Their battle had taken them to the bank of the mighty Akara River. Far below them, the water sped by, fast, cold, and frothy white. Ashok looked upon it with great distrust. It would have been terribly ironic if after all that a demon popped out and ate them both. The ocean wasn’t that far away and surely the creatures of hell had smelled the blood.
There were no demons to be seen however, just the occasional dead Akershani soldier floating briskly by.
They closed the distance.
One would think that having to switch sword hands would be a great disadvantage, but Ashok had fought Devedas enough times to know that it wouldn’t make that much difference. He was proficient with either hand and like Ashok, had also trained in the western twin-weapon style. The curved sword shot back and forth, but Ashok intercepted it, flat on flat, and sent Devedas stumbling back.
The slope was steep. The ground was loose and rapidly turning to clinging mud. The sudden strain on the muscles of his wounded leg were almost too much. The Heart of the Mountain could barely keep up.
The damaged swords crossed again, high. Ashok threw his knee into Devedas’ side, but the Protector surprised him by rolling into it, sweeping Ashok from his feet, and hurling him down the hill.
Landing on his back, he slid through the mud. Before he could lift his blade, Devedas stomped his boot down upon the sword, trapping it against the ground. Devedas was over him, but rather than attack Ashok’s body, his target was Jamari’s sword. Devedas roared as he called upon the Heart to give him strength for one brief moment. The heavy southern blade sped downward in a mighty chop. Metal rang against metal.
And then Ashok was sliding free, because all he was holding onto was a hilt and about a foot of sword since the rest of it had just been snapped off. Ashok rolled to get out of range, and then fought his way back to his feet, keeping the ruined remains of the Vadal blade between them.
The end was a useless flat. The whole thing was bent. It was still better than nothing, but Devedas would easily outrange him now. “You’ve got a bad habit of breaking swords, brother.”
He had allowed Devedas to retrieve his weapon. He had been wrong in assuming that if their situations were reversed his opponent would have done the same. There was no courtesy given.
Devedas attacked.
Ashok tried to dodge the cut, but he wasn’t fast enough. Steel parted the flesh of his shoulder. He countered, but Devedas was easily able to dodge the dagger length weapon. When Devedas came at him again, it left another cut across his thigh, shallow, but burning.
This couldn’t last. He’d be cut to pieces at this rate. It was time to change the terms. Doing so was dangerous, but he had no other choice.
He interrupted Devedas’ next swing by hurling the broken sword at his face and then diving for his waist. The Protector knocked the weapon aside, and unfortunately still had time to turn his sword into Ashok on the way in. It put a long cut down his back and into his hip, but then Ashok was on him.
They crashed to the ground and slid through the mud. Ashok started striking with his fists. Devedas tried to turn his curved blade into Ashok’s side, but he managed to get his elbow down to block it. It cut deep into his arm, but better that than his guts. Devedas was on his back, Ashok tried to get higher to keep him down, and strike at his vulnerable eyes or throat. Devedas had no choice but to let go of his sword.
Rolling down the hill, Ashok kept hitting him. Devedas hit him back. Ratul had been a master of every weapon, but also of bare hands. Every one of his students could kill with any weapon or none at all. Devedas got ahold of the last rags of Ashok’s shirt, yanked them across his neck, and attempted a choke. But Ashok managed to hook his hand around Devedas’ broken fingers, and with a mighty twist, ground them into the damaged joints. Devedas lost control of the choke, but he didn’t let go.
They thrashed through the mud, punching, and kicking. Both of them were trying, but the slippery mess made it difficult to latch onto a limb long enough to twist and break it. There would be no submission here. It was to the death.
Devedas punched him in his already damaged ear. Head spinning, Ashok dropped an elbow into Devedas’ face. The two of them hit the Akara and were instantly covered in water. They were in the rocky shallows, fighting in only a foot of treacherous, freezing hell.
Somehow Devedas ended up on top, and he’d found a rock. It smashed into Ashok’s forehead. Blood went everywhere. Ashok couldn’t see. He couldn’t hear. He would not quit.
His thumb found Devedas’ eye. He stabbed hard. Devedas finally gave some indication of feeling pain, and bellowed incoherently. The rock came down to brain him again, but Ashok knocked it aside with his forearm, and then he punched Devedas square in the throat. His old friend flinched back, struggling to breathe.
Ashok found his own rock, twice as big as his fist, and cracked Devedas in the side of the skull with it.
It had been a devastating hit. Falling back onto land, Devedas flopped face-first into the mud. Everything hurting, Ashok crawled up after him. Stunned, Devedas rolled over. Ashok grabbed him by the throat. There was blood dripping from the river stone as he raised it overhead to deliver a killing blow.
It was over.
Dazed, incoherent, all Devedas could do was stare up at him, and then at the raised rock.
It had to be done. Devedas would never stop hunting him. For him to live—for Thera to live—Devedas had to die. Not so long ago, the instant Ashok had found out that his brother was plotting to overthrow the Law, he would have ended him without hesitation. It had taken becoming a criminal to learn what compassion was.
“You’ve become weak,” Devedas croaked. “Ratul would be ashamed.”
“Yield.”
Devedas closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mud. “I can’t stop. You have to die. All of you have to die.”
The bloody rock was shaking in his trembling hand. “Leave us be! That’s all I ask.”
“There could never be peace for you, Ashok sword breaker. If not me, then it’d be someone else coming for you.” Devedas opened his eyes again, revealing that one was entirely filled with blood. The other held tears. “I’m sorry.”
And then Devedas ran the small knife he’d had hidden in his belt across Ashok’s neck.
It was a terribly sharp little thing, opening vein and artery both. He let go of Devedas to shove his hand beneath his ear to try and stop the bleeding, but blood came squirting between his fingers.
“You’re the greatest man I’ve ever known, Ashok. I will try to rule in a way that would make you proud.”
His vision was swimming. His body was cold as the Akara. The Heart of the Mountain was already overwhelmed, and even the powerful artifact couldn’t keep up with all the blood being stolen from his brain. He sank down, until he was face to scarred face, looking down at his brother.
“I’ll have a golden statue of you erected in the Capitol, twenty…no, fifty feet tall, so I can show the people what true devotion looks like.”
Angruvadal had agreed not to help him for the duel. It changed its mind.
The black-steel shard turned to molten liquid.
“Shh…rest now.”
Ashok hit Devedas in the head with the rock.
The Protector hadn’t been prepared for that sudden burst of strength. Ashok hit him again. And again.
That old familiar instinct came upon him, as Angruvadal warned him of danger. This time it wasn’t a suggestion, but a command.
Stop.
Ashok hit him again. Devedas head flopped to the side.
Enough.
Angruvadal was warning him to stop, but furious Ashok roared as he lifted the rock high overhead and prepared to bring it down with both hands to destroy Devedas’ skull and spread his brains through the mud.
A jolt of incredible agony radiated out from the shard in his chest. This had to be what a heart attack felt like. Ashok screamed as lightning traveled down every vein and artery. The rock fell from his nerveless finge
rs to plop back into the mud.
This one is still necessary.
Ashok rolled off his unconscious brother to lie there in the mud next to him, helpless as they both used the Heart of the Mountain to stay alive.
The molten fire of Angruvadal gradually cooled. The whispers stopped.
A long time passed as they lay there beneath the rain. With one hand pressed to his throat, Ashok slowly turned his head so that he could see Devedas, with skull broken and face so swollen he was barely recognizable. It took a few more minutes before his throat was solid enough to risk speaking. Devedas still couldn’t move, but he could hear.
“Angruvadal has spared your life twice. There will not be a third chance.”
“So be it,” Devedas whispered.
Slipping in the mud, so weak he could barely stand, Ashok got up, only to discover that there were a great many watchers standing in the dark above them. It was the warriors of vassal house Garo, and most of them were holding bows with arrows already nocked.
Among the observers was the phontho, Ranjan Garo. Next to him was his son, Rane, who looked ashamed as his father lifted one hand to signal for his men to draw back their bows. Twenty arrows were aimed at Ashok.
“We had an agreement,” Ashok said.
“Yet you are still here,” the phontho replied.
“I am leaving.”
“Yes. Only I will decide how.”
“Please, Father. Don’t do this.”
“Silence, Rane…Are you still alive, Lord Protector Devedas?”
Devedas coughed. “I live.”
The phontho stroked his long beard. “I knew your father. He was a great leader. He taught me that whenever possible, a Thakoor should have a wizard among his court, to spy upon those who would conduct illicit business in his lands. Thus I was told of your conversation with the Black Heart. If you were to become king, would you free the once loyal subjects of Dev from the tyranny of their new masters, Akershan?”
It was a dark and illegal bargain. Ashok already knew what the proud and pragmatic answer of Devedas would be. And of course if he didn’t, they’d both end up dead in the river, and Ranjan would just lie and say they’d killed each other during their duel.
“You served my father well. As king, I would free this house,” Devedas croaked. “You have my vow.”
The negotiations had gone so smoothly that his archers’ arms hadn’t even had a chance to get tired. “Then the Garo will bend their knee to a son of Dev once more.”
“This is dishonest, Father!” Rane shouted.
“Survival is the most honest thing of all, my son,” the phontho said with great solemnity as he signaled for his archers. “Kill the Black Heart.”
Ashok was barely alive as it was. His throat had just been cut. Too weak to evade, there was no way he could survive being pierced by so many arrows.
Bowstrings thrummed.
Except he didn’t die. As Angruvadal still needed Devedas for some mysterious reason, so too must it have required Ashok to live. For when he opened his eyes, the arrows were stopped a few inches away, as if frozen in air turned to ice. Only the intervention was not without cost, as the sudden, violent twisting of reality snapped and released a concussive wave of force.
Ashok was hurled violently into the rapids.
Chapter 43
Interviewing and testing soldiers had made it a long and tiresome day for Jagdish. Normally a phontho would be appointed to an existing garrison, but his promotion had been so sudden the warrior caste of Great House Vadal had no place ready for him. Honestly, they didn’t really know what to do with him. But with rumors of house war in the air a military buildup had begun. They had given him a budget, but no men to pay with it. So Jagdish had decided to get out ahead of the looming war by putting together his own garrison while he waited for the high command to get off its ass.
Besides, he’d needed something to do other than sit in his vast house, lonely and bitter, listening to a baby cry.
He’d been traveling across Vadal for the last weeks, stopping at every warrior’s district to find men who were currently unobligated to a command. The unfortunate part about that was warriors who were unobligated usually held that ignoble status for a reason. It was hard to put together a glorious unit made out of drunks, fools, and discipline problems. Yet he knew from personal experience, that just because a warrior was currently unloved by his superiors, that didn’t make him a bad warrior. Sometimes they were just unlucky.
Jagdish did not accept any warrior desperate for an assignment. He had gone through too much and worked too hard to foul this up now. He took the time to speak with each one individually, to question their motives and their commitment, and several times to spar, ride, or foot race, against the cocky ones himself. Most phonthos were too old for that sort of thing, but Jagdish preferred the hands-on approach. He’d gathered many that way, but still had a hundred more to go.
Exhausted, he made his way up the stairs. His lodging for the night was the top floor of an inn that would have been far too expensive to stay at when he was a mere risaldar. It turned out luxury was rather meaningless when you had no one to share it with.
There was a giant man waiting for him in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a big straw farmer’s hat that hid his features, but it was clear this was no farmer, unless he farmed anvils. The stranger was about as big as Gutch, but while Gutch was fat strong, this one appeared to be just plain strong, and though dressed like a worker, he stood like a warrior. Comfortable, confident, but ready to move.
“Good evening, Phontho Jagdish.”
Jagdish looked up. If this man was looking for an obligation, Jagdish was ready to hire him on the spot, just for the sheer intimidation value he could bring to the unit. Oceans, even if he was an imbecile he could just use him to load boulders in a trebuchet and still come out ahead. But no…Jagdish had a system. He needed to interview him to make sure he wasn’t some manner of dreg or lunatic. “If you’re here about the new garrison, I’ve not got my scribe nor my obligation papers with me. Come back first thing in the morning, Warrior.”
“I’m not warrior caste.”
He snorted. “Well, that’s a shame. Just look at the size of you.”
“I’m Karno Uttara,” the big one said quietly. “Protector of the Law.”
Jagdish sighed. He’d been through this before, though that Protector had shown up in his fancy armor and flashed their frightening golden symbol in Jagdish’s face to begin that interrogation. “Protectors dress like field hands now, do they?”
“I would show you the token of my office if I had it with me.”
“Sure, you would.” But in the off chance he needed to be respectful to such an illustrious servant of the Law, he added, “If you are who you claim, you know Harta Vadal has explained my actions, and I already told you people I don’t know where Ashok went after Bahdjangal.”
“This is about a different matter. May we speak somewhere privately?”
He reached the top-floor landing. “Whatever for?”
That was when he noticed that a woman had been standing behind the giant the whole time. She stepped into the light and unwound her head scarf so he could see her face. “We need your help, noble Jagdish.”
He almost didn’t recognize her, with bruises healing all over her face. “Librarian?” It was so unexpected that it took him a moment to remember the name of the woman who had saved his life. “Radamantha?”
“Just Rada is fine. Sorry to bother you but—”
“No, no, come in.” Jagdish hurried to his room and unlocked the door. From the look of her, someone had attacked a lady of the first caste. He was bound not just by Law, but by honor and decency to offer her all his hospitality. “Are you all right?”
“Well, not really.”
The Protector snorted.
“It’s complicated,” the librarian said.
Jagdish shut the door behind them. Rada was from a Capitol Order, which m
eant that the big man probably was a real Protector. “What’s going on? Please have a seat.” He gestured toward the cushions.
Karno remained standing, and oddly enough, watched the windows. But Rada sat down. The ungraceful way she moved suggested that she was exhausted and had been on her feet for a while.
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Which she should not tell,” Karno interjected.
Rada looked around the luxurious room. “You seem to be doing a lot better since the last time we met.”
In truth, Jagdish paid no attention to such things. His life was a bittersweet parody of what he’d worked for. There was duty to focus on, and in the hours he wasn’t fulfilling that duty his life was empty, cold, and gray. He had a daughter he couldn’t even look at without thinking of her lost mother and falling into a deep melancholy. His child was being looked after by servants at his estate. It was irrational to harbor bitterness toward a baby, but every time he held her, he couldn’t help but think about how her birth had deprived him of the love of his life, and that unwarranted bitterness made him feel guilt and shame. It was not little Pari’s fault Jagdish had not been there when his family had needed him.
“I am doing well.”
“And your family?”
Enough pleasantries. “What do you need my help with, Rada?”
“Before I ask for any favor, Luthra told me you had given your oath to repay my kindness for helping you with Harta. Is this accurate?”
“Of course. Anything. I am a man of my word.”
“I need somewhere to hide.”
“From who?”
“Well…” She hesitated awkwardly. “Your Thakoor, all of Great House Vadal’s warriors, and the entire Order of Inquisition.”
“Oh…” Jagdish blinked. “Is that all?”
Chapter 44
Since Gutch was a man of vast wealth now—and he’d gained said wealth by robbing the most murderous wizards in the world—he hardly went anywhere without his cadre of bodyguards. Of course none of them were half the warrior his good friend Jagdish had been, but they were loyal, or at least he was paying them enough they should be. One could never really tell about such things.
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