Destroyer of Worlds

by Larry Correia

  Staring into the distance, Devedas pondered on it. A decision was made. “You’ve always been the one person I could confide in, so I might as well tell you this secret as well. There’s no other witnesses here. In a little while I’ll either kill you, so you can’t talk, or you’ll kill me, so it won’t matter…I’m going to be king.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  Except Devedas wasn’t joking. “No, really. I discovered a plot to overthrow the judges and crown a single leader for all of Lok, so things would be like it was back during the Age of Kings. Rather than try to stop them, I decided to join them.”

  Ashok couldn’t believe his ears. All he could do was gawk in astonishment at Devedas. He never in a million years would have imagined hearing such treasonous words from his old friend. “What?”

  “Their ideas were not without merit. Our current system is dying. The bigger it gets, the more corrupt it gets. The Capitol only exists to make the Capitol richer and the great houses can’t sustain that forever. There’re too many pigs feeding at the trough and new piglets born every day. There’s too much rot. It’s all crumbling. Eventually it will fail. Better to do it now, while the good parts can be saved. If there will be a king, it might as well be me. At least I’ll do it right.”

  “You have always been consumed with ambition, but that is madness.”

  “Why? By what measure is it madness, Ashok?”

  He had started to reflexively snap because it is illegal, but what did that matter now? He had laid waste to the Law today, breaking it as he saw fit in pursuit of his new goals. The buzzards gathering above demonstrated how much love he still had for the Law. So Ashok had no answer, for he was no better than Devedas was.

  “So you are a criminal. Just like me.” Ashok wasn’t even angry, just disappointed.

  “I’m the Lord Protector and you’re a rebel. That makes us very different kinds of criminals.”

  If only Devedas knew that it had been the highest levels of the Capitol which had put him on this path, but that was one way they were different. Ashok kept his oaths.

  “Don’t give me that sanctimonious look. The Law is corrupt. We both know it. The judges only care about their own comfort. I’m trying to correct it, to fix its deficiencies, to put someone with sense and honor in charge for the betterment of every house. Your people are the ones trying to destroy it.”

  “They don’t want to destroy it. They just want to be left alone.”

  “The Law will never allow that…Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to judge me, brother. Perhaps a wise king would spare these criminals, where the unbending Law would not.”

  “Would you?” Ashok asked. “Would good King Devedas actually spare these people?”

  Devedas mulled it over. “Should I lie, and say yes, in the hopes that you simply let me win? Your life in exchange for all of theirs? Look around. After today, how could I—or any ruler—allow this rebellion? If they can succeed here, then they can do it anywhere, and Lok will shatter into a hundred quarrelling nations. No, I’ll not lie to you, because you’re not stupid enough to believe in fairy tales.”

  The two of them passed the skin back and forth in silence while they waited for the Heart to heal their wounds enough to finish the fight. The wind continued to pick up. The clouds were coming in. The sky was growing darker.

  Devedas broke the silence.

  “I must know one thing though, Ashok. The last time we met, you longed for death. I could see it in your eyes. The only reason you lived was because Angruvadal demanded it…Oh how I curse myself now for not dueling you when I might have claimed it.”

  “Why didn’t you then?”

  “Maybe it was because I suspected despite the truth, despite who you really were, the sword would still like you better, as it did the first time.” Devedas ran his finger down the scar that split his face. “This is my constant reminder of my failure. It’s always with me. In that prison cell, doubt led to fear and hesitation. I lost my chance. Afterward, I vowed I would never let another opportunity so great pass me by.”

  “So you’re claiming it’s my fault you are conspiring to take over the Capitol?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  Ashok didn’t want that to be true, but it probably was. If he was still alive at the next new year, he would follow the traditions of the swamp men, and build a little sin doll to write upon it, inspired a good man to do evil, to throw into the great bonfire.

  Ashok sighed. “What is this thing you must know, Devedas?”

  “Why do you fight so hard now? Surely you don’t believe all this nonsense about old gods. What happened to the Ashok who simply wanted to sulk off and die?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Simplify it for me then.”

  “A woman.”

  “Really?” Devedas laughed hard. “That’s not complicated. It’s the opposite of complicated! Ashok Vadal has fallen in love? I didn’t know that was even possible. Unbelievable!”

  “Why? Is the broken toy of wizards not allowed happiness?”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. I mean no offense. Not for that at least. We’re going to fight to the death in a minute anyway, so there’s plenty of offense taken, but not for that. I am happy for you, truly. She must be quite the woman to have captured unstoppable Ashok.”

  “She is,” Ashok said truthfully. “I cannot say either of us is captured, but we have come to an arrangement I find pleasing.”

  “Since we are sharing secrets, I too have found the one who will be mine. You would like Rada, though she’s not at all what I expected my wife would be.”

  Protectors were supposed to be married to their obligation. They weren’t allowed relationships beyond the services of pleasure women while they were in the Order for good reason. It was only after their obligation was complete that they could go on with a normal life. It was yet another crime, but what was taking an illegal wife compared to overthrowing the entire government?

  “How is she not what was expected? Is she ugly?”

  “Not at all. She’s very pretty, but she’s also very smart. However, it’s a bookish sort of smart, if that makes sense. More than that, she’s earnest.” A genuine smile split Devedas’ face, and for just a moment Ashok saw the good man he’d once known, free of the jealousy and ambition which had corrupted him. If Devedas won the duel, this woman, whoever she was, might someday make him a good man again. “Do you understand?”

  Probably better than you do…Only that went unsaid. Ashok merely nodded.

  “Rada came to me in distress. I’ve known a great many women, but she was the first who was actually interesting. I was rather surprised actually, yet the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  “I’m sure if I don’t kill you, she will make a fine queen.”

  “She will. I’ve got Karno watching over her to keep her safe from my fellow plotters.”

  “Surely Blunt Karno is not part of your conspiracy.”

  “Oh, of course not! He’s probably the only man I’ve ever met more honest than you.”

  “Then this Rada is in good hands. Also, I am glad Karno was with your lady, instead of here today.”

  “So you wouldn’t feel the guilt for causing Karno’s death as well?”

  “He probably would have ripped my head from my shoulders before we got that far. The man fights.”

  “That he does. To old friends.” Devedas took one last drink, savoring it, because he knew it might be their last together, and then handed over the nearly empty skin.

  “To old friends.” Ashok finished it. “It seems we are out of wine.”

  “It was good while it lasted…Are you ready?”

  Everything hurt. His muscles were stiff. There were still small fractures in his bones. His head ached from nearly having his neck snapped. But the severe laceration in his side had sealed enough to move without making it worse. It was a shame to use so much of the Heart’s precious magic on two unworthy criminals. “I am ready.”

 
; Devedas took a deep breath and held it to test the integrity of his lung. He exhaled. “So am I.”

  They hopped off the fence and took up their swords. Ashok had kept Jamari’s sword because in size and shape it was very similar to what Angruvadal had been. All traditional Vadal blades were based upon Angruvadal, three foot long, and straight.

  Devedas tested his own sword, spinning it deftly about. That was not for show. He was stretching out the tendons of his wrist. Forward-curving southern blades had been based on their ancestor as well, the one which had been shattered by Devedas’ father.

  Across the grass, they walked away from each other, stopping when there was ten paces between them. Ashok cracked his damaged neck. The clothing they had been wearing beneath their armor was basically bloodstained rags now. They looked more like a pair of vagabonds than the finest swordsmen in the world.

  “Is there anything else that needs to be said?” Ashok asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Devedas answered. “You?”

  “I apologize for everything.” And he very much meant it. “I want you to know that I do not hate you, Devedas.”

  “I wanted to hate you, Ashok.” Devedas gave him a melancholy nod of acknowledgement. “I tried. I failed.”

  The wind blew through the grass. There was a rumble of thunder, and a few cold raindrops began to fall upon them.

  “Offense has been taken,” Devedas stated.

  “Offense has been given,” Ashok responded.

  The duel began, not in a sudden burst of movement, but in absolute stillness.

  It had been two decades and hundreds of fights since the last time they had clashed. Both of them were far deadlier now than when they’d come down from the mountain. They were more experienced, but neither was overconfident because of that. In battle, just because something had worked once didn’t mean it would work again.

  One thing had not changed from their first clash. Ashok would accept no help. The shard of Angruvadal buried in his chest was silent. Live or die, he would do this himself.

  Swords already in hand, there would be no quick draw this time. The two opponents studied each other, waiting. They were both beings of pure focus.

  Devedas moved first.

  The lunge was quick, the cut quicker. Ashok had been ready though and parried as he sidestepped. The responding thrust for Devedas’ midsection was turned aside.

  That had been a test.

  They circled, aware and calm. There were no words, no sneers or taunts. Devedas often fought with fury as opposed to Ashok’s cold pragmatism, but in this particular duel his opponent would not give in to his base nature. Passion granted energy and ferocity, but once that was spent, victory would go to the one who made no errors.

  Ashok feinted, trying to trick Devedas into guarding high. He didn’t fall for it. Again, now low. Instead Devedas broke contact and resumed circling.

  The first to make a mistake would die. They both knew it.

  Lightning flashed across the sky. Devedas attacked. Ashok dodged and countered. They traded blows ten times before the sound of thunder reached them.

  They parted and circled. It was all about timing and distance. Neither of them were foolish enough to fall into predictable pattern. Rhythm was for fools and dancers. Rhythm could be predicted and interrupted. Such were the teachings of Ratul. They both had memorized all those lessons. Devedas had killed the old master with his sword, and Ashok had taken Ratul’s place as the greatest traitor in the history of the Order. Yet, his lessons remained valid.

  Devedas struck a mighty overhand blow. His blade was a bit slower, but also heavier and more durable. Rather than try and block, Ashok leapt back. Devedas missed, but it wasn’t a close enough miss to leave him in a bad position for a counterattack.

  Despite the many wounds he’d taken from the Protectors, Ashok allowed no place in his mind for pain. There would be no weakness shown, no tightness of tendon, twitch of muscle, or grinding of bone for Devedas to take advantage of.

  Ashok feinted left, and then sent an underhand thrust at Devedas’ body. The Protector turned and sucked in his stomach, barely dodging the steel. Ashok winced as Devedas’ response sliced across the top of his arm.

  They parted once more. This time Ashok’s sleeve was red with fresh blood.

  Devedas saw the injury, but he took no joy in it. There was no smirk. No pride. He knew Ashok could take a hundred cuts that size and still have the strength to end him with one good strike.

  They struck simultaneously. Blades flashing back and forth. Bodies moving with perfect speed and balance, without thought, because thought took too long. Thought got in the way. They simply acted.

  With the Heart of the Mountain controlling their wounds, their real hearts were pounding from the exertion. The sky had grown cold, but they were both sweating. Lungs burned as they fought on.

  All it took was the smallest slip on wet grass, but Devedas stumbled, just a tiny bit. And Ashok was on him. Lunging in at a bad angle, his push cut still caught Devedas across the chest, slicing him to the collarbone.

  Only rather than fall away, Devedas stabbed in response, the curved blade going in at a harsh angle into the meat of Ashok’s leg.

  They broke and parted, but the circling was slower than before.

  Ashok couldn’t help but wince as he put his weight down on his injured leg. Blood was staining his pants, but it had not hit the artery. Devedas reached up and crammed a bunch of his silk shirt into the weeping cut on his torso to staunch the bleeding. Both wounds would cause them to slow down. Neither would be immediately fatal.

  These facts were recognized. With a mutual nod, they continued.

  They clashed. An ugly hit that time, edge upon edge, as steel chipped. Devedas forced their blades down, then slammed his fist into Ashok’s skull, but Ashok had already driven the knife-edge of his hand into the wound upon Devedas’ chest. The Protector grimaced as Ashok twisted his fingers, widening the wound. Their blades came apart, and Ashok was cracked across the jaw by the pommel of Devedas’ sword.

  As he flung the droplets of blood from his fingertips, Ashok realized they were somehow over two hundred feet from where they’d started from, and the sky had grown dark and angry with storm clouds. Where did the time go when you were trying to kill your best friend?

  It began to rain hard.

  They went at it again, brutally, savagely. Their limbs were growing weary. Ashok’s leg could no longer hold his weight strong enough to dart back and forth. Ashok was taller, but Devedas weighed a bit more. They collided, both of them blocking the other’s sword hand with their off hand. Ashok snapped his head down, smashing Devedas’ nose flat with his forehead. Except the Protector kicked him in his wounded leg. Ashok’s knee buckled and he dropped.

  He still managed to catch Devedas’ descending blade, but not the boot that flew up to kick him in the chest.

  Ashok crashed into—and through—a wooden fence. He landed on the hardpacked gravel of the road to Garo.

  Devedas leapt through the fence after him, but Ashok had already sprung back up. It was swords, fists, and knees, as they collided. Ashok wasn’t quite quick enough, and the heavy tip of the southern blade sliced across his chest.

  They stumbled apart. Ashok’s shirt was hanging open. His body slick with blood. Devedas paused, granting him enough time to feel the wound and see that he’d been cut to the sternum, right above the pattern of scars inflicted upon him by molten Angruvadal and Sikasso’s hook. Devedas straightened out his broken nose so he wouldn’t have to breathe entirely through his mouth.

  The already laboring Heart of the Mountain slowed their bleeds to a trickle, so that they could continue. They’d slice each other to bits if the Heart let them. As the two of them paused there in the road, in the rain, heads appeared atop the city wall. They had observers. The brothers would give them a good show.

  “Ready?” Ashok asked.

  Devedas spit out a glob of blood and wiped his lip with the back of his h
and. “Ready.”

  The rain was pounding hard, soaking them to the bone. Ashok went low, slashing for Devedas’ legs. The southerner leapt back, and responded high, swinging for Ashok’s head. They spun back and forth in the road, narrowly avoiding steel. Blades crossed again, edges chipped, and Devedas shoved him back. His boots slid through the puddles, before he was able to wrench his sword free to smash Devedas with the hilt of the Vadal blade.

  Reeling, with cheek gashed open, Devedas broke free, and swung hard, trying to disembowel him. Except Ashok dove beneath it and rolled through the water, slashing. Devedas roared as the blade opened his calf. The Protector tried to hit Ashok before he could get up, but Ashok caught the descending sword with his handguard and twisted it aside. The southern blade hit the road. The tip was planted deep.

  Devedas tugged, but the blade was stuck in the hardened tar. From the ground, Ashok kicked with all his might. His heel crushed Devedas’ fingers against the hilt. The sword popped free and went flipping out into the grass. It landed with a clunk, ten feet away.

  The Protector watched it go. Then he turned back to see the tip of Ashok’s stolen sword pointed at his guts. Ashok kept it aimed there as he slowly got back to his feet.

  Devedas was still ready to fight, but the advantage now belonged to Ashok. There wasn’t much an unarmed man could do—no matter how skilled—against an equally skilled man armed with three feet of sharpened steel in hand.

  “You have me.”

  He did. With his leg seizing up and his body growing cold from the blood loss, Ashok should’ve finished it. But instead he nodded his head toward where the sword had landed. “We must be certain. I will wait.”

  Devedas nodded respectfully. Then knowing that he wasn’t going to just be struck down from behind by a dishonorable enemy, limped over to his sword, and tried to pick it up. His damaged fingers wouldn’t close around the handle, so instead he retrieved it with his left hand, then spun it once to clear the mud. “If our situation was reversed, do you think I would’ve granted you that courtesy?”

  Ashok met him at the edge of the grass. “I believe you would.”

  “You alone always thought the best of me, Ashok.”