Son of the Black Sword

by Larry Correia

  “I do not speak about the Akershan report. This unrest is spreading. I’ve seen it in my house’s lands with my own eyes.”

  There was an uncomfortable rumble throughout the entire room. Everyone had occasional problems with their non-people, but it was uncouth to admit it in a public forum. The Akershan delegation had several villages sacked and officials murdered by Fortress magic before they’d swallowed their pride enough to request witch hunters from the Inquisition. It had taken a false prophet stirring up a full-on rebellion for them to accept the shame of needing the Capitol’s help to control their non-people. Freely admitting to unrest in Zarger was a curious development. Everyone was paying attention now.

  “The non-people are increasing in boldness and depravity. Their degenerate nature is idle, but quick to riot, and now all of them are whispering about the Lawbreaker in Vadal. Your inability to detect this fraud has endangered us all.”

  Harta was in a difficult position. He could attack Atrya as a liar, but he needed Zarger’s votes and couldn’t risk giving offense. Omand enjoyed watching him squirm. He suspected that Harta had known about Bidaya’s plot to conceal the blade’s choosing a casteless boy all along, and given an excuse he’d love to torture a confession out of the pretentious little fop, but even Omand had to tread carefully about charging Chief Judges with crimes. He noticed that Lord Protector Devedas was also studying the Chief Judge with barely concealed disgust. Interesting . . . Before Harta could formulate a response the murmuring had died down and Atrya resumed speaking.

  “Our houses suffer because of the sickness in Vadal, but we are all infected. Do not blame Great House Vadal or their honorable leadership for being victimized by this casteless scheme. No one doubts Ashok must be dealt with. When a cancerous rot is found a surgeon doesn’t leave it alone and allow it to spread, but rather the disease is excised immediately for the good of the entire body. No one doubts Ashok must pay, and for now he is quarantined, but this underlying sickness must be destroyed. Let us allow the surgeon to do it in the manner that is least likely to kill the patient. Ashok is a symptom. He is not the disease. We would treat this symptom, but the body remains sick . . . The real disease is the casteless.”

  She’s good. And the Grand Inquisitor wasn’t easily impressed. His allies had chosen wisely.

  “That is not the current topic,” the presiding judge warned.

  “On the contrary, it was a casteless who stole an honor he did not deserve and brought shame to one of the Capitol’s oldest and most prestigious orders. If the Protectors of our Law can be so easily deceived, are we not all vulnerable?”

  Omand glanced over at Devedas to see his reaction to the slander of his order. The Protector was leaning forward on his seat, knuckles pressed to his mouth, bitter, angry, yet apprehensive at the same time. The Protectors were politically vulnerable right now, and Devedas knew it.

  And that is why the Inquisition wears masks.

  “Let us be honest with ourselves. Black-Hearted Ashok, no matter how deadly the magic he bears, is but one man, and he has already turned himself in to the authorities. The real danger is the non-people he has inspired. If there were no non-people to riot and disturb the peace, then he would be nothing more than another common criminal, and none of us would care what Vadal decided to do with him. The casteless are an infestation, a plague. They consume our resources and give nothing in return. They’re barely more than wild animals, savage and uncontrollable. I say we have tolerated them long enough.”

  Harta seemed glad for this diversion. “Indeed, they’re foul creatures, but the Law determines the castes. There have always been untouchables, and we’re required to allow them to live.”

  “That was before one of them stole a sacred ancestor blade!” exclaimed a regulator from Harban. Omand smiled behind his mask. That man might have been high status, but he’d been bought and paid for as surely as any slave. Omand had commanded him to agitate on this topic and his timing was impeccable. “Artya speaks with wisdom.”

  “What would you have us do?” shouted another judge from the opposite end of the gallery. “There are millions of them!”

  “Millions of mouths to feed!” responded Omand’s plant. “Kill the locusts and be done with it.”

  “Drive them all into the sea like we did with the demons,” said a woman sitting off to Omand’s side. “Let’s see if they float.”

  “Why not?” Artya asked. “No good comes from the casteless. We’re already allowed some measure of population control and Thakoors can execute them as necessary to maintain order, but why not dispose of them once and for all?”

  Omand carefully studied the council. No one was fool enough to speak up for the lives of the untouchables, but they were still valuable assets, especially in the houses that required vast amounts of manual labor. The Vokkan and Sarnobat delegations seemed angry that the subject had been changed away from harming their powerful neighbor. The rest knew this would go nowhere. The topic of exterminating the untouchables came up every so often, but that was a lot of work.

  “The casteless are property, are they not? If they are property, then why are we not allowed to do with them as we please? The Law wouldn’t require us to keep a pet dog that had turned rabid. Another false prophet has arisen in the south, and his meddling has disrupted the flow of trade. We are all aware of the Law as it stands, but times have changed. We are a nation of industry now, and the casteless are no longer necessary. The lowest of the workers can take on their vital duties.”

  There were a few token representatives of the second and third castes seated in the very back of the Chamber of Argument. Omand carefully studied the workers’ faces. These were wealthy among their kind, but they were ants here. They didn’t look happy at the idea of their people handling sewage, carcasses, and other unpleasant things, but it wasn’t like these particular quality individuals were in any danger of getting their own hands dirty. They’d simply create a new division for their undesirables and obligate them to the work.

  Of far more interest to Omand, however, were the faces of the warrior caste’s representatives, and they had sent no fools. Those assigned to observe the Chamber of Argument were usually experienced commanders, crippled in battle and no longer able to fight, but still sharp and not easily riled. They hadn’t grown up playing the game, but they were good at thinking fast and keeping their emotions in check. Exterminating the casteless would be their caste’s responsibility, and it would be a huge undertaking. Omand needed their support, but the warriors just sat there, straight-backed, focused and stern. Hard to tell . . .

  “I officially propose destroying all of the untouchables,” Artya said, advocating the death of millions about as dispassionately as discussing the weather. Several others shouted their agreement, making the proposal official.

  “A proposal has been put forward.” The presiding judge hit his staff on the floor. “You raise interesting questions, Arbiter Artya, but there are thousands of pages of regulations pertaining to the mandatory continuation of the casteless bloodlines and the dispensation of property. The committee has not done sufficient research on this point of law to discuss it at this time. We must understand why these regulations exist and if they are open to interpretation or amendment.” The scribes and legal experts sitting in the rows behind the presiding judge began to whisper among themselves. Oh, how they do love a good legal question. “I hereby obligate the Order of Archivists to research this topic and prepare a report.”

  Omand found it satisfying that the judge picked the Archivists and not the Historian Order, but he had made preparations either way. That report would say exactly what he wanted it to say.

  “If it is acceptable to both the offender and the offended, the committee will reconvene on this topic in sixty days.”

  Considering the bloated, ponderous nature of the bureaucracy, Omand would be surprised if they finished their report by then, but Harta and the representative from Akershan were both eager to agree. It bought Vad
al more time to figure out how to deal with their shameful prisoner, and Akershan would be delighted to have their rebellion put down once and for all. Once word trickled down through the castes that the Capitol was thinking about cracking down on all the untouchables because of the actions of their violent few, the non-people would silence their own troublemakers as they always did.

  “Idiots,” Devedas muttered to himself.

  “What’s that, Lord Protector?”

  “Nothing.”

  Omand smiled beneath his mask. Surely Devedas was marveling about how soft-palmed bureaucrats could so flippantly discuss slaughter on this scale, when most of them had never even killed their own dinner. Welcome to the Capitol, Lord Protector.

  The meeting was adjourned so all the important people could return to swindling, bribing, coercing, seducing, and blackmailing each other. The Capitol rarely changed. There were minor shifts in the balance of power, and houses came and went, but for hundreds of years things had stayed basically the same. They all knew Artya’s proposal would go nowhere, because extreme changes to the Law damaged their comfortable entropy, and annihilating millions, even if they were wretched non-people, was rather extreme. The wind and sand would erode the city walls away before this august body committed to anything so drastic.

  Unless of course, they had no choice.

  Omand was extremely pleased. The game had gone well for him today.

  Chapter 15

  After the public farce was over, the real business was conducted. There was a small Census and Taxation office across the street from the Chamber of Argument, except this compound had secretly been claimed by the Inquisition. Omand had made certain that none of his twenty important guests had been followed. Though only a few of them were fellow Inquisitors, all of his guests wore masks or veils to protect their identity. Their insignia and tokens of office were hidden. Omand was the only person who knew who everyone really was, and he was the only one whom they all knew by his real name. He wasn’t particularly worried about any of them betraying him, because who would they betray him to? They all knew he had ears everywhere.

  The Capitol was a web of plots and secrets, and Omand was the spider at the center.

  One of his men brought in their final arrival. She was wearing a veil and introduced with a code name, but only an imbecile wouldn’t recognize the young arbiter from Zarger who had caused such a stir earlier. “Excellent work.” Omand congratulated the newest member of his conspiracy. “You had them eating from the palm of your hand like adorable baby birds.”

  Artya gave him a very respectful bow. “It was my pleasure, but my Thakoor wasn’t expecting me to make any proposals. We were to remain neutral for now. I’ll be severely reprimanded, possibly even demoted.”

  “Don’t worry, a year from now when we’re rounding up all the untouchables you’ll be hailed as a visionary.”

  “I’m sure he will wait to see what the scribes’ research finds before he announces my punishment.” Artya sighed.

  The arbiters would debate, the scribes would pore over the scrolls, and a new report would be presented on the casteless problem. Omand already knew what those reports should have said because unlike most, he remembered their history. Legally speaking, the casteless were a necessary evil, kept around because of the vague threat of an even greater evil. To the dispassionate Law, it was all a matter of value, so to get what he wanted, Omand simply needed to rebalance the scales.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he assured her. Artya was rather attractive, and she struck him as intelligent, articulate, and conniving, all useful traits. If she had the stomach for hurting people, she would probably do rather well as an Inquisitor. “If the punishment is too severe for you to remain with your house, then I’m certain an important assignment could open within the Inquisition. Your Thakoor owes me an obligation or two.”

  “I am humbled by your generosity, Grand Inquisitor.” She even managed to sound sincere as she said it, so she was also an excellent liar. It didn’t matter if she had an aversion to torturing confessions out of witches or not, when someone of his status offered an assignment, it was accepted.

  The other conspirators were already seated on cushions around a low table. The slaves who brought their refreshments were deaf, and if he had even the briefest suspicion that any of them was paying too much attention he’d have them strangled and buried in the garden. It was amusing to him that most of his guests didn’t know how to eat or drink while wearing a mask. Silk was best if you were planning on eating. Decorative porcelain or metal masks were saved for formal occasions, or when one needed to make a statement. The trick was to keep it tight across the bridge of the nose and loose over the mouth and chin, then stick with finger foods in public. Amateurs.

  One nice thing about taking over a census office was all of the maps and population tallies were already here. Most of the non-people had been located, numbered, and registered for their convenience, because all houses had to pay annual property taxes, and casteless were just a fleshy form of property, similar to—but sometimes less valuable than—livestock. For years Omand had been gently suggesting that the casteless were a terrible threat to society, so he’d been steering the many competing bureaucracies of the Capitol into doing all his preparatory work for him. Maps were spread across the table, and he was glad to see that the few members of the warrior caste who had joined his secret cabal were already making plans about how to conduct their war of extermination.

  “Greetings, my friends,” Omand told his fellow conspirators. “Today we welcome a sister to our ranks.” There was some polite clapping as Artya took her seat. “Excellent. Thank you.”

  Omand surveyed the room. These were the people who were going to help him achieve his goals. Staging a coup and overthrowing the government was simply not a one-man job. They were all here for different reasons, politicians, warriors, wealthy bankers, even wizards, but the important thing was that they were all useful and connected. “Today I bring fantastic news and a wonderful opportunity before you. After today’s reading of the offense, you are all aware of the situation in the north, but you may not yet comprehend the dire situation in the south.” He nodded at one of the masked men to proceed.

  This conspirator was from the affected house. “The rebellion is far worse than what has been reported before the committee. This prophet has inspired many to join their cause, and as a result he’s built a small army of religious fanatics who’ve been waging war against House Akershan. They’ve destroyed multiple settlements, disrupted trade routes, and sabotaged many of the iron mines. There’s no doubt that this is the costliest rebellion any house has experienced in generations.”

  Most of the cabal took some sick pleasure at that news. They may have been united in their desire for power, but everyone retained some bias in favor of the house he’d been born into, so it was natural to delight in the suffering of another. It was poor Akershan that was burning instead of their ancestral holdings, so that was a cause for rejoicing.

  Though they were all in disguise, it was easy to pick out the warrior caste among them from their sheer physical presence. The courtly types looked frail in comparison. One of his warriors spoke, “To be fair to our southern brethren, from examining the tactics of the rebels, I believe that some members of the higher castes have joined with them and are providing training and logistical support. This is no mere casteless mob.”

  “Impossible,” said another.

  “They’re certainly not fighting like fish-eaters,” said his southern spy. His real name was Faril, and it was his family holdings that were being torched. “Their leadership is hiding in the mountains and we’ve not been able to root them out. Someone has been supplying them with illegal magic, and there’ve even been indications that they’ve been in contact with Fortress.”

  A warrior swore. “If only we could get an army across the sea without being torn apart by demons we’d destroy those lunatics once and for all.”

  Omand watched
their reactions carefully. Fortress had earned its name by being unassailable. The island was tantalizingly close to the mainland. The strip of ocean separating them was so narrow in a few places that in the coldest years a brave man could walk across the shifting ice floes. Over the centuries different houses had tried to send armies across, but any activity on the ice inevitably attracted swarms of demons. Small groups had made it to the island, only to perish against the great stone walls as the fanatics rained fire and thunder down on them.

  As much as it galled the bureaucracy to have anyone not bend their knee to the Law, after many fruitless sieges and thousands of dead warriors, most of the first caste liked to pretend that the island of fanatics didn’t exist at all.

  “It has been years since an army has tried to cross the channel,” Artya said.

  “The fanatics cross somehow,” Faril spat.

  “Doubtful,” said a northern judge. “That’s nothing but rumors southern houses use to excuse their inability to keep their untouchables in line. More likely it’s their lax standards of discipline stirring up trouble, than witches from Fortress.”

  Omand put an end to that myth before his meeting degenerated into prideful house bickering. “It is extremely rare, but such crossings have been documented before.” No one, not even the best minds of the Inquisition, had been able to figure out how they snuck across even during warm years. Theories ranged from magical flying devices to secret tunnels beneath the ocean floor.

  “Recently, some of our soldiers have been killed by Fortress forged weapons, so either they’re smuggling things across, or worse, someone has taught the rebels how to recreate their alchemy here.” Faril paused to let that sink in. Now that was serious. No house wanted that madness spreading to their lands. The warrior caste was especially terrified of weapons which could make the lowest among them equals in battle to someone who’d spent his whole life training. “The rebels refuse to fight unless they have overwhelming numbers, and when they don’t they simply flee and blend back into the casteless slums to hide. Normally the rebellious would be given up by the other non-people with a few bribes or threats, but this prophet keeps the masses silent, through fear or adoration, we don’t know. Purging entire casteless quarters has only caused more to join his army.”