Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  “Of course. But then I wonder, why not simply murder you? That would ensure your silence. Omand has no shortage of disposable killers who would never be traced back to his Order.”

  She could never tell with Harta just how much he actually knew about anything. He must have suspected there was more to her story than she was letting on, but for whatever reason he seemed content to wait, rather than just having the secrets beaten out of her.

  Rada knew that with her complete inability to understand the inner workings of people, she was a lousy example of her caste, but her father had tried to teach her a few things, and one of those was that information was power. And here she was with a man who had his fingers in everything, so she might as well take advantage of it.

  “I am baffled, Thakoor. What do you think Omand is plotting?”

  “Now that is the question…” Harta stopped to pluck a purple flower from a vine. He smelled it, found it not to his liking, and dropped it on the grass. “The Grand Inquisitor is currently one of the most powerful men in the Capitol.”

  “I heard he used to be a witch hunter, and that he knows a lot of magic.”

  “Yes, he’s supposed to be supremely skilled at such things, perhaps the best in the world. He’s also a man of vile tastes. Last time he was a guest here one of my servants disappeared. But I don’t speak of magical power or murderous inclinations. I speak of real power. He has spent years building a network of contacts the likes of which Lok has never seen before. As a collector of secrets and blackmail, a great number of the judges are either afraid of him or wish to curry his favor. His Order has become strong, with its hooks into everything, yet it remains subtle, so as to not draw too much ire. Omand has amassed a great deal of power, but to what end he intends to use it for, I don’t yet know.”

  Colorful lanterns were hung everywhere, but there was still a lot of shadow in the garden. Rada didn’t quite know her way around yet so she couldn’t tell where they were heading. She’d never been in this secluded part before. The guards in the lead seemed to have some location in mind though.

  “With Omand being such a force, I am faced with a decision. Vex him, or ally with him?”

  Rada felt a sudden pang of fear. Would there be a masked Inquisitor waiting for them? Was he about to hand her over?

  “You need to learn to hide your feelings better, Rada. Lucky for you, I have no interests in allying with a spider. My mother had to deal with his plots and made me swear an oath for the good of our house that I would never trust that man. Though I don’t yet know Omand’s ultimate goal, I very much doubt it will be to Vadal’s benefit. Thus, he will remain my opponent.”

  That was a relief.

  “However, sometimes it is useful to trade with an opponent. Perhaps Omand simply hasn’t thought of something suitably beneficial to offer me in exchange for you yet…” Harta chuckled at her discomfort. “I can see what you’re doing, Rada. You’re trying to play the part of an advisor, trying to make yourself useful to me, so that when the time comes and I am offered a temptation sufficient to trade you, that I won’t be able to because I’ve come to see you as so indispensable.”

  “That’s not at all—”

  “Spare me, Librarian. You’ve read some history books about political machinations. I’m the man people like you write those books about. Your efforts amuse me. If you wish to truly become an indispensable advisor, then you’d best start acting like one. An opportunity presents itself now. Let’s see how you do.”

  They reached a clear area of manicured grass. A fountain bubbled in the center. Curiously, there were a few other guards already waiting there. Standing between them was a man in dirty, tattered clothing, with shackles on his wrists, and a sack covering his head.

  “What’s this?”

  “The next thorny issue I must deal with. How best to rid myself of this criminal without causing too much consternation among the lesser castes. Half of Vadal thinks of him as a hero, the other half thinks he is a villain. His name is Jagdish.”

  Rada had overheard guards and servants carrying on about this man. Truly, he was the talk of the house. Some heard that he was a foe of Ashok Vadal, others a friend, sometimes, inexplicably, both. Yet all agreed that he was a killer of demons and wizards and had ridden into Vadal with a caravan full of treasure. Rada hadn’t known what to think because his wild exploits sounded like something out of an adventure tale.

  “Right now I need to decide the most politically expedient way to kill him.”

  Chapter 31

  “You know, lads, the bag over my head is completely unnecessary. I can tell right where we are.” Even blind Jagdish had felt the turns of the carriage and the thump of its wheels. He knew Vadal City too well, so he could tell they’d gone to the great house, but not through the main entrance where they’d be seen by many witnesses, but to the quieter back way in. They’d marched him through that gate, and now that Jagdish could hear the fountain, smell the flowers, and feel the soft grass beneath his bare feet, it was obvious they were in the gardens. “I used to serve here, remember?”

  “Silence,” one of the guards warned him.

  Jagdish didn’t know any of these men. The Personal Guard had been totally gutted and everyone replaced after Bidaya’s embarrassing demise. He’d only gotten the name of one of them…Girish it was, and Jagdish hadn’t heard his voice yet. But if Harta was about to pronounce judgment, he needed to know. “Is Risaldar Girish on duty tonight? I’d like to know if he kept his word and delivered something to my wife for m—”

  A guard punched him in the stomach.

  The man could hit too. Made sense. The Personal Guard weren’t just for looking pretty. You had to have proven yourself professional and hard as nails to get this obligation. Jagdish’s abdominal muscles hadn’t been ready for such an impact, and it left him gasping.

  His body was already bruised and aching from the several beatings he’d caught in recent weeks. Surprisingly, none from the prisoners though. Even though he was their former warden many of Cold Stream’s captives had been there during the wizard’s attack. He’d killed a mighty lot of them during the prison break, but that had been nothing personal. The survivors treated Jagdish like a hero for avenging their lost brothers and cellmates. The prisoners had been terrorized by those wizards that night. They knew what was what.

  Rather the beatings had come from the new guards of the Cold Stream garrison. After Cold Stream’s disgrace every man who had served under Jagdish had been shipped off to other units, and replaced with new, unlucky bastards. Since there was almost no chance to earn glory guarding a prison and many opportunities to lose it, the new guards were bitter about their post. They’d taken that bitterness out on the target who was easiest to blame. The current warden had ordered his men not to kill Jagdish, but despite that he had managed to fall down the stairs a few times now. How very clumsy of him.

  Most of the new replacements were fine, decent sorts, but a few of the warriors had cruelty in their hearts. Giving such men authority over others was a terrible leadership decision which would only create more problems for the troubled garrison. If Jagdish had been their commander he would’ve broken them of such unlawful foolishness, but he wasn’t the risaldar now was he? No. He was just another prisoner.

  Regardless, Jagdish would remember the cruel guards’ faces, and if by some miracle he was ever restored to his caste he would track those particular men down and demonstrate to them what a real duel looked like. It was amazing the difference when your opponent was actually allowed to fight.

  Come to think of it, that made two units in a row that had needed complete restaffing after Jagdish had served in them. No wonder he’d gained a reputation for bad luck. Hopefully the Sons of the Black Sword were still in one piece, but considering he’d not seen them in several months and they were at war with the whole Law-abiding world, that was doubtful. Which was unfortunate, as they were brave men, probably the best Jagdish had ever known.

  It had been
a difficult time for him in prison, not just because of the swift and merciless violence which had been routinely visited upon him, but mostly because of his own ignorance about what was going on outside the walls. He still thought of the Sons as his men and it was troubling not knowing what was happening without him there to guide them. Ashok was an incredible combatant, a force of nature really, but his inability to empathize with his soldiers made him a bad officer. Not on purpose mind you, for despite his dark and well-earned reputation Jagdish knew that Ashok was a good man, albeit a damaged one. Except you had to have been a regular soldier to understand a regular soldier, which was a difficult task when you were the nigh unkillable, superhuman, limb-threshing embodiment of the Law. He worried all the Sons would die simply trying to keep up with their general.

  Yet far more worrisome than the fate of his men was the knowledge that he was only a few miles from his wife, and he didn’t know what was happening to her. Had Pakpa even heard that he was still alive? Or did she grieve him as if he were already dead? Not knowing was almost enough to break a man’s spirit. Well, perhaps a lesser man, but not Unbreakable Jagdish. He kept telling himself that as long as he had something to fight for, he would never ever give up.

  Though…finding out how Pakpa was doing was the real reason he’d wanted to ask Girish about the delivery of the pocket watch.

  Being put in the gardens meant that he was either going to meet secretly with Harta himself or someone else of great importance. Jagdish would have a chance to plead his case and ask for mercy. All he’d ever wanted was to be a good soldier and a good leader. It was by cruel twists of fate that he’d ended up sucked into the whirlwind that was Ashok Vadal.

  One would think that a meeting in an idyllic garden would be a good indicator of leniency, but that assumption would be incorrect. Jagdish knew from personal experience that Bidaya had often used the garden as a discrete place for an execution she didn’t want in the public eye. Dump a few buckets of water on the grass to dilute the blood, have the house slaves toss the corpse into some casteless’s pigpens, and nobody was ever the wiser. It made sense that Harta would adopt this family tradition from his mother.

  He heard new voices approaching. It was a man and a woman having what sounded like a polite conversation. There were more footsteps accompanying them as well, those were wearing boots, and from the creak of weights hanging from leather belts, they had swords…Oh sure, now the Personal Guard was allowed swords in the house. He’d had to duel Ashok Vadal with a knife!

  “Kneel.”

  Jagdish was roughly shoved down and the bag was ripped from his head. Even though the gardens were lit only by flickering lantern light he’d been wearing the hood so long he had to squint as his eyes adjusted. Still, just from the self-assured haughtiness of the shadow standing before him he knew it was Harta, Thakoor of Great House Vadal, and ultimate decider of Jagdish’s fate.

  Jagdish bowed deeply, head near to the grass, and held it for a respectfully long time.

  Even though Jagdish had been stationed here he had never really spent much time around Harta. Bidaya had been Jagdish’s master. In those days Harta rarely came home, and had spent most of his time in the Capitol, where his gifts best served Vadal. It was said Harta was so good at giving speeches he could convince a southerner to buy snow. In the few times they had met, Jagdish had found Harta to be unctuous around his mother, while insufferably conceited toward everyone else…But that was normal among the first caste he had observed. Bidaya had been an insufferable hag to work for, but she had been exceedingly sharp. Hopefully, Harta had inherited her wisdom, but not her cruelty.

  “Rise.” Vadal’s most eloquent man merely sounded annoyed. “So you are the warrior who rode with Ashok.”

  There was no use in lying about it. “Yes, sir. In order to get revenge against the wizards who attacked our house and killed my men, yes I did.” Jagdish did not look down as he spoke. Dirty, battered, hungry, it didn’t matter, he looked his Thakoor in the eyes. Let him see Jagdish spoke truth. He had lived with pride, he would die with pride.

  “You make no excuses for this?”

  “I cannot. I figured I could find them, but I knew I couldn’t beat them on my own. I needed help. We tracked them for hundreds of miles, then slaughtered them in their home. When the deed was done, I gathered all the treasure I could carry and brought it here to present to you, my lord. I’m no wizard, but I believe it was rather a lot.”

  Harta surprised him by actually laughing out loud. “It certainly was!” He looked to the guards who were flanking them, and they took their leader’s mirth as a sign that it was okay for them to find it amusing as well. “I’m amazed at the audacity of this man.”

  Jagdish could see now there was a woman present too. The rather comely young lady wasn’t smiling. In fact she looked worried for him. Jagdish had seen that expression before. It was how the tenderhearted looked upon a condemned man as he was being marched to the gallows, which meant that Harta had probably already told her what he had in store for Jagdish tonight.

  He didn’t want to die. He wanted to fight for his house, lead a command, love his wife, and raise his son.

  “Thakoor Harta, I apologize for any trouble my quest has caused you, but it was something which I was compelled to do. I knew the Black Heart was a criminal, but I needed a criminal to beat a criminal, in a land where I could not legally go.”

  “You admit to breaking the Law?”

  “I do, part of it at least, but I only did so to uphold the rest.”

  “That’s was not your decision to make, Warrior. Everyone has their place.”

  “My place was taken from me, along with my dignity, and my name. I was trying to earn them back.”

  It was plain the way Harta’s mirth abruptly ceased that it had never been real at all. “Let me see if I understand…You freely associated with the greatest criminal in the world, the man responsible for destroying our house’s sword, who tarnished my family name, who killed my mother, and yet somehow you thought you could just stroll back into Vadal and buy my forgiveness with a wagon full of bones?”

  “No, sir. I buy nothing. The demons are yours by right. I seized treasure for you because I am a warrior of Great House Vadal. That’s what we do on raids.”

  “I should slit your throat right now.”

  “That is your decision to make, Thakoor. My life is yours to spend.”

  “You won’t beg for mercy?”

  Oh, it was sorely tempting. Sorely tempting indeed. “Warriors are not supposed to beg.”

  “Such dignity, even in rags. Good. It annoys me when I find cowards among your caste. All your people should be as eager to die for this house as you clearly are. In fact, a large number of your caste have adopted the belief that you are some kind of avenging champion, righting wrongs, and collecting heads. That’s the only reason you’ve not already been executed.”

  So Jagdish’s grand entrance plan had worked…Not as well as he’d hoped, but he wasn’t dead yet. Take that, Gutch.

  “You see, Jagdish, I stuck you in that prison in the hopes that the people would forget about you once they found some new shiny thing to distract them. Instead, your imprisonment seems to have had the opposite effect. My informants tell me they’re singing songs about you in every warriors’ tavern in the city. The man they remember for dueling fearsome Ashok every day, then ran off and turned into a demon hunter. The stories are so outlandish they’re scarcely believable to a skeptical man, but the gullible are eating it up. The warriors’ morale has been low since Ashok’s betrayal, but in you they have found something to love. Warriors are simple. They like to have their heroes, don’t they?”

  “Yes, sir. We do.”

  “However, I can hardly have them making a hero out of someone best known for his disobedience. That sets a dangerous precedent. They’re wondering where you’ve disappeared to, and some of them have even begun muttering that your absence is my fault. The malcontents are saying that I am unjust
to punish such a hero. I can’t by definition be unjust, because I’m the one who decides what the Law means in this land. Justice is whatever I say it is. Do you understand why such rot is an issue?”

  “Yes, sir. Officers are taught allowing dissension leads to contempt for authority. Contempt for authority destroys the effectiveness of a unit.” In that particular respect, being Thakoor was just like being a risaldar, only on a far grander scale.

  “I was warned you are a clever one. My time is valuable, Jagdish, so I will be frank. I want to kill you. A public execution would send the message that criminals are not tolerated in Vadal, but would further depress my warriors, and the timing for that is very inconvenient. On the other hand, a private killing makes it appear to my caste that I am unconfident, or maybe even afraid of drawing the wrath of the Black Heart.”

  “You could let me live,” Jagdish suggested.

  “Yet on a personal level, it would please me to see you die,” Harta said, ever so earnestly. “I really want to kill Ashok Vadal, but he’s not here. You are. You’re the next best thing. Would killing you upset him, do you think?”

  Jagdish was trying to be truthful, but that question was making it extremely hard. He swallowed. “I don’t rightly know, sir.”

  “Because if given an opportunity to hurt Ashok Vadal, even a tiny fraction as much as he has hurt this house, I would be a fool not to do so…” He turned toward the woman. “Don’t you think so, Rada?”

  She seemed to shrink back. The young lady was also dressed in the finery that declared her to be a member of the first caste, but it was apparent she was uncomfortable with all of this life-or-death business. “I…I don’t…”

  “Spit it out, Librarian. I’ve not got all night. Show me that you are worthy of your caste. It is time to make the difficult decisions.”