Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  “Join us, Librarian.” Harta had a wineglass in one hand, and he gestured for her to sit with his other. “I have need of you.”

  In addition to the important military men, the chief house wizard was present, as were a couple of arbiters, all of them reclining on cushions around a low table. It was a warm day by Vadal standards, so slaves were there to fan them. Luthra took up position with the other guards who were always present—for Harta was rather paranoid about assassins—and Rada moved over by the cushions.

  Though Rada didn’t care for social things, the Capitol Library had a great number of very important patrons, so she’d been taught how to always give the proper amount of respect for their respective status. How much respect did Harta rate? There were only twelve Great House Thakoors in the world, and he was the only person keeping her from getting handed off to the Inquisition, so all of it.

  She bowed, as was the northern style. “How may I assist you, noble Thakoor?”

  “You all need to see this. She’s read more books than damnable Ashok has killed men, and she has a memory like a parlor trick. She can remember all of them.”

  That was an exaggeration, but she wasn’t about to correct him. Harta looked a bit flushed, and she doubted this was his first glass of wine tonight. “I am happy to serve.”

  “Go ahead, Phontho. Ask her your question. If anyone will know such trivia off the top of their head, it is Rada.”

  One of the military men nodded, then turned toward her. “In the history of Lok, how many houses have survived the loss of their ancestor blades?”

  That question told her everything she needed to know about the nature of their conversation thus far. “That’s an easy question. The answer is none of them. There are twelve, or were, twelve remaining ancestor blades spread among twelve Great Houses.”

  Harta snorted. The officers shared a stricken look as the Thakoor drank the rest of his wine.

  “So we’re doomed,” muttered one of the arbiters under his breath.

  “I’ll have none of that foolish talk here,” Harta snapped. The arbiter bowed his head. Harta shook his in disgust, then held up his empty glass so a servant could rush over and fill it. “Let us be honest. Our ancestor blade has already been lost to us for the last twenty years. This simply seals it. My mother kept us on top without it, and I will continue to do so. It was only the naively hopeful that thought Angruvadal would ever return to us from the wicked hands of that fish-eating fraud. Now Radamantha, you gave the true yet simplistic answer, now give us the real answer.”

  “Well…” She thought about not just the facts, but the facts that Harta would want to hear. Luckily, she had read a book on this very topic once. “There are twelve swords and twelve Great Houses in recent years, but there used to be many more black-steel weapons in circulation. They have been lost over time for various reasons—”

  “Like being used by dishonorable scum for dishonorable ends.” The officer who said that looked like he wanted to spit on the floor but refrained. Which was good, because Harta would probably have him killed for defacing his rug.

  “Among other reasons, yes. The swords seem to have some manner of code, roughly in accordance to the Law, but their interpretation remains a mystery to mankind. When they are sufficiently displeased, they self-destruct in a most violent manner, and the owners seldom understand why. It has not always been one weapon per house, but historically speaking they’ve been wielded in a wide variety of ways. A house could have multiple, or none at all. Even vassal houses had them at times. If a house lost its sword, that didn’t mean that the house immediately ceased to exist. Oftentimes houses continued for generations without a blade before falling—” She caught herself. That would not be what they’d want to hear. “Or merging with another. Duels have been fought against outsiders, who claimed a house’s sword and returned it to their own. This is always a possibility because swords require their bearers to accept all honorable challengers to try and claim it.”

  “So I suppose we could just throw our army one at a time into some black-steel meat grinder until the sword decides it likes one of us better,” said Harta. “Brilliant!”

  “Or in a few notable cases, a stronger house without an ancestor blade has conquered a weaker neighbor who still had one, claimed it as the spoils of war, and made it their own.”

  “Really?” one of the officers leaned forward. “Such as?”

  “Well, one of the remaining handful for example. According to Parsa’s Complete Compendium of Black-Steel Relics”—which had been a rather dry and exhaustive read, yet there had never been any mention of Asura’s Mirror in there either, so perhaps it hadn’t been as complete a compendium as the author had supposed—“in the year 657 Great House Harban’s only sword was broken, but in a 668 war they defeated Great House Lahkshan in a battle in which their bearer was mortally wounded. Forty days after he succumbed to his injuries that sword chose a new bearer from among the warriors of Harban, and they’ve held it ever since. There have been others before that as well.”

  “How many?” Harta demanded.

  “Four, possibly five.” Rada did not add that was out of hundreds, and all of the more recent examples ended with the newly swordless house eventually being gobbled up and turned into a vassal, like Somsak or Vane.

  “Four or five…And surely none of them nearly as great as Vadal,” Harta told his dinner party.

  The phonthos began to nod.

  “We all know the sword was mostly symbolic. When was the last time my father personally went to war? There are so few ancestor blades left the great houses never actually use them for anything important because we’re all too frightened we’ll break them. They’re fickle things. Choosing an evil bearer and then getting offended and breaking when it gets used for evil? Angruvadal deserved to shatter.”

  It was obvious it made the warriors uncomfortable to hear their Thakoor talk so dismissively about the sword, but they weren’t about to publicly defend the honor of the thing that had taken the life of Harta’s mother.

  One of them must have been feeling a little brave though. “My Thakoor, it is true the sword was mostly symbolic, yet it was a powerful motivator to the men.”

  “Don’t lecture me about symbols, Phontho. I create them every time I give a speech. My words in the Capitol have done more to strengthen this house than anything Angruvadal has done over the last two decades while it was in the hands of villainous Ashok. We may not have an ancestor blade, but we have something that matters far more in these modern times. Money. I can still pay for the biggest army and the most wizards. To the oceans with mighty Angruvadal. Who needs petulant black steel when you have banknotes instead?”

  From what Rada knew about warrior culture that should have been considered low and dishonorable talk, but apparently to get to such lofty ranks you needed to be more politician than warrior, so they merely nodded along at their Thakoor’s drunken boasts.

  “That said, I understand having a black sword is important to your caste. Mine too. Just the threat of using one bolsters my work in the Capitol. Even if we never use the damn thing, just the knowledge of its existence grants us prestige. My heart breaks, not for Angruvadal, but for what Angruvadal’s loss means to our house. We are far better off with a sword than without.” Harta lingered on that thought.

  Finally, one of them asked, “What do you propose, Thakoor?”

  “Vadal is inferior to no one. We will not stand idle while lesser houses gloat over their treasures. We are Vadal. We take what we want. You heard the librarian. It has been done before. We are far stronger than any of our neighbors. Let us claim one of their ancestor blades.”

  Rada’s mouth fell open. Had she just caused a war?

  The warriors seemed simultaneously excited and nervous about the idea. “You speak of no mere raid but a full invasion, sir. The Capitol would never approve—”

  “I will handle the Capitol, Phontho. There’s always pretext for war when you have enough judges as frien
ds. Now we must decide who to invade. All of them have valuable territory Vadal can make a historical claim to. Your assignment is to pick the house we can defeat at the lowest cost. Show me the target and I will invent their crime against us.”

  “Sir, usually in unrestricted house war the bearer wouldn’t be present. Not just because of the risk, as you’ve already said, but also because if one side sends an ancestor blade to the fight, then the other side will respond with theirs.”

  “Your point?”

  “With no bearer of our own to counter, our opponent will send theirs. Instead of a contest between warriors, it becomes a magic-fueled bloodbath.”

  “Good. The sooner they send him to the front, the sooner we can kill him and take his sword. Your obligation is to figure out how to accomplish this in the most efficient manner possible. If they do not send their bearer out to play, you will simply have to seize their territory until they have no choice but to send their ancestor blade against you. Vadal does not bide its time. Vadal does not merely survive. We conquer. We take what we want, and I want a new sword. You will give me the report about the best way to do this in three days. You are dismissed, Warriors.”

  The members of the militant caste obediently did as they were told. Rada noted that they’d been despondent when she’d arrived, but now there was a fire in their eyes, and a quickness to their step. These may have been old men now, but they’d been raised to fight and were still eager for glory. It was in their blood.

  “They will recommend Sarnobat,” the house wizard said after the warriors were gone.

  “Of course they will.” Harta set aside his wine and wiped his lips with a napkin. “I am fine with this. Vokkan is the bigger long-term threat to Vadal’s security, but their army is strong. We could beat them, but only at great cost. Thao is safe from our warrior’s wrath. Though they have the smallest army of our neighbors, their terrain is easy to defend. Whereas Sarnobat’s army is smaller than ours, the trade roads make resupply easy for us, and their raids have been a perpetual annoyance which our commanders would love to decisively punish once and for all. Warriors tend to think with their emotions like that, but in this case emotions and logistics are on the same side. The solution is so obvious there isn’t really a decision to be made, but I will still let them feel like it was their choice. It’s good for their pride.”

  It was interesting, Rada thought, that though Harta had appeared to have drunk a bit too much wine while the warriors were here, as he explained the issues of invasion, he did not sound even the least bit tipsy. It had been an act for the warriors’ benefit. That emotional caste would expect some manner of reaction over the confirmation of the loss of their sword, and heavy drinking to console yourself was an acceptable warrior tradition.

  But Harta was of the first. He only cared about results. “With this recent and unexpected shipment of black steel, every one of our wizards will be well supplied and ready to strike when the Sarnobat ancestor blade takes the field.”

  “That is most generous of you, Thakoor. We will be ready.”

  “Excellent. My greatest concern is should we overcommit our forces against the wolf in the east, will the house of the monkey see that as an opportunity to claim some of our territory to the west? However, Vokkan ambitions are a problem I can stop from the Capitol. Their merchants need Vadal markets far more than we need their goods. Their workers will not stand for a prolonged conflict. The fools have allowed the worker caste far too much clout in that house. I will use this as leverage.”

  “You are wise, Thakoor,” declared the arbiter.

  “The librarian isn’t the only one who studies things. I will meet with the bankers and arrange to apply pressure on Vokkan. Now, begone. It is time for my evening walk.” The rest of them stood. Including Rada, who was still reeling from the idea that she might have inadvertently caused a house war. She already held herself responsible for allowing a genocide!

  “Not you, Rada. You shall accompany me around the gardens.”

  She stopped and tried her best to not look nauseous.

  As they walked from the dining chambers down a hall filled with magnificent paintings of scenes of Vadal glory, with two of the Personal Guard ranging ahead and two more behind, Harta gave her his arm and a cold smile. “Thank you for your help tonight.”

  She didn’t feel particularly helpful. “I appreciate your hospitality and your protection, Thakoor, so I’m happy to assist however you require, but I’m an Archivist, not a strategist. I wasn’t trying to encourage bloodshed! If that is how you took my information—”

  “Oh, poor naïve Rada. We’re both of high birth, but you’ve been so sheltered in your library that you don’t truly understand the ways of our caste.” It was difficult to tell with him, but Harta seemed genuinely amused. “First off, never denigrate your ability as an advisor. Your perspective is a peculiar, academic one, but such an odd view is sometimes valuable. Second, don’t worry. You caused no bloodshed…Well, not this time. The casteless extermination order is clearly on your head, but they’re not real people so their deaths shouldn’t trouble your conscience. In this case I’ve been looking for an excuse to justify a house war against Sarnobat for ages.”

  It was like the great weight resting upon her shoulders was taken away, but the one in her stomach, the nauseous, sick, about to be involved in a house war weight remained. “Then why bring me into it?”

  “My informants tell me that behind closed doors the warrior caste worries I may be too ambitious and will thus spend their lives frivolously. Warriors have a very narrow view of conflict and can’t see the big picture like we can. To be fair, it’s because they’re the ones doing the bleeding. It helped my grieving leaders to hear the idea of a sword-stealing expedition come from an outside source, where I, like them, merely reacted with all too human passion when offered a spark of hope. They will tell their men that they saw fire in my eyes and steel in my voice, and when a man thinks his Thakoor truly cares, he’ll fight harder.”

  “Do you? Truly care, I mean.” She honestly couldn’t tell.

  Harta laughed. “Of course I do. I would do anything for my house. But the histrionics and emotions that the warrior caste eat up have no place in the first. We must always be logical, rational, calculating, manipulating. Our obligation requires it. These are all things your father should have taught you.”

  “I think he tried.” Rada did not add however that her father was basically a decent, kindhearted man, nothing at all like Harta, who she thought would happily drown a sack of kittens in a bathtub if it made Vadal a few banknotes.

  “That is a father’s duty. I have six children myself. I have seen to it that every one of them has had the finest tutors. The brightest of them will be my heir, most will be obligated to various Orders to secure the favor of the Capitol—and to then use their new authority in ways which benefit Vadal—and my dumber children will be married off to other houses to cement alliances.”

  Such callousness was alien to Rada. She truly loved her obligation. The idea of using her position at the library to benefit Harban—a place she barely knew—was not only illegal, it was incomprehensible. She did however understand the part about marrying off the less-capable children though. It was a good thing Daksha was so pretty.

  “My father is a good man, Thakoor. I am sure he will be greatly pleased that you have treated me with such hospitality and will be sure to remember this favor. He loves his children very much.”

  “I see mine rarely, but when I do, I do not totally dislike them.”

  Harta rarely spoke about his personal life. She could see why. “That sounds nice,” she lied.

  “The first caste has no room for frivolity, Rada, everything, and I mean everything we do must be for the betterment of our obligation. This persistent management is what keeps Lok strong and prosperous. It is why we are the most-important caste. All this beauty…” He gestured at the expensive artwork which covered the walls. “It’s not for our enjoyment. It’s to
establish to our inferiors how important we are, how much better we are than them, so that they will continue to allow us to manage their lives.”

  And here she was thinking that art was to be enjoyed by looking at it. “What about when people do not wish to be managed?”

  “Chaos,” Harta said simply. “Which is why we must convince them obedience is necessary. The Law is necessary, thus we, its administrators, are necessary. Every decision we make must be based upon whether it fosters loyalty from the lesser people, or rebellion. The primary responsibility of the first caste is to see to the eternal perpetuation of the first caste.”

  “I thought it was to serve the Law?”

  “Same difference.”

  They walked down the stairs and outside into the magnificent gardens. Colorful birds were nesting for the night in the trees. Insects buzzed, chirped, and clicked. Vadal was blessed with a temperate climate. Everything grew here. Having grown up in the Capitol, where water had to be shipped in via aqueduct, this much green still seemed alien to her. Sure, the Capitol had gardens, magnificent ones in fact, but she also knew that they only existed through great cost and labor. She’d seen the expense reports filed in the library. In lush Vadal, growing things seemed comparatively effortless as far as she could tell.

  Since it was just the two of them—well, and all the guards, but they were a polite distance away and didn’t really count—Rada decided this was her chance to see if she could find out what Harta planned to do with her.

  “May I ask if you have heard anything else from the Inquisition, Thakoor?”

  “I have not actually. There has been no communication, no warrant, nothing. Which is rather interesting in and of itself. Omand put forth a great deal of effort to capture you, but it seems he was only interested in doing so quietly and unofficially. I wonder why?”

  “I don’t know.” Another lie. But she didn’t dare tell this man about the true nature of her relationship with Devedas. As far as Harta was concerned, she wanted him to believe the Protectors were interested in her because she was witness to a crime, and not the beloved of the Lord Protector, whose life could be used to coerce that illustrious man. “It must be because they forced me to lie on that report.”