Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  “There is nothing more illegal than this,” Ashok whispered. “I’ve never heard of so many of these things in one place at a single time. This is a profound evil.”

  “The Law says our very existence is evil, Ashok! Mine, yours, Thera’s, all these good people counting on us. And that existence will end if we can’t defend ourselves. These things are no different in principle than a crossbow, just stronger and louder, and they’re far less dangerous than your beloved Angruvadal was. The important thing isn’t what they can do, but what the warriors think they can do! Once they know we have these, even the Capitol will be afraid to come against us!”

  “I do not like this,” Ashok muttered.

  “Don’t let your heart be bothered. A weapon is only as evil as the man who bears it.” Keta couldn’t find his voice to proclaim his own desires, but the Keeper of Names did not hesitate to speak with fire and passion in defense of the faithful. “Let us vow to use these for good, only for self-defense, only to save innocent lives.”

  Ashok seemed unconvinced, but he had no choice. He was a slave to his vows. Keta was the real freeman here.

  “I’ve sworn to protect the prophet, and by extension, her people, but this…” he gestured at the rods. “This fills me with unease. This changes everything.”

  “Why? Because with them our casteless rabble actually stands a fighting chance against the mighty forces of the Law?”

  Ashok thought about it for a long, painful moment. “Exactly.”

  “I told you the gods would provide.”

  Chapter 34

  Vadal City was a loud, busy place. One of the biggest and most crowded cities in all of Lok was not enjoyable for a man who preferred quiet contemplation. He had grown tired of the constant chatter and hum weeks ago.

  It was probably one of the richest cities too, with vast markets that rivaled even the Capitol’s legendary bazaars. It was said you could buy anything in the markets of Vadal City if you knew where to look. There were thousands of people coming through here every day, buying, selling, haggling, and thieving.

  Nobody noticed just another leprous beggar.

  Covered in dirty rags from head to toe, the beggar sat in the shade of a brick wall. On the other side of the wall was a smith who specialized in repairing the tools of the worker caste. The constant hammering was making it more difficult for him to eavesdrop on the conversations on the fourth floor of the building across the street, but since this position enabled him to see the only exits, it was still the best place to wait.

  The beggar had set a tin cup in front of him. It was empty. Vadal City was wealthy, but they had no charity for a beggar who just sat there. In this colorful place, even their lepers had to be entertaining if they expected scraps. The ones who sang songs, or danced for people’s amusement, their cups got coins, and occasionally a whole note even. He had never learned to dance, plus he didn’t dare stand up, because then people would notice how alarmingly large he was. His deep voice was surprisingly good for certain songs, hardy, western marching songs mostly, but he did not wish to draw that much attention to himself.

  The snake charmers made good money it seemed. They played flutes and the people were always excited at the opportunity to see a cobra bite someone. Even the beggars who crawled along on moldering stumps telling sob-inducing stories designed to elicit pity got something dropped in their cups. He got nothing, because he just sat there, trying not to be noticed. He made a terrible beggar. It was a good thing he had been obligated to a different career in his youth.

  Across the street was a textile shop. The apartments above it were rented out to merchants and travelers, and sometimes Inquisition witch hunters pretending to be merchants, which was what brought him here today. The topmost floor had windows which granted a view of the walls and towers of the magnificent great house, less than a quarter mile away.

  It was a good staging area if your primary mission was to spy upon the keep itself, especially since from the top floor you could sneak out onto the roof tops at night to peer down into the grounds. The tiger man and some of his lackies had been staying there for the last month. Which meant the beggar had been here slightly less time than that, because it had taken him a few days to track them down.

  Lying in garbage in soiled rags that hid all but his eyes, for weeks on end, didn’t leave much time for other activity, but this beggar was a man of single-minded determination. Whenever the watch came by and prodded him with their spear shafts to check if he was still alive, he would move enough to let them know they didn’t need to call for the corpse collectors quite yet. When he was sure the Inquisitors on the fourth floor were sleeping, he would get up and find something to eat. Since he couldn’t just obligate some lesser status person to give him nourishment on demand as he was used to, eating usually meant picking things out of the trash that would make a fish-eater vomit. On the bright side, he was immune to illness. Though eating garbage still made his stomach ache. Discomfort was part of the job. He had done worse.

  Even though it was a few hours after sundown the market remained busy. The Capitol markets stayed open all night because it was so damnably hot there that the people became almost nocturnal, sleeping through the worst of the unforgiving sun. Vadal had wonderful weather year round. These people had no excuse for conducting business at inappropriate times. They were addicted to trade. In the far west—where he was from—people kept sensible hours, rising with the sun and not staying up too late, so they would be able to labor in the fields again the next day. In Uttara even the warriors and the first caste kept farmers’ hours.

  But not Vadal City. There was no time for sleep. Only trading and music. These people never seemed to stop with the singing. So it was difficult to weed out the hundreds of other excited voices to focus in on the magical conversation that was happening on the fourth floor. Luckily the witch hunter had left the window open.

  It was barely a whisper, audible only because of the Heart of the Mountain. He could tell that the words were being delivered by magic, an extremely expensive method of communication. Thus this message must be an important one. Once he recognized the magical voice as belonging to Grand Inquisitor Omand himself, his suspicions were confirmed.

  “Khoja, we have found Vikram Akershan. He does not appear to have the mirror. Nor was it at the bottom of Red Lake. I must assume that he has given it to the librarian. I am aware of the risk, but you must strike as soon as possible. See if she has the mirror. That is the most important thing. Take her, alive preferably, and bring her back to the dome for safekeeping. If you are unable to do so, make her death look like the fault of the Vadal. It is vital that you are not caught. It is better to die quietly than be discovered as one of us. If taken alive, you will be disavowed. I know you will succeed though, because you were one of my best students. Good luck.”

  That was all the beggar needed to hear. As he stood up and stretched, his back cracked. After a month of shambling about hunched over, it was the first time he’d shown anyone in the market his full, rather impressive, height. Several people noticed him, because they were not used to shaggy lepers a full head taller than most.

  Rather than walk across the street, he turned and went into the smith’s shop. A bell rang as he opened the door. “Excuse me,” he said to the waiting customers, as he cut in line. Because of his stink and the filth upon his rags, the workers quickly tried to get out of his way.

  “Begone, untouchable!” the smith shouted, as he did every time he’d seen the beggar around his place of business. But then the expression on the man’s face changed when he saw the sudden difference in the beggar’s demeanor. Like most smiths, he was well muscled, but it was plain just from the sheer presence of the man that this beggar could snap him like a twig. This was no mangy stray as believed, but a deadly wolf. It was amazing the difference just standing straight did. Good posture was very important.

  “I need to borrow a hammer.” He didn’t speak like a humble, down-on-his-luck dreg of society,
but rather a man of status.

  “What?”

  “A hammer. All of my weapons and armor were on a pack horse. I believe it was eaten by a magical tiger. It’s a long story. I would show you the token of my office to make this official, but it was on the same horse. Hurry up. I need to go kill someone. Give me a hammer. Now.”

  His words and demeanor frightened the other customers, and the bell rang again as some workers fled out the door, probably to get the guard. The smith was rather confused by all this, but he didn’t argue with the suddenly frightening giant in rags. Instead, he went back into his forge, and called out. “What kind of hammer?”

  “The biggest one you have.”

  The smith returned a moment later. “How about this one?”

  He took it from the smith’s hands and hefted it. It was about a two-pound head, on a handle of about eight inches of stout hickory. It wasn’t a proper war hammer, but it would have to do. “Acceptable.” Then he noticed that the smith had retreated back behind his counter. There was a great number of powders and concoctions for the searing and staining of metals on the shelf behind him. He pointed with the hammer. “Is that red powder the kind that makes smoke that burns your eyes out?”

  “Yes. It’s for the etching of zinc or steel. The green is for copper.”

  He stuck the hammer through his belt, and then grabbed both bottles from the shelf.

  “Be careful! If those two mix together they’ll make a caustic cloud that’ll rip our lungs apart.”

  “Excellent. This will be all.”

  “How’re you gonna pay for those?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Who are you?” the smith stammered.

  “Protector of the Law, nineteen-year senior, Karno Uttara.” The bell rang as he left.

  Karno walked across the street and into the textile shop, which—once again—upset the clean and nonstinking customers.

  “You can’t come in here, leper!” the shopkeeper shouted. “I’ll call the watch!”

  “Send for the corpse collectors as well,” Karno said as he made his way between the shelves of colorful fabrics. “They will be needed.”

  He walked up the stairs, each heavy footfall slow and methodical. There was no need to rush. Khoja would need time to gather all his Inquisitors in the city. It would be very difficult to get into the well-guarded great house, and if they made it out with Rada alive, they would still need to exfiltrate the city. They would not attack until the darkest, sleepiest part of the night, when the Personal Guard would be sleepy and vulnerable.

  There were two rooms on the top floor, both rented by Inquisitors pretending to be something else. Karno had watched their comings and goings. Even without their masks they were easy for him to spot. Predators recognized other predators…Unless of course one of them was wrapped in rags and lying in a gutter, but most people were not as dedicated to their work as Blunt Karno.

  The witch hunter must have been eager to get started, because he had already dispatched one messenger. Karno heard the slap of sandals rushing down, so he put the jars of poison off to the side, squeezed his bulk into the corner beneath the stairs of the second floor and waited.

  The Inquisitor was a young man that Karno had seen many times over the last few weeks. He had never left anything in the beggar’s cup. As he rushed past, Karno stepped out, wrapped one massive arm around his neck, and hoisted him from the ground. He didn’t even need to use the Heart of the Mountain for that. Karno was simply that strong. To his credit, the Inquisitor was tough, so rather than panic, he kicked Karno in the leg—a move which was basically useless against a man of his density—while pulling his hidden knife. Karno simply caught that wrist and squeezed the bones together. The knife fell and stuck into the floor. A moment later the Inquisitor was out of air and thrashing.

  “How many remain upstairs?” Karno relaxed his bicep enough to let his victim get a breath. “Tell me and I’ll let you live.”

  “Two,” he lied.

  Karno knew there was double that, possibly more. It was a good effort on the Inquisitor’s part, trying to get him killed like that. He could respect it, but he snapped the man’s neck anyway because he had a job to do. Devedas had asked him to protect Rada. That obligation didn’t end simply because he’d been bitten by a tiger, stabbed six times, and then been left for dead facedown in a lake.

  He dumped the body quietly, gathered his jars, and then proceeded to the top floor. There was a small landing with two doors. He’d watched the windows, so he knew Khoja slept in the last room, and that was where he had just received the message from the Grand Inquisitor. Pausing to sharpen his hearing, Karno found that there was movement in both rooms, and from the sounds of steel clanking and leather creaking, Khoja had already passed on Omand’s orders. They were arming up, preparing for their raid.

  He unscrewed the lids of both jars. Even holding his breath, the vapors that came out made his eyes water. He tried the first door. It was unlocked. He opened it to reveal there were two Inquisitors inside, dressing in dark clothing and buckling on sword belts. Before either could react, he hurled the jars across the room. They spun, dumping their glittering contents through the air. Then Karno closed that door to let them sort it out.

  The angry shouts turned to screaming, and then coughing. As they desperately flung themselves at the door to open it. Karno just placed his bulk against it to hold it closed. Karno was immovable. He pulled the smith’s hammer from his belt and waited for the rest to react to the noise.

  It didn’t take long.

  The other door flew open and an Inquisitor ran out. She was dressed as a slave of the great house, a common enough sight in the market, so that told him what their plan to snatch Rada had been. She produced a pair of knives from seemingly out of nowhere and came at him, jabbing and slashing. The Inquisitor was very good.

  Karno was better.

  Keeping most of his weight against the door so the others couldn’t escape, he intercepted one blade with the hammer’s handle. Then knocked the other aside with his palm, and then the first again by catching her forearm with his elbow. She kicked him in the thigh. He took it. She slashed for his neck. He smashed the hammer into her arm. A good impact, but only enough to bruise flesh, not break bones. She cried out and retreated.

  Another Inquisitor rushed into the hall carrying a curved sword. It was relatively short, but still had more reach than his little worker’s hammer. The thumping to his back had weakened. Either they were dying, or one of them had run off to try and climb out the window. So Karno stepped away as the sword zipped through the air to rebound off the wood.

  The door flew open, temporarily blocking the swordsman. An Inquisitor spilled out, clawing at his eyes and wheezing. Karno shoved him, sending him flipping over the railing where he bounced headfirst off the stairs below.

  A horrible, tear-inducing cloud rolled into the hall. Hopefully the place would air out before the watch arrived. He didn’t want to harm any Law-abiding people. But these scheming Inquisitors? To the oceans with them.

  The swordsman pushed past the door. Karno kicked it into him, putting him off balance. Then he pushed forward. The curved blade came up in a disemboweling arc, but Karno knew all the tricks. He’d spent decades learning how to apply brute power and blunt force against the best swordsmen in the world. This was child’s play for a man who’d learned from Ratul and trained with the likes of Ashok or Devedas. He kept driving forward, not giving the swordsman room to work.

  The woman darted past both of them. He swung for her head, but she dived forward, rolled, and came right back up. One of her knives zipped through his rags, but missed his skin. Only now he had an enemy on both sides. Oh, she was very good indeed.

  The three of them shifted back and forth. The smaller Inquisitors lunged at their bigger target, but then danced back before he could strike them. The poorly constructed landing shook beneath their feet. The poor things actually thought they had him. He had no time for this foolishness
, so Karno called upon the Heart of the Mountain to grant him speed.

  They did not see that coming.

  The edge of the sword was meant for his head, but he caught it with the hammer, hooked it sharply downward, and then brought the chunk of iron back into the Inquisitor’s face. Teeth flew. Blood sprayed the walls. He turned, as the woman’s knife missed his back, spinning into her, and the hammer clipped her shoulder hard enough to break her collar bone. She stumbled. He kicked her through the railing. She bounced off the far wall, missed the stairs, and plummeted the four stories into the middle of the textile shop.

  The swordsman swung desperately. Karno stepped inside, blocked it, arm to arm. He latched onto the sleeve with his free hand and twisted, grinding joints, leveraging the man down. When the back of his skull was exposed, Karno hit him with the hammer, a solid whack, right to the base of the neck. The impact planted the Inquisitor hard enough to break the floorboards beneath.

  The Protector looked up to see Khoja standing in the final room, staring at him, furious. Karno’s rags had slipped during the fight, allowing the witch hunter to see his face. “I was told you were dead.”

  “They were mistaken, Witch Hunter Khoja…” He nodded in greeting. “Rada is in my protection. I will not let you harm her.”

  “I didn’t want to. I had a very good plan to sneak her out alive, but you ruined it. If she dies now, it’s on your head.”

  The last Inquisitor he had gassed stumbled onto the landing in a red haze. Karno brained him with the hammer. But that momentary distraction had been all that the experienced Khoja had needed. Because when Karno looked back, the man was gone, replaced with a tiger.

  And it leapt out the window.