The other houses complied, the boys looking nervous or happy to have made it this far, while their political masters seemed frustrated or curious by this new development. The senior ushered everyone else out, and soon it was only the master, the wizard, and Ashok who remained in the giant, freezing room.
“What is Vadal playing at, wizard?”
Kule smiled, showing his oddly pointed teeth. “There is no game here, Lord Protector, merely a demonstration of our house’s extreme devotion to the Law. All of the details are in the contract which was presented to your representatives in the Capitol. It has already been approved by the judges. All that remains is for you to accept the obligation of this child as acceptable. All that we have asked in return is that should Ashok perish, the sword be returned to its rightful house so that it may choose a new bearer.”
“Stand up!” the Protector shouted.
Ashok leapt to his feet. The Protector circled him, eyeing the sword sheathed on his belt. The handle and guard were dark and unremarkable.
“Draw the sword.”
He did as he was told. Three feet of black steel was freed from the leather. Angruvadal wanted to know who it was supposed to cut. No one yet. Be still. When the sword came out, his shivering ceased. He held it out with one hand, horizontal to the floor, careful not to take up any sort of fighting stance so that Angruvadal would not get the wrong idea.
Angruvadal was shaped like a typical sword of House Vadal. Most likely, they were based on it. Unlike most swords in Lok, Angruvadal was straight, not curved in any way. It was double-edged, sharp enough on either side to effortlessly lop off a man’s arm. The grip was long enough for two hand use. Though the pommel, grip, and guard didn’t give off the same eye-searing glow as the blade itself, they weren’t separate pieces, but seemed to have grown organically from the whole. For something so valuable, there was absolutely no ornamentation to it at all—not that there was any way to decorate Angruvadal, since it was made out of a material that couldn’t even be scratched.
Most people were afraid to come too close to the blade because they’d heard the stories, but not the Protector. He loomed over Ashok and demanded, “Hold it up toward the lantern so I can see.” Ashok did so, and they both watched it devour the flickering light.
“It is truly one of the most dangerous things in the entire world,” Kule warned.
“It burns the eye to look directly at it,” the Protector whispered as he stared into the blade. “It is said that a warrior with one of these can break an army by himself.”
“History has repeatedly demonstrated that to be true.” Kule had hunkered back down into his coat to hide from the chill, nearly disappearing until only his tiny black eyes poked out over the fur. “It can slay demons as if they are normal flesh and bone. Lawbreakers will tremble before its wrath. Imagine what the Order could do with such a tool. And now it is yours to direct…for the good of the Law, of course.”
The Protector realized that he’d been drawn in until his breath was steaming on the sword. He was so close that Ashok could remove the top half of his head with the flick of a wrist. A man could lose himself staring into that abyss. He stepped back. “Sheath it. Now.”
Angruvadal felt disappointment at being put away.
The other Protectors had returned from shooing out the presenters. They were watching as well, seemingly just as fascinated as their master. “Is it true?” the senior asked.
“It’s the real thing, and it didn’t take his life for daring to pull it, so we can assume this is no fraud,” the master said.
“Imagine what we could accomplish with a bearer in our ranks,” the senior said.
“Answer my questions carefully, boy. Answer them as if your life depends on it, because it truly does.”
“Yes, Lord Protector,” Ashok said.
“Your house has given you to us. Do you willingly give your life over to the Order?”
He hadn’t asked that to the others, except the others didn’t possess an ancient device capable of destroying them all. “Yes, Lord Protector.”
“You will follow your instructions without question?”
“I will.”
“You will do exactly as I say. I am Ratul, twenty-five-year master. This is Mindarin, eighteen-year senior. If I am indisposed or dead you will answer to him. Now, keep your sword sheathed and remove it from your person.” Ashok unbuckled his sword belt. The Protector stuck out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“Master!” one of the acolytes warned. “It will destroy you.”
“According to tradition, only if I should try to wield it.” The old Protector took hold of the belt strap. The sword hung there, leather creaking, as he held it at arm’s length. Ashok could tell the sword wasn’t offended. Ratul addressed the sword with far more respect than he had given any of the representatives of the great houses. “We mean no disrespect, Angruvadal. First the Law must be upheld.” Then he passed the sword to the senior Mindarin, who took it without hesitation, though he was careful not to touch the sword itself.
Kule looked on as if this was all mildly amusing.
The master roughly put his hands on both sides of Ashok’s face. The boy flinched, but the Protector dragged him over and forced Ashok’s eyes open with his thumbs. He stared through Ashok’s eyes and there was a terrible pain inside his head. Ashok didn’t flinch. “I thought so.” The Protector let go, and the pain subsided. “There is magic in this boy.”
“Some,” Kule agreed.
“What have you done to him, wizard?”
“As a child, Ashok suffered a terrible accident. A fire in the middle of the night and his family perished. He alone survived, but was found in the ruins of their home, with heart, mind, and body broken. Since he was of the first caste, our Thakoor had me put him back together. Good thing too, since he was later chosen by the sword. No illegal magic was used in the healing, I can assure you. My notes about his treatment are available to Inquisition auditors if you would like them examined.”
“I do not trust you.”
Kule may have shrugged. It was difficult to tell beneath the thick coat. “Then you must ask yourself, Lord Protector, does your Order want access to the sword or not?”
The master folded his arms, seemingly deep in thought, staring at Ashok. Not having his sword at his side was unnerving, so Ashok found the crack in the wall and fixed his attention on that again.
“The mere presence of such a device within the Order will deter lawbreakers,” Mindarin said, still carefully holding the sword as if it were a serpent that might bite him. “I believe it to be worth the risk. I will accept responsibility for this one.”
Ratul nodded slowly. “Very well…If Ashok cannot be controlled you’re the one that has to try and kill him. Note, I said try. You’ve not seen what a bearer can do.” He turned back to Kule. “Wizard, your house’s obligation has been accepted. Get out.”
Kule bowed again, then turned and shuffled out the door without another word. Even though Ashok had lived in the wizard’s household while he’d been healing from the accident, there wasn’t so much as a farewell. Ashok kept staring at the crack while the Protectors clustered around the hanging sword.
“Do those Vadal fools have any idea the risk they are taking? Are their heads crammed so far up their own asses that they think being the talk of the Capitol is worth losing their house?” Ratul mused.
“Maybe a great house is really that devoted to upholding the Law?”
They all laughed.
It was almost as if he had been forgotten entirely. Ashok was temporarily thankful, but that moment passed and Ratul returned his attention to him. “Ashok. You are now an acolyte in the Order of Protectors. Your training begins immediately. Devedas will escort you to the barracks. That will be all.”
One of the acolytes stepped forward. “This way.” Though he was not that much older than Ashok, he already carried himself like a Protector, and to Ashok’s inexperienced eye appeared to be nearly as dange
rous as the others.
The other newly obligated had all been armed. Ashok looked to Mindarin, and then to his sword, hanging there, creaking against the leather. “May I have my sword back now?”
“No,” Ratul answered.
“Why?”
Ratul frowned, then nodded at one of the older acolytes. That one stepped forward and struck Ashok in the face. The force snapped his head back on his neck and sent him crashing hard into the floor.
Blood came rolling out of his nose and he could taste it on his lip. Ashok could feel Angruvadal’s desire to help. No…He had made a mistake. Ratul’s actions had been correct. Ashok held no animosity. The sword was content.
“Questioning an order? Already you’re off to a fine start.”
“Lord Protector, if I may…” Devedas interjected. “This one isn’t like the others. That sword is more than a weapon to him. Part of his fire is inside it forever. To a bearer, losing his blade is worse than one of us losing an arm.”
Ashok wiped the blood from his lip, got up, and stood at attention. Devedas was correct. He couldn’t even remember a time before the sword.
“Hmmm…You would know of such things. What did your father do after he was deprived of his ancestor blade?”
“He slowly went mad until he flung himself into the sea to be devoured by demons, Lord Protector,” Devedas answered.
“Seems reasonable…So Ashok, I’ll grant an answer to your question as to why you cannot have your sword. Our program does not test fifty generations of a house. It does not test the strength of your ancestors. It tests you and you alone. You will survive or perish on your own merits, not by the memories within your sword. You will have no advantage over your brothers. If you fail and live, it will be returned to you. If you fail and die, it will be returned to your house along with your corpse. If you go insane, the nearest ocean is two hundred miles that direction, but since we’re on the side of a mountain there are plenty of places to leap to your death if you are so inclined. You certainly wouldn’t be the first acolyte to do so.”
Ashok continued staring at the wall. Ratul correctly took that as assent.
“Know this, Ashok, there is no room in the Order for weakness, so I will not give you a crutch. To do so would only make you weaker than you could be. The Law is only as strong as those who enforce it. If you last long enough to prove that you are worthy on your own to be one of us, then I will return your sword. Until then it will remain in our vault. Don’t worry. None of us are fool enough to try to use it, and if anyone unworthy attempts to steal it, we both know what the sword will do to them. You are dismissed.”
* * *
The barracks were as frigid as the audience chamber. There were no beds, just woven mats on the floor. Devedas directed Ashok toward one corner. “You will be issued a uniform and basic supplies. Get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be the hardest day of your life. Then it will get worse.”
“Thank you for explaining my hesitation to Master Ratul.”
“It was the truth, nothing more. That’s our job. When you’ve gained the respect of your seniors you’ll be allowed to speak freely as well. Until then, it’s best if you keep your mouth shut.”
“Your father was a bearer?”
“Perhaps I did not emphasize, mouth shut,” Devedas said. “At this rate I’ll be amazed if you last a week.”
Ashok bowed. Annoyed, the older student just shook his head and left the barracks.
The sleeping mat was very thin. He could feel the cold of the floor seeping through it already. It was going to be miserable to sleep on. Kule had warned him that the Protectors thrived on discomfort, but knowing something and experiencing it were two separate things. With the sword, he could do anything. Without it, he was only human. His devotion to the Law would have to carry him through.
Ashok realized the barracks were too quiet. The other newly obligated acolytes were all staring at him. He studied their faces. Already they knew he wasn’t like them. He would never be like them. No matter how hard they trained, or how much courage they had in their hearts, or strength in their arms, they would never be his equal. So be it. The Law said that every man had a place. His house had declared his place to be here.
He stared back at the others. They were doing their best to hide their doubts and fears, but Ashok didn’t need to hide what he did not possess. They didn’t know what they were yet. He knew exactly what he was.
“Rest, brothers. Tomorrow we demonstrate our conviction to the Law.”
He lay back on his uncomfortable mat, knowing that he would show Master Ratul that he was worthy, and get his sword—and the rest of himself—back. While the others tossed and turned, longing for home or having nightmares, Ashok had no trouble sleeping at all.
Chapter 9
Protector of the Law, Ashok Vadal, twenty-year senior, rode through the lands of the great house that shared his name, dwelling on what he’d lost, what had been taken, and the legal questions pertaining to the proper way to end his life.
A light rain fell, more of a mist really. Ashok didn’t mind the rain. Water that came out of the sky was water’s purest form. It hadn’t had a chance to become corrupted yet. It wasn’t until it collected that it turned malicious. The night was dark and chilled. It gave him an excuse to keep his hood up and his distinctive insignia covered. It was best if word of his arrival didn’t spread. He was still riding the same poor, tired horse that had taken him into the Capitol, and from there all the way across the northeastern portion of the continent to Vadal. He’d only worn out one horse this time. There was no reason to try hard to reach this particular destination. Time was no longer of the essence, and the long weeks had given him time to think.
All that time hadn’t dulled his anger in the slightest.
Damn Mindarin. Damn Ratul. Damn them both along with their lies. Mindarin had put a curse on his head. Ashok had been offered a choice, to be a liar like them, but that was nothing but an illusion. The master must have known there was no way Ashok could continue living once given this knowledge. Ratul had broken the Law by allowing him to live to begin with, and ever since then the Order had perpetuated fraud in exchange for power. For the first time in his life Ashok was angry that the religious fanatics were deluded and there was no eternal soul and no eternal punishment, because they were dead, but that wasn’t enough. They still needed to suffer for the mockery they’d made of the Law…The Law was everything.
Protectors routinely sacrificed their lives so that the houses could have stability. Though he could understand the strategic reasons for why the masters had kept up the lie, he could never forgive them. And thus he would never forgive himself. Ignorance of the Law was no defense for violating it.
A cluster of lanterns told him there was a checkpoint ahead. Anyone crossing house borders was required to stop and present their travelling papers. A few wagons were waiting to have their cargos inspected and papers stamped. This was a busy trade road, so the checkpoint was practically a fort, but with the rain there wasn’t much of a line tonight. Protectors were of the highest caste, so all he needed to do was display his token of office and ride through, but since he was trying not to draw attention to himself, Ashok got into line. As usual, his horse was glad for the chance to stop for a bit.
“Almost there, Horse,” Ashok told the animal as he dismounted. When you spent months on the road with the same beast, you had to call it something, and he had never been one for titles, so Horse would do. Horse didn’t care. It just stuck its face into a trough of collected rainwater and drank.
The wagon ahead of him was nothing but a cage on wheels filled with a cargo of untouchables. It was hard to tell how many, because they were packed together. The cage didn’t have much of a roof, more of a canvas sunshade really, so the casteless had clumped together to try to stay warm in the rain, until they got to wherever their betters thought they belonged. Their clothing was nothing but rags. The adults wouldn’t make eye contact, but the children were staring
at him, hungry and miserable. They looked tired, wet, abused, and completely used to it.
The casteless knew their place.
A merchant of the worker caste was standing next to his wagon, awaiting his inspection. He had an umbrella, a respectable coat, and shoes that probably kept his feet dry. He was clean, groomed, and even a little bit fat. He was even allowed a sword for protection. Ashok had never paid much attention to the worker’s ranks, as he was above them all so their relative differences were meaningless, but from the fine attire this one probably fell somewhere in the middle, above the laborers and farmers, but below a skilled craftsmen or a banker. Another worker was driving the wagon, he was below the merchant, but far, far above the casteless.
The workers knew their place.
Warriors of House Vadal were manning the checkpoint. They were fit, strong, and proud. They wore armor, not so different in design from Ashok’s own, but not nearly as expensive or well-constructed. Their weapons were cared for, and unlike the merchant’s sword, they didn’t require a permit to possess one. The soldiers seemed bored. This bureaucratic necessity was beneath them, but their duty required them to be here, biding their time until the next fight, when their house would spend their lives as readily as the workers spent money.
The warriors knew their place.
Through the door of the checkpoint, he could see that a low-ranking arbiter was sitting on a padded stool behind a large table. A brazier next to him provided warmth and enough light to make sure the travelling papers weren’t forgeries. He collected the tariffs, stamped the papers, and wrote in his ledger. The bureaucracy was required to lead and organize, and it was what made sure the rest of the castes worked as designed. Only the lowest of the governing caste would be assigned to such a duty, especially during the slow hours of the night, but even then this man could command all of the others and they would obey without question.
The first caste knew their place.
All men had their place within the Law…except for him.
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