Keta appeared, his face swollen and bruised, looking toward the distant peaks where the flying wizard and his prisoner had disappeared from view. “They took the prophet. I tried to stop them . . . I don’t . . . I don’t know what to do.”
“Why didn’t you tell me who Thera was?”
“The Forgotten said I had to test you—trust you—first. You’re still alive. The faithful servant sacrificed was Angruvadal. You’re the one . . . You have to know what to do! What do we do, Ashok?”
“First? Survive . . .” Keta hadn’t noticed that they were being approached by a small crowd of Somsak warriors and Jharlang workers, but Ashok had. There weren’t that many, but enough to easily finish Ashok off in the sorry state he was in.
The group stopped, split into two halves, each one nervously eyeing the other. A young warrior, his facial markings only recording a handful of battles, broke off by himself and approached. When he was a few strides away, he stopped and asked, “Is it true? Does the Forgotten truly speak again?”
Ashok had no idea, but Keta boldly stepped forward. “Yes. The old gods have chosen a prophet to speak through, but I’m only the Keeper of Names. The prophet has been taken by these wizards. This is our general.” Keta pointed at Ashok. “But we need help to rescue her.”
The young warrior looked to his compatriots. There were a few stern nods to give him courage, then he turned back, earnest and imploring, to speak on their behalf. “We want to remember.”
* * *
There were no dreams to trouble his sleep, only a profound sense of loneliness.
“For a man who only wants to die, you’re remarkably bad at it.”
Ashok woke up on a cot inside a humble dwelling. A large fire was burning in a stone pit. He remembered being taken to a farm somewhere near Jharlang but was unsure how long he’d been out since. Every muscle in his body ached. His skin was raw and stinging and the fire had burned most of his hair off. The simple act of breathing was torture. Worst of all was the contorting pain in his guts from the bolt wound. He noted all of those things and then paid them no further mind.
He was surprised when he saw who it was who’d spoken. Jagdish was sitting on a stool next to the cot. “I must hand it to the Somsak. Despite looking like fools, their surgeons get a lot of practice stitching men back together. The fact you’re healing so fast has got the fanatics out there dancing about praising false gods’ miracles. Apparently they’ve elected you general or something. That’s an archaic rank no house uses anymore, but I think that’s equivalent to a phontho. Not too shabby a promotion from prisoner.”
“The Forgotten picked him, not us.” Ashok turned his head to see that Keta was standing at the foot of the cot, arms folded, giving Jagdish a disapproving scowl. “I’m sorry, Ashok. I tried to turn him away, but then he threatened to duel me.”
“It’s all right, Keeper. Jagdish was the warden of my prison. He’s an honorable man.”
“And these Somsak who’ve pledged to serve him aren’t fanatics. Some of them have been practicing religion in secret. They’re faithful who’ve heeded the call to—”
Ashok cut Keta off. “You’re a long way from Cold Stream, Risaldar.”
“I found a worker who’s got a gift for tracking magic and we followed you. It was quite the journey. I must admit this is the farthest I’ve ever been from home.”
So that was it then. House Vadal had caught their fugitive at last. “I’m assuming you have a legion waiting for me outside. You won’t need it. Angruvadal has been destroyed.”
“I was told. I truly am sorry. That is a tragedy.”
There were almost no memories of the time before the sword. Of his life since, there had been a brief time where Ratul had forced him to live without Angruvadal, and that had driven him to undertake desperate risks to get it back. That made Ashok think of himself and his only friend, huddled together for warmth in an ice cave, two stupid children, too brave for their own good, trying to become real Protectors. Angruvadal had been his constant companion ever since. It was as if he’d lost a part of himself. The ghostly instincts and memories of all of the bearers who’d come before, gone. For a people with no belief in life after death, at least the bearers had some measure of immortality, but now they were all lost as well.
“Yes, a tragedy.”
“I don’t want to be the one to break the news to our House. But we survived twenty years without Angruvadal there to protect us; we will survive more. My brothers will hold. Our house will not fall.” Jagdish said “our house.” Ashok didn’t bother to correct him. He lacked the energy to protest. “But I’ve got no legion at my back. It’s just me. Your escape brought even more dishonor to my name. Wizards slaughtered my men and blamed it on you. No unit will have me. I had to send my pregnant wife back to live with her family. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”
“My apologies, Risaldar. They were good men. I didn’t hurt any of your guards.”
“I know that, and after seeing those dead wizards outside, I think they’re the same group that attacked Cold Stream and Sutpo Bridge. My tracker, Gutch, found a mark on one and said they’re known to magic smugglers as the Lost House, a degenerate lot who are always buying up black steel and demon bits. I intend to find those responsible for killing my men and I’ll make sure House Vadal learns the truth. I followed you all this way for the chance. I’ll not have my son grow up with the shame of having a dishonorable failure as a father.”
“We share a similar goal, warrior. Those wizards took someone very important to us,” Keta said. The Keeper looked to Ashok, uncertain. “I know you were somehow being compelled to search for the prophet before, Ashok, and your reasons are your own, but regardless of what you decide to do now, I intend to find Thera.”
The wizard had claimed to work for Omand. More than likely, he’d just been a liar, but it forced Ashok to question the strange nature of the Grand Inquisitor’s orders. If Omand truly was consorting with forbidden magic for some unknown reason, he would be dealt with, but until then, his word remained legally binding. Ashok had proven to be an imperfect instrument on its behalf, but he still believed in the Law. The judges had declared that his punishment was to find and protect the prophet, so that was what he would do. “My mission continues, Keeper.” Ignoring the pain, Ashok forced himself off the cot. He stood there, swaying, one leg protesting, until the dizziness passed. “We will find her.”
“Our paths converge once again.” Jagdish stroked his beard thoughtfully. “So you’re supposedly a general now, and you’ve gathered a handful of fools who fancy themselves an army. Even a sad army needs officers. I would like to apply.”
Keta asked, “What of your wife?”
“She’ll appreciate me more when my name is redeemed.”
“Helping me may have the opposite effect on your name,” Ashok cautioned.
“If not for me, then for the memory of my men, this is a risk I’m willing to take.”
Normally, Ashok would have tried to talk an honorable man out of joining with a gang of criminals, but they needed all the help they could get. “I accept, Jagdish. Thank you.”
“Then I will serve you until we expose these wizards or the Capitol has us all executed as traitors.” Jagdish bowed. It hurt to bend at the waist, but Ashok returned the gesture.
“Wonderful. So our god’s army is to be led by men who don’t believe in the gods.” Keta muttered. “And now we go to rescue a prophet without faith. Brilliant.”
“I like these gods of yours, Keta,” Jagdish said. “They seem like an amusing bunch . . . So, General, what do you intend to call this little army of yours?”
“The Sons of the Black Sword.” They seemed to approve of the choice. Ashok gestured toward the door. “Please, both of you, allow me a moment to collect myself. I’ll join you shortly.”
Once he was alone, Ashok had to know for sure. All of his wounds had been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, but there was only one in particular that he was concerned
with. He carefully unwound the cloth from his chest until he could peer down and see where he’d been impaled through the heart by Angruvadal’s shard. Because it was a black steel wound, it would leave a grisly scar, but the injury was already sealed shut. Ashok could no longer feel the molten metal burning through his chest. It had cooled and solidified. He rested his palm against the wound and could feel the slow, measured heartbeat. There was something cold and hard beneath. Waiting.
The Keeper had spoken of the concept many times, but Ashok did not know how to pray. The very idea was anathema to his being. He’d always thought of a belief in the Forgotten as a terrible crime, reserved for superstitious malcontents, but there was no denying that he should be dead. Ashok suspected that his life had been miraculously spared because his work was not yet done.
It seemed that even if he was not a believer, Angruvadal had been.
Ashok knelt in front of the fire pit. That seemed as reasonable as anything else. As he looked into the flames, Ashok spoke loudly and clearly, so that there could be no misunderstanding between them.
“Forgotten, if you are real, heed these words. I did not ask you to spare my life. I do not want this. I seek no favor, blessings, or glory. I will do what I believe to be right. That is all. If that is not what you are looking for, then ignite this shard and let me die now, because I serve justice. I have given my oath to protect your prophet, so I will do so or die trying. I warn you now that if your cause is unjust, stay out of my way, because I am Ashok Vadal, and I will make sure even the gods regret crossing me.”
The general went to meet his army.
Epilogue
The desert sun beat down on Grand Inquisitor Omand as he sat in a wicker chair along the road between the Capitol and the Inquisitor’s Dome, waiting patiently. He’d come alone, without even a slave to hold his umbrella or wave a cooling fan.
Regardless of the season, even the busiest caravans tried not to travel during the hottest part of the day here, but there was a line of men on horseback making their way from the Capitol. If Omand hadn’t already been certain who it would be before, the silver armor gleaming in the sun confirmed it. From this distance he couldn’t make out too many details, but the riders had far superior vision, some said better than a hawk, so they certainly recognized Omand. The one in the lead broke off and galloped in his direction, his warhorse kicking up a furious plume of fine white dust in its wake.
Omand remained in his chair, comfortable and unafraid, as Lord Protector Devedas approached. For a moment he was concerned that the Protector was just going to run him down, but the horse reared as Devedas pulled on its reins and forced it to stop only a few feet away. Close enough to throw sand on his robes.
“Speak, Inquisitor. Let me hear your voice.”
Of course. Just because he was wearing the Grand Inquisitor’s mask didn’t make him the Grand Inquisitor. It was wise to be suspicious. “Hello, Devedas. Always a pleasure to see you again.”
“Omand . . .” He dipped his head just a bit. “There’s no pleasure here.”
“Could it be? It appears that all of the stalwart Protectors of the Law are leaving the Capitol.”
“We are. The judges have lost confidence in the loyalty of my Order.”
“A shame.”
“I believe you had something to do with that.”
Omand waved one hand dismissively. “My obligation is to protect the governing caste from all who would do it harm. The judges judge, I only provide facts, and the evidence suggested that some Protectors have violated their oaths. If it is any consolation, I believe the vast majority of you to be men of impeccable integrity. My recommendation said as much, yet the Capitol’s faith in your Order was still shaken.”
“I’m going to personally see to it that faith is restored.”
“By killing the traitor Ashok, I take it?”
“I’ve sworn that I won’t return to this city until he’s dead. Every last one of us will be pursuing him to the ends of the world.” Devedas glanced around the open desert suspiciously. “What a strange turn of events. You just happen to be waiting here as we pass, and you appear to be all alone.”
“A happy coincidence,” Omand said as he looked across the vast expanse of nothing, as if men of his importance often sat alone in the desert for no reason. “Yes, I am all by myself. Say what you will. There are no ears here except for ours.”
“Then you received my message. Speaking of ears, how is your man?”
“Not quite so useful to me horribly disfigured.”
Devedas pushed on. “I’ve been investigating you, Omand Vokkan, and what I’ve found is most curious. Clandestine meetings with high-status members of every house, bribing archivists to tamper with the histories, and conspiracies to manipulate judges. You’ve been a busy man, pulling all those strings.”
“I must admit, I do enjoy politics.”
“You must, since you’re planning on overthrowing the government.”
“Oh?” That was why he’d placed himself here. Omand had suspected Devedas was aware of some of his crimes, but he was unsure of which. If Devedas had known that he was behind Ashok’s escape, then he probably wouldn’t have stopped the horse from trampling him.
“You’ve mocked the Law enough.”
“On the contrary, I’m the Law’s fondest supporter. Everything I’ve done has been to strengthen the Capitol’s control of the houses. We both know they have too much autonomy, and such freedom causes disorder. It was a pointless raid that cost your father his ancestor blade, and thus cost you your birthright. I would stop such frivolity.”
“So you’ve distorted history to promote genocide?”
“The non-people are a stumbling block to progress. Religious fanaticism is an infection that can never be cured and it lives on in the tissues of the casteless. Until they are cut away, the infection will continue to spread. You’ve known this to be true since I told you where to find your old master, Ratul. If this necessary cleansing has the added benefit of making the houses more reliant upon the Capitol, where is the harm?”
“What’s to keep me from taking your head right now?” Devedas put one hand on the hilt of his sword.
Omand smiled beneath his mask. As usual, a warlike man underestimated his abilities. Just because he was primarily skilled in rhetoric and manipulation, those quick to violence never realized Omand could crush them like a bug if he felt like it. Luckily, such direct action was seldom necessary. “Calm yourself, Devedas.” He’d been observing these Protectors for years, and he knew that Devedas had too much pride in his own achievements to ever be completely devoted to the letter of the Law, and thus could be manipulated. “It would be a shame if something horrible was to happen to that librarian of yours.”
The young man’s face darkened. “Your clumsy attempt at silencing the archivist was embarrassing.”
“Don’t waste my time pretending that Rada is just another witness. From the pained expression you’re wearing, you thought your relationship was a secret. I truly do see everything that happens in this city. You actually love her. I always thought you were too ambitious for such entanglements. My congratulations. She will make a fine bride once you both decide to end your obligations to your orders, but I tire of dancing around the issue. I know where you’ve hidden her. If I die, she dies. If my dark councils are exposed, then she dies. Simple.”
Perhaps it wasn’t that simple, because Devedas drew his sword.
“Wait,” Omand ordered with such force that ripples travelled outward through the sand. Devedas’ horse shifted nervously as the ground beneath its hooves moved. Omand held up one fist, indicating he had a chunk of black steel clenched in it, and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. “I was a witch hunter long before I was a bureaucrat.”
“If you harm her, nothing in the world will stop me from taking your head.”
Omand had misjudged the man, and thus picked the incorrect move for this game, but he still had other plays. “Any action against me will
be seen by the judges as proof that the Order has been corrupted. The Protectors will be ruined, the members purged, and you will be remembered as the commander who caused it all.”
Surprisingly, Devedas laughed. “You truly are the spider like they say! Are people really stupid enough to blunder into your web so easily?”
“Normally, yes.” Omand tilted his mask back and studied the Protector with new appreciation. He was smarter than he acted. “I sense you have a different proposal.”
“I do.” Devedas pointed his sword at Omand’s chest. “I suspect you care nothing about the casteless and their false gods except that they’re an excuse for you to consolidate power. You want to return to the Age of Kings in all but name. In those days the tribes united to push the demons into the sea. Now you want to do the same thing to the casteless. The events that bring this about are irrelevant, as long as when it is over, you’re in control.”
“You are more politically astute than I gave you credit for, Devedas. It is truly a shame about your house dying. You would have made a fine Thakoor.”
“I’ll make a better king.”
For once, Omand was the one taken by surprise. “I believe you overestimate my goals.”
“Call the office by whatever title you want, governor, minister, I don’t care, but you must realize you’ll need one. Since I’ve been investigating your sabotage of the archives, it’s given me the opportunity to read up on how things worked in the prior age. There was usually one man in control, sometimes a figurehead, sometimes not, but if you intend to consolidate power, there must be a single ruler for the people to look to. It can’t be you. No one will follow a man who has never shown his face. The first king was chosen because he was the hero who beat the demons. You have found your threat, now you need your hero.”
“An interesting proposal . . . I will take your offer to the councils.”
“No, you won’t. We both know who runs the web, and I’m sure you’ve got no shortage of conspirators who each think they’re the best man for the job, ready to put a knife in my back. You want the great houses to bow to the Capitol, but whichever of your pet judges you choose to be your figurehead has to come from one of those houses, leaving the rest jealous or suspicious. I have no house.”