House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  Thera was gasping for breath, dizzy, and trying to sit up. He couldn’t do that! Those people had done nothing wrong. Keta’s rebellion would be punished for Sikasso’s crimes. All of the casteless would be punished. Thera knew her people. When the warrior caste felt threatened, its natural instinct was to attack. The rebellion was about the casteless becoming strong enough that the Law would have to leave them alone so that they could be free. It wasn’t about indiscriminate murder.

  “If the Grand Inquisitor wants the people to feel terror, then we will provide that terror.”

  “You expect us to believe that Omand really wants the Lost House to go to such extremes?” Kabir was trying his best to hide his incredulity. He must have done a good enough job that Sikasso didn’t backhand him with a tornado.

  “Omand has his own reasons, and he does not share them with me, but fortunately his nefarious goals benefit us. I did not make this agreement for the Inquisition’s black steel alone. After a season, the bloodshed in the east will surely spread. Casteless will rise up, or warriors will preemptively exterminate them. All of Lok will be soaked in blood. What a glorious opportunity. We each have a list of important men descended from those who once wronged this house. Now is our chance to dispose of them. All we have to do is make sure to blame it on a casteless inspired by the Black Heart.”

  “Wait,” said another wizard. “You said you know where Ashok is?”

  “I do. I just received word that Chattarak was killed in Haradas. Ashok is more industrious than expected. He’s even gathered a small army somehow. There are barges full of warriors upon the Nansakar now, and the rest of his forces went south into Akershan. It appears Ashok is on his way here.”

  The wizards seemed more shocked by that revelation than Sikasso killing their associate. There were a chorus of whats and impossibles. Thera was glad to hear their fear.

  “Why would he come for us?” a female wizard demanded.

  “Why do you think?” Sikasso answered. Every eye in the room turned on her again, only this time Thera was on the ground, bruised and bloodied, in a torn dress, trying to catch her breath. She’d have killed the whole gaggle of the wretched creatures right then if she could have. “Ashok and I have one thing in common. We do not leave things undone.”

  “You’re nothing like him,” she muttered. Ashok may have been a hard, stubborn, unfeeling bastard, but he was better than any of these animals. He’d promised to protect the prophet, but she’d doubted he’d even try once he realized it was merely her, a criminal and a fraud, not some great leader who knew the will of the gods. Except Thera should’ve realized just how powerful a vow was to someone like Ashok.

  “Our location has kept us safe from infiltration for a century,” another wizard declared. “There’s no way Chattarak would’ve told him the secret path through the swamp, and Protectors can’t change shape to fly. He doesn’t even have his sword anymore. The demons in the swamp will surely kill all of them for us.”

  “Possibly, but we underestimated Ashok once in Jharlang, and bled because of it.”

  The wizard who’d spoken of Neeramphorn jumped in. “Then we shouldn’t divide our forces. Burning towns can wait a few days. We can stay here until the Black Heart’s eliminated.”

  Sikasso shook his head. “The Grand Inquisitor grows impatient, and Omand is truly the greater threat. Our business must go on. Plus, I still have more assignments to give. Do not worry about dividing our forces. To make up for our absent brothers, I have activated all of our Dasa.”

  “Ah…good choice, master. The guardian servants are deadly.”

  Thera had seen one of the thin, blue-skinned things only once. She didn’t know their true capability, but from the approving nods, the assassins all thought the Dasa would be more than sufficient to stop Ashok. She hoped they were wrong.

  “In addition, I will be sending a few of you after Ashok’s allies who traveled south to silence them as well. We cannot afford to lose track of any who can claim to speak for the Black Heart, but more importantly we must assume they too know of our existence and location. They all must perish. Ashok Vadal will die here, but only we will decide how his legend lives on.”

  Within Akershan was the rebellion’s hidden home. That had to be where they were going. Keta was probably among them, because very few knew the secret path. It was a slow journey this time of year, and they might even get snowed in. The wizards could turn into birds and fly. There was no way Keta could reach the safety of the Cove in time. Shaking, Thera managed to get to her hands and knees, and she crawled toward the table.

  “Please. I beg you. Those people have done you no wrong. You can’t do this, Sikasso.”

  “I can and I will. Isn’t a true rebellion what the supposed god inside of you wants? You should be pleased by these developments…Either way, we’ve been overtaken by events. Your time is up.”

  “We had a bargain.”

  “Which you have failed to honor. Earlier I mentioned motivation. All of us were motivated to not end up as dimwitted slaves and to live through our trial. There is no greater motivator than survival.” Sikasso looked over at Hemendra’s empty chair. “We currently have some openings in our ranks. I declare that tomorrow we will begin a new trial. Thera will either master her power or she will die.”

  Chapter 32

  They had almost reached the sea.

  The great river had broken into a hundred smaller ones. In the endless fog and rain Ashok couldn’t tell what was an island versus what was real land. Islands were not connected to the rest of Lok, and because of that he found them suspicious. How loyal could land be, when it was totally surrounded by water? The trees were choked with vines, and every rock appeared to be covered in a soft green moss. He could spot no landmarks, but the casteless knew exactly which narrow watery path to take them down. If it hadn’t been for them, the whole men would have become hopelessly lost.

  High in the tallest mountains of Devakula, the Protector Order had in its possession a map of the entire world, dating back to before the rain of demons. Ashok had first seen it as a young acolyte, while going before the Heart of the Mountain. His memory of the carving had remained sharp all those years, so he knew that there had been a huge city near here once. There was little evidence of it now, but every now and then they passed the rotting corpse of an old building, now completely overgrown, and only recognizable because there were a few too many straight lines for it to be natural.

  The air in this region was moist and chilly, the sky perpetually grey. The mornings were cloaked in fog and the afternoons usually brought a cold rain. In the rest of Lok it was midwinter, and normally the further south you traveled, the colder it became, but not in the Nansakar river basin.

  “I do not like this place. I do not like it all,” Ashok whispered to himself.

  Except one person was close enough to overhear him. “Me too!” The casteless, Nod, was at the front of the barge, using his pole to push them safely between partially submerged rocks and fallen logs. The rest of the passengers were sleeping, playing games of chance, or sharpening their weapons. “Bahdjangal is the worst part of the trip. But it’s been a nicer trip with you than the old barge master, that’s for sure. He was sure fond of his whip!”

  Though it was cold, the casteless was wearing no shirt. He was probably used to the miserable damp. Ashok noticed that his back was covered in hundreds of long, thin scars. “Did it work?”

  “Oh, it’d make us go faster. For a bit. But then we’d go real slow once he wasn’t watchin’ no more to make up for it.” Nod grinned as he hoisted the dripping pole and then shoved it back down in one smooth motion, somehow striking a good solid spot to propel them along, simply by instinct. “Heh. We showed him.”

  “Acts of petty rebellion against your lawful master, just out of spite,” Ashok muttered.

  Nod froze, suddenly afraid that he’d gotten out of line. That kind of attitude out of a casteless could easily earn a beating or worse. He was obviously af
raid that he’d gone too far, and become too familiar. “Sorry. I mean, I talked like you’re a casteless too, but there’s nothing really casteless about you.”

  “That is my legal status.”

  “You say so, boss.” When Ashok said nothing else about that, Nod went back to work. “No spite for you though, Fall. You’ve been kind to us. We’re happy to work hard for you, so we’ve made real good time.”

  Ashok looked across the evil water and the choking vegetation and sighed. These casteless had no obligation to him. They’d volunteered their labor on their own free will. He was no better than they were, and they were the ones helping him. He had only helped them by accident.

  “I am sorry. I did not intend offense. It was not my intent to intimidate you.” Despite his status, that was an incredibly difficult thing to actually come out and say to someone he’d spent his whole life feeling superior toward.

  Nod appeared flabbergasted. He turned back to the river and kept poling. Apparently non-people weren’t used to receiving apologies from supposedly god-sent heroes. “No need, master, no need.”

  “Regardless, you have my thanks. It would have taken me far longer to travel here without your aid and guidance. It is appreciated.”

  “It’s the gods’ will you be here now.”

  Keta’s gods seemed to will a great many things, but it was men with sweat on their brow and calluses on their hands that did the work. But he did not argue with the poor casteless. Simply being treated with the smallest bit of dignity was such an unnatural experience that it seemed to overwhelm him. So Ashok went back to hating his surroundings instead.

  “I do not understand this place. To the south it is winter. To the west it is winter. The rest of Lok has seasons, but this place seems stuck in a perpetual fall.”

  “That’s your name. It should be a good omen,” Nod suggested helpfully.

  Though Fall was his casteless name, Ashok had no particular love of that gray season. “The north has a warmer climate. The further south you travel the colder it becomes, except here. I wonder why…”

  “It’s because in this low land where the Nansakar meets the sea, there’s always a warm wind coming in off the ocean. It bumps into the cold wind that comes down from Neeramphorn through the valley Haradas. So it is always warmer here than on the high Akershan plain. That’s why it rains so much here too.”

  Ashok was amazed. “That’s the sort of thing learned men say when they’re trying to predict the weather. How do you know about such things?”

  Nod looked a little worried, like he’d gone too far again. “I’ve no learnin’. My whole life has been on this river. Just my father told me and his father told him. There’s currents in the sky just like there’s currents in the river. I guess we’ve known that forever.”

  “Huh…” Once he had started paying attention to them, he’d continually been surprised just how clever non-people could be. They had lives. Poor, brief, hungry, painful ones, but they were lives. There was a certain dignity that came from becoming very good at a task. Nod had deft hands and a keen mind for this river. He was probably as expert at poling a barge as Ashok was at fighting with a sword. It made him wonder, if Angruvadal hadn’t chosen him, would he have been given his father’s obligation? Instead of battle, would he have mastered cremation? There would never have been Protector of the Law, twenty-year senior, Ashok Vadal, just Fall, the cremator of corpses…

  Certainly that would have been a lot simpler for a great many people!

  Would he have been as good at burning the dead, or scrubbing blood, or whatever it was he’d have wound up doing, as Nod was at driving this barge? Only Nod was better at his job without a cruel and spiteful master there to torment him. Would young Fall have mastered a craft, or would he have been too busy cowering in fear?

  “Nod, where is Chattarak’s whip?”

  The muscles of the casteless’s back tensed up at the memory of the many times he’d been struck by that thing. He must have wanted to ask why Ashok wanted it, but was too afraid to do so. Instead he took one hand from the pole to gesture at a nearby wooden crate. “In there.”

  Ashok went over and opened the lid. It made a loud creak. He noticed that distinct sound made every casteless on each corner of the barge glance fearfully in his direction. Their flinch angered him. The sound even carried across the still water to the next barge twenty yards behind them, and he noticed the non-people there were all looking his way as well, conditioned to see who had drawn the barge master’s wrath this time.

  Ashok found the length of braided leather and pulled it from the crate. It was still covered in dried blood.

  “That’s it, Fall. We know it well.”

  Many of the warriors and workers had noticed too, and they were watching him, curious. Less than half of them had known him since Jharlang, and those barely knew him at all. To the rest, he was just an enigmatic figure spoken of by Mother Dawn. They were all interested to see what he intended to do.

  “No more,” Ashok said simply, and then he threw the whip into the river.

  The casteless watched it float away. The whole men went back to their cards or sharpening their weapons.

  Ashok knew his act changed nothing. Everyone and everything had its place. Theirs was at the bottom, property, worth no more than livestock. Eventually the Law would give these casteless a new master, and when they displeased him, they would feel the sting of the whip again.

  But not today.

  Ashok took his place beside the casteless at the front of the barge.

  “Thanks,” Nod said quietly.

  They continued on in silence.

  Chapter 33

  Long before dawn, Thera stood in the courtyard of the Lost House in front of a group of wizards. The early hour didn’t matter. It wasn’t like she’d slept much that night anyway.

  Sikasso was there. The normally unreadable man appeared rather solemn. The trials were serious business. Kabir and Omkar were there, as were many of the wizards she’d seen the night before. Only this time they weren’t dressed in their fine robes, but rather for battle. Their armor was light and minimal, and their clothing was all in dark colors, better for sneaking in. They carried a wide assortment of weapons from every part of the continent.

  Thera stopped in front of them. She had no idea what a trial entailed, other than a very good chance of dying, so she folded her arms and waited.

  “The ceremony will commence,” Sikasso declared.

  “Why bother with the speeches?” asked one of the wizards. “There’s real acolytes it’ll matter to, but none of them are ready to test. It’s just your oddity.”

  “Because we will honor tradition,” Sikasso snapped.

  Chastised, that wizard looked away.

  “The House of Assassins mourns the recent loss of our brothers Lome, Choval, Bhorlatar, Vilsaro, Chattarak, and Hemendra. We are lessened. For our great work to go on, their offices must be filled. Their oath must be replaced. Who among you has an acolyte who is worthy to test their place?”

  Omkar cleared his throat. The others might have thought this was a joke, but Omkar took his duties very seriously. “I present one student before the House of Assassins. She will attempt the trial.”

  “Are there no others?” Sikasso knew damned good and well there weren’t, but he stuck to his script. After a moment when no one spoke, he continued. “Acolyte, if you would take their oath and their place, come forward.”

  Everyone looked at Thera. She stepped toward the wizards.

  “There are six oaths left unfilled. Whose oath will you claim?”

  She didn’t really know what to say. “I cut Vilsaro’s throat. I suppose I should take his.”

  “That philosophy is more fitting than you realize,” Sikasso muttered, then he went back to what must have been his regular speech. “The student will test to replace Vilsaro, may she prove worthy. The remaining oaths will go unfilled until the next trial.”

  “Just me then? You’ve no more s
tolen children to sacrifice?”

  “Silence,” Sikasso ordered. “You will not mock our ways. I wish I could be the one to guide you through the trial, because I would take a certain satisfaction watching the flesh ripped from your smug face if you fail, but you must pick another…Who from among the assembled members of the Lost House do you choose to be your guide?”

  Fat Omkar was already stepping forward to accept the assignment, certain she would pick the man who’d taught her the tiny bit of magic she knew. The way he looked proud about it told Thera there had to be some prestige from the title.

  So just out of spite she said, “I choose Kabir.”

  “With my wisdom I will guide—” then Omkar stopped, surprised, and sputtered, “What manner of insult is this?”

  Sikasso looked toward Kabir, who was staring daggers at Thera. “The student has made her choice…Though it is a curious one.”

  “He’s the prettiest one of you. If I’m to die at least he’s easy on the eyes.”

  “I am unable to guide her, for I have duties elsewhere,” Kabir said with forced humility. “I’m supposed to lead the group in pursuit of the friends of Ashok Vadal who are traveling into Akershan.”

  “The student has made her choice,” Sikasso repeated. “Tradition is clear. I shall send Omkar in your place. Apparently his presence here is not as necessary as he thought.”

  Neither Omkar or Kabir looked happy at this development, but Kabir gave a small nod and said, “Then with my wisdom I will guide the student through the trial.”

  “The choices have been made. To replace the oath of fallen Vilsaro, the student and the guide will depart immediately. You will return worthy of the House of Assassins or not at all.”

  * * *

  “Row faster,” Kabir hissed at her.

  “I’ve never rowed a bloody boat before!”

  “I don’t care. The longer we’re in the open the more likely we’ll attract a demon.”