my rematch,” Devedas said as he traced his thumb down the white scar that ran from his right eye to his chin. Even a Protector couldn’t fully heal from a wound inflicted by the black steel of an ancestor blade.
“I still feel bad about the scar.”
“No, you don’t. And even with it I’m still far better looking than you are. Regardless, I said I would deliver his message personally.” Devedas opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It gave me an excuse to visit.”
Sure enough, Ashok’s name was on it, though the humidity had caused the ink to bleed. Ashok took the letter. It bore the seal of the Order and had come all the way from the Capitol, but he didn’t break the wax.
“What are you waiting for?”
The letter probably contained his next assignment. “In a mo
ment.”
“Ah, the great Ashok and his legendary sense of commitment. You can’t read it yet because the moment you do you’ll be obligated to leap up and rush off to wherever the Order requires you next. The fiercest beasts, the harshest duties, the worst violators, all fall before the unflinching judgment of Black-Hearted Ashok. You make the rest of us look lazy.”
“You don’t need my help for that.”
Devedas laughed. “I know you better than anyone. You’ve reached your twenty. You can leave the Order whenever you want and return to your house with honor. Vadal women are gorgeous, and no doubt they’ll pick the best-looking one to be your wife. Retire and that woman can start providing you with sons. Come on, man! You just defeated a pair of demons at the same time. That’s the stuff of legends! When was the last time one of us did that?”
“Kantelin Vokkan, twenty-eight-year master, in the year 540,” Ashok said absently.
“Of course, you’d remember the history lessons . . . You know how rare it is for a Protector to actually retire? Your house will name you to Thakoor for sure. They’ve probably already built a castle for you. Neighboring houses will cower at the mention of your name.”
Ashok just shook his head. “You’ve served your obligation, but you’re still here.”
“That’s because I’m far better at dispensing justice than you are. I’ll do this until I die,” Devedas grinned. “Besides, what do I have to go back to?”
He believed the real reason was because Devedas wanted to be the next master, but it would have been impolite to suggest such a thing. The Law declared its Protectors were not allowed to have personal ambition. Ambition got in the way of following orders. Ashok tried to change the subject. “So, do you have any news of the civilized world?”
“By civilized, you mean your house?”
Ashok had only been a small child when he’d been obligated, and Protectors were never dispatched to deal with lawbreakers in their own house so as to prevent bias, so it had been a long time since he’d been to his ancestral lands. “I barely remember it at all. The sword probably remembers more about Vadal than I do.”
“Ah, mighty Vadal, jewel of the houses. I was there last season when House Vokkan got uppity and tested your western borders. You didn’t miss much. It was a rout. Your aunt Bidaya still rules. Your cousin Harta is said to be the finest orator in the Capitol and has the judges dancing like puppets on a string. The women are pretty, the sun shines every day, crops grow year-round, and everyone is fat and happy, awaiting the return of their legendary son so he can bring home the family sword. What else do you want to know? Open the damned letter.”
“What of your house?”
“Devakula is snow, volcanos, and walruses.” Devedas grew somber. “Seriously, Ashok, open the letter or I’ll do it for you. Master Mindarin has been ill.”
“Ill?” Protectors didn’t get sick, unless . . . “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ashok snapped as he broke the seal.
“I only just heard myself from the messenger.”
Ashok read in silence. A cold feeling settled in his guts.
“And?”
“I’m to return to the Capitol immediately and present myself before the master.” Ignoring the protests of his sore muscles, Ashok got up, and went to his belongings.
“Did it say why?” Devedas asked suspiciously.
“No.” He put the sword belt around his waist and cinched it tight. In this heat, fifty pounds of armor would travel faster in a pack on his back than on his body. He’d make much better time that way. It was about a hundred miles to get out of the jungle and to the Gujaran’s next real town. On foot, through this terrain, if he called on the Heart of the Mountain and pushed himself to exhaustion he could be there tomorrow afternoon. If they didn’t gift him with a team of swift horses there, he’d confiscate some. Riding them nearly to death and switching mounts at every settlement along the interior, this time of year with dry roads, he could be at the Capitol in less than three weeks.
“I recognize that face. As is said, when duty calls, Ashok does not hesitate.” Devedas didn’t seem inclined to get off the grass or leave the shade. “Mindarin is dying, isn’t he?”
“This letter was written a month ago. He may already be dead.” Ashok saw that the worker Devedas had yelled at earlier was returning with a wineskin and a basket of food. He snatched the skin from the red-faced and gasping inferior and took a long drink. The wine tasted almost as brackish as the water here. Then he tossed it over.
Devedas caught the skin, took a drink, and then spit it out with a grimace. “This is their good stuff?”
Ashok took a few rice balls out of the basket and then snapped at the worker, “I require a travelling pack, a few days’ rations, and one of those silks to keep out bugs and snakes while you sleep. What are you waiting for? Move!” Ashok kicked the man in the leg for emphasis. He immediately dropped the basket and ran for his life. The inferiors were odd here, the casteless took up spears, the warriors didn’t want to fight demons, and the workers were high-strung. Ashok hadn’t even kicked him hard.
“If Mindarin is on his death bed, and he sent for you . . .” Devedas left that thought hanging.
“I’m sure it’s for something else.”
“There can be only one reason they’d call you back to the Capitol now.”
Ashok shoved a rice ball into his mouth and began chewing as he gathered his belongings. If his mouth was full, he wouldn’t have to answer. He knew Devedas had dreams of leading the Order. Ashok simply wanted to fulfill his responsibilities to the Law. Nothing more.
“I received no summons. They’re going to promote you to his office rather than me.” Devedas was silent for a long time, then he gave a bitter laugh. “Of course, a son of the finest of the great houses, who has a home to return to, and a sword that destines him to rule it, why not give him one more honor? What’s a promotion to a man like that? But for a man who has sacrificed just as much in service to the Law, who has no house to return to, and no future except for servitude, who could use such a title to rebuild his family name . . . To a man to whom such an honor would mean everything, it is not granted.”
Ashok choked down the too-dry rice, and regretted tossing aside the wine. “It’s not a contest.”
“Of course not, there can be no contest with Ashok the Fearless,” Devedas raised his voice. “Because when you fight Ashok, all of his ancestors fight with him. I’ve done just as much as you have for the Order, only I’ve done it with the strength of my own arm, not that of the fifty generations who came before.”
He didn’t like when Devedas fell into one of his moods. “We all have a place in the Law. Accept yours, Devedas. There’s comfort in that.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“I don’t know why I’ve been summoned, but if it’s to take Mindarin’s place, so be it. I don’t want his authority. You know I never have. However, I’ll do whatever I’m commanded and I’ll ask for nothing in return.”
“Your obnoxious inability to lie annoys me to no end.” Devedas sighed as he stood up. “But it also makes it impossible to hate you.”
Several warriors were hurrying their way, and one of them was carrying a large marching pack. It was still dark with sweat from the soldier it had been confiscated from. “I must go.” He looked at his brother, and as was the custom in Vadal lands, gave a deep, respectful bow. Devedas returned the gesture. When he lifted his head, Ashok said, “Believe me, Devedas, if it were up to me, I’d much rather they picked you.”
“I know. So who’s in the grave, Ashok?”
“I buried a casteless.”
“Did you kill him?”
“He killed himself through disobedience.”
“What an odd thing to waste your time with.” Devedas kicked at the freshly turned dirt. “Why would you do that?”
Ashok didn’t actually know the answer. “Farewell, Devedas.”
“Until we meet again, brother.”
 
; Chapter 5
Eighteen years ago
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“This is my place.” Young Ashok crouched next to their tiny fire, trying to soak up enough warmth to get some feeling back into his hands. Three days of freezing cold and terrible terrain had taken its toll on his body.
Devedas was keeping watch at the mouth of the cave. They’d been warned that the wolves here were gigantic, big enough to latch onto a sleeping man’s ankle and drag him out into the night before he could even scream for his companions to save him. Exhausted from the climb, the other acolytes had gone immediately to sleep. Devedas had volunteered to take the first watch. He nodded toward the snoring bodies, huddled together for warmth under their only blanket. “You’re always so damned sure about everything. They’ve been in training for five years. I’ve been here for four. You’ve only been here for barely two. I’m impressed you’ve made it this far at all, but you’re not ready.”
“I won’t let you down,” Ashok assured the older acolyte. Opening and closing his hands, Ashok was pleased to see that only a few of his calluses had been torn off by the rocks and there was no sign of frostbite yet. That climb was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. “Mindarin allowed me. If he thought I was going to slow you down, he would have forbidden me from coming.”
Devedas snorted. “I think he was too surprised that the smallest kid in the program stepped out of line to try and tackle the Heart. I’ve never seen a man that fond of words struck mute before. We could die up here. Aren’t you scared?”
“Probably.” Ashok thought it over. It was hard to explain. He assessed danger and probability as well as anyone else, perhaps even better than most because he just couldn’t work up any emotion about the subject, so he could say he had some measure of ability to experience fear. It just didn’t move him like it did others. It was simply there, in the background, a suggested warning, nothing more. “Yes?”