Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  She appeared to be a mousy thing, but there was some steel in her after all, as she drew herself up to her full, not very impressive bearing, and declared, “If this man won’t ask for mercy for himself, then I will do it for him.”

  “Mercy? Ha! Mercy is not good enough!”

  Harta surprised Jagdish then, by kicking him in the chest. On his knees with his hands bound there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it, not that he would have defended himself against his Thakoor anyway, because then every member of the guard present would’ve stuck a sword in him a heartbeat later. Dust rose from Jagdish’s filthy clothing as Harta’s sandal hit. The Thakoor didn’t have warrior muscle by any means, but he was a robust man, and there had been a lot of emotion behind that kick, so it still really hurt. Jagdish flopped over onto the grass, grimacing, ribs throbbing.

  “Mercy is an abstract concept, Rada. The First must deal only in concrete reality. Every decision is a calculation that either benefits or harms our obligation.” He kicked Jagdish again, in his already sore stomach this time. “You want to prove yourself an advisor? Then advise. What should I do with this man?”

  Somehow Jagdish’s fate had wound up in the hands of some woman he’d never met before. Harta’s desires were plain and ended with Jagdish’s blood watering the garden. If she was seeking Harta’s approval then the easiest thing in the world would simply be to agree with him and offer a suggestion for a public or private death.

  Shockingly, the woman did not back down. “You spoke earlier of your warriors’ perception of your ambitions. You do not wish to be seen as selfish by them, especially as you send them off to war. You can mock my plea, but Chief Judge Samudra Vadal once wrote that mercy is the cheapest investment we can make in the lesser castes, as it costs us nothing, but returns us loyalty tenfold.”

  “Quoting one of my own ancestors at me…sly. Only this investment is not cheap. It requires the sacrifice of my pride. And that is very valuable. I am Thakoor. What will people say when they see that I have failed to punish an ally of the Black Heart? They will say I am weak. They will say I’m afraid.” Harta placed his foot on Jagdish’s head and put his weight down, crushing his face into the grass. It hurt. It felt as if his neck might break, but Jagdish clenched his teeth together and made no sound. Harta extended one hand toward a guard. “Give me your sword.”

  The guard drew his blade, flipped it around, and extended it hilt first toward his Thakoor. Harta took it, then placed the tip against Jagdish’s back. The tiniest bit of pressure was enough to raise blood from the skin.

  Jagdish prepared to go into the endless nothing.

  “Wait! There’s a way you can take all the credit and none of the blame.”

  “Hmmm…” Harta paused in his murder. “Go on, Rada.”

  “If showing mercy to this criminal will encourage more crime, just erase his crime.”

  “What?”

  “It benefits your warriors to have a living hero before they go to war. You’ve got a perfectly good one right here. All you need to do is tell the people that you’re the one who made him a hero. Jagdish did not disobey if he was following your orders to track down those wizards the whole time.”

  “You want me to claim that I dispatched this fool on a secret mission?” This time Harta’s laugh sounded genuine, because the Thakoor wasn’t taken by surprise very often. “How would that explain his association with the Black Heart?”

  “It’s as Jagdish said himself, he used one criminal to get close to other criminals. It’s like in The Tale of Jaswinder when the Chief Judge ordered Jaswinder to pretend to be a bandit in order to infiltrate the lair of the Bandit King.”

  “I do not know that history.”

  “It’s actually a romance.”

  I am going to die, Jagdish thought.

  “But the strategy is sound,” Rada hurried. “You sent Jagdish on this mission. He may have failed to capture the Black Heart, but he still killed a hundred illegal wizards and a dozen demons along the way!”

  With the Thakoor’s sandal crushing his head, Jagdish wasn’t about to correct her wild exaggeration of enemy numbers. Then Harta lifted his foot, and Jagdish gasped as most of the pain left his skull.

  “An interesting ploy, Rada. Because if it was I who sent Jagdish on this quest, then I must share in his glory. The master always receives credit for his servant’s labors.”

  “All will say it took incredible wisdom for a ruler to recognize such hidden talents,” Rada agreed. “Spare this man’s life and you will be mentioned in all the same songs as he is. As for the first caste, they will not think of you as soft, but rather shrewd, because even while your house was reeling you sent your fiercest warrior to track down Angruvadal. When Jagdish discovered Angruvadal was lost, rather than despair, instead he brought home other magic to replace it. You are a man of action, Thakoor. They can hardly fault you for not catching Ashok when all the might of the Capitol and even mighty Devedas and the Protectors haven’t been able to catch him either.”

  Jagdish rolled over enough to see his Thakoor’s expression. Harta still held the sword and was mulling over what to do with it.

  “And here I was, testing you to see if your naïve academic proclivities could be overcome, and if you would be pragmatic enough to suggest how I should best kill this man…and instead you offered me another possibility, which though personally annoying, actually does benefit my house. I was too close to this particular issue to see such a simple, yet elegant, solution.” Harta handed the sword back to the guard. “That is what advisors are for. Perhaps you can make yourself useful after all. Well done, Rada.”

  “Thank you, Thakoor.” She sounded extremely relieved.

  “Pick him up,” Harta ordered. The guards immediately grabbed Jagdish by the arms and hauled him to his feet. “I have made my decision. Do you understand what just happened here, Warrior?”

  “I think so, sir.”

  “Do you understand what our story is going forward?”

  “I do. Yes.”

  “Do you have a problem with this?”

  The choice between sharing the glory with an unrighteous fop or bleeding to death on the lawn, was an easy one. “No, sir. It was you who sent me on that mission. It was your idea all along. You’re very wise.”

  “Correct. If I find out you ever say otherwise, then I will be forced to revisit my decision. Now, if I can’t be seen punishing you, then I must be seen rewarding you.” Harta looked at the guard who was standing by Rada. “Luthra, what do warriors usually do when one of you does something suitably heroic?”

  “An increase in rank and status, as well as corresponding awards for valor, Thakoor.”

  “What is the most prestigious of those awards your people can ever get?”

  “The highest award for gallantry in battle is the Param Vir Chakra.” Luthra answered without hesitation, because no symbol was more respected among their caste than the Wheel of ultimate bravery.

  “Did my mother ever grant any of those?”

  “No, sir. It’s been a long time since the last recipient. Not since the siege of Sudorat has one of those been awarded.”

  Harta turned back to Jagdish. “Then I’ll see to it that Jagdish is given one of those. A fitting trophy for a demon hunter.”

  Jagdish could only stare at Harta and blink. Getting stepped on had made his head swim less than those words. All of the Personal Guard were stunned as well. Even though the award was so ancient it dated back to before the Age of Law, before there had even been a warrior caste, the Wheel had been awarded only a couple hundred times, and most of those posthumously. Every warrior in Vadal had been raised on the stories of those mighty few.

  “I’m unworthy.”

  “I don’t care. I merely need the warriors to think you are. That requires status…And rank, I suppose. Thus, I promote you to the rank of phontho with a single star.”

  Jagdish was speechless. Phonthos were granted between one and five stars, but even the first
tier of that mighty rank led ten paltans. Even with minimal staff, unreinforced, that was at least five hundred warriors. Oceans! He wasn’t just skipping several ranks, with his lowly birth it would’ve taken him a hundred years of perfect effort to achieve such a station. He was only a risaldar, the lowest form of officer! As a phontho he’d have ten risaldars under his command.

  “I will inform the Vadal High Command about this promotion. They can throw a parade or whatever it is you warriors do before they dispatch you to the eastern border, as far from my sight as possible.” Harta looked over Jagdish with barely concealed disgust. “Clean him up.”

  Then the most powerful man in Vadal simply walked away.

  Jagdish’s knees were quivering. His hands were shaking so badly that the chains were audibly rattling. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had been absolutely terrified and trying to hide it because once the Thakoor was out of sight, the woman, Rada, stumbled off to the side and loudly threw up in the bushes.

  “Sorry about slugging you in the gut earlier,” said the guard next to Jagdish as he unlocked the shackles. “But, brother, I’ve got to say that was the most intense promotion ceremony I’ve ever been to!”

  Chapter 32

  Hair and beard trimmed, bathed, wearing a new sword, and in an opulent uniform with phontho’s badges hastily sewn on each sleeve, Jagdish walked out of Great House Vadal feeling like a new man. There was a star on his turban and joy in his heart.

  Several members of the Personal Guard were waiting for him at the back entrance. They stood at attention and barked his name and rank. It wasn’t just because of his newly given status, he knew soldiers well enough to tell these salutes showed real respect. These men were sworn to secrecy about the things they saw within these walls, but despite their knowing how Jagdish had just earned his dubious reward, they still seemed proud that a former member of their unit had made it big. Harta’s lies aside, Jagdish was probably the only regular person they’d ever met who’d fought demons and wizards and lived.

  “Thank you,” Jagdish told the men. “Please, go about your duties.”

  The guard dispersed, except for the warrior Luthra, who greeted Jagdish with a formal bow. “Good evening, Phontho. Due to the, uh…suddenness of events, there’s no guest room prepared for you here at the great house. We can provide you quarters at our barracks in the meantime.”

  Jagdish couldn’t help but grin. Luthra was much younger than he was, but he looked to be a sharp one. “No need to mince words, Havildar. I’ve been in your boots. You’re trying to spare the master of the house the indignity of seeing a scrub like me beneath his roof. No offense is given. I’m so happy to be alive right now that I’d gladly sleep in the dirtiest swine pen in the casteless quarter and I’d still wake up refreshed.”

  “Sorry. I’m not used to being able to speak freely with a man of such advanced rank as yourself.” Luthra’s speech made it obvious he too had earned this obligation through proper soldiering and not being a high-status man’s son. “You’re welcome to bunk with us inside the walls until the High Command sends you east, or if you’ve got somewhere else to go in the city, I can loan you a carriage and a driver.”

  He was so excited to see Pakpa that he would’ve run to her father’s house, even in these new, far too stiff, boots. “Just a horse would be wonderful.”

  “Consider it done.” Luthra signaled for one of his men to run to the stables. “I was told that you were asking about the whereabouts of Risaldar Girish earlier.”

  “He delivered me to Cold Stream. Seemed like a good man.”

  “The best of us,” Luthra agreed. “He’s off on a gate inspection but he’s due back later tonight. I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him he missed all the excitement.”

  “I asked him to deliver a personal memento of mine to my wife and wanted to see if it had been done…but now I guess I get to just go see her myself!”

  “If Girish the Steadfast said he’d deliver it, then I’m sure it was. Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Being asked that will take me some getting used to. Of course, Havildar.”

  “What the Thakoor was saying about the warriors’ morale, he’s not wrong. You’ve been away, but the mood’s been sour in Vadal City since the business with the Black Heart. It’s hard to be betrayed by something you’ve looked up to your whole life. When word gets out about Angruvadal for sure being gone they’ll be heartbroken. There’s not a young warrior in Vadal who didn’t at some point dream about being chosen to bear that sword.”

  “Me as well,” Jagdish said softly. In fact, he’d been on his way to duel for the black sword when he’d gotten into all this mess.

  “Then you know it’ll be good for them to have something else to believe in. To be able to look up and say, see that one? He was just like us once.”

  Jagdish was still dizzy with the new responsibilities that had been placed upon him, but Luthra was sincere. His caste truly needed him right now. “I will do my best.”

  “I hope so!” Luthra laughed. “When I was young, I wanted to be a Protector when I grew up. Every warrior my age will admit they were inspired by Ashok Vadal, if they’re honest at least. We do need heroes. That was a kick to the sack. But I’ll tell you, I’ve served our Thakoor for long enough to know his moods. I thought for sure you were a dead man.”

  “As for that, who was the woman whose wise counsel saved my life?”

  “Radamantha Nems dar Harban of the Capitol Library.”

  “Really?” Jagdish never figured he’d owe his life, status, and fortune to a librarian.

  “Really. And beyond that I’m not allowed to say how we ended up with her as our guest, even to someone of your newly exalted status.”

  “Please give her my thanks.” The guard who had run to the stables was returning, leading one of the mares they kept saddled for emergency messengers. “Not just that, tell Lady Radamantha if she ever needs any favors, anything at all, from the world’s most fortunate warrior, Jagdish is at her disposal. I owe her my life. Now I’m off to see my family.”

  Dignity of his new office be damned, Jagdish was so excited to go home that he rushed to the horse and leapt into the saddle. The poor animal reared in surprised. “Farewell, lads.”

  “Good luck, Phontho.”

  Jagdish kept it to a trot until he was out the gate, and then he coaxed his horse into a run.

  ✧ ✧ ✧

  Triumphant, Jagdish rode through the streets of Vadal City. It would have taken another rain of demons to wipe the grin from his face.

  He was forced to slow down as he passed by the looming mansions of the first caste and the big government buildings. Off-duty soldiers saw him, then quickly got out of his way when they saw the insignia of an important man. After he went by surely they talked, for most of the phonthos were known to them, and who was this man so young to wear such a distinguished rank? Even a warrior born from the highest bloodline had gray in his hair before reaching that kind of status.

  Jagdish couldn’t help but shout at the warriors who were hurrying to salute him, “I am Jagdish and I have returned!”

  They gaped at him, but they heard, and they understood.

  Let them talk. Let the whole city know. Let everyone speak his name, for Jagdish had returned home with honor. He’d waded through swamps while wrestling a train of mules to do it. The heaviest weight he’d been dragging that whole time hadn’t been demon bone, but the shame of his damaged name. With that weight gone he felt like he could fly. He was no longer Unlucky Jagdish or Jagdish the Failure or even Prisoner Jagdish. He was the Phontho Jagdish, hunter of demons and killer of wizards.

  He would go to the east where he would serve his house, train his men, and lead by example. There would be raids back and forth, as there always was, and Jagdish would be so devoted to fulfilling his duty that success would be inevitable. Harta hated him, and he would be exiled to the border for now, but Thakoors didn’t live forever. Someday Jagdish would return
to this city and one of these massive estates he was riding past would become his. He and Pakpa would live here, and it would be his children reaping the benefits of having high-status blood. Only unlike most of the fops he’d known, he’d raise his children right, to be proper warriors, not soft and coddled, and they’d have to train hard like everyone else so they could grow up to be leaders deserving of respect.

  As he crossed through the warriors’ district, all the warriors were saying his name. With a thrill it went through the crowds. Even the workers on the streets knew who he was. If Harta said these men needed a figurehead, then Jagdish would do that job! He’d do it with pride, but not too much pride, because Jagdish knew a leader’s biggest job was to serve. He’d give these men pride because pride made the march easier, it made the armor lighter, and it made the sword arm strong. Pride kept you alive. Pride had kept him alive.

  Ahead he spied a familiar wagon. It was the rig that had just transported him from Cold Stream to the great house gardens. It was stopped at one of the more popular warriors’ halls in the city. He’d once sat in that very tavern and drank until the alcohol had given him enough courage to duel Ashok. It must have been the end of their shift and the guards had stopped to cash in some of their beer rations before returning to their barracks.

  It said a lot about his mood that Jagdish didn’t dismount, go inside, and use his newfound phontho powers to have the men who’d abused him mercilessly whipped for their Law breaking. But no, as Harta had shown mercy to him, he would be merciful to them. And as satisfying as it would have been to go in there and challenge them to a duel, Pakpa was waiting. Though perhaps tomorrow he would pay a visit to the warden and educate that officer about the idiocy of having men who rejoiced in cruelty be left in charge of captives.

  He rode past his old house, though there was nothing for him there now. Pakpa had gone to live with her family in the workers’ district. The place had probably been assigned to a different officer, more than likely some other young risaldar who’d just had his marriage arranged. Only whoever that stranger was couldn’t possibly be as lucky with wedlock as Jagdish had been! It was a tiny home, but it was where he and Pakpa had shared a bed, so it would always be special to him. He would miss this tiny house, but come to think of it, a phontho’s stipend was ten times that of a risaldar, so he’d build his bride a new mansion in the east, like she deserved!