“Offense has been taken,” Devedas stated the prerequisite terms for a legal duel.
“Offense has been given.” There was no denying that fact. “But remember what happened last time we fought,” Ashok warned. “Angruvadal found you wanting once.”
“I was only a child then.”
“So was I…”
The scar on Devedas face was a constant reminder of what happened when jealousy overrode common sense. They’d come down from the mountain, brothers, until celebratory drink and poisonous envy had made Devedas think that he could claim another family’s sword for his own. Ashok’s love had overridden Angruvadal’s desire to kill that day, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough now.
There was a subtle shift. Anger had been replaced by a focused intensity. Devedas was ready to draw and strike. Angruvadal hung from Ashok’s waist, and it was screaming at him to end this threat.
“Haven’t I caused enough evil already?” Ashok asked softly. “Don’t make me do this too.”
The long silence was painful.
Devedas slowly moved his hand away from his sword.
The decision had been made, and the Protector backed toward the open door. “If I ever see you again, Ashok, I’ll kill you. You have my word.”
“Goodbye, Devedas.”
The cell door closed. His brother was gone.
They called him unfeeling, remorseless, a black hearted killer the likes of which the world had seldom known, but that wasn’t entirely true. The wizard Kule may have shattered his mind, stolen fragments and filled the gaping holes with lies, creating a parody of a rational, feeling, law-abiding man, but it would have been better if Kule had taken it all. Instead, he’d left behind emotions that Ashok could barely articulate, and would never fully grasp. Ashok sank to the floor and wept.
* * *
Months after bringing justice to Great House Vadal, something woke Ashok in the middle of the night. He was lying on the pile of straw that served as his bed. At first he thought it must be the rats again, but the cell itself was dark and quiet. The noise was outside. A small bit of moonlight came through the iron bars of the small window until a shadow blocked it.
Someone had climbed up the stones to his window. From the sound, they were unarmored and barefoot, so it wasn’t one of the prison guards. No one else should have been on the grounds at night.
“Who has come to stare at the freak now?” Ashok snapped.
“You are indeed most curious. I’ve never seen a prisoner with a sword before.”
“What do you want?”
“I’ve come to speak with you, Protector.”
“I no longer hold that office.”
“On the contrary, you are a protector in the truest sense. It is in your nature. You’ve just been protecting the wrong thing.” The stranger’s manner of speech was odd. He was a westerner, probably from Uttara or Harban, but there was something else there as well, a sort of roughness to his pronunciation. He spoke well enough, but certainly wasn’t of meaningful status.
“Who are you?”
“I am Keta, the Keeper of Names,” the stranger answered.
That was an odd title. “Of what house?”
“I have no house.”
“No house?” It was possible he was obligated to an order that Ashok was unfamiliar with, the Capitol certainly had enough bureaucracies that it was impossible to keep track of them all. “Of what caste?”
“Free men have no caste.”
Free? This Keta was insane. The prison had a section for raving lunatics. One of them must have gotten loose. “No one is allowed in the square after dark. The guards will punish you when they find you.”
“No worries. I’m very good at not being found. Warning me like that though makes me curious. Do you still seek to enforce the Law?”
Old habits die hard. “That is no longer my place.”
“What is your place?” Keta asked.
Good question. There had been no word yet about what was to be done with him. “For now, my place is here, awaiting judgment.”
“Aren’t we all? Only you are thinking of the fallible judgment of man, and not the all-seeing judgment of the gods.”
“There’s no such thing as gods.” Ashok wasn’t in the mood to listen to the ramblings of a crazy person. “You’re treading dangerous ground, Keeper. Talk like that is grounds for execution.”
“As you’d know, having personally executed so very many! What a terrible burden that must be. Do all of those deaths trouble you? Don’t be so hard on yourself, Protector. Everyone has faith in something. You simply put your faith in the Law instead of the gods. But now your wise judges don’t have a clue what to do with you. You’ve caused quite the predicament.”
The lunatic had a gift for understatement. The Capitol would want him executed and Vadal wouldn’t want to risk the destruction of their sword. Eventually the judges would come to a consensus, and until then he would remain a voluntary prisoner. Ashok rolled over on his straw pile. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“But I’ve come all this way. Wouldn’t you like me to answer your questions?”
“What questions?” Ashok asked, annoyed.
“The ones that Bidaya couldn’t answer that night. You asked for names, and I’m the one that knows them all. The casteless of these lands prefer to give simple descriptive names. Your mother was called Addis, named after a type of flower because she was such a beautiful baby. Bidaya had her suffocated. You didn’t ask, but if you are curious, your father was called Smoke, named because his father was a cremator of bodies. He was sold to another house and died of sickness during the journey, only a year after you were born.”
Ashok leapt to his feet. “How do you know of this?” he demanded.
The man was hanging from the bars. All that was visible of him were eyes and the whites of his teeth. “As I said, I’m the Keeper of Names. It’s my duty to know. Your parents named you after the season of your birth, because the day you were born was when the first leaves died and turned to gold. So to answer your question, your casteless name was Fall.” Keta let go of the bars and dropped into the shadows.
By the time Ashok reached the bars, the strange man was already gone. The prison grounds were completely devoid of life. To disappear like that the Keeper of Names had either been a wizard or the remainder of a dream.
Fall…
Shaking his head, Ashok returned to his bed of straw to continue his self-imposed exile.
Chapter 14
Grand Inquisitor Omand lived for the game.
The Chamber of Argument was often filled with heated rhetoric, but it had been particularly bad lately. The recent casteless uprisings were a matter of contention, and now the houses suffering from them had someone else to blame. Debates had turned into fist fights, offense had been freely given, and several duels had been fought. The usual ceremonial guard had proven insufficient to keep order, and had been replaced with a few masked Inquisitors armed with truncheons and very little patience. That had gotten the politicians quieted down.
Mostly.
“Enough of your slander! These charges are filthy lies, nothing but calumny and defamation,” Chief Judge Harta Vadal shouted from the speaker’s podium. “This report was written either by a liar or a fool.”
“Outrageous!” Another judge rose from the stands and bellowed his response. Why do they bother to set out a podium for the opposition speaker when they usually just yelled from the audience? Omand recognized the offended as one of the minor officials from Akershan. “How dare you insult my arbiter?”
“If your arbiter didn’t wish to be insulted, then perhaps he shouldn’t have delivered such an incoherent screed to the committee!”
“We wouldn’t even need this special committee if your mother hadn’t turned some casteless pig dog into a warlord!” Several other judges roared with laughter.
“Order!” The presiding judge banged his staff against the floor. The laughter tapered off, but Omand co
unted the remaining smiles. Those would be Vadal’s foes. Then he counted the frowns or looks of righteous indignation. The allies. The ones keeping their faces impassive or expressionless were the undecided that needed to be convinced one way or the other. “The Chief Judge has not finished his rebuttal. The staff has not recognized the judge from Akershan. Now be silent!” The staff struck the floor again for emphasis.
The official from Akershan sat down and the great game resumed. That round had clearly gone to the offended. Omand loved to keep score.
Chief Judge Harta’s jaw was clenched, and he lowered his head and pretended to study his notes as his political foes in the gallery continued snickering. Omand observed that Harta’s normally calm demeanor was slipping. He was an eloquent speaker, but he had a temper. Quick anger gave some men power, but it made others stupid. Omand decided that Harta fell into the latter category. The murder of Bidaya had put him off his game. Harta was sweating like a man about to go beneath the torturer’s knives. Omand was an expert on such things.
“This is an internal house matter which does not concern the Capitol. There is no need to involve the bureaucracy. We all grieve the loss of my mother. Mark my words, the traitor, Ashok, will be punished for his crimes.”
“By dying of old age?” someone in the back bellowed.
The presiding staff hit the floor again before anyone had a chance to laugh.
Harta scowled at the gallery, but he seemed unable to locate the speaker. The normally eloquent judge looked mad enough to declare offense and demand a duel, but only a fool did that before figuring out who his opponent’s champion would be. Omand had missed the speaker’s identity as well, but his men were providing security and he had spies everywhere, so they would give him a full report about every passed note and whispered conversation later. Very few things happened within the Capitol without Omand’s knowledge.
“Continue,” ordered the presiding judge.
“The demands for the traitor’s immediate execution have been noted. Believe me, my fellows, no man wishes for the traitor’s blood more than I. My own dear mother perished because of his evil. My heart cries for vengeance.” Having always had a good sense of the dramatic, he paused to look around the room before continuing. If he’d not been so high born he would have made a fine actor. “Yet, I would charge that these demands are nothing more than thinly veiled schemes designed to endanger mighty Angruvadal, and thus the safety of my house.”
Some of the undecided were nodding. It seemed that Harta was hitting his stride. He was appealing to the other houses’ desire to protect their own ancestor blades. Good recovery, Omand thought. Very few played the game as well as Harta.
“Vokkan is perched like buzzards to our west.” There were several angry shouts from that section. “Sarnobat are slavering wolves to the southeast.” More outraged cries, but the staff didn’t fall. Omand was curious what favors Harta had plied the presiding judge with to let Harta get away with such inflammatory speech. “They say they demand justice, but it isn’t justice they seek, it is advantage. They would risk Angruvadal to weaken their neighbor…” Harta stared directly at the biggest group of undecided judges. “And they would do the same to you.”
The Vokkan and Sarnobat delegations began loudly booing. Now the staff came down along with the demands for silence. A scuffle broke out in one aisle, but before it could get out of hand one of Omand’s inquisitors bashed an arbiter with a club and dragged him from the room by the beard. That shut them up.
“Order!”
Omand was sitting in the roped-off section reserved for important guests who had no vote, but who were of high enough status to attend various committee meetings if they wished. The only other occupant today was the newly promoted Lord Protector. It was always hard to guess a Protector’s age, since to a courtly man they all looked like leather that had been left out in the sun too long, but he was still a handsome sort, provided you didn’t mind scars. He had a reputation for being intriguing and mysterious to the courtly ladies, but Omand had no need to guess about anything, because he knew everything there was to know about this man. He was the firstborn of a house that no longer existed, the son of a disgraced bearer, and the Inquisition spies said that he had been a close friend of the fallen Protector. Omand was curious to see how easily he would be provoked, so he leaned over and whispered. “Your Order has been strangely silent on this controversy. What is your opinion on the matter?”
“We form no opinions. An opinion will be issued to us.” The reports said that this newly promoted Lord Protector could be rather charming when he wanted, so the fact he was only coldly polite to Omand told him how he felt about the Inquisition. “Then we will fulfill our duty.”
“Of course you will. You are Devedas?” He extended his hand in the southern tradition of greeting that he’d been told the Lord Protector favored. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. We’ve corresponded by letter before, about that…peculiar situation your Order faced a few years ago.”
“The Order appreciated your discretion.” Devedas didn’t shake his hand.
“I am—”
“I know who you are, Inquisitor. The mask fools no one.”
“They aren’t necessarily meant to be disguises, Protector.”
“I’m familiar with the concept of intimidation, only we don’t hide our faces.” Devedas pretended to watch the bickering politicians. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be off burning witches, or is the committee filled with traitors?”
You would be surprised. But Omand only chuckled, as if that was a good-natured jibe between peers. “It pained me to turn down your request to investigate Chief Judge Harta. His word outweighs that of an untouchable, even one accomplished enough to pretend to be a whole man for twenty years, and Harta says that he had no knowledge of his mother’s fraud. However, I assure you, the Inquisition will keep an eye on him.”
Devedas glowered in silence.
Omand asked a question that he already knew the answer to. “So did you know the fallen…this Black Hearted Ashok?”
“Yes.” Devedas didn’t elaborate further. Who could blame him? There was nothing but shame in declaring that you’d once been friends with the most infamous criminal in the world. Omand knew that the Lord Protector had recently travelled all the way to the Vadal to speak to the traitor in his prison cell, and though he wished he knew what had been said there, he couldn’t know all the secrets.
Omand waved one hand toward the intricate carvings and colorful murals that decorated the vast and beautiful Chamber of Argument. No expense had been spared to decorate such an important place. “So what do you think of the Capitol so far?”
“It’s hot,” Devedas muttered.
A beautiful young woman had approached one of the speaker’s podiums during the commotion. The colorful scarves told everyone that she was from House Zarger. Despite her age she wore the insignia of a high-status arbiter, so most of the judges would probably think she’d either married well, or slept with the right Thakoor. Omand knew that this one actually impressed some very powerful people with her keen intellect and earned her appointment through cunning. The desert house hadn’t taken a stand one way or the other yet, so most of the gallery was actually paying attention. The staff gave her the floor, and when she presented, she had the melodic voice of a songbird. “I believe we all agree the fallen Protector deserves the dishonorable death of a criminal, but his sword, and by extension, House Vadal, do not deserve to be punished. The loss of an ancestor blade weakens us all, and leaves all of us more vulnerable to the demons.”
There were shouts of agreement from Vadal’s allies. “What is your name, reasonable Arbiter?” Harta asked with a smile.
“Artya Zati dar Zarger, Order of Census and Taxation. However, the casteless uprisings are being spurred on by rumors about this Ashok. The casteless take courage from his murderous rampage. They speak of an untouchable armed with the most powerful magic, who has slaughtered whole men and who st
ill lives to spite us. As long as he lives, Ashok inspires them to more rebellion and increased violence.” As she continued, Harta’s smile slowly died. “The fallen Protector has become a rallying cry for the criminal underclass.”
“The report is exaggerated.”
“I do not speak about the Akershan report. This unrest is spreading. I’ve seen it in my house’s lands with my own eyes.”
There was an uncomfortable rumble throughout the entire room. Everyone had occasional problems with their non-people, but it was uncouth to admit it in a public forum. The Akershan delegation had several villages sacked and officials murdered by Fortress magic before they’d swallowed their pride enough to request witch hunters from the Inquisition. It had taken a false prophet stirring up a full-on rebellion for them to accept the shame of needing the Capitol’s help to control their non-people. Freely admitting to unrest in Zarger was a curious development. Everyone was paying attention now.
“The non-people are increasing in boldness and depravity. Their degenerate nature is idle, but quick to riot, and now all of them are whispering about the Lawbreaker in Vadal. Your inability to detect this fraud has endangered us all.”
Harta was in a difficult position. He could attack Atrya as a liar, but he needed Zarger’s votes and couldn’t risk giving offense. Omand enjoyed watching him squirm. He suspected that Harta had known about Bidaya’s plot to conceal the blade’s choosing a casteless boy all along, and given an excuse he’d love to torture a confession out of the pretentious little fop, but even Omand had to tread carefully about charging Chief Judges with crimes. He noticed that Lord Protector Devedas was also studying the Chief Judge with barely concealed disgust. Interesting…Before Harta could formulate a response the murmuring had died down and Atrya resumed speaking.
“Our houses suffer because of the sickness in Vadal, but we are all infected. Do not blame Great House Vadal or their honorable leadership for being victimized by this casteless scheme. No one doubts Ashok must be dealt with. When a cancerous rot is found a surgeon doesn’t leave it alone and allow it to spread, but rather the disease is excised immediately for the good of the entire body. No one doubts Ashok must pay, and for now he is quarantined, but this underlying sickness must be destroyed. Let us allow the surgeon to do it in the manner that is least likely to kill the patient. Ashok is a symptom. He is not the disease. We would treat this symptom, but the body remains sick…The real disease is the casteless.”
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