Son of the Black Sword - eARC

  The area outside the hall was much quieter and the air cooler. Jagdish paused beneath the red lanterns to catch his breath. Across the street a group of soldiers were smoking and lounging in front of a brothel. One of their junior nayaks had passed out drunk in the gutter. Everywhere else in the city, their caste had to be on their best behavior, but in this district, dignity was quickly forgotten. At least, before abandoning him to visit the pleasure women, the young soldier’s companions had rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own vomit.

  Tomorrow Ashok would probably be dead or beyond his reach, and Jagdish would be deprived of his chance for glory. Other warriors of far higher status would try to take up the sword, and surely Angruvadal would choose one of them long before a low-status nobody like Jagdish had his chance. That wasn’t justice. None of them had fought Ashok. None of them had the courage to strive against him every day…Only Jagdish did…But then again, that training made it impossible for him to maintain any illusion of being able to defeat Ashok himself. He felt cheated, but logically he knew the only thing he was really being cheated of was the opportunity to get slaughtered in a lopsided duel. Angry, and not exactly sure why, Jagdish walked down the road until he reached the main street through the warrior’s district.

  If he turned north, the road would take him back to his house and his loving wife. If he turned south, the road would take him through the city gates, and beyond that was Cold Stream Prison.

  Jagdish took out his pocket watch. The hand said it was after midnight. The arbiter had commanded him to stay away from the prison until tomorrow.

  By the letter of the law, it was tomorrow.

  Chapter 23

  Vadal City stretched before Omand, hundreds of lights and tens of thousands of lives, all beneath him, literally and figuratively. As an honored high-status guest, the Grand Inquisitor had asked for one entire tower of the great house as his temporary residence. He’d told them that he preferred to be above the odor of the city, and thus required the highest possible altitude. Normally these rooms were reserved for the Thakoor’s immediate family, but the local authorities had been quick to grant his request. Unlike most men of his status, Omand didn’t care about personal comfort. A humble inn would have done just as well, but he’d been curious to see if they’d oblige his extreme request. It was good to occasionally test various great house families to make sure they were sufficiently frightened of his office.

  The Vadal castle was ancient, constructed in the days when man could still cross the seas, though most of it had been torn down by demons then rebuilt during the Age of Kings. There were still spots on the walls where the original carvings had been defaced to remove the likenesses of the old forbidden gods, though Omand could trace the dusty outlines with his fingertips and guess at what they’d shown. Most people were unaware that there had been a multitude of different religions to choose from before the Age of Kings, and from the shape of the scars in the stone he could tell that the tribe who had gone on to become the Vadal had been one of the strange ones who’d worshipped the god with an elephant’s head and the blue lady with four arms. Omand chuckled at their foolishness and moved on.

  The Vadal tower wasn’t nearly as magnificent as anything in the Capitol, but it would suffice. The important thing was that the roof made for an excellent place to hold a clandestine meeting.

  Omand looked up when he heard the beating of huge wings. A giant obsidian vulture materialized from the darkness overhead and landed smoothly on top of the tower. Still in motion, twisting and smoking, feathers melted into steel, and talons turned into boots. Within a few steps the bird was gone and a man in shining armor stood before him. Omand was impressed. His own magic was stronger, but Sikasso was extremely gifted. The assassin bowed to the Grand Inquisitor. “Good evening, my lord.”

  “I like the uniform. A very nice touch.”

  He spread his arms, proudly displaying the lamellar armor of the Protector Order. “A rare and expensive collector’s item, but an elaborate plot requires a meticulous dedication to detail.” Sikasso lifted his eyes. They were still glowing from the aftereffect of the transformation. “Ashok has escaped the prison.”

  Of course he had. “That man is as reliable as the sunset.”

  “If you’d realized he was truly as devoted to the Law as everyone made him out to be, you wouldn’t have needed to bring me along.”

  “Perhaps,” Omand mused. “But every man, even Ashok, has a limit to his devotion. If there was any imperfection in Kule’s work, and even a scrap of conscience remains, then you will prove most vital.”

  “The walls didn’t even slow him. As you predicted, no alarms were raised. He’s running south, staying off the roads, and sticking to the fields. The route he’s taking, the only place to cross the river is at Sutpo Bridge. He’s making excellent time and should be there by dawn.”

  “That’s splendid news.” This wasn’t familiar territory, but Omand had memorized the locations and strengths of every garrison, Vadal and its neighbors both. Sutpo was strong, but not too strong. He couldn’t have asked for a better location. “Are you prepared for what’s next?”

  Sikasso feigned insult. “As one artist to another, you wound me, Inquisitor. Are you ready for my men to proceed?”

  “The local judge is floating face down in the river. The Arbiter Superior will be found in his stateroom sometime tomorrow missing his head. I have a hunch that orders from the Capitol saying Ashok is to be executed will be found in his desk, but as for his head?” Omand spread his hands apologetically. “I’m not sure where that wound up…So yes, I do believe there is no turning back now.”

  The assassin nodded. “Just don’t forget our deal.” Then Sikasso took several fast steps and leapt over the side of the tower.

  Don’t forget our deal? Omand chuckled. He was staging a coup. There had been so many bargains struck, with so many nefarious groups and dark forces that it was becoming a challenge to keep track of them all. He walked to the edge and looked down. A black shadow flew over the castle wall before disappearing into the darkness.

  The Grand Inquisitor leaned on the parapet and studied the city. Because of the smoke and steam rising from the worker’s district, he couldn’t make out the Cold Stream prison’s watchfires from here. There was no way he could see his plans unfold and that saddened him a bit. Omand had been waiting a long time for this. Deciding the air was too chill, he returned to the stairs, content in the knowledge that by morning the actions of his pawns would shake Great House Vadal to its foundations, and as news spread it would strike fear into all of the houses. In time everything would be destabilized, and it would take a firm hand and strong leadership to restore order.

  It was a tragedy. A great revolution had just begun and Omand was the only one who knew about it.

  Chapter 24

  Jagdish tripped on a loose stone, stumbled, and almost fell over.

  Maybe trying to sneak in a duel to the death with Ashok before he could be executed wasn’t the best idea, considering how many beers he’d had tonight, but damn it, Jagdish was a warrior, and he wasn’t going to sit around and let some high-status ponce steal Angruvadal from him. So Jagdish put his hands on his knees and hung his head until the dizziness passed. Vomiting seemed like a good idea, but a bad waste of alcohol, so he resumed his journey, until a few minutes later his guts disagreed with him and he had to pause to throw up in the grass.

  Jagdish wiped his beard on his uniform sleeve. He felt lighter. Now he was ready to duel.

  The walls of his duty station loomed before him. Commanding the Cold Stream garrison had been intended as a punishment, but it wasn’t really that bad an assignment. There were some damned good men under his command, and Jagdish had to admit that his daily sparring sessions had made him a much better fighter than when he’d started here.

  There was supposed to be a bonfire along this section of road after dark, so that the guards in the watch tower could spot anyone approaching the gates,
but nobody had lit the wood piled in the pit. Both moons were bright tonight, and there was quite a bit of light to see by, so maybe the night watch had simply gotten lazy. Jagdish looked up at the tower, but nobody had spotted him and begun waving a signal flag. He scowled. Somebody’s getting reprimanded for this.

  There were two entrances on the north wall, a big gate for wagons, and a man door next to it. There should have been a guard near each, but he didn’t see anyone. Jagdish could be lenient at times, so he didn’t mind them having a chair. He’d even allowed a small shack to be built so they could have shade in the sun or protection from the rain, but there was no one in the shack either.

  There were vines growing up the stone walls, and Jagdish leaned against them while he caught his breath. They were soft and cool, and it was very tempting to go to sleep, but he only wanted to catch his breath before he started yelling at someone. He was really wishing that he’d not drunk so much earlier, but then again, Ashok had told him that he needed to be unpredictable, and showing up to a duel to the death drunk off his ass? Even Ashok wouldn’t predict that!

  Sufficiently composed, Jagdish banged on the man door with his fist. “This is your risaldar! Get out here, Nayak, and open this damned door! Let me in so I can claim my magic sword!” Even though the wood was extremely thick, he could hear commotion on the other side. Good. That meant that not all of his men were sleeping or screwing around while their commander was gone. Then he noticed something shiny lying in the grass. He went over and kicked at it with his boot. There was a solid clunk. Curious, Jagdish bent over and discovered that it was the blade of a halberd. The shaft was stuck into the bushes. It was one of the arms issued to his gate guards. Swearing, he pulled the pole arm free. “Somebody is getting ripped for this stunt. This is dereliction of duty!”

  There was a loud metallic clang as a gate bar was removed. Jagdish turned back to discover that it was the larger door being opened, for some reason. That was odd. Now he could hear voices, lots of them, and more coming. The heavy wood parted and torchlight crept through the gap. Jagdish shielded his eyes, and it took his befuddled mind a moment to realize that the figures on the other side weren’t wearing the blue-gray and bronze of Vadal warriors, but were dressed in sack cloth and rags.

  Prisoners.

  “Oceans.” Jagdish took up the halberd in both hands. “Guards! Guards! They’re escaping!”

  The massive door flew open behind the weight of dozens of bodies, and suddenly Jagdish was standing alone in front of a mob.

  He’d never sobered up quite so fast in his life.

  “Return to your cells!” Jagdish ordered in vain, because they were already surging toward him. The issue halberd had a small ax blade for chopping, and a long spike for thrusting, and Jagdish aimed that spike at the first prisoner in line. “Stop!”

  But it was like they hadn’t even heard him. A terrible cry went up, part desperation, part terror, and part exhilaration at being free. Only the first prisoners in line had seen him, and unluckily for them the ones behind shoved them forward, right into the path of Jagdish’s blade.

  He hadn’t even thought about it. The reaction was automatic as he stabbed a prisoner in the chest. The hardened steel was designed to punch through armor, and it went through the thin man almost as if he wasn’t there. Skin split as easily as paper until the ax blade ground against ribs and stopped him flat. The prisoner screamed in agony as the mob kept shoving him forward. Jagdish’s boots slid across the gravel as all that energy was pushed down the haft. Then he was surrounded by bodies. Sweat gleamed in the firelight. He could smell the fear. This is madness.

  Yanking the spike free, Jagdish stumbled back as the dying prisoner fell and was trampled by the bare feet of the fleeing mob. Jagdish swept the wide blade back and forth, biting into arms and legs. “Return to your cells!” But the prisoners just kept pushing past him, some already limping and bleeding from earlier altercations, and Jagdish kept on swinging. More tried to run right over him, while others realized there was some sort of resistance ahead, and went crashing off to the sides through the bushes. Jagdish realized that the prisoners were terrified, but not of him. Pushing past a desperate warrior with a razor sharp pole arm was preferable to whatever they were running from.

  There were too many of them. Someone hurled a torch at his face, and Jagdish was barely able to move aside, even though it singed his mustache and left his vision flashing and orange. A thin prisoner wearing nothing but a loincloth screamed and leapt at him. Jagdish smashed him in the face with the butt of the halberd, dropping him to the ground. Another thrust a stolen guard’s sword at him, but Jagdish desperately parried it away, and then sliced through that prisoner’s stomach. That one seemed almost surprised as he lurched off to die. His freedom hadn’t lasted very long at all.

  “Return to your cells!” Jagdish bellowed, but they were having none of it. Then most of the mob was past him, sprinting down the road or scattering into the fields. His initial reaction was to run after them, because when something ran, a wolf’s reaction was to chase it, but Jagdish wasn’t just a warrior, he was a commander. My men! What had happened to his men?

  The prisoner he’d struck in the face was crawling into the grass. A swift kick to the ribs flipped him over, then Jagdish pushed the spike against his throat. “What’s happening here? Talk or die!”

  Blood spilled from the prisoner’s broken nose and painted his teeth. “The Fallen went to killing the guards, then all of us too!”

  “What?” Jagdish pushed the spike in enough to break the skin. “Don’t lie to me!”

  “It’s true! I swear. Some other Protectors came, demanding to see him. The guards opened the gate, but they started cutting your boys to bits, then went cell to cell, hacking everyone down, and we’re next if you don’t let me go. Please, please…”

  Such fear couldn’t be faked. Jagdish stepped back. This was madness. There was no way Ashok would do such a thing. The prisoner scrambled to his feet, clutching at his bloody throat, and ran into the darkness. The torch that had been thrown at him was still lying in the road, burning. Other prisoners were scattered around him, moaning or dead. He couldn’t even remember hitting that many of them, and then he looked down and realized he was covered in blood. “My men…” Jagdish started toward the gate in a daze.

  More prisoners were running across the inner yard, but they were efficiently cut down by a figure who materialized behind them before they could reach the open gate. At first Jagdish thought it was one of his guards, but then the figure stepped out of the shadows, intricate armor gleaming with silver inlays, and the symbol of the Protector Order on his chest.

  “What’s going on here?” Jagdish demanded.

  The Protector started toward him. His hood was up, and in the shadows beneath all Jagdish could see was the stubbled edge of a strong jaw and eyes that seemed somehow too reflective. It wasn’t Ashok, but it was one of his former brothers, and thus nearly as intimidating.

  The Protector didn’t answer.

  “I am Risaldar Jagdish, commander of this garrison. You will answer me. What law have we broken?”

  The man kept walking, sword held down at his side. He tilted his head, acting as if he’d not heard, or he was confused, and instinct screamed at Jagdish that the Protector was trying to close the distance so he could strike. As he got closer to the torch, Jagdish could see that the Protector’s gauntlets and boots were soaked and dripping with blood.

  “To the sea with you then.” Jagdish took up the halberd in both hands and shifted into a fighting stance. He aimed the spike at the Protector’s chest. “Come and try me.”

  White teeth reflected the moons. The Protector was smiling. Now they understood each other.

  They circled around the torch, sizing each other up. Jagdish had a few feet of reach advantage, but if the Protector could slip inside the arc of the longer weapon, then he would be at the mercy of the swordsman. The Protector’s vitals were shielded by some of the best-craft
ed armor in the world. Jagdish was wearing a cotton uniform with his own vomit on it. He had been taken by surprise after a long night of drinking, and interrupted a Protector who was already warmed up by a killing spree.

  I should have gone home to Pakpa.

  The Protector lifted his sword, almost as if he were showing it off. There was a gentle curve to the blade, a slashing style that the horsemen of Zarger preferred, nothing like the broad straight swords of the northern houses. Then he reached out with the sword, tapping at the end of the Jagdish’s halberd, almost as if this was a game. Jagdish tried to knock the steel away, but his move was clumsy, and the Protector turned the halberd and stepped back, seeming to enjoy himself.

  “You’ve arrived too late,” Like his sword, his accent was from the high deserts, but Protectors hailed from every house. “Pathetic drunk.”

  “Only on special occasions,” Jagdish muttered. What the hell had he been thinking? Here he was, being intimidated by a Protector, when he’d come here fully prepared to be struck down by one in a desperate attempt to win honor. Jagdish’s grip tightened on the wood. To hell with him. “What have you done to my men?”

  But the Protector didn’t answer. Instead he lunged forward, catching the blade of the halberd with his sword and trying to shove it aside. Rather than step back as the Protector must have expected, Jagdish kicked the torch. It flew forward and bounced off armor, sparks flying, and as the Protector twisted away, Jagdish followed, stabbing with the halberd. The spike glanced off the lamellar shoulder plate, but Jagdish kept on him, stabbing, lifting and cutting, forcing the Protector back. The halberd came back, flecked with silver paint, but no blood.