Son of the Black Sword

by Larry Correia

  “Protectors have been slaughtering the rebels stupid enough to stand and fight, but they can’t find this prophet either,” supplied another conspirator. As the warriors were easy to spot, so were the courtiers of the first caste, with their smooth inflection, fine clothing, and skin that never saw direct sunlight because there was always a slave there holding an umbrella. He addressed Omand directly, “Even the witch hunters you’ve dispatched haven’t been able to catch him.”

  “That’s because I’ve ordered them to look in the wrong place,” Omand explained patiently. That announcement caused quite a stir. “Calm down. I’ve had Inquisition spies hidden among the prophet’s followers for quite some time.” There seemed to be some confusion at that, and the southern members were aghast. Of course, with their home lands being ravaged by savages, an emotional response had been expected, but that was just part of the game. It was good to occasionally remind the other conspirators that he knew more than they did. “I’ve spared their prophet’s life because a competent foe is actually a good thing for us right now. If our plans are to succeed we’d need a villain eventually, and all these years I’d thought we’d have to manufacture one for the houses to unite against when the time came . . .” Omand raised his hands theatrically toward the heavens and spoke like the actors did when portraying a religious fanatic in a play, “but the gods will provide!”

  “But what about my property?” Faril demanded. “My family is—”

  “Your sacrifice has been noted. After we’ve consolidated power, you will be rewarded.” And just because a little bribery now was more certain than the promise of great bribes later, Omand added, “In the meantime, I will see to it that you are compensated for your material losses.”

  “So you think this is the crisis we’ve been waiting for?” Atrya asked.

  “It is a fine start, but sadly, no. We need something better. Every few generations some delusional casteless who can manage to string a few coherent sentences together gets them all riled up with talk of the Forgotten and tales of make-believe. A false prophet is hardly a unique threat. In time this rebellion would be crushed like all that have come before, and things will return to the way they’ve always been. The houses will go back to squabbling, never-ending competition over scraps, while the Capitol bloviates and guides with a lenient hand, and we will remain a nation in name only.”

  Faril spoke, “We all know such stagnation stands in the way of progress. For society to improve, the Capitol must assume greater central control.” With us in charge, but that went without saying. “But if a mass casteless rebellion isn’t enough to force the houses to give up their autonomy, what is?”

  “Something truly epic, a threat so vile that even the most independent Thakoor will beg for the Capitol’s help.” Omand was rather proud of his idea. It was rare that such a wonderful intersection of opportunity and good fortune arose. It would be a crime not to take advantage of it. “That my friends, is where our fallen Protector and his legendary sword come into play.”

  “He’s so devoted to the Law that he’s voluntarily rotting in a Vadal prison,” said a courtier. “We all heard the offended’s asinine complaint today, but what does Black-Hearted Ashok have to do with an uprising in the south?”

  “Nothing . . . Yet.”

  Chapter 16

  Rada was happiest at times like this. The Presiding Judge had sent out a detailed information request. Such an assignment would send her into the oldest, dustiest, quietest parts of the legal archive for literally weeks on end. She could read and research, moving from one book or scroll to another, coming out only to sleep and eat—when she occasionally remembered to—and then back to the archives. She’d read all day, and then make notes all night by lantern light until the eye strain made her head throb, and then she’d do it again the next day. Once all of the possible legal questions were exhausted, only then would she write her report.

  It was wonderful.

  This particular report was about the ramifications of the proposed destruction of the casteless. Having lived her entire life in the glorious Capitol and being obligated to the prestigious central library most of that time, Archivist Rada had never actually met a casteless, so it was difficult to comprehend the idea of killing all of them. She’d seen the filthy non-people mucking out the storm drains on her way to the library a few times, but for the most part the casteless who lived in the greatest city in the world remained invisible. She’d pulled the latest reports from Census and Taxation for the judges, so she was aware of how many of them there actually were, but understanding numbers on a ledger was different than picturing them as living things. It was a good thing Rada was an academic, because she only had to report on what was actually written in the Law, and didn’t have to delve into the difficult things like interpreting or enforcing those laws.

  This was a rather confusing issue, and one that the legal library had not worked on for quite some time. There had been many regulations pertaining to the casteless passed over the last few hundred years, and those laws were based upon prior laws. So she’d pulled those, and found that they were based on even earlier laws, and those were reworked versions of even older laws. In fact, it turned out there had been a group of people regulated to be untouchables since the Age of Law had begun over eight hundred years ago. This was all rather exciting to Rada, because ancient history was a controlled topic, and could only be reviewed under certain circumstances with approval from the Order of Historians, and they were a tiny, secretive bunch. The only order more tightly controlled than the Historians was probably the Astronomers.

  This case was giving her an excuse to read all sorts of interesting things!

  “Here are the works you requested, Archivist.” One of her assistants entered the room, grunting beneath the weight of a stack of old books. Thoom. He dropped the books on the library table in front of her, which raised a great cloud of dust.

  Rada took off her now dust-speckled reading glasses and wiped them on her sleeve. Glass of this quality was expensive, even by her family’s standards. Satisfied the precious lenses were clean, she put them back on, glanced over the stack and took in all the titles at once. “There are only nineteen here . . . Where’s Ingragdra’s First Volume of Historical Proceedings? Where’s Melati’s Testimony of the Prior Age?”

  “I’m really sorry, but I couldn’t pull those.” The assistant was a little scared of her. “The Lord Archivist declared there’s no reason for us to look at the early histories on this subject.”

  “What? That’s asinine. My assigned topic clearly relates!”

  “General access to information about the prior age is prohibited. You’ll have to take it up with the superiors.”

  Rada sighed. She’d hoped to do this without trading favors. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “The books you’re requesting are in a section I’m not allowed into. My apologies, my lady, but you’ll need written permission to enter.”

  She thought about yelling at her assistant, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. It wasn’t like some low-status librarian was going to fight with the Lord Archivist. That’s my job. She needed to talk to him about this fascinating but troubling assignment anyway. Her investigation had found a few irregularities, and librarians hated irregularities. Since she only needed her glasses to read, she put them back in their case. It was better not to risk such expensive things on a hike through the library. “Fine. I’ll get permission. You stay here and . . . dust . . . or something.”

  It took Rada twenty minutes to get to the Lord Archivist’s office. She walked fast, but the Central Library was just that big, and it wasn’t laid out in a very convenient fashion. In a nation based upon laws, they all had to be collected somewhere, and after hundreds of years of additions to make room for all of the new regulations, decrees, and studies, the library was probably the biggest building in the world. Despite the library’s vast size, she only passed a handful of people on her journey. Because information was va
luable, access to it had to be strictly controlled for everyone’s safety. Her Order was kept small, and approved visitors were rare.

  Once she got to the Lord Archivist’s office, she didn’t wait for the secretary to announce her, but rather just barged right in. The secretary was used to that and didn’t even try to slow Rada down. The head of her Order was sitting at his desk, smoking a pipe, reading a letter, and seeming rather annoyed. “What is it now?” He looked up. “Oh. Hello, Rada. What brings you up from your warren to the sunlight of the top floor, my dear?”

  “I’ve come to yell at you.”

  “Ah, excellent. I should have my underlings thwart you more often, as that’s the only time you care enough to visit your poor, lonely old father.” He put his pipe down and placed his hands on top of his desk, as if preparing himself for important news. “So what has provoked your outrage this time, daughter? Ink that is slightly too blue? Lantern oil that creates too much smoke?”

  “Your cheap oil may have shaved fewer notes from your precious budget, but it caused a premature yellowing of valuable papers, and the Law mandates black ink for inventory forms,” Rada stated.

  Her father grinned. “And such fanatical attention to detail is why you will someday be the one sitting in this chair, listening to junior librarians complain about paper cuts. Your mother and I are very proud of your accomplishments, Rada. If you bothered to dine with your family occasionally you’d probably hear that once in a while. Come outside for once, child. We miss you. The library has been here for five hundred years. It will probably still be here tomorrow.”

  Outside meant people, and Rada didn’t like people. Books were much easier to deal with. “This is serious.”

  “And so is finding you a husband. I tell other families that I have another daughter of marriageable age and they don’t believe me, because no one outside of the library ever sees you. It is said that spotting Radamantha Nems dar Harban is like witnessing a mythical creature, like a unicorn or a whale.”

  “The legends say that whales were fat.” She really didn’t want to talk to her family, but she was willing to make sacrifices for her duty. “Fine. I’ll come to dinner.”

  “Excellent. We’ll see you tonight.”

  “I’m very busy, I was thinking perhaps tomorrow—”

  “Tonight, it is. So what can I do for you, Senior Archivist?”

  “My section has been assigned an important duty by a special committee of judges and I require access to the restricted collection to continue my research.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Her father scratched at his beard. There were crumbs in it. “Those books are controlled for important reasons. The Age of Kings was a time of madness.”

  “I’ll file an official request if I have to. It’s very important.”

  “The foundations of the Law were laid during a very turbulent era. Sadly, when you get that far back into the writings, even those from the early part of this age, reason and science were intermingled with religious fervor, and we all know no good can come of works polluted with lies.”

  “What good are books that no one is ever allowed to read?”

  “Talk like that can cause trouble. The Inquisition burned anything they thought was too dangerous long ago. We were lucky they allowed any questionable writings from that time to survive at all, so it is best not to even remind them that part of the library exists. But you do raise a wonderful philosophical question. Let’s save it for dinner. In the meantime it would still be best if you limited your research to more contemporary writings.”

  Rada appreciated his concern, but it was her nature to continue pushing. “That’s the problem. The newer records are incomplete.”

  “Incomplete?” Those were fighting words to the Lord Archivist. “Impossible.”

  “Some of the items on the catalog are missing.”

  “More than likely they’re just shelved in the wrong place.”

  That was insulting. That had to be the sort of thing that the warrior caste got into duels over. “Nothing in my section is ever shelved in the wrong place. I’ve checked and rechecked. They’re gone. Minutes of debates, prior studies on this topic, disappeared. And I’m afraid a few books . . .” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “have been defaced.”

  “Saltwater!” It was rare to hear profanity out of her father, but books were her family’s life. “What kind of vile scum would harm a book?”

  “Several pages were torn out of each one. I can’t say when this happened. It’s been decades since these were last inventoried, but each time the pages that were taken were related to the same topic. The only reason I found them at all was because of this assignment.”

  Her father was obviously concerned. Damaging library books was a serious crime, punishable by death. “And what is this research topic of yours?”

  “I’m to find if there are any potential legal ramifications for eradicating all the casteless non-people.”

  It was odd. Unlike most in their Order, her father was of such high status that he actually had windows, so he had the darkest skin of any librarian Rada knew. During the summer he could almost pass for a worker. She’d never seen him turn pale before. Father looked as if he was going to be ill, and for a moment, the hands on his desk were actually being used to steady himself rather than for show.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Rada,” he lied. He was clearly not. “I didn’t know you were working on that project. I thought that was assigned to Senior Archivist Gurman?”

  “Gurman’s an imbecile. He’s a political obligation because his family donated enough money to add a wing to the library. I’m not entirely convinced he’s even literate. I traded assignments with him. He’s lazy, so it was easy to convince him to swap.”

  Her father took several deep breaths to compose himself. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I thought you’d be proud. While Gurman’s section is researching legislation pertaining to irrigation and soil erosion for some minor house court, my section is helping the presiding judge. It’s obvious which one is the more important job.”

  “And on some subjects, doing a thorough job results in punishment rather than a reward,” he muttered. Agitated, he drummed his fingers against a desk. “This isn’t good, Rada, not good at all. There are plenty of scribes working on this issue. It will be enough without delving into ancient history. For your report just use what you already have. Pay no mind to the rest. It is of no concern.”

  “I can’t—”

  “No concern!” he shouted.

  Rada flinched. Her father hadn’t raised his voice to her since she’d been a child. “Why are you yelling at me?”

  “I’m sorry. Just . . . Finish your report. I’ll take care of noting the damage on the inventory. Stay away from the restricted collection. If the committee cares so much, they can ask the Historians.”

  “But my report would be incomplete. There seems to be something dating back to the founding of the Law concerning the casteless that’s missing. As it stands, the Law mandates their continued existence, but why it requires this is confusing. I’m supposed to provide a historical context. I can’t turn in a flawed report to the judges. It’ll bring dishonor to the library.”

  “That’s on my head, not yours. I’ll sign off on it.”

  “That would be dishonest!” Leaving out information was the same as lying. She’d learned to be a scholar from her father, and academic honesty always trumped all other concerns, so this was a very troubling conversation. “Do you know what was on those missing pages?”

  “Of course not. It was probably vandalism, nothing more . . .”

  “It seems too much of a coincidence for it not to be sabotage.”

  “You know what? On second thought, forget the report. You’re done.” Her father was extremely agitated. Normally he was a very calm and rational man. “This was Gurman’s assignment, not yours, and you were wrong to take it. I’m giving it back to him.”

&
nbsp; “Father!”

  “That’s final. Go do your report on watering plants or whatever it is. I’ll hear no further argument.”

  “Fine!” She stood up and stormed away, planning on giving his office door a good slamming. And then she noticed something on the wall . . .

  “Come back here!” Her father turned to his writing desk, and rummaged about for supplies, until he found a scrap of paper. Using a fine glass pen he scribbled a quick note. Rada became nervous. She’d never been officially reprimanded before. Her record was spotless. He passed it over but she couldn’t even read it without her glasses. “Give this reprimand to Gurman for shirking his duty, and count yourself lucky that you’re not getting one yourself. If everyone in the government did whatever they felt like instead of what they were told, the Capitol would descend into madness.”

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  The Lord Archivist got up and went around his desk to her, trying to act like he wasn’t upset, but she’d never seen him so flushed and nervous before. “Now back to work, silly girl. I’ll tell your mother to expect you for dinner.”

  She accepted his awkward hug, then hurried out of the office, hoping that he wouldn’t notice she’d stolen a spare ring of keys from its peg on the wall.

  * * *

  Rada missed the family dinner that evening because she was too busy sneaking into the library’s restricted collection.

  She’d thought about putting the keys back and doing as her father had instructed, but she was curious to see what all the fuss was about. All her life her father had lectured about the importance of their order putting integrity above all other concerns. Archivists took no side. The Capitol depended on their honesty and thoroughness. Good law couldn’t be built upon a foundation of bad information. So what was it about this casteless problem that could cause her father to ignore such a fundamental philosophy?