Chapter 3
Somewhere on the road between the Tower of Silence and the Capitol, Grand Inquisitor Omand Vokkan smoked his pipe and watched a corpse pile burn.
No stranger to having heretics put to the torch, Omand had recognized the smell of burning human flesh a long time before his carriage had drawn near. When his guards had notified him about the bonfire, he had ordered them to stop and find out what was going on here. They had investigated and then reported that the bodies upon the fire were merely casteless non-people, and thus of no importance whatsoever.
Yet he had decided to get out of his carriage anyway. Omand was a very important man, with many important things to do, but Inquisitors were by nature curious.
Of course his presence had caused a great deal of consternation among the local authorities, as anyone rational feared drawing the displeasure of someone as powerful as the Grand Inquisitor, but Omand had assured them that he did not intend to meddle in their affairs, he was merely passing through on other business, and this was as fine a place as any to rest the horses for a time. These Law-abiding men had absolutely nothing to worry about from the Grand Inquisitor.
Nobody ever believed him when he told them that, and Omand liked it that way.
He had told his guards to leave him be for a time, so that he might enjoy a moment of desert solitude, to relax from the ride and ponder the nature of things, while he watched the bodies char and twist and crumble.
Omand had been informed those thrown on the bonfire were wretched untouchables, being disposed of as the Law now required. Except it struck him as odd that there would still be any casteless left to kill this close to the Capitol, so many months after the Great Extermination had been passed. It wasn’t as if there had been very many wretched non-people in a city of such wealth and prestige to begin with. The Capitol was a marvel of lofty palaces, sprawling markets, and gigantic government buildings designed to showcase the might and splendor of the Orders housed within, yet even the mighty needed someone to do the filthy unseen chores which kept a city livable, like maintaining the sewers or hauling off the corpses. Those casteless had been the first to go, put to the sword within minutes of the Great Extermination going into effect, as everyone had rushed to annihilate the lowest of the low to curry favor from the highest of the high.
Omand held no special hatred for the non-people. He cared about them as much as he did anyone else…as in, not at all. Arranging their genocide had been nothing personal. It had simply been something that had been necessary to satisfy the deal he had made with a sea demon. Only a few people today understood that the casteless were the descendants of ancient Ramrowan, the first king. But the demons knew, and even a thousand years after Ramrowan’s death the demons still despised him. The demon had wanted that bloodline destroyed, and in exchange, it had promised to show Omand the secret location of the ultimate treasure that he’d devoted his life toward claiming.
So Omand had conspired with a demon to kill millions of untouchables, and then through subterfuge, blackmail, and manipulations both subtle and overt, Omand had gotten his Great Extermination. There had been corpse fires like this across all of Lok. Or the casteless had been hacked with blades, starved, or hurled into the sea. The method hadn’t mattered, only that they all die. The number who had perished so far was unknowable. Since they weren’t actual people, the accounting for them was rather lax.
Some houses had been more vigorous in enacting the Great Extermination than others. No great house liked their casteless, but for some of them, their economies were dependent on that source of cheap and abundant labor, like agrarian Uttara or the miners of Thao, so they had been slow in their response, only grudgingly committing to mass murder. Other great houses, like Makao or Vokkan—who had very little use for their non-people—had been gleeful to finally have the opportunity to eradicate their vermin. They probably would have done so generations ago, but at the time the Law had prevented such slaughter and required every house to maintain a population of casteless within their borders. Only with the passage of the Great Extermination had those houses been eager to drown their lands in casteless blood. The wealthiest of all the houses—Vadal—had disregarded the Great Extermination order entirely, for reasons that Omand’s spies were still unsure of. Omand suspected that rebuke was simply Harta Vadal trying to annoy him.
Thus, it had been a most lopsided genocide so far.
The whole thing was also completely unnecessary now, since merely starting the Great Extermination had been enough to trick the demon into revealing to Omand its secrets. Now that demon was dead, its body harvested for parts, and a large expedition of Omand’s Inquisitors were busy excavating the site the demon had shown him in the jungles of Gujara. So far the expedition had found enough to confirm that this time it was the real source, and not another demon trick like the scourge that had been unleased in Vadal.
Soon, very soon, Omand would go and claim his treasure.
So the Great Extermination had fulfilled its true purpose. Omand could try to stop it now, but a fire so great, once started, could not be easily contained. It would simply have to burn itself out. Millions more would die, but that was a small price to pay for Omand’s immortality.
A sharp wind blew across the sand. There was a bite to it.
Someone stopped a polite distance away and waited to be noticed. Omand saw that it was his loyal assistant Taraba, who had—as usual—anticipated his master’s curiosity and found out exactly what was going on here for him. He had removed his golden mask so he could smoke his pipe, but Taraba was one of the few who Omand allowed to see his true face. Not that the mask of flesh he’d been born with gave away any more secrets than his official mask made of gold.
“You may approach, Taraba. Tell me what you learned.”
“These casteless were the ones who carried the city’s trash to the burn pits in the desert. They should’ve been killed months ago, but their worker-caste overseer was softhearted, and more fond of his animals than he was loyal to the Law. After the Great Extermination passed, the overseer hid these casteless on one of his nearby properties. When one of his family found out, they promptly informed on him to the Inquisition. This is the result.”
“How prosaic.” For a moment, Omand had thought there might be something more to this, but alas, such disobedience was an all-too-common thing. “The worker?”
Taraba inclined his head toward the fire. “Already on the pile.”
“The informer?”
“Compensated handsomely in bank notes and a promotion in status.”
Omand nodded. “As is proper. People are the same as dogs. They must be trained to be obedient. Punish wickedness. Reward devotion. Do both publicly so the rest will learn.”
“Of course, sir.”
They were quiet for a time as Omand watched the flames flicker. Taraba knew to remain silent, patiently awaiting the needs of his master. Taraba was a good servant, so loyal he had once disguised himself as a casteless to assassinate the Chief Judge with a Fortress rod on the steps of the Chamber of Argument upon Omand’s command…but Taraba’s greatest use was as a listener who allowed Omand to talk out whatever was troubling him, without having to worry about betrayal.
“Did you confirm the message from Great House Akershan?”
“We’re still awaiting word from our other spies there, but if the rumor about their sword isn’t true, the Akershani army still seems to believe it is. Their Thakoor has made no public statement yet.”
The message had been so outlandish that Omand had hesitated to believe it. Not only had it claimed that Ashok Vadal was still alive, but that he had defeated Akershan’s bearer in single combat and claimed their ancestor blade as his own. Now Ashok was holding the sword hostage, and Akershan had to spare its rebels and casteless or else Ashok would break another precious ancestor blade. And who would dare doubt him? Ashok had already broken one of the irreplaceable things.
Omand had already used his magic to check that no one else was watching them except the skulls in the fire, so spoke freely. “In turning Ashok Vadal into a criminal, I envisioned a wonderful tool of destabilization and disruption. He was a good Protector, but he has been an outstanding rebel. Ashok has far outperformed the use I imagined I’d wring from him. Yet, his use to me is over. Now he vexes me by not dying when it is convenient for me. I believe I may have created a monster, Taraba.”
“Harta Vadal’s mother and their house wizards created that monster. You were smart enough to see the opportunity Ashok represented.”
“It was rather ingenious of me,” Omand agreed.
“Indeed, sir. Yet when word spreads that Ashok still lives now, it may damage Raja Devedas’ reputation. Part of his reputation is based upon being the one who defeated rebel Ashok once and for all.”
Taraba was astute. To overthrow the judges and take over the Capitol, Omand’s puppet king had required a legend sufficient to unite all the houses and castes behind him. Defeating the infamous murderer Ashok had been Devedas’ crowning achievement, near literally. Omand had not been quite ready to move against the judges, but when the pillar of fire had struck Vadal for all the world to see, he had capitalized on the judge’s fear. In that moment of crises they had longed for a strong leader, respected by all, and Omand had been happy to provide them with Devedas.
“The Capitol is under my thumb. I have replaced their truth with one of my own construction. The troublesome have been removed or negated. The few who dare to say the Inquisition goes too far are shouted down. Who will question the need for firm leadership, while beams of scalding fire shoot from the sky, and the rebels have stolen away the very water they drink?”
“Another brilliant move to allow such a thing, sir.”
“It was.” Though Omand recalled that letting the rebels have that victory had been Taraba’s suggestion. “I marvel that after inflicting so much uncertainty and dread upon this people, even after presenting them a perfect villain, a madman armed with a black sword leading mobs of bloodthirsty savage casteless to massacre their brothers and sisters of the First, it was seeing their gardens wilt and flowers die as they rationed their drinking water that finally sealed their fear enough to let me do whatever I want. Comfort is such a mundane thing to sacrifice a society for, but such is life…We now have a king again in all but title, and that king is mostly under my control. Devedas is too prideful to be a proper puppet, but that great pride of his keeps him predictable, and thus manageable. As long as Devedas makes the first caste feel safe, he will retain their favor. I’d hate to lose that.”
“You have invested too much effort into constructing this king, to create a new one now.”
“Correct, Taraba.” Perhaps the boy was too clever for his own good? Perhaps a test was in order. Omand smoked his pipe and mulled over his troubles. “I think we should send everyone we have available to find and kill Ashok. Preferably quietly.”
“I can arrange that, sir.”
“I’m not just speaking of Inquisitors, but activate every hidden witch hunter, hire every illegal wizard and all the survivors of the House of Assassins, bribe every cutthroat if you must—spare no expense, the deed must be done. The black heart is a variable I can no longer account for. His use to me has passed. Ashok Vadal must die.”
“I will see to it at once.” Taraba began walking away.
“Wait…”
Omand hesitated because the hour of his triumph was at hand. Decades of planning, preparation, and study were near fruition. Ashok was only one man. The forgotten gods may have been a myth, but their power had been very real. If they were not true gods, then they had still been godlike in their abilities. In the old world, before the rain of demons, the ancients had controlled incredible magics, altering matter on command and bending reality on a whim. They had created new forms of life, and even overcome death itself. Those ancients had fallen before the demons, but they had understood that eventually the world would be ready for their heir, and they had prepared an inheritance accordingly. Seizing that inheritance had become Omand’s life work. He could not jeopardize it now, while it was so tantalizingly close.
Omand took a long draw from his pipe.
“Amend that order, Taraba. Recruit that dark cadre, but do not send them against Ashok. Instead I will give you that secret army to use as you see fit, for you will be going to the north without me.”
Taraba hesitated. “Sir?”
“Priorities, Taraba. Priorities. It will take a careful hand to push Devedas in the correct direction. His familiarity with war is also his weakness. He has seen so much combat, he has no glory left to gain from it, and thus no hunger for bloodshed. Our plans require bloodshed. I suspect Devedas will try to forge some manner of peace with Harta Vadal. They are the only house strong enough to threaten my hold on the Capitol, thus Vadal must be crushed. Do whatever it takes to ensure our Raja and his Army of Many Houses is manipulated into waging war against Vadal. You know who the players are and what they value the most. Do whatever you must to achieve our goals there. See to it I get my war.”
Taraba’s mask covered his face, but the surprise was apparent in his voice. “I am incredibly honored by your trust, but—”
“I know, I know. This is such an important endeavor that normally I would oversee the operation myself, but I must focus upon more important matters. Once I am satisfied that there is no one left in the Capitol to rise up against us—and a war in the north will see to that—I will journey to Gujara, to personally monitor the expedition there.”
His assistant was obviously confused, as even Omand’s closest conspirators didn’t know about that part of Omand’s plan. They thought that they were merely overthrowing the government and putting themselves in charge. What was the point of taking control of the Capitol, only to abandon it? Taraba was a good Inquisitor, but he lacked the vision to grasp what was really at stake. Omand didn’t just intend to rule all of Lok. He intended to do so forever.
“Do not fret, Taraba, this experience will prepare you to assume my title of Grand Inquisitor once I retire to be our new king’s only advisor. In the meantime, I will remain in contact with you via demon bone. I understand you want to ask why this expedition in the jungle is so important, but alas, you should not. Do not offend me by trying.”
“As you wish.” Taraba bowed. He seemed intimidated, yet confident in his abilities. It was a good balance. The boy would do fine. He was cunning, murderous, and imaginative, and Omand had just told him there were no limits. It would be interesting to see what the boy could accomplish when taken off the leash. “Thank you for this responsibility. I will gather my killers and leave for Vadal immediately.”
“Excellent. Motivate them by coin, demon, or duty, I don’t care, as long as you do not fail me.” Omand gave him a fatherly smile, not that he was actually capable of feeling any such prideful emotions. Taraba would do what he was told, which was why he would be a perfect replacement for a man who never intended to give up any real power. “Go and tell my driver to prepare my carriage.” The casteless had been so thin, the fire was already running out of fuel. “I’m almost done here.”
Alone once more, Omand contemplated his next move in the great game. It was odd. So many decades had been spent guiding events to this point, and now everything was happening all at once. There was an old Uttaran saying that seemed fitting: Things move slowly, until they don’t. Nothing changes, until everything does.
Yet Omand remained troubled, and that was not a feeling he was used to. As he smoked his fine Vadal tobacco and watched the last flesh char into ash, he realized it wasn’t the unpredictable actions of dangerous men like Ashok or Devedas that were bothering him, nor even his impending apotheosis…He was troubled by the last words of his demon prisoner. It wasn’t sufficient to label the torturous mind screams of a demon as words, but that description would have to do. The creature had been so overjoyed upon believing the lie that the entire bloodline of Ramrowan had been wiped out, that it had gladly shown Omand where the source of all magic had crashed into the world. Its attitude had been let Omand enjoy the power of the gods, because what did that matter now?
Omand was always honest with himself. Only weak men deceived themselves into believing comforting things that were untrue. Great men dealt in cold reality. What was truly distressing him was that final message the tricky demon had managed to send by magic to its brethren beneath the sea:
It is time.
Time for what? Omand didn’t know, and it was his place to know everything. He had believed the demon’s motivation had been simple revenge, annihilating the bloodline of the man responsible for driving them into the ocean so long ago. It had been a logical assumption, for a demon’s capacity for hate was incomprehensible, and demons never forget. Alas, he suspected there was something more. What made the weak and powerless non-people so important to the mighty demons? What had he missed?
It is time.
No matter. Whatever it was would be a small price to pay, for when Omand ruled, he would do so not as Lok’s king, but as its god.