Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  “You think he gave Asura’s Mirror to Protector Karno?”

  “Possibly. Dispatch someone who can change into a fish to check the bottom of the lake to see if it sank with his corpse. Or he might have given it to someone else we do not even know about yet. Or perhaps the librarian.” He had originally wanted her in his possession so that he could have leverage against the Lord Protector. Omand had originally assumed she was just some woman Devedas had fallen for, because even the ambitious were stupid when it came to love. But with her repeatedly escaping his hunters, it seemed there was more to the librarian than he initially assumed. After all, Devedas must have seen something in her worth forming an attachment. Perhaps Vikram had seen the same thing? “I should have Khoja find out if she has it.”

  “That will be very dangerous for him, sir. Harta Vadal has surrounded himself with bodyguards and wizards since the death of his mother. Even a member of the House of Assassins would have a hard time getting in there unseen. If our man is taken alive and exposed as an Inquisitor…”

  “A valid point. I will ponder on it for now. Since it is doubtful she even has it, then it is not worth going to war with Harta Vadal yet. But if she does…”

  Taraba nodded. It was obvious that he was confused and wanted to ask why the Asura’s Mirror was so important to their mission, but he refrained. If the Grand Inquisitor wanted you to know something, he would command you to know it. The lad understood much of Omand’s plans, but not all. Even the most loyal and trustworthy of his allies could never be told what was truly at stake. Taraba was his right hand, but even he could not know what had been revealed to Omand by the demonic prisoner who swam in the tank beneath their dome. It was one thing to plot the destruction and rebuilding of the very fabric of their society, but Omand doubted even his most steadfast associates would follow him on his mission to enslave their ancient gods.

  Omand’s quest sounded mad, even to himself at times, but he could not deny what he had seen, and in the darkest forgotten corners of Lok he had laid his eyes upon strange things that no other man alive had ever seen. Was the mirror absolutely necessary to success? Probably not. However, when a man was seeking to become immortal, he used every weapon at his disposal.

  The Grand Inquisitor inclined his head to look out the window across the darkened desert, deep in thought. Whatever the ancient beings were, gods as the simpletons thought of them, or simply wizards with abilities beyond anything the world had seen for thousands of years, the ancients had accessed power beyond his wildest dreams, greater than black steel or demon bone…and Omand alone had been shown how to seize it.

  Rather than answer his assistant’s unasked question, Omand began to pontificate aloud. “It is understandable that people fear destruction. Upheaval leads to death, starvation, disease, so on and so forth. But in the grand scheme of things, destruction is necessary. Old forests must burn so new trees can grow, then we cut those trees down to build houses, then we raze those houses to erect mansions. Every time man builds, first we must destroy. The demons destroyed the old world, and we made a new one ruled by kings. Then we destroyed that world to make the Law. Destruction is a bloody mess, but a necessary one. You must destroy one world before you can create a new one. Creation and destruction…One cannot exist without the other. Do you understand, Taraba?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Good.” Omand reached beneath his seat and pulled out the wrapped package that had been delivered to him earlier. He handed the bundle across to Taraba. “This arrived from Akershan a few days ago.”

  Taraba lifted it and discovered there was a solid heft to the package. “What is it?”

  “It is a catalyst for change. Open it.”

  Taraba untied the knots, pulled back the cloth, and then examined the thing inside. It was made of oiled steel, carved wood, strips of brass, and danger. “It’s some manner of compact Fortress device.”

  Taraba might not have been very familiar with such things, but he was careful to keep the dangerous metal end pointed away from his body as he picked it up by the wooden handle. “Most curious.”

  “It is of a type we’ve not seen before. It was seized by Devedas right after a rebel used it to kill one of his Protectors. It seems that our current criminal infestation has a surprising number of these stockpiled. Most are larger, and mechanically simpler, but this one could be concealed beneath a robe, and from what we’ve been able to ascertain, has a very reliable method of ignition. The others you need to hold a match to them. This one produces its own sparks when you activate it.”

  “It’s so small, can it possibly be as powerful as the usual ones?” Taraba asked hesitantly.

  “Still powerful enough to open a Protector’s skull and spray his brains across the grasslands.”

  Taraba carefully turned the device in his hands so as to not accidentally blow a hole in his master’s carriage. “Damn those Fortress cowards hiding on their island. If it weren’t for that narrow strip of ocean, we’d have been rid of them long ago.”

  Omand smiled. He would’ve said the same thing himself when he was young and hotheaded. Now, he often suspected that it was the ocean which protected them from the Fortress, not the other way around. “Regardless of their barbaric ways, their weapons are deadly, especially in quantity. They make casteless rebels the equal of warriors who’ve trained their entire lives. The Law has stopped the proliferation of such things, but everyone knows to be afraid of them.”

  A moment ago, Omand had spoken about the beauty inherent in destruction…By that standard, this device was a work of art.

  “I have a very important assignment for you, Taraba.”

  Chapter 30

  Even though Rada knew she was little more than a political bargaining chip, she much preferred staying in Vadal City to hiding at a goat farm. As the personal guest of Harta Vadal, she was not allowed to leave the grounds of the great house and she was always being watched by guards. However, it was the most lavish and comfortable of prisons. Harta had an excellent personal chef, and best of all, Great House Vadal had an extremely large library, possessing dozens of unique works the likes of which she’d never seen before.

  There were several Vadal histories that had no contemporary in the Capitol Library. There were no copies of any of those there, and she was certain of that, because she’d inventoried and cataloged those sections herself. Perhaps upon her return to the Capitol she could arrange for a delegation from the Archivist’s Order to travel to Vadal to make copies. When she’d suggested this to Harta, he had seemed completely ambivalent, which would be good enough to secure the agreement…But who was she kidding? As soon as the Grand Inquisitor found a few judges to sign a warrant, she’d be labeled a traitor, and Harta would hand her over to be roasted to death upon the dome.

  Nobody in the Capitol Library would ever even know these rare volumes existed in Harta Vadal’s personal library if that happened. Well, and also…she’d be dead, which was, frankly, a bit more frightening than having an incomplete collection.

  Despite being her captor, Harta was not a brute. In fact he was a rather articulate, intelligent, and even charming man, when he felt like it. He usually invited her to dine with him, and often had her join him for his evening stroll around the manicured gardens of the great house, where they would engage in pleasant conversations.

  It sounded almost romantic to describe it that way, but there was nothing romantic about Harta Vadal. If Harta loved anything other than politics, she’d not yet seen evidence of it.

  Rada had no mind for politics, because politics meant dealing with people, and Rada couldn’t really stand being around people, but she had read a great many books on various political subjects, and listened dutifully as her father had tried to teach her about the politics of his obligation, in the hopes that she would someday be given his obligation as head of the Archivist’s Order. Thus she knew enough about the topic to understand that Harta was purely a political animal. He lived for politics the same way
she had lived for books.

  The nightly dinners and garden walks afterward tended to be Harta and five to seven invited guests, all of high status, but of varying offices, selected based upon their knowledge, importance, and whether or not Harta saw any value to them at the time. The events were really more like business meetings, as the Thakoor picked their brains and coldly tried to puzzle out how various issues could be twisted for his benefit.

  At first she had been invited to dinner because the topic had been what is the Inquisition really up to? She had told Harta everything she felt she could—without endangering any of the secrets entrusted to her by Devedas or Vikram of course—including the Inquisition’s attempt to silence her about the true identity of the casteless as the descendants of Ramrowan and his priests, though Harta had grown bored at the ancient history lesson and told her that he had no time for such esoteric trivia. Afterward he had laughed and declared her to be “a useless academic, knowing everything, while simultaneously understanding nothing.”

  However, Harta must have found some of her opinions enlightening, or perhaps amusing, because he had continued to request her presence at dinner thereafter. Rada was fine with this because living the luxurious life of a Thakoor’s advisor was better than acting like the prisoner she really was.

  So she had passed the last month politely giving her opinion on various issues whenever asked, and otherwise keeping quiet. On many topics she did not have enough experience to have formulated her own beliefs but being well read and having an almost perfect memory she could always recite what others had written about them. Harta seemed to find this useful at times. All Rada could do was hope that when Omand inevitably sent someone through proper legal channels to retrieve her, Harta might have grown fond enough of her—like a homeless kitten—to intervene on her behalf once again.

  However, Rada was astute enough to notice that whenever a particularly sensitive topic arose, where the learned men of Great House Vadal needed to discuss something which might put them at odds with Grand Inquisitor Omand, Rada was not sent for. Which meant that Harta did not want her to know anything that the Inquisitors could interrogate out of her. A very bad sign indeed.

  Harta had not asked for her company tonight, so the topic must have been one not needing an Archivist’s perspective. She was fine with that too, because that was one more night she didn’t have to socialize and listen to the incessant chatter of first casters sucking up to their Thakoor. So she’d gotten a plate of fruits, nuts, and cheeses from the house slaves, picked a few books from the library, and retired to her nicely furnished guest quarters to read in peace.

  This life wouldn’t be too bad, if it hadn’t been for the threat of looming doom. If she was lucky she might just be able to hide out in Vadal, reading books, until Devedas took care of all those criminals and came to get her.

  There was a firm knock on her door.

  Rada answered and found a warrior of the Personal Guard waiting. There were a multitude of the men wearing the gray and bronze about the house, but she knew this one personally.

  “Hello, Luthra.”

  “Senior Archivist.” He was in his dress uniform, rather than his armor, but that couldn’t fool her. Luthra was a killer, she’d seen that in Apura when he’d dealt with the witch hunter. But killers were her life now. Ever since she’d gotten entangled with the conspiracy against the casteless, she’d befriended many killers. She even planned to marry one. Oddly enough she had associated with more killers than librarians in recent months!

  The bodyguards had been very polite to her on the journey here, and she’d almost started to think of a couple of them as friends since her arrival. Luthra among them, though right now he was all business.

  “The Thakoor has requested your presence in his dining room.”

  “Oh, he’s changed his mind then? Let me grab my sash.” The servants hadn’t been able to find her any proper clothing with Capitol Library’s insignia on it, but they’d at least been able to find her something in the right colors. Even far from home, Rada felt that she should represent her order.

  “Of course.” Luthra waited patiently in the doorway for her to get dressed.

  She went around the corner. Rada really wanted to make sure the Asura’s Mirror was still properly hidden. She’d squished her satchel far behind one of the wardrobes in the hopes the slaves wouldn’t see it when they dusted. She hated just leaving a priceless black-steel artifact unsupervised, but Harta had declared her a guest, and “guests” didn’t get searched—that would be impolite—so the privacy of her belongings had been respected so far. On the bright side if what Vikram had told her was true, whoever was dumb enough to touch it might leave some fingers behind.

  If Harta found out she possessed such a treasure, he’d be sure to claim the mirror for himself. Hospitality be damned, black steel was worth a fortune. Of course, it was still there, right where she had left it. Facedown obviously. She’d not dared look into it since the first night with Vikram, when she’d discovered that it wasn’t just a mirror but also a window to…something.

  As she dressed she called out, “Have you heard anything else from Apura?”

  “About your Protector friend? I’m afraid there’s nothing new.”

  Harta’s callousness aside, on the road north Rada had pestered the Personal Guard about the fate of Karno until they’d relented and sent a message to the men who had chased the Zarger back across the border. There had been signs of a battle, and a bunch of pulverized corpses, but none of them had been a gigantic bearded man. She fervently hoped Karno was alive, but it was also possible the witch hunters had captured him or carried off his body. She knew that Luthra had told the garrison commander to send word if they found any trace of poor Karno.

  Rada checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure her makeup was still good. She normally didn’t care about such things, in fact she rather hated smearing itchy greasy pigments on her face. Her sister, Daksha, had taught her how to do this, but it had taken Devedas to teach her that she could actually be considered beautiful. She was trying hard to look her best now because Harta seemed like the kind of man who would be less inclined to throw away something pretty, as opposed to something plain.

  Satisfied, she walked back into the main room. That was when she noticed that Luthra did not appear to be his normal jovial self. Of the house guards she’d dealt with the most, Girish was the dour one. Luthra was usually upbeat and rather talkative. However, tonight he looked distracted and perhaps a bit nauseous, as if someone had just delivered some dire news. Her immediate fearful thought was that Inquisitors were here, but that was illogical. Friendly or not, he probably wouldn’t be that upset if they’d finally come to take her away. That would be her problem.

  “What’s wrong, Luthra?”

  “There was a dark rumor going around, but it looks like it’s been confirmed by a few sources.” He spoke like a beloved relative had died. “Angruvadal is gone.”

  She had to search her mind for a moment to recall who that was, but it wasn’t a person at all. “Your house’s ancestor blade?”

  “Yes. It was destroyed.”

  Rada didn’t have much firsthand experience with warfare, but everybody knew how amazing and important those rare weapons were to each of the Great Houses. It was said that a bearer could single-handedly defeat an army, and though she assumed that the historical accounts of such feats had become exaggerated, in warrior terms they were still a big deal.

  “I’m very sorry. Did the criminal Ashok break it?” That sounded like the sort of horrible thing such a monster would do. The sooner noble Devedas took care of him, the better.

  Luthra still seemed to be in shock. “It was lost in battle against Somsak raiders, in some Thao mountain town nobody’s ever heard of, back at the beginning of winter. We’re just getting details of this now.”

  This was dark news for Great House Vadal indeed. A black-steel blade was incredibly important, not just for what it was capable of, b
ut for what it stood for. Houses had fallen as a direct result of losing their ancestor blade. No wonder the poor warrior was grieving. The equivalent loss to her would be if someone burned a section of the Capitol Library down. She shuddered at the thought.

  However, on a purely selfish note, this revelation warned Rada that she’d best tread extra carefully tonight. Harta had been relatively cordial thus far, but he was a powerful man who literally held his fate in her hands, and he was sure to be in a very sour mood now.

  Luthra escorted her to Harta’s personal dining chambers. As the head of an Order, her father’s estate had been large, even by first-caste standards, but it paled in comparison to the magnificence of this place. Great House Vadal was the wealthiest of all the houses, and their Thakoor’s home was designed to demonstrate that so that all visitors would understand their place. Even though Harta usually spent three-quarters of the year living in the Capitol he still maintained an inordinately large number of servants here, and from the way they were bustling about carrying off empty dishes, dinner had already been finished. Rada was a late addition. It was a good thing she’d already nibbled on a plate of cheese.

  Luthra entered the room ahead of her and announced, “As requested, Senior Archivist Radamantha Nems dar Harban.”

  Tonight’s dinner topic must have been something relating to the military, because several of Harta’s guests were of the warrior caste. Books had taught her what all the various ranks and medals on their uniforms represented, but you didn’t need to be a scholar to tell that these men were of high status. Anybody would’ve been able to tell that just from the sheer weight of awards they wore. Rada found it funny that the caste which was devoted to such grim duties liked to decorate themselves with more colorful ribbons than Daksha’s vapid party friends.