by Scott Baron
“But he will most certainly not approve of this,” Hozark said, not liking the idea of becoming a full-time caregiver one bit.
“No, he will not. But he is a child, Hozark. And sometimes the adults must do things in a child’s best interest even if they do not wish them to.”
“This is not an ideal situation, Corann.”
“No, it is not. But for the time being, he stays with you. Our spies will continue searching, and you know as well as I that they will eventually find Visla Jinnik.”
“Which could take weeks, if not months.”
“As you said, it is not ideal. But, I am afraid, he is your responsibility for the time being. Good luck with that.”
Hozark was a Ghalian master, one of the Five, but at that moment, it took all of his self-control to not sulk like an upset teenager. In a week filled with unexpected developments, he was most assuredly not thrilled about this one.
Hozark and Demelza walked back into Bud’s ship and called a meeting in the galley. Demelza handed out some fresh-baked pastries to the gathered crew, courtesy of Corann, while Hozark prepared some hot, sweetened Boramus milk.
It was mostly for the boy’s benefit, the comfort food, but the rest of the crew would enjoy the treat all the same. They’d had a tough go of it of late, and it looked like they were finally getting to slow down, at least for a bit.
Finally, with food and drink in hand, Hozark asked for everyone’s attention.
“It would appear that a visla named Maktan is behind the recent events,” he began. “The attack on Prombatz, the experimentation and torture of Aargun. The most recent conflict at Drommus. Everything, it seems, leads us back to this one man pulling the strings.”
“So, why don’t we just take him out?” Laskar asked.
“Because he is well-protected,” Hozark replied. “And in addition to that, we do not know how many of the other members of the Council are aligned with him in this power play. He seems to be amassing magic, and we do not know to what end.”
“All the more reason to take him out.”
“Laskar, please. This must be handled with the utmost care. Rest assured, his time will come, but first, we have other issues to deal with. And we may need Maktan alive, if we are unsuccessful on our own. It will take time, and soon enough we will have a new course of action. But for now, we rest and recover from our efforts.”
“What about my dad?” Hap asked. “Does that mean I can go join him now? You said Corann was having your friends find him.”
Hozark sighed. “I am afraid your father has moved from the location we believed him to be at, young Jinnik. You will need to remain with us a little while longer. But rest assured, our people are actively looking for him, and as soon as they find him, we will reunite you both.”
Hap, for all of his recent tantrums and acting up, was surprisingly quiet about it. Being rescued from both a bad situation, and then an absolutely terrible one, both times by the same man, had given the youth a bit of a new perspective on things.
He was not thrilled, it was clear, but, for the time being, this unlikely group of men and women were his temporary family, and they would protect him to the best of their abilities.
“So, the kid stays, huh?” Bud asked.
“It would seem that way,” Hozark replied.
“Well then, we should get you some coloring pads and a toy box,” the former pirate joked.
Hozark, exhausted from their recent battle and nearly draining himself to death protecting the boy, was not amused.
“I am a Ghalian master, Bud. Not a babysitter.”
“Hey! I’m not a baby!” Hap blurted angrily, throwing the last of his pastry at the assassin. “Don’t you ever call me that! Ever!” he shouted, then stormed off to his room.
Henni let out a laugh, then went back to playing with the dagger she’d taken to carrying with her pretty much everywhere.
The master assassin looked around the galley at his gathered crewmates. It was like a dysfunctional family of epic proportions. And he was stuck with them for the time being.
Hozark ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “This is going to be a long flight.”
Epilogue
Far across the galaxy, a lone ship flew unobserved through the inky black of the space between systems.
The chains binding Visla Jinnik were massive, and enchanted at that. The ends of the links held him firmly to the bolts mounted to the ship’s walls. In addition to that, he had a thick magical control collar fastened around his neck.
He was a very, very powerful man, and to keep him under control, something more than just the possession of his son was needed. So the collar was employed, its magical binding spells reinforced regularly due to Jinnik’s extreme power.
It was to keep him in check, just in case. He supposed he could understand their fear of him. He was dangerously powerful even when not forced to work against his will. But what he didn’t know was that the boy had been rescued not too long ago.
If the visla caught wind of that little tidbit, he would cease working for them of his own free will at once. Then, he would likely slay everyone around him in an instant for good measure before rushing to his boy’s side.
The door opened, and a stocky Tslavar mercenary walked into his cell, dropping a tray of food at his feet.
“Eat. Keep up your strength.”
“I’ve done as you’ve asked. I’ve stopped rebellions, even killed your enemies for you. But now you must tell me. Where is my son?”
“We have him tucked away far from here, and that’s all you need to know,” the man replied. “And you’ll continue to do as we say, or your son will suffer for it.”
The visla’s skin began to crackle with angry magic. In an instant, the control collar shocked him to the ground until he was nearly unconscious.
“Yeah, you might want to remember your place next time, slave.”
Visla Jinnik slowly righted himself, then, impressively, managed to shake off the stun spell and rise to his feet. He glared at the man, but he kept his magic in check.
“I will do as you say. But know this: if any harm falls upon my son, I will find a way to make you pay.”
“Great. Nice threat from the one in chains,” the Tslavar chuckled.
Jinnik glowered but resigned himself to his present situation. “So, what now? Another little uprising to put down?”
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll be at our destination real soon.”
The Tslavar was telling the truth, and just a few hours later the ship exited its jump just outside of orbit of the planet Garvalis. The smelters had been hard at work when they learned of their pending arrival, and very soon, they would be tapping into a visla’s power.
There were a lot of weapons that needed charging, and he was going to do it for them. Even if it drained him of every last drop.
Preview: Death From the Shadows
Space Assassins 4
It was an incredibly short period of time, but the tales of slaughter and carnage at the hands of a strange visla, one of whom none had ever even heard of, were spreading slowly through the conquered systems.
Rebellions were quashed with his iron fist, and entire planets fell to the mysterious man with the Council of Twenty’s forces behind him.
Thousands had perished at his hands, and those who had been fortunate enough to find themselves spared had been subjugated or forced into slavery. After the hostilities ceased, a small contingent of Council forces would remain, their presence an enduring threat of what would befall the citizenry if they rose up once more.
And then, without word or warning, he would depart, off to the next unfortunate world that had drawn his attention.
Word of the man had reached Visla Tordahl well before the Council force appeared in orbit above his world, and he had taken ample precautions against such an incursion.
For many years the Council of Twenty had coveted his realm, and it seemed the day had finally come where they wer
e going to make an attempt at it. But he was not giving up his world without a fight.
Additional forces had been called in to defend against the mighty new caster, and Visla Tordahl had spent considerable time pouring his power into the konuses and slaaps worn by those newly enlisted men. They were wielding considerable magic, and it would not be an easy conquest for this mysterious visla and his Council troops.
The Council ships, however, remained in orbit, sending in a contingent of Tslavar mercenaries instead. The first wave of attackers to crash upon the shores of Tordahl’s defenses would not be the Council’s finest, but, rather, paid goons whose lives were of little consequence.
The large sum of coin expended in their slaughter would ultimately be worthwhile if the world fell. And the men of action who so willingly joined the fray were promised sizable pillage in the pursuit of this world. It was enough to drive them headlong into the blistering defense, against their own best interests.
The first wave made it to the ground, but at the cost of nearly all of their ships, and a hefty portion of their men. Nevertheless, the deep-green Tslavar forces emerged from the broken craft with bloodlust in their eyes, charging into the fray with near reckless abandon.
The attacking visla’s plan, it seemed, was to force the local reinforcements to expend much of their combined power on the violent pawns thrown onto the playing field. And it was working. Spells were flying thick and heavy between the opposing forces, and many fell on both sides.
Visla Tordahl’s stronghold soon fell under attack as well, as the Council craft that had been holding back swooped in and launched a barrage of fierce magic, pounding the defenses, forcing them to not only defend themselves, but to also reveal their key casters’ positions in the process.
With that, they were more easily targeted, and the attacks upon them refined. It was a clever ploy, Tordahl had to admit, but he was fully powered and ready. From what he could see of the attackers, it looked as if his men would push back this force.
Yes, there were a large number of mercenaries on the move, and they were pressuring his ground forces fiercely, but the Council had appeared to have only sent a limited contingent of actual Council craft. It was an unusual strategy, and one that would fail, the visla was pleased to note.
Slowly, his forces drove the attackers back.
“Advance. Destroy the attackers, and show no mercy!” Visla Tordahl commanded over his skree.
The troop leaders on the ground received the message and commenced their push, driving the mercenary forces into a hasty retreat. Magic was expended without reserve, and the barrage was brutal in its intensity. There was no way the Tslavar mercenaries could hope to fight against such a display.
A lone ship streaked down to the front lines from above, the magical defensive spells thrown at it dissipating as if they were no more than tissue paper.
“Increase the intensity!” Visla Tordahl commanded his casters, an unsettled feeling growing in his gut.
The ship continued on its path, unharmed and unfettered, until it landed just in front of the retreating forces. The craft’s hatch opened, and a tall man wearing a high-collared coat stepped forth and strode onto the battlefield. Tordahl’s troops immediately recognized the new arrival as the principal threat facing them and redirected all of their efforts against him.
The man was obviously a visla, and an incredibly powerful one at that. In fact, he was so strong that his magic was actually visibly crackling off his body in waves. At the sight of him, Visla Tordahl felt that sinking feeling in his gut solidify into a solid lump of fear.
He was a powerful man, but this? This was something he had never encountered before. For the first time in his life, he was not the strongest caster on the planet. Not by a long shot.
“I am Visla Jinnik,” the invader bellowed out, his voice amplified by a projecting spell that carried it all the way to Tordahl’s stronghold. “Surrender now and you will be spared. This is your one chance. Do not waste this opportunity.”
The newcomer continued walking toward the front lines, the defensive spells parting for him and the attacks still being cast bouncing off his own shielding spells. He stopped, surveying the hundreds of men and women casting against him with all of their might. It seemed they were not giving up so easily.
Visla Jinnik shook his head and sighed.
“So be it.”
He raised his hands and uttered the words to a particularly potent spell, the unleashed magic blasting out in a fierce wave. Tordahl recognized the spell immediately and threw up his defenses just in time to protect himself.
His casters and men attempted to do the same, but the vast majority were either not strong enough, not quick enough, or both.
The men closest to the origin of the spell burst into a fine mist. The magic blasted through them like a wave knocking down a child’s sandcastle as if it were an afterthought. But the power continued, spreading out as it went, laying waste to those too weak to defend themselves before shifting to a stunning spell.
It was a particularly horrible piece of magic. One that the very few who even knew how to cast it refused to utilize. Only the most violent, and most powerful, would even think to. And only the absolute strongest even could. But this man, this Visla Jinnik, was wielding it with his full power, and to devastating effect.
Visla Tordahl felt the power buffet his defensive spell. As soon as it had passed, he replied in kind, casting the strongest spells he knew in rapid succession, the deadly magic flying true toward the invader.
Jinnik was forced to focus more of his power on defending himself. He actually smiled at that. It was good to see someone standing up for their world. Defending it against the Council no matter the cost. He respected the man for it, even as he returned the attack, his magic flying straight for the visla now that he had revealed his position.
Tordahl desperately cast his strongest defensive spells, throwing up a powerful shield of magic around himself. It held for a moment, allowing him an instant to marvel at the sheer power of the man taking his life. Then his magic failed, and the spells flew true, dropping him to the stone floor of his stronghold parapet, dead.
Word of the visla’s fall spread immediately through the forces, and all who still survived surrendered at once. Without the visla supporting them, there was simply no way they had any hope against these attackers.
And this Jinnik, whoever he was, was so powerful, and so brutally deadly, that they knew their choices had been reduced to dropping their weapons or death.
The Tslavar forces surged forward, collecting the dropped arms of the fallen. Most were drained of magic to the point of being little more than paperweights, but they were taken all the same. Then the men and women were separated by perceived value.
Many would be sent back to their homes to work the land––to keep the realm thriving. But a great many would face a different fate. Those were pulled from the others and forced to kneel while one of the Council lackeys secured gleaming golden control collars around their necks, the magical restraints sealing into a seamless band as the captives entered their new life of slavery.
The Ootaki and Drooks who had been in Tordahl’s possession were rounded up and taken to the Council ships, the spoils of the conflict, now a part of the invader’s power supply.
And like that, another world fell to this unusual visla and his Council forces. It was a pattern that repeated on many worlds, though not all of them were rebellions in need of quashing. Some were outright conquests, as Tordahl’s land had been. An asset grab.
Visla Jinnik was an unknown. A man who had apparently never been a part of the Council of Twenty’s machinations in the past. But suddenly, out of the blue, he was now a most powerful tool of the Council, and one to be feared and reckoned with.
Jinnik surveyed the dead and enslaved of yet another world and sighed. He then turned and walked back to his ship to take his leave of this place. People cowered in fear as he passed, wary of the man who had enslaved them
all.
Little did they know, he, too, was wearing a thick control collar, hidden underneath his high-collared coat. He was as much a slave as they now were, and with his young son held captive, he had no choice but to do as he was told.
And that meant carrying out these horrible acts, all in the Council’s name. But if it meant saving his boy, he would conquer endless worlds if he had to.
“You did quite a number on that one,” the Council emmik running the operation said as he locked Jinnik back in his cell.
“Too many dead,” Jinnik replied with an exhausted sigh. “When will this end?”
“Sooner than you expected,” the emmik replied with a curious chuckle.
The ship lifted off and departed the system, and after that, reports of this Visla Jinnik’s actions across the galaxy suddenly fell silent.
The man who had slashed and burned his way across a good many worlds, it seemed, had abruptly vanished. And no one knew why, or where he had gone. But the fear of him remained, and that lingering dread would last a long, long time.
The vendor stalls of Sorlak were something of a marvel for those unfamiliar with the more colorful marketplaces in the Delvian systems. The loose network of inhabited planets encompassed in those realms were chock-full of artisans, craftsmen, and all manner of agriculture.
As a result, the marketplaces on each of the habitable worlds were bustling places of commerce, and shoppers and traders from far and wide frequented them on a regular basis.
Of those worlds, Sorlak was the most civilized. A quiet planet, for the most part, with its distance from the pulsing, yellow sun at the center of the system putting it firmly in the comfortable zone of perfect temperatures year-round. It was not an Eden, but definitely a pleasant place to be.
That was not to say there was no violence or crime, but the Council more or less stayed away, and the outlaw and mercenary types found it more suited their needs to simply shop on those worlds than cause drama. But no world, even the most civilized, was entirely free of that element. Those sorts just tended to stay hidden more.
