House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  As the dinner went on, and more courses were served, she noticed an increasing number of glances toward the still empty seat at the head of the table. Sikasso’s absence was causing unease among some, and joy among others.

  The third course was the breast of some game bird, and it was delivered along with a decent knife to cut it. Thera would’ve stolen the knife if she thought she could have gotten away with it, but she kept feeling eyes on her. As much as the strangers pretended not to care, many of them were watching her.

  Eventually, one of them actually spoke to her. “So does Sikasso’s project talk?” He was thin, with a pockmarked face. “Or does she just sullenly peck at her food, while judging us with narrowed eyes.”

  Everyone was looking at her then. A few of the wizards seemed openly amused at her discomfort. Her powerlessness annoyed her.

  “I talk. This conversation’s just not to my liking.”

  “Why, girl? Do you not have the stomach for our business?” He laughed. Several of the others laughed at her too.

  It shouldn’t have gotten to her. Years of living as a criminal had taught her how to keep her head down. There was nothing to gain by provoking these murderers. Except for good or ill, Thera still had the fiery temper that came from having the blood of House Vane in her.

  “I had stomach enough to put one of your kind in the dirt.”

  The pockmarked one had been taking a drink and nearly choked on his wine at her reply. That caused a few other wizards to laugh, but a couple obviously became angry. Across the table, Kabir tried to catch her eye, very subtly shaking his head in the negative, as if to warn her that she was playing a dangerous game.

  “A tragic misunderstanding,” Kabir said, explaining away the throat slashing of his best friend. “Our brothers who perished during those events will be greatly missed.”

  Thera glared back at Kabir, then cut a big chunk of bird, jabbed it with her knife, and stuck it in her mouth. To hell with these wizards.

  “Speaking of what happened in Jharlang, I’ve not seen our host yet. He called us all here, but hasn’t arrived himself,” stated an older wizard with a red turban. He paused to take a sip of his wine, before wryly asking, “I wonder, has Master Sikasso not yet recovered from his terrible injury?”

  “Meaning, you wonder if Sikasso is weak,” said one of the women.

  “I’m just thinking aloud. If he’s too ill to attend his own banquet, then maybe he’s not in any condition to manage the affairs of this house. It would be so very unfortunate if in addition to killing so many of our brothers, and not even getting a sword’s worth of black steel as promised, that Ashok Vadal also cost us the illustrious leadership of noble Sikasso.” He let that hang there.

  “Truly, most unfortunate,” Kabir replied without emotion.

  That exchange caused the topic of the conversations to shift. The wizards all went back to their discussions, but now it was whispering about their leader, and some dancing around the idea of who among them would replace him. Thera had been wishing for something better than murder, but instead she got politicking. She’d have preferred the murder talk.

  Surprisingly, Kabir didn’t join in on any of those snide discussions. He may have been planning to overthrow his leader, but he was wise enough not to show his intentions beforehand. Thera still didn’t trust him to keep his word to help her. He’d not taught her a thing yet about the secret laws of the Lost House as promised. When she’d seen him since their deal he’d given her some excuses about how he couldn’t meet during the brief times she wasn’t being observed, because his absence would have been noticed.

  “So, Thera, is it?” The wizard with the marked-up face addressed her again. “How goes your training? Have you unlocked that great and unknown magic that Sikasso swears is hidden inside your head yet?”

  Omkar answered before she could. “We make steady progress.”

  “Of course you’d say that, old man. Your reputation depends on it. My question was aimed at the slave.”

  Thera’s initial thought was to leap across the table and plunge her dinner knife into his heart. “I’m no slave.”

  “Semantics. If you reside within the House of Assassins you’re either our property, or you’ve passed the trial to earn your status as one of us.”

  Kabir was sitting next to that wizard. “There is no need to provoke her, Hemendra. She is Sikasso’s guest. Be careful you don’t inadvertently give offense to him.”

  Hemendra smiled. He knew perfectly well that he was giving offense, but the man he was offending wasn’t here to defend himself. That was when Thera realized that everyone was paying attention again. All of the other conversations had died off because this exchange was far more interesting.

  “From your expression, you don’t know of what trial I speak,” Hemendra said to her, but then he shifted a bit so that he was addressing the group. “If Sikasso thought she was capable of passing the trial, he would have told her about it. Isn’t that right, Omkar?”

  Her supposed teacher clenched his teeth and said nothing. She knew enough about courtly politics to tell that Hemendra was using her presence as a way to attack their absent master. She had to tread carefully.

  “What is this trial?”

  The wizard had a cruel laugh. “You poor fool. How hopeless you must be for them to handle you with such kid gloves. We all had to pass the trial to earn our seat at this table. You merely manifest some odd abilities and just like that Sikasso thinks he can subvert our traditions? I think maybe the fallen Protector took more than just his arm.”

  There were some murmurs at that. Hemendra had just crossed one of their lines. Thera might not have understood their ways, but she recognized open rebellion when she saw it.

  “The toxic fumes from your never-ending alchemical experiments have rotted your brain,” Omkar said. “Master Sikasso would take issue with your accusations.”

  “My alchemical experiments have given us useful weapons and poisons. Meanwhile, Sikasso has been busy for selfish reasons, locked away in his study trying to regrow a limb—a pattern which has been lost for ages—while our deals lapse and our business suffers. Messages arrive from the Grand Inquisitor, asking about the status of the Black Heart, and what atrocities we plan to commit in his name, but Sikasso does not answer.”

  “Perhaps if the master wasn’t so worried about usurpers pouncing on his temporary weakness, he would have more time for business,” Omkar snapped.

  “And I say if he’s got no time to see to our business, then he should be replaced with a man who does.” Hemendra banged one fist on the table.

  The room was quiet except for the crackling fire. The wizards looked angry enough to fight, though Thera had no idea who was loyal to who. Regardless, if they started flinging magic at each other, she was going to use that opportunity to run for her life, swamp demons be damned.

  Out of nowhere, a hand appeared resting on Hemendra’s shoulder. The wizard flinched. There was a blur of shadows that hurt Thera’s eyes as a man dressed in voluminous black robes appeared, and then the rest of Sikasso was standing directly behind Hemendra’s chair.

  “My apologies for my lateness.” Sikasso’s voice was cold enough to match his pale visage. His eyes seemed to glow as an aftereffect of the magic he’d used to appear so suddenly. “It seems you have begun discussing business without me.”

  The wizards were all surprised. It took quite a lot of skill to sneak up on an assassin, and from their expressions none of them had sensed Sikasso drawing near. Hemendra had sounded confident just a moment before, but now there was a bit of a tremor in his voice. He looked back over his shoulder. “We were just talking—”

  “I understand.” Sikasso patted his shoulder gently. “Why do you tremble, Hemendra? Unlike you, I would not stab a brother in the back. Besides, how could I? I only have the one hand now, and it rests upon you as a symbol of friendship.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course—”

  Another hand appeared from under Sik
asso’s robe, this one gloved and holding a loop of silver cord. In a flash Sikasso dropped the narrow rope over Hemendra’s head. The other wizard reacted instinctively, grabbing at the garrote, but Sikasso pulled it tight with both hands.

  “Oh, look at that.”

  Hemendra thrashed about as his pocked face changed colors. There were pouches containing bone or black steel on his sash, but he couldn’t reach for them with his fingers trapped beneath the rope, yet they were the only things stopping Sikasso from strangling him immediately.

  None of the others dared move. The ones who had been laughing along with Hemendra didn’t rise to help him. Loyalty was an alien concept in this hall.

  The master assassin’s jaw clenched as he drew the rope tighter. “My other hand was hidden, like you hid that Fortress powder you’ve been brewing to kill me with.” Hemendra kept trying to stand, but each time he was forced back into his seat. Sikasso was far stronger than he looked. “Shhhhh. Yes, I learned of your plots against me, old friend. I respect your initiative. I never expected one of you would try to do me in with something so clumsy as a bomb. Since you made such a vast quantity, it probably would have worked. However, I must bring your plot to an end, because right now unity is necessary for the good of our house.”

  Sikasso looked around the table, and spoke with a polite calm, as if he wasn’t in the process of choking a man to death. “I noticed my guest had asked a question. What trial? Her question was rudely ignored, so I shall answer for all of us. Our secret agreement with the Inquisition which allows our survival requires that we limit our numbers, and self-preservation behooves us to honor this arrangement. When one of us dies—as is about to happen shortly—we must replace our number, yet our gift is rare, and not often passed down by blood.”

  Hemendra was trying to pull one hand free so he could reach for a weapon, but to no avail. He was making terrible, ragged, grunting noises and snot was bubbling from his nostrils all over his mustache. Sikasso was growing red faced from the strain of holding him down. The struggling wizard began to kick the bottom of the table, violently shaking everyone’s plates and goblets. Kabir reached out and caught his wine before it could spill.

  “We are spread across all of Lok. When one of us spots a child who has the gift, if their ability has not yet been recognized by their house, and they’re not of high-enough status to be too missed, we take them, and bring them here to be trained.”

  Even distracted by the murder being slowly committed right in front of her, that revelation was so damned dishonorable Thera couldn’t help but blurt out, “You steal babies from their mothers?”

  “Hardly babies, Thera. That would be a logistical nightmare. Besides, the gift isn’t easy to spot until they’re old enough to understand patterns. We bring them here and train them in our ways. Most end up lacking the talent necessary. Those we scrub their minds—a process similar to what Kule of Vadal did to your friend Ashok, only without the painstaking rebuilding that wizard went through to turn that monster into the walking avatar of the Law—and they serve out their days as our slaves.”

  Thera glanced over at the nearest slave—the familiar one-eyed man—who was standing there holding a serving tray, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him. This whole time she’d thought they were simply afraid to speak to her, not incapable of it. She’d underestimated the wizards’ capacity for evil.

  “How could you do that to them? That’s terrible!”

  “It is also an excellent motivator for the rest of us to study hard. For the select few with the talent and the hunger, once there is a vacancy in our ranks, we undertake the trial. Most perish. Those who pass earn our place in the House of Assassins.”

  With a shock, Thera looked around at the assembled wizards and realized what that meant. “You were all stolen children! You weren’t born into this caste! This isn’t your house!”

  Eyes rolled back into his head, Hemendra had finally stopped kicking and gone limp. Blood was running down his beard from where he’d nearly bitten off his tongue. Sikasso kept up the pressure just in case.

  “What does it matter where a man was born? That’s one thing we have in agreement with your rebellion. Assassins are not born. We are made.” Sikasso was no longer directing his words at Thera, but to the group at large. “Look around you. Omkar’s father was a disgraced and drunken arbiter. Kabir and his brother were stolen from their pathetic dirt-farmer parents during a harsh winter when they would’ve starved to death anyway.”

  A dark look crossed Kabir’s face as Sikasso said that, but he managed to hide it well. She didn’t know if it was because of his worker roots, or…had the wizard she’d killed in Jharlang actually been his blood brother? No wonder he hated her.

  “Our origins do not matter. This is our house, because it took us, claimed us, and molded us in its image. We were chosen. We were made powerful. It taught us to fight and thrive. All life is competition and only the strong survive. We were taught the dreams of those who came before and we swore a solemn oath to see them achieved. We do what we must. That is our way…But some of us forget our promises, and put our petty desires before the good of our house.” Sikasso let go of the cord and stepped away from the chair. “It is good to be reminded.”

  Hemendra’s head limply flopped forward and landed on his plate with a bang.

  “I learned of his plans against me and I saw his cache of fortress powder. Impressive, to say the least. I shall not name his allies, but to you, be aware that as far as I am concerned Hemendra’s conspiracy dies with him. All is forgiven and you remain my brothers. Let us stand united to bring about the goals of the Lost House.” Sikasso made a big show of dusting his hands off.

  “Master! Your arm is healed!” Omkar exclaimed. From his worshipful tone, Thera could understand why Kabir referred to the old man as Sikasso’s dog. “That pattern was lost. What an incredible discovery.”

  “Partially.” He held up the black glove and made a fist, so hard that they could all hear the leather creak. “I have reconstructed the old pattern enough to create a missing limb from the elements, but it is a work in progress and unpleasant to look upon. Once I’ve mastered the process I will share it with the rest of you. In the meantime Hemendra was a fool to insinuate that I would neglect my duties because of something so inconsequential as personal discomfort. To whoever doubted my commitment, let it be known that I never wavered.”

  “I tried to warn him that he was giving offense,” Kabir said as he raised his goblet. “I would propose a toast, to the renewed strength of our visionary leader.”

  The rest of the wizards picked up their drinks, except for those who’d had theirs knocked over by Hemendra’s kicking, but the slaves were already pouring replacements.

  Sikasso was watching Kabir, expression unreadable. Thera assumed if he’d known the younger wizard was plotting against him as well, Kabir would be dead too. “Very well.”

  “To Sikasso. May he lead us to our glorious revenge,” Kabir finished, and everyone raised their cup. Including Thera, because her mind was still reeling that she was surrounded by men grown from stolen children who were gleefully carrying out the plans of those who had stolen them, and she didn’t particularly want to give offense and get strangled.

  Their once again unquestioned leader took his seat at the head of the table. As he did so, more slaves came in and carried Hemendra’s corpse from the room before the smell of his loosened bowels could upset anyone’s appetite. Sikasso waited until they were gone before continuing. “Thank you for your loyal support. Now we must discuss why I have gathered you here.”

  Thera caught a few perplexed looks at that announcement, as if showing off a regrown arm—a feat no other wizard had accomplished in hundreds of years—and publicly executing a competitor to establish dominance weren’t good enough reasons to throw a banquet.

  “First, the Grand Inquisitor has sent several messages asking about our progress in observing and facilitating the rebellion of Ashok Vadal.
He has heard rumor of the loss of Angruvadal and promised us an equal amount of black steel in compensation.”

  Thera dreaded hearing what would come next. All the wizards looked eager at their news. Despite stuffing their faces all night, there was still a hunger there. Their desire for magic reminded her of those she’d met who’d become addicted to the extract of the poppy. She suspected that was Sikasso’s real secret. As long as he got them their drug, they would keep him in power.

  “I have sent Omand a response assuring him that the House of Assassins remains vigilant. To demonstrate this, tomorrow morning most of you will fly for Neeramphorn, where Ashok was last seen by the public.”

  “I’ve worked that city. If you deem me worthy, I’ll lead this force,” one of the wizards said. He looked vaguely familiar to Thera. “You want us to find him again?”

  “No, Yuval, I already know where he is. I want you to pick a vulnerable town somewhere in that area and slaughter its inhabitants in the name of his rebellion.”

  Thera stood up. “No!”

  Sikasso absently touched a piece of demon bone hanging from his belt. There was a howl of freezing wind. He directed the wind against her and Thera was flung back helplessly. Her heavy chair struck the wall hard enough to break into pieces. She hit the floor, flat on her back so hard the breath burst from her lungs. It was like being trampled by a runaway horse.

  The wind died and Sikasso continued as if he’d never been interrupted. “Don’t kill all of them though, make sure there are survivors to tell the tale. Then pick another town, and do the same. Every three days I want another town in flames. Repeat this, over and over, traveling across the countryside until every whole man and woman in the east lives in fear that Ashok the Black Heart will be coming for them next. Kill the ruler, kill the warrior and the worker, but harm no casteless. Leave them untouched, so the Law will have someone to blame.”