House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  Karno flopped down and began serving himself a plate of food. “What you do with this information is up to you, Historian. Normally, it’s no business of the Protectors who the Inquisition wants to interrogate.”

  “I assure you, I’m no criminal.”

  “If I thought you were, I’d have dealt with you myself. Rada is no criminal either. They want her because she is a witness to a crime. Which makes me suspect you may have similar knowledge.” Karno ripped the leg off a chicken. “You may explain while I eat.”

  Vikram put his palms together and gave the Protector a polite little bow, a gesture of acknowledgement and respect in Akershan. She couldn’t help notice as he did that his hands were like scarred up pieces of leather. He seemed like a hardened desert creature, more warrior than scholar.

  “I’ve already told you, I know of no conspiracies. My wife visits family there occasionally, but I’ve not been to the Capitol in years. I associate with no judges or arbiters. Most of my Order has forgotten about me. My work is here.”

  “What is your work?” Rada asked.

  “I’m a caretaker of sorts. Beyond that, I cannot say. The nature of my assignment is secret.”

  Considering his rough appearance, Karno had remarkably decent table manners. For some reason she’d assumed he’d just toss the stripped bones on the floor with a loud belch, and hope Vikram had a dog. Instead he finished chewing and even wiped his mouth with a napkin before saying, “I promise that you’ll tell the Inquisitors once they chain you to the dome. Secrets never last long up there.”

  “You’d be incorrect. There is a special section within my Order which takes our oath every bit as seriously as you do, Protector. I’d not reveal my obligation under torture any more than one of you would tell them about the Heart of the Mountain.”

  Karno’s eyes widened. “Do not speak of that.”

  “Apologies.” Vikram had the smile of a wise, old fox.

  Rada had never seen the Protector shaken before. The idea that Karno could even be shaken at all was frightening to her. “What’s the Heart of the Mountain?”

  “A myth,” Karno answered too quickly. Before he had been looking at Vikram dismissively, but his attitude had changed, and now he regarded the Historian warily. “The Heart is just a myth.”

  “There are many such myths in Lok. You’ll forgive me. I’ve spent too much time in the hot sun and am easily befuddled. It can be hard to sort the truth from the legends at times. Like the one which got young Rada here in trouble, about who the casteless really are.”

  “You know about that?” Rada asked, surprised. “You read my report?”

  “No. But I know which books you would’ve consulted to prepare it. Who can really say what is true? Did a powerful warrior really ride a ship made of black steel and fire out of the sky, to forge ancestor blades and teach magic to the people, so that they could drive the demons into the sea?”

  “You are the Historian,” Karno said. “Why don’t you tell us?”

  “The problem with history is that it is written by the victors. The Sons of Ramrowan lost. Our ancestors won. That’s why officially all those old stories are considered propaganda left over from the Age of Kings. Yet every myth has some element of truth. In this case, what is true? Are the casteless really the descendants of the kings and their priests, and if so, are they truly the only ones who can save us all when the demons invade the land again?”

  “That sounds dangerously close to illegal religion, but I do not grasp the significance of this.”

  “I believe Rada does, which is why they’re so interested in her. Why don’t you explain to the Protector, Rada?”

  She was deeply ashamed. “I told Devedas this already. We know very little for sure about the time before the demons fell to the world, and much of it is clouded with religious silliness, but when the demons came, they destroyed nearly everything. There are other continents besides Lok, but we lost contact with them. Mankind was being hunted to extinction, until something stopped them.”

  “His name was Ramrowan,” the Historian added. “The fanatics say the gods felt guilty because it was their war that had cast the demons out of heaven. They felt pity for us and sent their greatest warrior to save us.” Vikram spread his hands apologetically as Karno glowered at him. “I am merely sharing the legends. I make no comment upon their validity.”

  “It’s all right, Karno. If you want to understand this conspiracy, then you should probably know what they’re trying to eradicate. Whatever the truth about this Ramrowan, all the histories agree that he was a powerful wizard, who united the survivors against the demons, and was afterward crowned the first king.”

  “We rarely speak of the Age of Kings,” Karno said. “Mostly what we learn is so that we can more effectively root out the fanatics who still believe in those old gods. All I know is that it was a dark time.”

  “Not at first, Protector. On the contrary, Ramrowan had a reputation as a wise and just king. However, over time his descendants grew in power and pride, until they became utter tyrants. Any system will become corrupt once it gains power unchecked.”

  Karno didn’t seem to like that. It was almost like Vikram was talking about the Law.

  Vikram chuckled. “The problem was, with everyone believing that the demons were going to return to the land someday, and only the descendants of the first king could defeat them, then they’d better make sure they never run out of descendants. The Sons of Ramrowan each took a hundred wives, as did their sons, so on and so forth for generations. The people gave them everything they wanted, riches and power beyond imagining. They built a religion based around the necessity of their continuing lineage, and sent forth priests to ensure obedience. Their numbers became bloated, and their greed immense. It only took about three hundred years for the castes they created to serve them to decide the kings were such tyrants they’d been better off with the demons.”

  Rada stopped Vikram. “The important thing is, after the people rose up and deposed the kings, most wanted to slaughter them for their crimes, but a few were worried that the old stories were true, and if that bloodline was wiped out, if the demons came back we’d be helpless. So there was a great gathering of the wise men from the different houses, and they debated.”

  “The very first meeting of the judges,” Vikram said. “Ah, you’ve read Ingragda’s First Volume of Historical Proceedings. A brilliant work.”

  “Agreed. He had a most eloquent use of language—” Karno scowled at her, so Rada got back to the lesson. “A compromise was reached, their lives would be spared, but in exchange they’d be deprived of all their rights, and their descendants would be made to always suffer for their crimes, without dignity or caste. The princes and priests became the first non-people.”

  “I’ve been fighting for the Law my whole life, but I’ve never heard this.”

  “It’s not just part of the Law, Karno. It was the very first part,” Rada said.

  “The Law started because of the casteless?” The Protector shook his bushy head and went back to his lunch. “That sounds absurd.”

  “Since they’d already gathered in what would become the Capitol, they discussed how to rebuild and how best to prevent the injustice which had happened before,” Vikram explained. “Each great house sent their wisest men to judge these new laws. A man could only have one wife. Since religion had become a tool of oppression, it was banned entirely. That took some doing, they couldn’t just slap some plaster over every old mural, so they created what would become the Inquisition to systematically destroy it all. Except for a few select keepers of information—which would become our respective Orders—the old ways were to be purged, the gods forgotten. Groups were formed to see to these various necessary duties. The ruling families of each house and these new central diplomats became the new first caste. Three and a half centuries after Ramrowan was crowned, the Age of Kings had ended, and a new age, an age of reason and Law had begun.”

  “This coincides with wh
at I learned,” Rada said.

  “Good.” Vikram leaned back on his cushions, looking smug. “My wife wouldn’t listen to me, but I assured her that not everyone at the library was a complete fool.”

  “I was foolish enough to lie to the judges! I didn’t tell them about this, and now they’re going to exterminate all the casteless because of me.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, Rada. It’s been 817 years since the creation of the Law. It’s been a long time since anyone has been allowed to talk about our past at all, and this particular part has been severely limited even among those of us obligated to remember it. That’s made it easy for them to slowly grind away the truth. If the judges had picked my Order to prepare the report instead of yours, I’m sure it would have been every bit as flawed.”

  “Still—”

  “If you’d been braver, they would’ve just silenced you in a more permanent manner.” Vikram seemed remarkably pragmatic about the whole thing. “Knowing your father, I bet he picked someone other than you to prepare this report. There is no way he would’ve put his own daughter in danger.”

  “How did you know that?” Was he trying to say her father was in on it? She looked toward Karno, because the Protectors had no patience for anyone breaking the Law, but he didn’t seem to care. “My father is guilty of no crime!”

  “I didn’t insinuate he was. The Durmad I knew was a decent and honorable man. However, in politics, decency and honor can get you in trouble.”

  Karno had finished his chicken, and leaned forward. “You said them and they. Who has been wiping out this information?”

  “Sadly, I cannot give you an answer I do not have. Nor do I know why the Inquisition would be interested in a humble caretaker such as myself. Why does this bother you, Protector?”

  “I’ve been tasked with protecting a witness. I’ve found the best way to do that is to kill everyone who would endanger them. It’s a rather straightforward method, but it works.”

  “I cannot help you in your investigation, Protector. However in the meantime, since you need a place to keep your witness, both of you may remain here as long as you wish. Very few in the Capitol know where I live. We are self-sufficient, and other than trading the occasional basket of eggs with the Astronomers, have little contact with the outside world. We would be grateful for the company.”

  Karno put his hands together and made the same Akershani gesture of respect that Vikram had given him earlier. “Thank you, Historian. We will take advantage of your hospitality for a few days.”

  Vikram returned the gesture, and then stood up. Even though he was about the same age as her father, there was no groaning or popping knees. Harsh living conditions must keep one fit. “My home is your home. Now if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

  “Of course.”

  “It was a pleasure, Rada. I will enjoy having someone to talk about history with.” Then Vikram left the room.

  Rada waited until she was sure he was long gone before whispering, “I like him, but he’s lying about something.”

  “I know.” Karno had already helped himself to more food. “We’re staying anyway.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “The Inquisition is looking for him. Why stay here?”

  Karno shrugged. “I’m curious to see who comes to kill him.”

  Chapter 31

  The wizards of the Lost House seemed to be a solitary, unfriendly bunch. In just her short time here, Thera had already seen how they constantly plotted against each other. They made the rumor-mongering, backstabbing, high-status ladies of Great House Makao look like decent, honest, honorable folk. It was no wonder they seldom gathered together for a feast, which made tonight a special occasion.

  Her invitation had been more of an order. During their daily training, Master Omkar had told her that she was expected to attend or else. Sikasso had declared there would be a banquet in the great hall, because he had something special to announce.

  When she’d returned to her quarters, she’d found that the slaves had left a dress hanging for her. It wasn’t as ridiculous and ostentatious as the silly outfits she’d been expected to wear in her former husband’s court, but it was also far less modest. Thera didn’t mind showing some skin, but it limited the places where she could hide weapons. And she’d accumulated several over the last few days, everything from a kitchen knife to a big, rusty iron nail that could spike a skull. For the feast she’d have to make do with wrapping the first shiv she’d fashioned in silk and tying it around her waist beneath the dress.

  Even though Sikasso had somehow been able to tell, Thera always went armed if she could help it. Not that stabbing a wizard would get her anywhere, but it was the principle of the thing.

  The great hall was a magnificent structure, with walls of intricately carved wood. A fire roared in a hearth surrounded by gleaming bronze plates, each engraved with the image of a wild animal. It was hard to believe that this place had once been partially ruined. She’d asked Omkar how they’d managed to get skilled artisans all the way out here, and he’d explained they’d simply kidnapped whoever they needed. The assassin had not shown the slightest bit of remorse about it. She hadn’t asked what happened to those workers once the assassins no longer had need of their services.

  She was glad for the big fire. The Lost House was always chilly, and her dress had no sleeves.

  Every few feet a statue had been placed along the walls, but since they’d been collected from all over Lok, they were wildly divergent in style and size. The wizards flaunted the Law, so many of the statues were of the old gods. Though as far as she could tell, the wizards didn’t venerate them, they just liked the images because they were illegal and expensive.

  Several wizards had already arrived, all dressed in fine robes, and a few with colorful turbans. Some were young, some were old, fat, thin, short, tall, and everything in between. She only recognized a few faces, yet they were all dour. Nobody greeted her, or even acknowledged her at all. They either saw her as a threat or an unremarkable oddity. They noted her entrance, and then went back to their hushed conversations.

  A silent slave caught Thera at the entrance and gestured for her to follow. As usual the slaves never talked or so much as made eye contact. The chair that was pulled out for her was practically a cushioned throne. There were thirty of those chairs around a long rectangular table. Golden goblets filled with wine were set in front of each seat, whether it was occupied or not. In the center of the table had been burned the same house symbol as hung from the banners on the wall. Slowly, most of the chairs filled.

  As more wizards arrived, for the first time Thera saw a woman who wasn’t a slave, but she was just as aloof and cold as the rest of the murdering bastards. They were eventually joined by two more women. Thera was unsure why there were so many more male assassins than female. From personal experience she knew that a woman could commit a sudden and unexpected murder just as well as any man. Successful murdering wasn’t about physical strength, but rather commitment. Even the strongest warriors went right down when they never saw the knife coming. Perhaps men were just more likely to be born with the ability to use magic? Or maybe it was just the nature of the Lost House?

  She would have to ask Kabir the next time he visited. Except after making their deal, he’d practically disappeared. Either he was regretting their arrangement, or he’d backed off because Sikasso was suspicious. Neither possibility was comforting.

  Eventually Omkar was seated to her left. Kabir directly across from her. Even her teacher and her fellow plotter didn’t acknowledge her existence. It was petty, but that insult bothered her more than the overt threats.

  There were several empty chairs, probably belonging to assassins who were off doing something nefarious, or maybe they were empty because Ashok had killed their owners. She fervently hoped that Ashok would continue to free up seating around this particular table.

  The most ornate chair was at the head, surely meant for Sikasso. It rem
ained empty as the slaves silently brought in their first course. She had to admit that the wizards ate well, though from the amount of spice they applied most of it wasn’t very fresh. Which made sense, there couldn’t be very much in the way of farming out here. From the windows she’d seen slaves tending gardens and animals, but there wasn’t that much space on the hilltop. Much of their food was delivered somehow. She’d given that some thought, because if things came in, then that meant there was a way for people to sneak out.

  As usual, Thera paid careful attention to her surroundings, in the hopes of learning something that could prove useful. The conversations struck her as spiteful and competitive. They told stories about their assassinations. Laughing about how they’d pushed a victim out a window, or drowned one in their bath. It left a bad taste in her mouth, and not because of the killing. She’d grown up around warriors. A good killing was normal dinner conversation to her.

  A warrior-caste feast would be filled with men bragging about their raids and battles, but long ago Thera’s father had taught her a valuable lesson about such things. He’d taught her to be silent and watch. The more confident a warrior was, the less he felt the need to brag about what he’d done. His name would brag for him. When accomplished warriors talked about their business with each other, it tended to be matter of fact. And at a feast like this a truly great warrior didn’t need to talk about his wars, but rather he talked about what he’d gone to war for.

  There was none of that here. The assassins were all about self-aggrandizement. Kabir had told her about their desire to right the wrongs of the past, but their conversations never touched on anything so lofty. They talked constantly of killing, but not once did they talk about what they were killing for. It was a contest of cruelty. Their pride struck her as obnoxious. They were simply a more dangerous version of the bickering court ladies of Great House Makao.

  It actually made her miss the company of Keta and the worshippers of the Forgotten. They were a wishful-thinking, but straightforward bunch. Her disdain for the wizards was thick enough she would have gladly traded the lot of them for the company of grumpy Ashok. Now he was a right murderous bastard, but also quite possibly the most honest man she’d ever known.