Luckily, she didn’t have to go very far before they struck. In fact, she’d have been dead twice before she’d even realized she was under attack if it hadn’t been for Karno.
Suddenly, he dropped all but one of the books. Rada turned to see what was the matter, but the big man reached out, lightning quick, and shoved the book right in front of her face. Thunk. At first she’d thought the blur had been a flying bug, but then she saw the fletching and realized an arrow had been stuck deep into Urag’s Compilation of Trade Regulations.
An instant later Karno had turned away to intercept a plain-looking worker. It wasn’t until Karno had grabbed onto him that Rada realized the worker was holding a knife in his hand, hidden low at his side. It was hard to tell what happened because it was all so fast, but Karno twisted the worker’s arm in a direction never intended by nature. The man snarled, struggled, then cried out in pain as Karno levered him around and snapped the bones of his arm. Karno took the worker’s knife away and stabbed him in the stomach so hard that it lifted the worker from his feet. Karno twisted and the man screamed. A blob of blood fell and burst on the stone. Droplets hit Rada’s shoes.
Shocked, she looked up to see that several warriors were pushing through the crowd straight toward her. The violence had all happened so fast that it made no sense that their swords were already drawn. “Get down,” Karno told Rada, as he lifted the impaled man to shoulder height, then threw him at the warriors. The impact swept people from their feet, and from their shocked and indignant reactions, most of them weren’t assassins. But the warriors kept on coming.
As Rada ducked behind a noodle cart, Karno spread his arms and calmly waited for the warriors to approach. There were four of them, wearing the insignia of Capitol guards on their chests. As people realized the cries were coming from a man who’d just been disemboweled by an unruly giant slave, and swords had been drawn, the crowd retreated. Members of the first caste might have been fans of watching bloodshed, but they didn’t enjoy being participants. The warriors spread out, swords pointed at Karno, but Rada realized they were eyeing her, seeking an angle past the giant.
“Archer on the second floor of the building with the red pillars,” Karno stated, and that seemed like an odd thing to say to his assailants, until she realized that instead he’d meant the message for the cloaked figure who had suddenly appeared through the fleeing crowd.
A warrior turned just in time to catch Devedas’ curved southern blade through his neck. The blow was so quick, so smooth, that Rada hadn’t even realized the warrior’s head was now travelling in a different direction from his body.
Devedas tossed something toward Karno, then he turned to face the other warriors. Karno caught the hammer—this one far smaller than the one he’d threatened her with—but rather than join in the fight, he went to the noodle stand and protectively placed his bulk in front of Rada, shielding her from harm.
“What are you doing? Help him!”
“My orders are to keep you safe. He’s got this,” Karno stated as he searched for other threats.
The three warriors approached Devedas. He lifted his curved blade in both hands, shoulder high, and waited, seeming as still as a statue. Devedas was in danger. If Karno wouldn’t help, then she would! Rada drew her ceremonial dagger.
“Calm yourself and watch,” Karno said.
The warriors lifted their swords, screamed, and charged Devedas. The Protector moved with such inhuman grace that it was like nothing Rada had ever seen. The odd southern blade took off a warrior’s arm at the elbow so smoothly it was like watching a gardener prune a tree. Devedas moved around the disarmed warrior, slicing him open from belly button to spine, and then immediately swung at his companion, hitting him in the hip so hard that the warrior went spinning away, flinging blood like a fountain.
That injured warrior stumbled toward the noodle cart, but that must have been too close for Karno’s comfort, because the big Protector surged forward, and embedded his hammer in the man’s skull. Crack! He wrenched the hammer out and stepped back in front of Rada before the limp body had even hit the ground. Rada realized there was hair and…stuff…clinging to the hammer and dripping down the handle onto his meaty hand. Karno didn’t seem to notice.
The last warrior took one quick look at his dying allies, then at Devedas, and decided to flee. He made it all of five feet before Devedas intercepted him, caught him by the uniform, and slung him hard against a sandstone wall. The warrior desperately swung his sword, but Devedas parried it, then kicked the warrior in the knee. He toppled, but Devedas dragged him back by the hair, and smashed the man’s nose with his knee.
“I recognize your pathetic fighting stance. The Inquisition’s training is inferior, but I suppose an order doesn’t need to spend much time on sword training when they mostly fight unarmed women,” Devedas said as he shoved him away.
“You,” the assassin spat as he recognized the scar across Devedas’ face. He tried to lift his sword, but Devedas effortlessly delivered a cut so deep that it severed the tendons and left the warrior’s arm dangling useless. He let out a terrible wail that made Rada flinch.
Devedas kicked the sword from his limp fingers. “Who sent you?”
“You know,” he gasped.
The Lord Protector nodded. “Of course.” Then he kicked the man in the ribs. “How is the Grand Inquisitor?”
There was shouting. Rada looked up to see another group of warriors pushing their way through the stunned witnesses. Karno stepped forward, lifting a chain from beneath his rough spun slave’s shirt. “Don’t worry, Archivist. These guards appear legitimate.” The symbol of the Protector Order swung from the chain as Karno held it high. The warriors made their way into the opening created by the fight, saw the dead and dying, then they saw the swinging silver token. “Protector business,” Karno warned them.
The real warriors froze. Their officer swallowed hard. “Do you require assistance, Protector?”
“Continue your patrol elsewhere.”
The guards seemed really happy to hurry away.
Rada turned back to Devedas. He was standing over the survivor, sword placed against the man’s throat. Blood was running from the assassin’s nose and dripping onto the gleaming steel. “You were supposed to be confined to your compound.”
“No one confines me.” Devedas lifted his sword, placed the tip beneath the man’s ear, and sliced it off. The man screamed. Rada had to cover her mouth so she wouldn’t. “I will spare your life so you can send a message to the Grand Inquisitor. Oh, quit your weeping. You can always hide the stub beneath your mask.”
There was a lot of noise, and incoherent sounds before the man was able to beg, “Mercy, Protector!” as he flopped about.
“Yes, yes, losing an ear truly damages one’s balance, but you’d think someone so used to applying torture would be able to withstand a bit of it himself. Show some dignity. Can you hear my message now, or must I speak into your good ear?”
“Yes, yes!” the man wailed. “I’ll give it.”
“Tell Omand Vokkan that we must speak. Tell him I know. The way he has poisoned the Capitol against my Order is clever, but it will not stand.” Then he bent over and struck the man in the face with his fist, once, twice, three times. Each impact hit with a meaty thud that made Rada wince. Devedas stood straight as the assassin rolled over, coughing up blood and teeth.
There was blood everywhere. She’d never seen anyone die before.
Devedas looked over his shoulder and saw Rada staring at him. For just a moment, he seemed ashamed, as if he’d never intended her to see this side of him, but then his face darkened, and he turned back and kicked the assassin one last time. “And tell him that the librarian is off limits.”
Chapter 36
“You know, a warrior like you could make a lot of money, Risaldar,” Gutch told Jagdish one afternoon. “With the folks I know, and the things they get into, they’re always looking for somebody handy with a blade. People are willing to pay
good notes for magic bits off the Inquisition’s books, but such a trade tends to attract shifty types. A right honorable fellow like you who’s solid in a fight could command a decent wage.”
Jagdish had mostly ignored the big worker over their long journey, but Gutch rarely shut up. “Lots of honorable fellows in the criminal smuggling underworld then?”
“We’re lousy with them!” Gutch had a loud bark of a laugh. The first few times he’d done it the noise had startled his horse so badly it had nearly bucked him off, but after several days his poor bedraggled mount had either gotten used to it or gone deaf. “Keep in mind, honor is a relative term, Risaldar.”
“No, it isn’t,” Jagdish said. They were approaching another fork in the road. One path would take them toward Thao, the other toward Sarnobat. Assuming that Gutch hadn’t been lying to him the whole time, Angruvadal had been moving south. It wasn’t like following a trail, as they weren’t on the same path, but more like following a compass with a twitchy needle. “Which way now?”
Gutch got off his horse, walked to the middle of the road, and spread his arms, slowly turning. Jagdish figured that whole twirling bit was for show, and Gutch looked like a fool for nothing. He had originally started doing that as an excuse to get Jagdish to remove his manacles and chains. After having to stop and reorient himself several times a day, Jagdish had just given up and started leaving the chains off while they traveled. It was probably just a matter of time before the prisoner tried to escape.
Jagdish tried to prod him into getting the show over with. “Surely, you can’t be the only person in Lok with the gift of tracking magic. Perhaps you could refer me to one who works quicker?”
“My talent is extremely rare. If it were a common gift, I wouldn’t have been given absurdly heavy bags of notes to help illegal magic smugglers gather the stuff. There are always dead demon bits washed up on shore, or old fragments of black steel to be stol—er…found. There’s quite a good trade in such things that are off paper for those who want to use magic without the Inquisition sticking their masks in your business. I’ll tell you, it was enough money to tempt even a brilliant artist such as myself from honest labor into terrible criminal misdeeds…Now, please, Risaldar. I’m trying to concentrate.”
After a few minutes of spinning about and humming, Gutch began to speak. “I can feel it…The magic calls to me! The terrible black steel craft alters the very fabric of the world around it!” Gutch put one meaty hand on his forehead and grimaced. “But Jagdish the Warrior would never know this without the faithful service of humble Gutch that mighty Angruvadal is…” Gutch stopped spinning and pointed. “That direction.” He opened his eyes, found the sun, and confirmed it. “South!”
At least he was consistent. “Thao then.” Jagdish was beginning to suspect that his prisoner was full of fish, but at least he hadn’t pointed them toward Sarnobat. Because of the recent raids back and forth, if they discovered Jagdish was from Vadal he’d likely be taken hostage. Then he’d get to experience prison life from both sides, only nobody in Vadal would pay a ransom to have Jagdish returned. “You’d better not be putting me on.”
The big man climbed back on his horse. “Of course not, Risaldar. You have my solemn word as a forge master—well, temporarily retired forge master at least—that I’d never lead you astray.”
Or run off when I’m not looking or murder me in my sleep, Jagdish mused. But Gutch hadn’t fled yet.
The big man talked nonstop the rest of the day as they rode through the forest, but Jagdish couldn’t shake the feeling that he was going to try something. So a few hours later when they’d stopped to camp for the night, Jagdish locked the manacles onto Gutch’s wrists and looped the chain around a stout tree.
“This is hardly a comfortable position to sleep. If I don’t get enough rest, it might affect my tracking ability tomorrow. If my keen magical senses are worn out, I might accidentally lead us astray, Risaldar. We could lose Angruvadal.”
“Uh huh…” Jagdish said as he put together their camp fire.
“What if I need to piss?”
“Hold it until morning.”
“What if in the middle of the night we get attacked by wolves? Or bandits?”
“Try not to wake me.”
“Oh.” Gutch leaned against his tree. “Bark makes a terrible pillow.”
Jagdish got a strong fire going. They’d been climbing all day, and nights were cold in the foothills. Satisfied that it wasn’t going to go out, Jagdish began preparing their food. Thankfully, Gutch was silent for a few minutes while he did it. Once he had the kettle on, Jagdish took out his pocket watch and wound the spring. The marvelous little thing was still working, long after its previous owner had been murdered by wizards. He felt it whir and tick in his hand, and regretted not leaving it with Pakpa.
He missed her already. It was an embarrassment for a bride to have to go back to her parent’s house, but his name had collected so many embarrassments at this point that what was one more? They may have been of different castes, but his loyal soldiers had promised to watch over Pakpa’s family household while he was away, an act of such unselfish kindness that it had left Jagdish humbled.
“Do you mind if I ask you something, Risaldar?”
“Me minding hasn’t stopped you once yet. What?” Jagdish muttered, but then Gutch was quiet. He looked over to see that the worker was studying him intently. There was a lot more intelligence behind those beady little eyes than the big man let on. “What do you want to know?”
“Why are you doing this?”
Jagdish assumed he wasn’t talking about fixing supper. “I have to. I’ve got nothing else.”
“I noticed your wife see you off at the gates of the city. Hardy worker stock by the looks of her. Maybe we’re distant cousins? But a beautiful girl, and it was plain as day how she feels about you. Can’t hardly call that nothing.”
“We both know Ashok wasn’t the one who attacked Cold Stream. I can’t let that stand.”
“And when you catch up to him, you’re going to do what? Are you going to have him sign a testimony? I hereby swear I didn’t murder everybody. Now I’m no judge, but I figure they might be a little leery of taking him at his word.”
“I’ll think of something,” Jagdish said.
“Do you think you can duel him and take his sword? My cell had a crack in the wall. I got to watch how your sparring sessions went. If you think that’s going to happen, you’re delusional.”
“Damn it, Gutch, I don’t care about the sword. I care about the truth. My name has been dishonored. That’s…” Jagdish sighed. “You’re not a warrior. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m a different caste, not a different species. I know what it means to have a name.” That hung there for a while as Gutch continued studying him.
“Perhaps.” Jagdish looked back down at the pocket watch. “You’ve seen this device?”
“Yes. Impressive little thing. While your caste spends its time hacking each other to bits, my caste improves our lives through labor and miraculous invention. You’re welcome.”
“I should have left it home. If I don’t come back, I want my son to have it.”
“Then return it to him.”
“Only after I prove who really killed my men and my charges. They may have been prisoners, but they deserved better, and their safety was my responsibility. I will avenge them. I will kill these wizards. Then I’ll return, with my name and my honor intact. A warrior is only worth his name.”
Gutch nodded thoughtfully. “You actually believe all that stuff?”
Jagdish put the watch away. “I have to.”
* * *
The next morning Jagdish turned over in his blanket and realized that his prisoner had escaped. The chains were lying discarded at the base of the tree he’d been tethered to. The manacles were still there, but somehow opened. “Oceans!” He threw off the blanket and reached for where he’d left his sword, but his hand hit nothing but pine needle
s.
“Morning, Risaldar. Did you sleep well?” Gutch was sitting on a rock a few yards away. Jagdish’s sword was next to him, still sheathed. The prisoner seemed not only calm, but in a good mood. He gestured at the small cooking pot on the fire. “Breakfast?” Then he made a big show of glancing down at the sword. “Oh, this? I thought you might wake up cranky and I know how you warriors like to cut folks down without thinking things through first.” Gutch lifted the still sheathed sword. “Now that you’ve taken a moment to wake up and realize that I refrained from doing anything bad to you, hopefully you won’t be an ass about it and will grant me the same courtesy.” Gutch tossed the sword over.
Jagdish caught his blade, but left it sheathed. “You could have murdered me in my sleep.”
“I’m not that sort of criminal.”
“How’d you escape?”
“A piece of wire, some mechanical know-how, and nothing else to do all night but work at the tumblers because my pillow was a tree.”
“I’m sorry, was I supposed to have fluffed it for you?”
Gutch laughed. The booming noise echoed through the forest and caused their horses to snort and pull at their ropes and a flock of birds to leap into the air. “So now that we’ve established I’m not going to murder you or run away even when granted the opportunity, let’s reexamine this working relationship of ours. In my caste, we do business willingly, entering pacts based on trust and respect, not threats…Okay, some threats, but only on special occasions. No more chains and in fact, no more of this prisoner nonsense. To hell with the Inquisition, this journey counts as time served. No ordering me around. I’ll keep helping you, but once you’ve murdered all these wizards and restored your honor and whatnot, I’m going to collect their magic fragments, sell them, and buy myself a palace. You strike me as a dedicated enough man to pull it off, and I’ve always wanted a palace…and a harem. A palace with a harem sounds reasonable. Partners?”
Son of the Black Sword - eARC Page 33