House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  “We can abandon the carriage and go through the trees. If we find a steep enough cliff to scale, they won’t be able to track us.”

  “An hour ago Gutch thought you’d bled to death.”

  “I am fine.” Ashok didn’t look fine. Even in the poor light, Jagdish could see that his bloodstained face was haggard. He didn’t know what it took to kill a Protector—correction, former Protector—but if they kept pushing he figured he would find out.

  “Good for you, but Gutch is wearing sandals that probably came off a dainty pleasure woman. He’ll be frostbit in no time. And we have to carry Bajwa. I didn’t get chased across Neeramphorn for three days to leave behind the man who knows where those wizards are.”

  “A quandary,” Ashok agreed.

  Jagdish snorted—what a master of bloody understatement.

  Then Ashok’s eyes narrowed. “There are men waiting in ambush ahead.”

  He could hardly see a damned thing past the rumps of two white horses. It was said Protectors had the eyes of a hawk, but that was absurd. “Where?”

  But rather than answer, Ashok stood up and shouted, “Sons of the Black Sword!”

  Ahead, a match was struck and a torch caught. That Jagdish could see. Someone walked into the middle of the road and waved the torch back and forth overhead. Jagdish tried to stop the horses, but they were too frenzied to heed the pull, so he had to use the carriage’s hand brake. It turned out the ride became much worse when the wheels weren’t allowed to spin and this thing turned into an awkward sled. He’d never understand why rich men felt the need to travel in wheeled apartments filled with pillows.

  The ambushers had heard Ashok’s greeting, and risen from their hiding places. As an accomplished scout himself, Jagdish had to admit that the Somsak were very good at camouflage. He would have ridden right into a bunch of crossbows and never even known they were there. It turned out the man waving the torch was Keta, their so-called Keeper of Names. Jagdish had no idea why Ashok put up with the odd little fanatic, but he was still glad to see him right then.

  “Damn that Keta, I told him not to wait for me. He was supposed to take the men and go south.”

  “You expected someone who started a rebellion to be good at following orders? Be thankful he didn’t listen, we may still survive.”

  Ashok must have been in more pain than he let on, because normally he would have just leapt down from the seat, but instead he climbed carefully, using the steps like a normal man, and winced when he reached the ground. It was one of the only times Jagdish had ever seen him show weakness. It didn’t last long.

  There was no time for greetings or pleasantries. “Soldiers will be following. If you have a way to escape, we must take it. If not, then prepare to fight.”

  Shekar of the Somsak ran up to them, but stopped at the edge of the road, so as to not leave any extra footprints in the snow. “Raiders always know how to disappear, General. Come. The horses are this way. There’s a downward path we can take. We’ll send this silly cart on its way. By the time they discover it is empty and backtrack, we’ll be long gone.”

  “Brilliant,” Jagdish said as he hopped down. “There’s a prisoner inside. We need him alive.”

  “Of course, Risaldar…” Then Shekar snapped at his brothers. “Deng, fetch their prisoner. Abor, take the rear. Cut a pine bough and brush our tracks. Move!”

  The Somsak immediately did as Shekar directed. If their little army lived through the night, at least Jagdish knew who to appoint as their first havildar.

  * * *

  Despite the darkness, they found a good trail and made decent time. It helped to have experienced mountain raiders to lead them. The Somsak were vassals to the Thao, but like many vassal families, they weren’t too fond of their masters. They seemed to take great joy in the idea of losing their pursuers and causing them even further embarrassment.

  They couldn’t return to the shack they had been using. Gutch had given that location to Bajwa so his ransom note could be delivered. It was doubtful the gangs would willingly tell the warriors where they had been hiding, but the Protectors or the Inquisitors would easily make them talk. So they simply kept moving, the further away from Neeramphorn the better.

  Jagdish was exhausted, but he was doing better than some of the others. Gutch was on a Somsak pony that was far too small for him, and he was wrapped in curtains stolen from Bajwa’s carriage to keep from freezing. The crime lord of Neeramphorn had been laid across a pack horse like a piece of baggage. Jagdish was beginning to worry that he’d clubbed Bajwa far too hard, but he suspected much of his lack of consciousness was feigned, and he was just waiting for a chance to escape. Only with his feet tied together and surrounded by bloodthirsty Somsak, Bajwa wouldn’t make it very far.

  Ashok now…He didn’t look well at all, and Jagdish didn’t know if it was from his wounds, or from the night’s events. Normally, there was a certain way he carried himself. Not prideful, no, he could even be humble if the Law was involved at all, but always assured. Not the swagger of a young warrior, but rather possessing a confident certainty that if a thing could be done, then he would do it. Tonight though, he was swaying atop his horse. So weak that a few times Jagdish looked over expecting to see an empty saddle because Ashok had finally passed out from blood loss and fallen into the snow. But their general stayed mounted, though he hung back, alone, and did not speak.

  When Keta had asked Jagdish what had happened to Ashok, he told him that he truly did not know, but that he had shouted so loudly that the whole city must have heard about how he had murdered one of his former brothers. Keta’s reaction to that news showed that he truly was concerned about Ashok—as a friend and not just as a weapon of rebellion—and that revelation made Jagdish dislike Keta slightly less.

  Just before dawn they came upon a settlement so pitiful that Jagdish hesitated to call it a village. There were three tiny dwellings, constructed from garbage leaned against trees in the rough semblance of a house. They looked too sad to live in, but smoke was rising through the hole in the roof that served as the chimney on one of them. No whole man would live like this. The inmates in his prison had lived better than this. Something this pathetic could only belong to the casteless.

  They were alone in the forest, nowhere near a road, and far from any real settlement. There were no banners indicating ownership, no insignia of an overseer, nothing.

  Jagdish rode up to Keta. “Who do these untouchables belong to?”

  “No one. I’m betting they’re runaways.”

  “You’d know about that.”

  Keta scowled, obviously biting off a sharp retort. “Regardless of where they come from, we need to rest. I’ll speak to them about camping here, and make sure they’re not inclined to tell anyone about us.”

  “Just tell them we’re stopping and if they don’t like it—”

  “No, Risaldar. Despite their poverty, these are whole men as much as you are, and they’ll be treated with respect.”

  Jagdish was badly outnumbered by religious fanatics who thought the little man spoke to gods, so he didn’t bother to argue. “As you wish, Keeper.”

  “If we stay here, it’ll be as their guests. I hope they don’t mind the intrusion. We may be here for a while.” Keta looked back toward Ashok, the concern obvious on his face. “I think our general needs time to recuperate.”

  “Yes, the blessings of your gods only carry one so far…Speaking of which, tell those useless bastards thanks for nothing. They were of no help in Neeramphorn.”

  “Yet despite the odds you escaped with your lives and miraculously captured the man you sought in the process. But I’ll be sure to pass on your concerns.” Keta thumped his heels into his horse and started toward the sad little dwellings. “Just don’t cry to me to intercede on your behalf when the gods curse you with festering boils.”

  “That would be impressive, considering they’re imaginary,” Jagdish muttered.

  Chapter 19

  When dawn arri
ved on the mountain, a cock crowed, and Ashok awoke inside a casteless hovel that stank of dung and smoke. His wounds were healed enough that he could move without tearing them open again, but not healed enough to be free of agony. He could have called upon the Heart more, but he left the pain alone. He deserved it.

  Ashok remembered a time when Ishaan Harban, having barely attained senior rank, had assisted him in arresting a corrupt arbiter in Zarger. They had pursued the man for a week across the desert before being ambushed by bandits. Together, they had slaughtered all the criminals, executed the arbiter, and restored the Law. Good times. Despite intense heat, dehydration, stinging scorpions, and a violent close-quarter battle, Ishaan had never once wavered, and had remained perfectly dedicated to the Order ever since. Ishaan had been as reliable as the sun.

  This morning, the world felt diminished.

  Careful not to step on any other sleeping bodies, Ashok took up his nicked and battered sword, and went outside.

  The forest was very still. A bit more snow had fallen during the night, so even the casteless huts looked almost clean. There was a pen filled with oinking pigs, and a chicken coop as big as the untouchable’s shack.

  Several others were already awake and about. Keta was sitting on a log next to the chicken coop, speaking to the casteless who made their home here. Only this time, the Keeper wasn’t the one talking. It was an old man speaking, skin-and-bones thin, and oddly enough Keta wasn’t just listening, he was taking notes on a piece of paper.

  Keta saw him. “Ashok. How are you feeling? Allow me to introduce you to the free man who built this settlement. He is a guru, a wise and holy man.”

  His natural inclination was to dismiss them as mere runaways who were hiding in the forest like animals. Only they were not so different than him now, reduced to begging untouchables for a place to sleep next to their fire. He supposed that made him even lower than they were. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Despite his attempt at politeness, the ancient non-person still seemed frightened of him. “For the Forgotten’s warrior, my home is your home. This is a very secluded and safe place, very hard to stumble upon. You are the first outsiders who have found us in many years. Surely this is the will of the gods.”

  “If you would excuse us, guru…is it? What are you doing, Keta?”

  “Taking their names.”

  “Why?”

  “For the genealogy.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Keta seemed a bit indignant. “I am the Keeper of Names.”

  “I have never given the nature of your title much thought.” When they had first met, Keta had known Ashok’s casteless name, and even the name of his real parents, but Ashok had never concerned himself about how he had known.

  Keta blinked a few times, caught unprepared to explain his calling. “These people are not recorded. I will write them and their ancestors in the sacred book once I return home. It was one of the very first responsibilities of the priesthood started by the Sons of Ramrowan to ensure that their bloodline endured forever. Even after their reign ended, we have kept these records in secret.”

  If true, that was quite the achievement. Legally, the casteless were property, not people. They had no family name. But perhaps it was not so odd. Whole men took great pride in their ancestors. Maybe untouchables felt the same compulsion to know where they had come from too. Only Keta would surely fill their heads with nonsense about how the casteless were all descended from priests and kings, so they could get themselves worked up over it until they got put down by their betters.

  “Very well.” Ashok left them to their fantasies. He saw no sign of a stream, so he went off into the trees, found a snow drift, and stripped naked. Taking up handfuls of snow, he scrubbed the dried blood from his body until he was clean. The snow left his skin red and burning, but it woke him up and focused his senses.

  By the time he dressed and returned to the village, the others had risen. Keta had finished recording the untouchables’ genealogy, while Jagdish and Gutch had dragged their—now conscious—prisoner out for interrogation.

  The four of them gathered around the sullen, silent Bajwa.

  “Are you ready to begin?” Jagdish asked.

  “I am. Keta, send your supposed descendants of mighty Ramrowan away. What they do not hear, the Inquisition cannot make them tell.” Ashok sincerely hoped they weren’t tracked here, but he could take no chances.

  The Keeper did as he was told. Ashok studied their prisoner. Bajwa had been beaten, tied up, degraded, and was sitting in the snow with a sack over his head. This was a man who had used guile and ambition to gain far more wealth and power than the Law had granted him. Ashok knew criminals well. He would either break easily, or not at all.

  Gutch cracked his knuckles.

  Keta returned a moment later, having shooed away the residents. “Look at us, four individuals, one from each of the great divisions within our society, yet here we stand, putting aside our differences of caste and status, choosing to work together in pursuit of a common goal. The worker, the warrior, the untouchable, and even a man of the ruling class—”

  Ashok scowled at Keta.

  “Sorry, formerly of the ruling class, but all of us united, not coerced by Law, but rather each motivated by their own free will to come to this juncture! Surely the gods will be pleased by such cooperation.”

  “We’re only here because we need to torture information from this man.”

  “Well, the gods have to start somewhere!”

  “Yes, but it’s hardly worthy of another of your boring sermons,” Jagdish said as he pulled off the sack they’d kept over their prisoner’s head. Bajwa had been tied to a post, and gagged so he couldn’t speak, but he looked suitably terrified.

  “Unless of course your Forgotten was one of those old dark gods. I’ve dealt with cultists who believed their gods demanded human sacrifice,” Ashok said.

  “Oh no, of course not. The Forgotten expects his servants to get their hands dirty, but nothing like that.”

  “Good.” Even forced outside of the Law, Ashok still had to draw the line somewhere.

  “Enough of your mad babbling, false priest. Pass me that meat cleaver I know you keep hidden in your coat,” said Gutch as he approached their captive. Their worker had a nasty black eye left over from Bajwa’s thugs. “Let’s get to it.”

  As soon as Gutch ripped the gag from Bajwa’s mouth, the bargaining began. “Hold on now with the cutting. My people will pay a good ransom for my return.”

  “By now your people—whichever ones the Protectors didn’t execute at least—have already forgotten about you and rallied behind a new boss. Your business won’t even know you’re gone.”

  “Shut your fat face, Gutch. Unlike you, my men know the meaning of the word loyalty. The rest of you, don’t listen to this fool. He did me wrong and wants me dead. Everyone else here I can make rich!”

  “I do not care about your notes.” Ashok squatted down next to Bajwa, tilted his head, and looked the criminal in the eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

  “No, but from the look of you, you’re the leader of this gang, trying to move in on Neeramphorn. What do you want? A cut of the profits? Your own territory? We can deal, boss to boss, you and me can talk this out and—”

  “I am Ashok Vadal.”

  That hung there for a long time. Bajwa trailed off, then licked his lips, nervous. “Oh no. Apologies. I didn’t intend offense.”

  Ashok did not raise his voice. He didn’t even try to be threatening. “I am seeking the location of a group you have supplied with illegal magic. You will provide this location to me. If you attempt to lie, I will know, and I will hurt you until I am satisfied you speak truth.”

  “Giving up customers? So what’s in it for me if I talk? You don’t kill me?”

  “If you’re lucky,” Gutch interjected. “We’re looking for the Lost House.”

  “What?” Bajwa sputtered. “They’re not real. They’re just
a story to scare kids!”

  “Don’t deny you know how to contact them. Whenever I brought your brother a piece of black steel, he’d brag about reaching out to the Lost House first, because they’d pay with buckets of gems or sacks full of banknotes. And Ashok here knows they’re real because he’s already killed a few of them…Oceans, they aren’t so hard. I killed one myself.”

  Jagdish folded his arms. “By yourself?”

  “Eh, you distracted him.”

  Bajwa scoffed. “Betray the assassins? They’ll destroy all of you and then come back for me!” He tried to force a laugh to drive home his point, but he was too scared of Ashok, so it was more of an awkward wheeze.

  Ashok gave Bajwa the back of his hand hard enough to bounce his skull off the post. “I have no patience for evasion. Tell us what you know of this Lost House.”

  That blow had knocked the blood from Bajwa’s nose and the truth from his mouth. “They’re real all right, but they’re ghosts. There’s nobody they can’t murder. They walk in one shadow and come out another. They can change into beasts and fly on the night winds. Even the Inquisitors leave them be.”

  “Where do they dwell?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Ashok lifted his hand to cuff him again.

  “Down the Nansakar! I mean I’ve personally never been, but I’m told if you follow the river all the way to sea, it turns into a swamp, Bahdjangal, the flooded forest. They’re somewhere out there. I’ve been told they’ve got this magnificent palace, practically a whole castle, all to themselves.”

  “Rubbish,” Jagdish said. “I’ve seen the raid maps. The Nansakar river basin is nothing but a wilderness. There’s not so much as a town there.”

  “No, really. I swear to you. Back in my great-great-grandfather’s day, there used to be a city way out there, but something bad happened to it. It’s just ruins now. That’s where the assassins live. The Lost House only use a few trusted couriers, but I’ve sent them magic, and they’ve sent back treasure. They’ve a man in Haradas, runs the barges there, named Chattarak. My men deliver the magic to him, he takes it the rest of the way.”