“That’s illegal, not to mention stupid,” Ashok stated dismissively, even though he was talking to a superior.
“Not in those days. The oceans were just large bodies of water, nothing more, until there was a war that consumed the heavens, and the demons were defeated by the gods and cast down.”
“Gods?” Ashok asked. Advocating the existence of such things was highly illegal.
“I speak metaphorically of course. Regardless of where they came from, there was a time before demons and a time after. They fell from the sky and began to destroy everything. Across the entire world, cities burned, and men fled before them. They nearly exterminated us. It wasn’t until we used the black steel to drive them into the water that the oceans became hell. The demons have owned the sea ever since.”
“Do you know where black steel comes from?” Despite spending years with three pounds of it riding on his hip, nobody had ever been able to explain it to him.
“There are only fantastical tales by those deluded enough to worship false gods,” Ratul answered a little too quickly.
It was hard to imagine this ancient world of travelling foreigners and no supreme law to rule them all, until it had begun raining demons. Angruvadal had been forged in those days and it still remembered them. Ashok would have liked to see what that world had been like, but the memories locked in his sword were limited to battle after battle, and nothing beyond. Ashok could relive every fight of every bearer, but he’d never understand what any of them had been fighting for. “What do the fanatics say about the origins?”
Ratul gave Ashok that heavy-lidded glare, letting Ashok know there would be no good answer to that question. “The demons destroyed most of civilization, and what histories survived were questionable at best. They’re locked away in the Capitol library now, under the careful eye of the Archivists’ Order. The Age of Kings was based on lies, so the records that passed through their priests’ corrupt hands were tainted until everything was twisted to serve their greed. Regardless of where black steel comes from, ever since our victory, man has controlled the land and demons have held the sea. We don’t try to cross the water and they are not allowed to walk upon our land. This arrangement has held for fifty generations.”
Scanning the dots on the other lands, Ashok tried to take it all in. Some of them cast much larger shadows than Vadal City, and the census said nearly a million people lived there . . . It was hard to imagine a city even bigger. “What happened to the people in all those other continents?”
“Who knows? Dead more than likely. The demons nearly ended us here. Perhaps other nations weren’t so lucky. Did they discover magic like we did? Maybe in those other places the demons won and now those slimy things are the ones living on land.”
“That would be trespassing. They should be punished.”
Ratul actually appeared amused by that. “I admire your commitment, but sadly that’s a bit beyond our jurisdiction to enforce, Ashok.”
For now, Ashok thought to himself. He couldn’t abide the idea of anything, demon or human, flouting the Law.
“Regardless, if any foreigners survived like we did, we’ll never know. Crossing the sea is impossible, so for all practical matters, we’re all that remain . . . You know this. Mindarin must have covered it in your lessons.”
“Briefly.” They didn’t waste too much of the acolytes’ precious training time on ancient history. Protectors were focused on enforcing the rules now, not dwelling in the past. How one got to the destination was not nearly as important as maintaining order once there.
“Myself, I’m a student of these things. I’ve read everything available about the ancients and sought out the best scholars in the Capitol to discuss our history.” That was a surprise. Normally, Ratul only seemed interested in teaching them how to kill people more efficiently. It was hard to picture him actually enjoying something. “I’ve been fascinated by the subject my entire life. If I’d not been obligated to the Order, I might have made a fine Archivist, but enough of this. There is one final test for you.” Ratul walked away.
Ashok hesitated. From the top of the mountain he’d been able to see into the lands of several great houses. At the time he’d not realized how truly small they really were. Taking one last longing look at the map, Ashok hurried and limped after his instructor.
More torches had been lit along a corridor. It led further into the mountain. “I’m curious, Ashok. Why did you attempt the test so early?”
He was required to give only honest answers to his superiors. “I don’t think I can last another year without my sword.”
Ratul grunted. “Thought so.”
That didn’t answer whether he’d get Angruvadal back yet or not, but it wasn’t Ashok’s place to question. He would prove himself or die trying.
They entered another, smaller chamber. The room was plain, but the shape of it gave the impression it had once been used for more. There were strangely shaped alcoves all around the interior, empty now, their original purpose a mystery. Ratul gestured toward an altar in the center of the room. “Behold, the Heart of the Mountain.”
It was so black that it seemed to burn a hole in his vision. The hungry darkness seemed to absorb their torchlight. He had to turn his head a bit so that he could actually see it from the corner of his eye. The heart appeared to be a jagged, twisted mass of metal the size of a child. It was the biggest piece of black steel Ashok had ever seen, big enough to forge a dozen swords or thousands of valuable fragments. Some people had a sense for magic, and though Ashok had never been naturally gifted in that way, even he could feel the energy radiating from the Heart.
The metal device twitched. As he watched, it twitched again. It really was beating.
“This is the Order’s greatest weapon, old as your precious Angruvadal, from the time when magic was common. We’ve kept it for over a thousand years. This is what makes Protectors more than men. When you touch it, you will take part of its power with you for the rest of your days. It will sting you and infect your blood. The influence of the Heart will be yours to call upon for the rest of your life. It can make you stronger, hardier, and hone your reactions. With sufficient concentration you can direct it to empower your senses, but it can only do so much at a time. You will heal faster and even survive wounds that would be fatal to a normal man, but it will not make you immortal. An injury sufficiently devastating will still kill you. It may stay death for a time, but nothing can postpone death forever. Well, nothing legal at least.”
“I have already been touched by magic.”
“Indeed. For one such as you, the defensive power of the Heart combined with the offensive skill bestowed by your ancestor blade, I can only imagine what the Order could accomplish with such a weapon at its disposal.”
There was no better cause than justice, so Ashok didn’t mind the idea of being a weapon in its behalf. “What if I’m unworthy?”
Ratul had a laugh like a dog’s bark. “The Order decides who is worthy, and if you weren’t, I’d have had the guardians toss you off that cliff. Magic can make you tougher, but it can’t give you character. That’s why our program is so harsh. Flawed acolytes must be weeded out. The Heart does not care about birth or honor. I imagine a casteless could take from it if one was clever enough to find his way in here. Only a bearer would think of such a question. Don’t worry. It is not like Angruvadal. The Heart has no opinions of its own.”
It was not his place to disagree, but in Ashok’s experience, all black steel had ghosts inside of it. Some of them were just louder than others. He peered closer into the burning darkness. There was something wrong with the Heart. There was a weakness to it. “Lord Protector, you can see magic inside of things, can’t you?”
“I have that gift, yes.”
“How much magic is left within the Heart?”
Ratul didn’t respond. Ashok looked over to see that the master was scowling. “Less than when I first saw it for myself, but enough.”
When magic was
worn too thin its container would fail. “What happens when the Heart shatters?”
“The Order will die,” Ratul said simply.
Ashok moved away from the Heart. “Then I will not use up any for myself. Save the magic for someone better.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but that isn’t how it works. No, Ashok, this is your final test. To become full-fledged Protector the Order requires this. I’m one of the few who can see magic, which means that when you touch the Heart, I will see you for what you truly are. This is necessary, for the good of the Order and for the sanctity of the Law.”
“This is a command?”
“Yes.”
Ashok nodded, stepped toward the Heart of black steel and placed his hands on it.
The world turned to blood.
* * *
The promotion ceremony was over. Only two acolytes had attained senior status this season, not nearly enough to make up for attrition and their dwindling numbers, but one showed great promise, and far more importantly, the other possessed a sword that could supposedly defeat armies. Mindarin was excited at the prospects. However, Lord Protector Ratul seemed to be in a worse mood than usual.
The Hall of the Protectors was a vast stone fortress cut from the mountainside, far too large for their dwindling numbers. Mindarin joined his commander on the balcony overlooking the empty training ground. “I’ve been told that in times past, our numbers were so great that our formations took up this whole space when they presented themselves for inspection.” Ratul snorted. “We used to be so respected that we received so many obligations that we had to turn some away. I can’t even imagine. Now we can barely fill one corner with children. So this is what it feels like to preside over a dying order . . . But then I wonder if it truly has to be that way.”
The acolytes were gone, allowed a few hours to celebrate some of their number successfully advancing or to mourn the one who hadn’t made it back. It was their choice. Ratul went back to staring off into space, sucking on his teeth, mulling over something.
“What troubles you?” Mindarin asked.
“The truth . . .”
“That’s an unusually cryptic pronouncement. You saw something strange at the Heart, didn’t you?”
“Any other acolyte and I would have cut him down on the spot, but the Order needs that sword.” Ratul sighed. “Dark times are coming, my friend.”
Mindarin felt his hopes dashed. “Ashok then. Did you receive a prophecy?” Such a thing was rare, but not unheard of when dealing with the Heart. “Did it show you his future?”
Ratul spit over the edge and watched it fall. “Bah . . . I’m weary from the journey. That mountain seems taller the older I get. I don’t want to talk about it now. It’ll be dealt with in time. Good night, Mindarin.” He left the rail and began to walk away.
“Did the Heart show you the future?” Mindarin called after him.
“No.” Ratul didn’t look back. “It showed me the past.”
Chapter 7
As the sun rose across the desert, the spires of the Capitol’s tallest towers were visible in the distance. It was the biggest city in Lok. There was no place farther from the sea, and thus purer, than the Capitol. Kept alive by endless caravans and mighty aqueducts, the city had grown out of this barren region to spite nature. It was the source of the Law, the home of the bureaucracy, and the depository of mankind’s knowledge. It was in the middle of a desert, in the center of the continent, and though no rivers flowed here, all power did.
He had crossed jungles, mountains, plains, and desert, both low and high, over the last few weeks, riding from before dawn until after dusk, driving horses to exhaustion or death, and then using his office to confiscate more from the next town. Ashok had commandeered barges to cross rivers, climbed thousands of feet to cross mountain passes where the air was so thin that it made his head ache, and traveled hundreds of miles on the trade roads. He’d passed dozens of villages, a handful of cities, more caravans than he could count, and had dispatched one gang of bandits stupid enough to mistake him for a normal traveler in the dark. All of that brought him here, to the shadow of the Mount Metoro, to the greatest city in the world.
Protector Ashok Vadal, twenty-year senior, was not happy to be here.
“A wise man once told me that the place where they make law is the place where they’re the least likely to obey it,” Ashok muttered as he watched the spires. Of course, his only companion had no response but to snort and flick an ear. The horse was exhausted. That was too bad. It was his last mount, there were still miles to go, and now that the sun was up they needed to go faster. He thumped the animal with his heels. “My apologies, horse. I don’t like this place either.”
The duties of his office had taken him to nearly every city on the continent. Most of them were surrounded by the smelly farms and smoking industries of the workers, with scattered compounds belonging to the warrior caste between them, the slums for the casteless in the least desirable locations, and all of those quarters existed to serve the will of the much smaller governing caste who usually lived in some form of central castle or palace, separate and aloof. That’s how society normally worked for the good and order of mankind.
The Capitol was different from every other city. There were still multitudes of workers who lived here to serve, and legions of warriors to defend it, but this was a city built from the ground up for the comfort of the greatest among men. There were disproportionate numbers of the ruling caste here. Within every caste were numerous subcastes, and levels within levels, until every man had a place. This was where the greatest among them gathered to conduct their houses’ affairs. The lowliest bureaucrat still had rank and connections beyond an outsider’s dreams. Every home was a palace, and each agency of the bureaucracy required a building that made those palaces look like a casteless shack.
The horse shifted nervously beneath him as it caught the scent of death on the desert wind. “Easy, horse. They have to hang the criminals somewhere.” They certainly couldn’t do it in town, where the governing caste would have to smell them rot.
To the north, separate from the city, high up the side of lonely Mount Metoro, was a familiar fortress. His dried-out eyes could barely make out the clouds of black dots dancing over the Inquisitor’s Dome. Vultures. Hundreds of them. The executioners must have been busy lately, and recently too if the smell of decay was this strong, because bodies turned to jerky quickly under this sun.
The only good thing about his new orders was that he’d not been requested here by the Inquisition. When a Protector was summoned by the anonymous men in the masks and hoods, it was usually to deal with a lawbreaker using illegal magic, but once in a great while it was to be interrogated themselves. It was rare for a Protector to be questioned, but the Law declared that no one was above suspicion. Everyone answered to someone. Protectors answered to the Inquisition. Ashok would submit to their tortures if ordered, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.
The Capitol was strange. It belonged to no house, but all houses heeded it. It produced nothing but words, but it was the richest city in the world. All houses had their own form of currency, but the Capitol issued banknotes, which could be traded and honored by all. The houses supplied the Capitol with resources and people, and in exchange the Capitol gave them Law.
Along the road, Ashok passed dozens of wagons flying the banners of many different houses. He thought about stopping one of the caravans to trade for a fresh horse, but by the time he dealt with all the needless pleasantries, announcements, and workers sucking up, he wouldn’t be saving any time. Since he’d dressed in his full uniform for his presentation in the Capitol, he stuck out, and many of the drivers became obviously fearful when they saw a Protector approaching. Since it was legal for any enforcer of the Law to requisition whatever he needed to fulfill his orders, many poor merchants had been deprived of their goods along this very road after hauling them all the way across the continent.
Ashok knew there would be many sighs
of relief as he passed them by unmolested. One eventually got used to being feared by nearly everyone he met.
* * *
The walls of the Capitol were too thin and constructed of sandstone. They existed primarily for decoration and would never survive a siege. The Capitol’s real defenses were made of ink and paper. No matter how far it might drift from the letter of the Law, no house would ever make war on the Capitol, because there would be several other houses ready to curry political favor by turning on their neighbor. It was a careful balancing act, but it had kept the peace for hundreds of years.
The city never stopped growing. It had been a few years since his last visit, and he marveled at how many new structures there were, and how many old ones had been torn down and rebuilt. For the source of all order in the world, it was certainly chaotic.
The headquarters of the Order of Protectors were just inside the gate, between one of the vast bazaars and a workers’ neighborhood. This position was strategic, separate from the decision makers, but close enough to still take orders. Compared to the rest of the government buildings, it was humble. Compared to the rest of the Order’s holdings across the continent, it was ostentatious. Much like the walls, this building was also for show. The real—literal—heart of the Order was in the rugged mountains of Devakula, far to the south.
The bazaar was a packed mass of humanity, jostling about in the shade of hundreds of tents. The stalls came and went as merchants struck it rich or went broke. The arbiters and regulators didn’t usually bother with this area unless someone important complained. Some fool was trying to sell elephants, and the poor beasts looked miserable in the heat. Their giant piles of dung covered half the road. The road that had been here the last time he’d visited was now blocked by someone selling chickens. A new path through had been created where there had been a spice merchant before. This lack of continuity offended Ashok.