Chapter 28
All about Devedas, his men were dying.
They’d been driven from the high ground and hounded across the workers’ district. He was trading dozens of lives for each demon they managed to kill, and for each demon slain, two more had taken its place. The Army of Many Houses had been forced to retreat from the evil water back into the city, and hell had hungrily followed.
Beneath the pounding cannons the Maharaja and his Army of Many Houses fought a desperate, losing battle. Twenty yards from Devedas, a demon got its skull splattered open by a giant metal ball. The projectile sped through the rest of the demons, rebounding off bodies, and knocking several of the smaller ones down. The gun man Gutch had certainly earned his bank notes today.
They stood in a rain of sparks and swirling white smoke. Through that smoke came death, as more and more demons poured into the district. There were worker-caste gunners atop every building, but the demons simply clambered up the walls to throw those annoyances to their deaths.
“Light the trenches!” Devedas shouted.
The Vadal were a wily bunch, and Jagdish had proven to be by far the cleverest of them all. His defensive preparations had including setting up a series of traps all across the city. Lantern oil and a volatile alchemical sludge had been dumped into trenches the workers had dug in strategic places. A moment later, a blazing wall of fire rose up between the forces of land and sea.
Devedas had seen demons get set on fire. They seemed fairly resistant to it, yet it must have been uncomfortable enough that most of them still tried to avoid being burned. The army of hell waited on the other side while the trench burned. It appeared filling the intersections with fire would give them some time to regroup.
“They’ll cross soon as it dies down a bit,” Broker Harban warned as he approached. His mace had white chunks dripping from it.
“How fare the Protectors?”
“Of the five I had with me, two died at the river. Everywhere else, who knows? We can’t hold here in the open for long.”
“This district is lost.” Admitting that fact galled him, but he had no choice. Even his worst estimates of the demons’ numbers had been far less than this. He shouted for his subordinate. “Rane, send a runner to worker Gutch to move his cannons back. Those weapons have proven too useful to abandon here.” The heavy things were on wheels. Hopefully the workers would be strong enough to move them deprived of their oxen, because every animal in Vadal, down to the rats and roaches, was instinctively trying to escape from the demons. Only man was stubborn enough to fight against the army of hell.
Devedas turned back to Broker. “We’ll buy those workers some time before we sound the horn to retreat to the fortifications farther into the city.”
“Maharaja!” someone cried. “Our right flank collapses!”
“Damn it.” Devedas looked that way. A few hundred yards away, several demons had crawled over one of the workers’ foundries to leap down on the men below. The red warriors of Kharsawan had been holding that point, led by their house’s bearer, but it appeared they had been taken by surprise. Without hesitation, Devedas said, “Broker, take command here and prepare the retreat.” Then he shouted, “Garo, to me!” He ran toward the demons without even giving his bodyguards a chance to keep up.
The demons had dropped directly into the Kharsawani ranks and immediately gone to killing. The eastern house’s armor was of such legendary quality that even demon fangs often failed to pierce it, but the men inside could still be picked up and hurled against the nearby walls. Or the demon would simply grab hold of a warrior’s body and some limb and pull until the one was torn from the other.
The bearer, Tejeshwar, was recognizable only because of the black-steel blade in his hand. He slashed a demon’s chest wide open, but the soldiers of hell must have recognized that he was their most dangerous opponent, because three others pounced on him from above. Even with the ancestors’ warning, there was nothing the proud bearer could do about it, and Devedas lost sight of him beneath a frenzy of tearing claws.
A bearer was worth fifty regular troops or more. They could not afford such a loss.
Devedas rushed into the fray. It was pure chaos. His gold armor passed between flailing red, and each time he saw pitch-black hide, he swung at it. Kharsawan’s strength in battle was their warriors’ discipline. Their weakness was anything that broke that organization. Nothing was more disruptive than demons suddenly appearing in your midst. When their bearer went down, even the bravest of warriors lost heart. Some of them began running away.
“Men of Kharsawan, your Maharaja commands you to fight! Die a hero or live a coward!” Devedas’ roar seemed to break through the cloud of fear. Even those who’d began to run away reluctantly turned back, because to the warrior caste, shame was far worse than death. “I see no cowards here! Follow me to glory!”
Devedas pushed toward where he’d last seen the bearer.
A few feet ahead, a demon was trying to wrench a fallen Kharsawani soldier’s head off, but all it pulled free was the helmet. The demon held up the steel bucket and shook it, seemingly confused why there wasn’t a tasty human head inside to eat.
Using the Heart of the Mountain to give him strength, Devedas slammed his shield against that demon’s chest and shoved, pushing it back until it crashed through the glass window of a workers’ shop. Before the creature could spring back up, four burly Garo had leapt through the window after it and began beating it with axes and war hammers.
Devedas kept running toward the pile of demons that buried bearer Tejeshwar.
A point of black steel erupted through the top demon’s back.
When that one lurched away from the devouring sword, Devedas’ shield-slammed it in the teeth, knocking it aside. But another demon kicked him in the legs so hard that it sent Devedas spinning through the air. He landed rolling, and immediately sprang back up. A perfect chop from his southern blade took a chunk of meat from that demon’s shoulder.
The black steel of Khartalvar ripped through another demon’s ribs, and when it rolled off spasming and gushing, Tejeshwar Kharsawan was revealed beneath. His armor had been torn open, and many terrible wounds inflicted upon his flesh. He lay in a puddle of his own blood, and when he rose, red drizzled down broken leather straps. Despite the mortal injuries, he fought on, slashing at the monster Devedas had wounded.
Until a huge demon grabbed Tejeshwar from behind by neck and hip, lifting the dying bearer high overhead.
Tejeshwar desperately reversed his grip and tried to stab downward to pierce the demon’s skull, but he was too late. And the demon hurled him down into the oil fire gutter. He struck the ground with bone shattering force. Droplets of flaming oil were thrown in every direction. Tejeshwar did not so much as scream as he burned to death. Devedas chose to believe that was because a bearer would never give the enemy the satisfaction or risk damaging the morale of his men.
Devedas kicked that demon in the back. It stumbled toward the fire. When it turned around, he struck a mighty overhand blow against the dome of its head. Once, twice. He ducked beneath a swing and drove his shoulder into the beast. Going against the grain of its hide stripped the gold from his steel armor, but Devedas came up and hit it over the head a third time. Claws rent a hole in his shield, but the fourth blow across its face sent the demon spiraling into the fire.
There was no way Tejeshwar survived within that inferno, but somehow, by magic or incredible will, his final defiant act was to throw Khartalvar out of the flames.
The ancestor blade landed near Devedas.
Satisfied his sword was safe, Tejeshwar sank into the fire, flesh turning to ash, leaving nothing but a steel shell behind.
Devedas stared at the ancestor blade. His own family’s sword had denied him. That denial had forged him into a king. As Ashok was the Son of the Black Sword, Devedas was its orphan. Losing his birthright had made him bitter, but bitterness had turned to ambition, and Devedas had used that to accomplish what no one else alive could have. Ashok believed it was because the gods required there be a king who would give the fanatics their freedom when no one else would have dared. If that was what the ancients had needed him for, then his purpose was done, and the black steel would punish him for his hubris…
But if not, and he were to take up Khartalvar, then he would be a warrior king, who would drown this city in demon blood.
He sheathed his sword and reached for the ancestor blade, but then he hesitated, for he’d done many terrible things since Angruvadal had rejected him. If it had scarred the face of an honorable boy with noble intent, what would it do to a dishonorable man who’d overthrown the Law itself? Worse than death, if black steel rejected the Maharaja, his legacy would be saltwater. His rule over. Rada would be exiled in shame. His unborn son would inherit nothing and, like his father before him, would be claimed by no house.
All his effort, the crimes, the betrayals, the sacrifice and pain and lies…all that would have been for nothing.
So be it.
“Hear me ancestors of Kharsawan, I’m not of your house but I would use you to slay many demons. If you find me unworthy, then cut me, but I beg you, keep it shallow enough I can keep fighting, because there are a whole lot of these bastards still to kill!”
He took up the sword. It promptly stung his palm and weighed his sins.
Wreathed in fire, the demon leapt up from the gutter. Devedas cleaved it from shoulder to belly.
As the monster tumbled back into the flames in two pieces, the Maharaja turned back to his Army of Many Houses and lifted the black-steel blade high for all to see.
“Rally to me, brothers! Today we fight for Lok!”