by Scott Baron
“Come on. We’ve got an amazing and death-defying escape to complete,” Laskar said, moving for the door.
He opened it and peered out into the hallway. There were three guards there, and all of them pretty big. But he and Bud had one thing they didn’t. They had a serving tray.
Oh, and the element of surprise. That too.
“Hey, give me a hand in here,” Laskar called out in the gruffest voice he could manage.
“He didn’t sound like that,” Bud hissed.
“Now you tell me.”
“You didn’t say you were going to be doing a shit impression of this guy,” Bud shot back, hurrying into position on the other side of the door. “Oh, hell. Give me that,” he said, snatching the tray from the man’s hands.
“What is it?” the nearest hallway guard said as he stepped inside the room.
His eyes had just fallen on his bound associate when the metal tray rang out against his head. But this one had a thicker skull than the other, and he only fell to one knee. He was down, yes, but not out.
“Shit! Close the door!” Bud said in an urgent whisper.
Laskar quickly closed it, hoping it would muffle at least some of the sounds of Bud bashing the stunned man repeatedly with the serving tray. Finally, a half dozen blows and one dented tray later, the guard was unconscious. Bud quickly bound his wrists and ankles and placed a gag in his mouth, then dragged him across the room, stashing the slumbering man where he wouldn’t be seen by any stepping through the doorway.
“Anyone hear that?” Bud asked.
Laskar peeked out of the door. Apparently, the room possessed some sound-deadening spells, given its use as an occasional torture chamber.
“They’re just standing there. No one heard a thing,” he replied. “Hey, come here a second.”
“What is it?” Bud asked as he walked back to the door.
“You’re lopsided,” Laskar said, then grabbed the enormous fake boobs and shifted them back into alignment. “There, that’s better.”
“If we survive this, I swear, we tell no one.”
“Are you kidding? This is arguably my best plan yet.”
“Exactly my point. So now what, Mr. Best Plan Yet?”
“Now we take out the rest of them, make our way to the main bar, flirt with some swarthy mercenary types, then effect our escape right out the front door.”
“You make it sound so simple. We’re going to wind up in a massive brawl, aren’t we?”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Laskar replied with an overconfident laugh. “Now, come on. We’ve got an escape to make.”
The bar fight wasn’t exactly epic in its magnitude or violence, but the sheer destruction being wrought was quite impressive nonetheless. The two women who had been at the center of its outbreak had been rather homely, their faces overdone with makeup and their feminine walk in need of a more womanly sway.
But the men paying them great attention hadn’t been staring at those. They’d paid far more interest to the enormous bosoms hiding within their gowns, and, like a present sitting before a child, they had not wanted to wait for drinks and sweet talk to unwrap them.
The taller of the two had slapped one of the men with surprising force. In fact, she nearly knocked him out with her open palm. But while that had given the man a momentary pause, those watching her found that display of spicy fire in her blood most delectable. In no time, a half dozen other suitors had joined the hunt.
Things quickly devolved into an all-out bar brawl, complete with tables through windows and chairs broken over men’s heads. And that was saying something, for the furnishings of the establishment were quite robust, specifically in case of such an incident.
A tumbling sea of fighting men blowing off steam churned from the inside of the tavern to the street outside. And there, more joined in the fun. And for this particular group of men of action, this was fun.
Fists and feet flew, a violent froth whipping out from the whirling mass of combatants that occasionally connected with one of the amused bystanders. Of course, that would, more often than not, turn that bystander into a participant, and their friends, too, would join into the fray.
“Is this what you call a quiet exit?” Bud asked Laskar as he struggled free from an amorous drunkard who was so focused on his chest that he’d failed to notice the objects of his interest had shifted to the entirely wrong place.
“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?” Laskar replied, dropping the groping letch with a quick punch to the corner of his jaw. “I do think we need to get to the ship as soon as we can, though.”
“Oh? Why the sudden interest in doing the logical?”
“No reason,” Laskar said, motioning down the street.
It was difficult to see at first amidst all of the fighting, but then the shapes became clear.
“Shit. Council goons. And here, of all places,” Bud realized. “I thought our vacation was going to be far away from them.”
“So did I. But I guess they’ve got their hooks into this world too,” Laskar mused.
“Okay, fun and games are over. We really need to get out of here, and I mean now,” Bud said as he watched the riot-armored Tslavar heavies wade into the fray, stunning combatants with cudgels, fists, and even stun spells.
Yes, it was definitely time to go, lest they wind up going from one man’s basement torture chamber to a Council prison cell.
Bud and Laskar pulled the remainder of their disguises free and left them in a pile on the street, where they would be trampled into a dirty mess by the riled-up crowd.
Dodging punches, kicks, and even some outstretched tentacles from one of the downed patrons, their suckers grasping at any who ventured close enough to be snared, the two pushed for the edge of the boiling sea of combatants.
After far too long for either of their taste, they were free.
Leaving the raucous crowd behind them, the pair took off at a full run and did not stop until they were safely aboard Uzabud’s mothership.
“Hang on. This is going to be a little bumpy,” Bud said as he slammed the hidden Drookonus in place, powering the ship with its Drook magic and jumping it into the sky.
It was an abrupt way to take off, but given the Council’s presence, he thought it prudent. Laskar, for all of his ridiculous talk, was at his copilot’s seat plotting a jump as soon as they had entered the ship. In most things he could be quite a loud-mouthed fuckup, but when it came to flying, he was a seasoned pro.
“Talk to me, Laskar. We have a jump course?”
“Ten seconds,” he replied.
Bud noticed a Council ship was approaching fast from the distance. It was likely coming to help quell the trouble, but he really didn’t want to stick around to test that theory.
“Laskar? We’ve got company.”
“Just a few more seconds.”
“We may not have a few more––”
“Got it!” he blurted.
Uzabud did not wait a moment longer, engaging their jump spell before they’d even cleared atmosphere, though the practice was frowned upon. But that wasn’t his concern. Freedom was. And with his obnoxious partner’s help, they were free indeed. Free, and getting as far away from this entire system as they could.
Chapter Thirteen
The Wampeh Ghalian assassin’s shimmer-cloaked ship floated invisibly in the frozen stillness of space. It revealed no lights, emitted no skree transmissions, and left no trace of itself whatsoever.
Unless someone were to happen to fly directly into it, the craft would never be noticed.
It had been there for hours, quietly watching the comings and goings in and out of the atmosphere of the planet below. Craft arrived and departed on a regular basis, but as of yet, no Council ships had made an appearance. Nor had any over the last day and a half the system had been under surveillance.
Hozark and Demelza were not bored, however. The pair were well trained, and on a mission, and patience was most certainly a Ghalian strong suit. It was
one of the many traits that made them the greatest assassins in the galaxy.
They had arrived in the system under cover of a fully engaged shimmer cloak, exiting their jump at the very outskirts of the solar system. Though this ship remained invisible the whole time, shimmers so large as would hide a ship of this size did not typically work in outer space.
It was believed that it had something to do with the way the vacuum of space reacted with the magic, though none had ever discerned precisely why. But with the talents of not one, but two Ghalian helping feed the spells required to maintain the cloak even in the void, the camouflage remained solidly in place, hiding them from all eyes, even as they flew closer to the edge of the atmosphere.
“Anything?” Hozark asked calmly from his pilot’s seat.
Demelza checked her spells once more, reaching out and testing the strings of magic she had cast out into the space around them.
“Nothing,” she replied. “We appear to be alone.”
Hozark pondered a moment. “We shall stay a while longer, yet,” he decided.
“Understood,” she replied, then settled back into her routine, gently casting trailing spells to tickle any nearby magic, then reeling them back in, searching for a hit.
So far, however, she had come up empty every time as they made headway on their creeping flight.
Their final approach had been a gradual one, even though their destination was clear as soon as they had arrived, a tiny dot far out in front of them many planets closer to the sun.
But they would not rush this. Could not rush this. They simply had no other choice, despite the request coming from one as trusted as Master Orkut.
The search for hostile vessels hiding out in the low gravity of any one of the system’s moons, or perhaps in orbit around one of the less-populated worlds, was a necessity, not a luxury. After what had happened to Master Prombatz so recently, it was something all Ghalian were doing when entering into a new contract.
The means by which Master Prombatz and his poor aspiring Ghalian student were ambushed, the pair caught entirely by surprise by a Council hit squad, were now known to the order. And with that in mind great lengths had been gone to in order to ensure such a thing would not occur again in the future. But it had been a costly learning experience.
Aargun, the youth who had been captured, would never be the same again, and his was now a cautionary tale burned into the mind of every Ghalian brother and sister in the galaxy.
Vengeance had been taken, however. Master Hozark and his friends had tracked down the sender of that first contract and ended his life. Visla Torund, was his name. And he was a member of the Council of Twenty. But even as he fell, another rose.
Visla Ravik was his name, and even with Master Corann’s considerable power, as well as her dangerous use of a claithe––one of the rarest of magical weapons, and one even a master Ghalian would never use unless absolutely necessary––he had managed to escape. An escape he made along with his most unusual of bodyguards.
Samara.
Hozark and the others had slain almost all present that day, but not her. She had fought Demelza to an easy standstill while her visla attempted to end her former lover and their mutual friend.
But Corann’s claithe proved too strong, and with Demelza distracting Samara from the visla’s plight with some surprisingly sound swordplay, Hozark had managed to get close enough to drive his vespus blade through the man’s chest, draining him of much of his power before the light in his eyes flickered and went dim.
Chaos had ensued in the aftermath, and Samara and her new visla had managed to escape in the confusion. But something strange had come out of the whole ordeal. A new name would be added to the list of fingers pulling strings. Another man behind the curtain, though this one was a shock to all who heard his name.
Visla Maktan.
The man wasn’t exactly foppish, but as far as members of the Council of Twenty went, he had seemed about as benign as one could ever be. A powerful visla, no doubt, but also one seemingly absent the bloodthirst and craving for power that his counterparts possessed in such large amounts.
And yet his name had been the dying words of a slain emmik on the day of that terrible battle. Spoken, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He had slain his victim, leaving him to die in Laskar’s arms before he could say another word. The man was slippery, and apparently far more of a threat than any had realized.
The Ghalian faithful paid special attention to his activities from that point forward, their spies monitoring as much as they could of the man’s movements. But he was a visla of substantial magic, and no simple disguise would allow any of them to get near him on short notice. Thus, a rapid infiltration to gather more intelligence had been an impossibility.
And now there was some new mystery afoot. Something that had brought Hozark and Demelza together once more. A mission at the request of Master Orkut himself. For the swordsmith to ask such a thing, knowing full well it would put him in their debt, meant it had to be something serious.
It also meant the man they were going to meet was someone of considerable power. But exactly what kind of power was anyone’s guess.
They’d scanned and surveyed, watched and waited, for well over a day and a half before Hozark finally felt there were no threats lurking in the stars. There might be some nasty surprises waiting for them down below, but out in space, at least, they were clear.
“What do you say, Demelza? Shall we head down and meet this mystery employer our mutual friend so wished for us to help?”
She took one final read of her magical survey spells. All were still absolutely clear of any Council ships.
“I believe we are as safe now as we will ever be,” she replied. “It is clearly not a trap. At least, not from space.”
The master Ghalian nodded his agreement. “Then it is decided,” Hozark said, setting a course for atmospheric entry. “Let us go and make our new friend’s acquaintance.”
Chapter Fourteen
Hozark’s approach to their contact’s location was a master class in Ghalian stealth. He eased the ship through the outermost shell of the exosphere, making sure to do so at such an angle and speed that he generated the absolute minimum amount of heat possible, keeping their craft invisible.
The spells he poured on top of that deft flying were the icing on the stealth cake, ensuring an utterly smooth, and totally unseen, arrival within the world’s atmosphere.
Once within its confines, he then gradually released the additional spells and focused on their approach.
The ship flew slowly. Painfully slow for any non-Ghalian who would have been with them. But for the patient killers, this was the way. The only way.
By the time they arrived at the luxurious estate tower, they’d not only avoided any observation from the air or below, but they had also enjoyed enough time to fully examine their surroundings as they descended. So far as their expert eyes could tell, this was not a trap.
“Not many ships in the landing site near the estate,” Hozark noted.
“Surprising for such a wealthy area,” Demelza said. “These are rather elite towers, though I see the one we are to meet our client at appears to be both the tallest, and the most luxurious. A lot of coin went into that.”
“And a lot of magic,” Hozark added, nodding to the multiple floating gardens under construction.
One, however, was complete, and serenely hovering just next to the uppermost floors.
“I will set us down over there,” Hozark said, then took them into a gradual descent until the shimmer ship was hovering just above the surface of the garden.
The two assassins pulled their personal shimmer cloaks about themselves and stepped out of the ship. A pair of invisible killers leaving an invisible transport, and all without any being the wiser. Carefully, they moved toward the estate itself, sensing for traps and wards with their magic.
Both Hozark and Demelza had fed on power users not too long ago, and both still possesse
d fairly significant amounts of residual magic within them. They were both using their konuses, however, keeping the internal stores as an emergency backup, just in case.
You never knew what might be waiting for you inside a strange new estate, for example.
With utter silence, the pair entered the building, easily bypassing a tripwire alarm spell and closing the warded door behind them, leaving everything exactly as it was. They started walking, taking note of the telltale signs of a fierce battle as they moved.
The property had been cleansed and scrubbed, a great deal of magic used in the process to remove all traces of blood and gore. But they were trained killers, and not all clues had been so thoroughly washed clean.
A speck of blood here, a chipped wall there. A heavy table whose legs had been repaired by a master craftsman, but one who couldn’t entirely hide the damage done to it in the conflict.
Whatever had happened here, it was a battle to the death, and that was something both were certain there had been a lot of.
On they crept, moving farther into the building. They were to meet the mystery man or woman in the study at the end of the hall. And luck was on their side. The door was open.
The shimmer-cloaked assassins padded through the doorway in utter silence and surveyed the room. It was tastefully decorated, heavy furniture carefully placed, but not to a degree that suggested an overt display of wealth. The art, likewise, was not on display to impress, but, rather, for the enjoyment of the owner.
Apparently, the client was a person of taste.
“Thank you for coming,” a voice said, carrying across the room with an energy all its own.
Hozark and Demelza turned silently. Both were still completely hidden by their shimmer cloaks, yet the man seated at his desk had seen them, and with little effort, apparently.
A visla, no doubt. And an immensely powerful one at that, judging by the ease with which he’d just spotted the pair.
And yet, this man was not a member of the Council of Twenty. In fact, this was someone neither had ever heard of. It was quickly becoming apparent, that the reason for that was because the man wanted it that way, not by any oversight of their own.
