Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  The leaders were dead silent. Pankaj was seething with rage. Thera had just folded her arms and was standing there, as if daring him to complain. The only sound was a large moth beating its body against the glass of an oil lamp. After a quiet moment, Thera walked over to a small table of refreshments.

  As she poured herself a cup of wine, she said, “To those of you with any sense, ponder on what you wish to serve. Your god’s voice, or a petulant man-child’s pride.”

  Pankaj stomped toward the exit. “You have until dawn to leave this city.”

  “And you have until I finish this drink to get out of my tent.”

  Thera took a drink.

  Chapter 20

  When Devedas heard about the fall of Chakma, he rode there as fast as he could. Akershani warriors had already surrounded the city but not yet attacked. Each time scouts had approached the walls they had been fired upon by terrifying Fortress weapons. No one had been hit, but the warriors were rightfully worried about the thunderous things, and it was unknown how many the rebels had inside. There wasn’t enough good lumber around the cursed windy place to build proper siege engines to shatter the gates or smash holes in the brick walls, so the warriors had formed a perimeter to keep the rebels from escaping, and then waited.

  What was their plan? Were they shipping in logs, or sitting around hoping for trees to grow? Perhaps they were waiting for the city to run out of food, content to let the Law-abiding trapped inside starve along with the guilty. Devedas had not known, nor cared what their plans were. All that mattered to him was that Ashok Vadal had been seen inside that city. He was told that a few residents had snuck over the wall to escape. When they’d been caught at the perimeter, they’d claimed that Ashok Vadal was still inside, a terrifying specter in blackened armor who served as the vengeful right hand of the false prophet, who ruled over the city as a blood-soaked tyrant, purging all who would not obey his whims.

  It pained Devedas to think of his once brother, so fallen and depraved that he would now serve such a foul creature. Ashok needed to die for a multitude of reasons, but in a way Devedas suspected killing Ashok would be doing him a favor. It was time to end this.

  So Devedas had taken command. The phontho in charge had been dispatched from a garrison to the south to deal with this mess and was eager to give up responsibility for the siege. The Akershani warrior caste had been embarrassed enough already. Their Thakoor, safe in distant MaDharvo, would be enraged when he found out that some of his lands had been taken over by lowly fish-eaters, and would need someone to curse. The phontho was happy to let the Protectors be the ones to take the blame for a while.

  Only Devedas was not a patient man. Word of the rebellion claiming an actual city had drawn every Protector in the region like crows to a corpse pile. You did not need siege engines when you had ten Protectors at your disposal.

  Thirty days after the city of Chakma fell to criminals, Lord Protector Devedas liberated it.

  ✧ ✧ ✧

  The Protectors crept up to the city in complete darkness with eyes like owls. Kushal and Usman scaled the wall first. They were both mountain born, able to climb like monkeys, and that had been before they had been given the incredible strength and dexterity that could only be bestowed by the Heart. The rest of them were wearing their silver armor hidden beneath thick gray cloaks, but Kushal and Usman were dressed in nothing but dark silks, so they could make their way up the weathered brick in complete silence. At the top, they smoothly knifed the nearest sentries, then sent down ropes.

  Once they were atop the battlements, the Protectors made their way toward the gatehouse, silently killing as they went. Just because the Order normally worked in the open, as a gleaming, unforgiving example of the Law’s ultimate authority, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t be stealthy when necessary. The gifts they were given by the Heart of the Mountain made them fearsome hunters. It could only help one thing at a time, but in turn they could sharpen their hearing, heighten their sense of smell, improve their vision, and then give their bodies incredible power and speed. Even without the magic in the blood they had far more experience than their foes, the finest training in the world, and a dedication that these savages could never understand. The sleepy casteless manning the walls never stood a chance.

  Devedas took half his men down a ladder into the interior. They made it all the way to the gate before one of their victims managed a scream before dying, but by then it was too late. Shrugging out of their cloaks, they fell upon the rebels at the entrance and hacked them to pieces. Most of the rebels never even got a chance to wake up. Ranvir and Broker increased their strength so that they could move the iron crossbar that would normally take half a dozen men to lift, while far above them Kushal lit a torch and began waving it in a predetermined pattern to signal the warriors it was time. The gates of Chakma were open.

  Not too far away a rebel began to bang on a drum. They had made sufficient noise that the alarm had been raised. No matter. Across the distance the plains lit up as hundreds of torches were struck. The warriors had begun their march.

  “Smash the hinges so they can’t close them, and let’s go.” Killing criminals was always a rewarding business, but they were here for more serious matters. It was time to end Ashok’s life.

  They made their way toward the government house which the escapees had said the false prophet had claimed as his palace. They remained together. Normally in a situation like this the Protectors would break into smaller groups to move ahead of the less-capable warriors, spreading fear and removing choice targets, but for Ashok, Devedas wanted superior numbers to make sure the job was done.

  It was a rare event to have this many Protectors working together. Any one of them was an incredibly lethal combatant. Ten of them were concentrated destruction. They sprinted through the city in a loose knot, killing anyone who got in their way.

  Men rushed out of their homes, ready to fight, only to be promptly sliced to ribbons by a silver blur before they even understood what was going on. Devedas had warned his men about the Fortress magic that had killed Abhishek Gujara, so half of them were armed with bows. Whenever a head appeared in a window or peeked over a balcony, it was immediately stuck full of arrows. Considering how fast a Protector’s reaction times were they probably killed several innocent bystanders that way, but Devedas could not risk losing any more men to that despicable Fortress magic. To best mighty Angruvadal he would need them all.

  There were rumors that Angruvadal had been broken, and Ashok had not used it in Neeramphorn—otherwise three Protectors would have died there instead of just one—but Devedas was still prepared for the worst. Each of his men was ready to face the deadly fury of a black-steel blade.

  They passed bodies impaled on stakes, surely belonging to those who had resisted the tyrant’s rule. There were a great many of them, male and female, old and young, their caste unknown because they’d been stripped of their garments and their skin flogged to ribbons. This was cruelty, but it did not seem Ashok’s flavor of cruelty. Their brother had down terrible things in service to the Law—they all had—but he struggled to imagine Ashok lowering himself to this barbarity in the name of a false master. Such tortures seemed…petty.

  What have you become, Ashok?

  There was a semiorganized force of twenty men guarding the government house. Despite the fact they were wearing armor and carrying proper swords, they were obviously workers wearing stolen and ill-fitting gear. Two of them had the strange wood and metal poles that spewed illegal Fortress death. The guards had heard the warning drums and the approaching screams, but still hadn’t fully prepared themselves for an attack. Even if the walls had been breached there should have been no way an enemy could cover this much ground so quickly. Only Protectors were no normal enemy.

  Devedas was in the lead. Jamari Vadal was to his right. Broker Harban to his left. As the ones with the Fortress staffs were riddled with arrows, the three lead Protectors crashed into the remaining guards. The Lord P
rotector’s sword was designed for chopping, and excellent at removing limbs, so he took two arms and an ankle by the time he bounded up the steps. Certain the job would be done, he left the remainder to his men. They’d trained together. Fought together. He had complete faith in their performance. So he leapt up the ten steps without looking back.

  The government house had a heavy door made from a single piece of oak—a lavish display of wealth in a land without trees—but Devedas kicked it into splinters.

  He stepped inside the government house and roared, “Face me, Ashok Vadal!”

  It was a large room, probably for public meetings, only now a multitude of fanatics were camped inside. Probably the false prophet’s most loyal troops. They had been woken by the alarm, but Devedas’ sudden appearance still took them by surprise.

  The rest of the Protectors rushed in behind Devedas, and immediately formed a cohesive line. Devedas scanned the room but there was no sign of their former brother. “Kill them all.”

  The line moved forward like a worker’s scythe as the government house filled with blood. As Devedas killed his way across the room he noticed a gaudy mural had been painted upon one wall. It showed a man in golden robes preaching to an adoring crowd as a faceless armored figure with a black sword stood behind him like a menacing shadow. It was very amateurish and looked to have been painted recently.

  A throne had been erected in the room, but it was empty now. There were stairs behind it, surely leading up to the regional arbiter’s personal chambers and offices. As his men slaughtered the last of the nearly helpless rebels, Devedas went upstairs. “The Law is here, Ashok! It’s over!”

  Without saying a word, Jamari and Broker were at his side again, and directly behind him were two more Protectors with arrows nocked.

  There were several doors on this landing, but only one had a man guarding it. His armor had been stained black, and in his hand was a black sword. Devedas felt a surge of conflicting emotions, fear, anger, eagerness, and then…disappointment, because that was no Ashok.

  That still didn’t stop his men from putting two arrows in his chest.

  The false Ashok crashed against the wall. Jamari cut his sword hand off and Broker shattered his femur with a mace. The fake ancestor blade hit the floor. Devedas looked at it in disgust. He’d never forget the real Angruvadal that had forever marked his face. At times when he closed his eyes he could still see the searing darkness. This sword had merely been painted black. The imposter stared up at him in lip-quivering fear, and with a snarl Devedas smote his head off.

  Devedas went into the arbiter’s bedchamber. A young man was there, naked and thin. Three women were huddled in the corner, mostly without clothing. From the odor, they’d been smoking an obscene amount of poppy.

  “I am King Pankaj, Voice of the Forgotten, Ruler of Chakma, and I wish to negotiate—”

  Devedas broke his nose with one fist. The false prophet landed on the bed and got blood all over the sheets. “Search the place,” he told his men, then turned back to the idiot.

  “You can’t do this. I’m of the first caste!”

  “Where is Ashok Vadal?”

  The king was holding his face and sobbing. “You killed Rohit,” he said when he saw the headless body in the hall. “I made Rohit my Ashok because every prophet needs a servant to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked. With no Ashok they wouldn’t respect me like they respected her!”

  Devedas sheathed his sword and grabbed hold of Pankaj’s hand. Then he took up the pinky finger and snapped it. “Where is Ashok?” Then he broke the next. The king screamed. His concubines screamed. “Where is Ashok?” He broke the next. And the next. “Where?”

  “They left.” He managed to get that out through the sobbing. “To the mountains! To the west!”

  Devedas had just come from that region after a futile search. He might have even passed them on the way. “When?”

  “I don’t know. What day is it?”

  Devedas snapped the thumb.

  “Since the city fell! They left the next morning!”

  “A month ago?” A cold rage descended upon Devedas.

  “They took the hostages and half my faithful betrayed me and went with them,” Pankaj wailed. “Couldn’t they see I was the one Mother Dawn chose to save this city? The gods will smite you for this!”

  “I’ve heard that threat many times but have yet to meet one of these supposed gods. They must be afraid. I’d love for them to come out and fight.”

  Protector Jamari rushed back into the bedroom. “Building’s secure, sir. No sign of Ashok.”

  “This imbecile says they went to the mountains a month ago. Question the other survivors and see if you can confirm that. I want numbers, direction, and any possible clues to their destination.” Jamari left. Then he turned back to Pankaj. “Where in the mountains did they go?”

  “I don’t know. Some secret hideout the Keeper of Names found years ago. It was once the Hall of the Marutas, the storm gods. Runaways built a whole town inside, but only the Keeper knows the secret way in.”

  As long as Ashok lived, his Order would be shamed. As long as Ashok lived, Omand would keep the crown from him. As long as Ashok lived, Rada would have to remain in hiding. As long as Ashok lived, Devedas’ destiny would go unfilled.

  As long as Ashok lived…And he had just missed him by twenty-nine days.

  Devedas let go of the hand. Pankaj held the ruined thing to his chest and cried, “You can’t do this to me. I’m a king.”

  “You’re no king.” Devedas drew his sword. “Lok will know a real king soon enough.”

  He slashed Pankaj across the belly and dumped his guts on the rug.

  Chapter 21

  “Here we are. This is the entrance,” said Thera.

  She had never told Ashok how to get to Keta’s hideout, and Ashok had never asked. His obligation was to her, not these criminals, so there was no point to knowing how to get inside without her. Yet as Ashok looked around, he could see absolutely nothing that looked like an entrance to a secret rebel kingdom—or frankly anything else of interest at all—and that made him a little curious. From the way Keta had talked the place up, it was like he had a hidden fortress full of industrious people, free of the Law, toiling happily together beneath the smile of a benevolent god. All Ashok saw was rocks. Lots of rocks.

  Though rocks were still a welcome change from the seemingly endless plains. For weeks their lumbering column had crossed the grasslands. For the last few days they had been following a stream of freezing cold runoff through the foothills and up into the mountain valleys. This particular valley appeared to be a dead end. Before them was a narrow lake, surrounded by pine trees. On the other three sides of the lake were rocky cliffs. Beyond those abrupt walls stretched the extremely steep, snowcapped mountains of western Akershan.

  “Where?” Ashok asked.

  “Right here. You’ll see.”

  Ashok sharpened his vision, but even his heightened senses could discern no path up the cliffs. Calling upon the Heart, he might be able to scale them, but the others would be trapped. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait for Keta to open the door for us.” Thera turned her mount and began walking back toward their column.

  Horse flicked one white ear, annoyed. Ashok patted his neck. “I hear you, boy.”

  Thera’s army, now numbering nearly eight hundred men, women, and children, was waiting in the valley below them. They were mostly casteless who had fled from the warrior’s purge, but there were also a surprising number of workers and even some warriors, who had been among the faithful in Chakma. They’d brought along their livestock, seed, and their most valuable tools. All that cargo meant that they had made terrible time. The only reason they’d not run out of food was that Ongud had known about every warrior supply cache in the region, and he’d sent the Sons out to loot them all.

  Ashok drew alongside her. “Does Keta really have room to house all these people?”

  “
He does. It’s actually rather impressive.”

  “And somehow feed them all?”

  “For the thousandth time, yes, Ashok. I’ve not just led them all up into the mountains to die of exposure. I don’t expect them to eat pine needles or turn to cannibalism. I’m no idiot.”

  “True. You are not.”

  “Thank you, silver-tongued Ashok, master of compliments. Just trust me.”

  “I am obligated to do so.”

  Thera laughed. “Admit it. By now, you would trust me anyway.”

  He gave her a grudging nod. She was correct.

  “However, if I’ve drastically overestimated Keta’s abilities, there is that vast herd of cows being driven along a day behind us to obliterate our trail. We could eat them.”

  “While faithful to your silly gods, I do not think those drovers would appreciate you depriving them of their livelihood.” Ashok knew that the lesser castes did not enjoy having their property confiscated. That had never mattered to him as a Protector, but it did now.

  “I’d make it fair. We could always trade them some demon parts for their herd. We’ve got piles of the stuff and no wizards to use it.”

  “What would cow herders do with magic?” he asked suspiciously. “It is illegal to sell or possess without a license.”

  “Oh, Ashok. It’s endearing how you still honestly think anyone out here cares about the Law.”

  “And I think you underestimate how much regular people fear attracting the attention of someone like”—Ashok caught himself, he’d been about to say me—“a Protector.”

  The two of them rode along in silence the rest of the way down. It was a warm day. The sky was clear and blue. In Thera’s company it was almost…pleasant. They had formed an odd relationship. He was her guard, her enforcer, and now her lover, but had also become something more than that. This feeling of partnership was an unfamiliar thing, and not one that Ashok had ever before experienced in his life. He did not mind it, but Ashok was unused to such thoughts and was happy to return to his duties. Duty, even an illegal one, was easy to understand.