House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  She remembered the advice her father had given her about stalking prey. Andaman Vane had been legendary at silently removing enemy sentries during raids. Sudden movement draws the eye. Breathe through your nose, it’s quieter. Always listen. Focusing on his words gave her something to dwell on rather than the discomfort and the mind-numbing terror.

  Then she reached the graveyard.

  This had to be the place, because there were hundreds of scattered bones and dried-out husks wreathed in shredded, hanging, black skin. Trees had grown up here over the last century, lifting old carcasses into the air, and bones and skin hung from the branches cloaked in wispy gray moss. Some of the remains were ancient, partially dissolved into dirt, the magic probably long vanished. Others were obviously newer. It was hard to tell because of the moist decay but some of the corpses couldn’t have been here for too long. The visible bones were still white instead of crumbling gray and plants hadn’t covered everything. Those should still contain magic.

  It was an eerie place. Some of the monsters had died sitting up, or leaning against trees, but they’d died so long ago that now they were just green, demon-shaped piles of vegetation. What could possibly compel them to come here to die?

  No matter. Thera picked out the nearest body, but then she thought better of it. That one was still mostly in one piece, and even sawing away at it, demon hide was notoriously difficult to cut through. That meant noise and movement. This was just like when she’d first learned how to pick pockets, surviving as a criminal after Ratul had hidden her away. Some Protector he’d been! You didn’t try to take the purse tied to the cautious warrior’s belt. You took the purse from the oblivious Firster who’d had too much to drink. She may have been terrible at working magic, but that didn’t mean she was uneducated.

  Thera changed her approach so that she would reach one of the more mangled bodies first. That made her wonder, what manner of scavenger was strong enough to rend apart a demon? Regardless, the connective tissue had long since rotted away, making for a much easier grab.

  Reaching the corpse, Thera grabbed a handful of bone fragments and dirt and then crammed that into the damp satchel. Though it had no eye sockets, the weird skull was staring at her anyway. Dead demons looked as emotionless as the living ones. Would those fragments be enough? Some of the teeth had fallen out, so she hurried and grabbed those as well, but she’d forgotten just how sharp demon teeth were, and one sliced right through the end of her glove. Red blood spilled from her fingertip.

  Damn it. After hours of caution, she’d made one hasty, sloppy mistake. She didn’t know if demons were actually attracted to blood or not, but Ratul had been certain they were. She stuck her finger in her mouth, then put the teeth in the bag and made sure it was tied shut. She’d not done all this to have her loot fall out during her escape. Tasting blood and swamp, she removed her finger from her mouth. The end of her glove was dangling, and she could see the water logged skin beneath. She tried to squeeze the cut shut, but it was too deep and her flesh too soft from the moisture. So she jammed her hand into the mud to coat it fully, because filling the hole with dirt might stop it, or at least keep it from dripping everywhere.

  Forty feet away, something pitch black appeared between the reeds.

  Thera hugged the ground, hoping the demon would go away. But it just lay there, darker than the shadows. Too scared to breathe, she couldn’t even risk turning her head to look. She could barely see it from the corner of her eye.

  Soundlessly, it rose to its full height, far larger than the man-sized demon that had nearly ended her life years ago. It breathed in, expanding a chest big around as a barrel, and then slowly turned in her direction. Thera resisted the urge to scream.

  The demon moved toward her.

  She had to make a choice. Had it spotted her? If it had, her only hope was to run. If it hadn’t, and she moved, it would give chase, and it was said demons could outrun horses.

  Thera decided to stay still. Or maybe she was just so terrified that her muscles were frozen and the decision was made for her.

  Regardless, it proved to be the correct call, because the demon wasn’t coming for her. It went to the more recent corpse she had passed up. Now that she could see it clearly, this demon had to be eight or nine feet tall, and was so thick that it must have weighed seven hundred pounds. Only it stepped so lightly that she could feel no vibration in the earth she was clinging to. Its shoulders were vast, the featureless head just a lump set too low on its chest, its waist too small, its limbs too long. There was no natural proportion about this thing.

  The demon squatted next to the newer body, a mere twenty feet away.

  And did nothing.

  Thera waited for it to move on, but the demon just remained there, perfectly still, head tilted downward as if it were studying the dead.

  Was it mourning? Do demons feel?

  Suddenly, the creature drove its claws into the corpse. It happened so fast that it took everything Thera had not to gasp or flinch. The sharpest knives dulled against demon hide, but the claws tore right through. Then the demon grabbed hold of the black skin with both hands and tore it open like a piece of fabric. The hide made a terrible sound as it ripped.

  Now she knew what manner of scavenger it was that could tear apart corpses this tough.

  Only the demon wasn’t just attacking the body, but rather it seemed to work with a methodical purpose. It wasn’t scavenging, because it wasn’t eating anything. Bones snapped, flesh tore, but there was nothing savage about the process. The demon was simply rearranging the parts and stacking them. The act seemed more ceremonial than anything.

  It would have been curious if she wasn’t so damned terrified.

  The demon stopped working. Its head lump abruptly twisted upward. Then it slowly turned toward her.

  Thera’s eyes flicked down. The mud on her fingers was stained red. Her cut had bled through.

  The demon stood, dropping the leg it had just effortlessly wrenched off a body denser than an ox. Its manner changed. It was on the hunt.

  Now Thera ran.

  The demon gave chase.

  Terrified, legs pumping as fast as possible, Thera tore through the graveyard. Leaping over bodies and ducking beneath branches, she could feel it gaining on her with each giant stride. She moved between the trees, thinking that its bulk would slow it down, but it crashed right through, shattering limbs and hurling demon bones in every direction.

  There was only one way for her to go, deeper into the graveyard.

  She crashed through the brush, hoping that it would trip up the demon, but it barely slowed. Branches slapped her in the face and cut her skin. She didn’t dare look back, but it had to be right on top of her.

  Then Thera stumbled into a field of hard white.

  It was a clearing piled high with bones. Filled with bones.

  She rushed into the open, the demon almost on her. Thera tried to keep running, but the bones slipped and tumbled beneath her feet. She fell and desperately began to crawl across the clattering ground. But here were bones everywhere, some stacked in piles, deep as her waist.

  In the middle of the circle was a monument.

  The monster stopped at the edge of the field.

  Gasping for breath, Thera looked back toward the demon, but it was just standing there, watching her silently. Then she looked back toward the thing in the center of the clearing, and her mind rebelled at the sight.

  It was an idol, wide as a wagon and ten feet tall. It was a statue like the multitude which decorated the House of Assassins, just as ancient, just as religious, only this one hadn’t been fashioned by the hands of man. At first she thought the idol was made of some dark green stone, speckled with black moss, but this was something else entirely. It didn’t feel carved, but rather grown.

  Thera couldn’t understand what she was looking at. It wasn’t the image of a demon, but of something else entirely. Was this an image of their god? Nervous, she looked over her shoulder, but the q
uiet demon was still watching, and seemed unwilling to enter the circle.

  There was a strange logic to where the bone piles had been placed around the idol, geometric, like a mandala. The wizards had tried to help her see the patterns that made up all things. Apparently demons had patterns too.

  The idol spoke.

  It didn’t use words. It used noise and pain, but it got its message across.

  It had been waiting a millennium to deliver its ultimatum to someone like her.

  The world shook. Bone piles toppled. Crazed images flashed through Thera’s mind as ancient gods collided inside her head.

  Chapter 35

  The Sons of the Black Sword made their way across the treacherous land.

  Ashok knew to never trust a swamp. A swamp was an in-between place. It only pretended to be real land. He’d worked in swamps before, mostly on the Gujaran peninsula, far to the north. But Bahdjangal was different. A Gujaran swamp was where their endless jungle hit a low spot and filled with water, but they remained as hot, miserable, and loud as the surrounding jungle.

  It was nothing like that here.

  Bahdjangal—as the casteless called it—was cold, but not nearly cold enough for the water to freeze. It was quiet. A Gujaran swamp was filled with the noise of screaming birds, and the impossibly loud buzzing of millions of stinging insects. Here, there were no animal calls, and not so much as a breeze to make a branch creak. Occasionally there was a mysterious splash as something slithered into the muck, but other than that it was still.

  It took him a while to realize the most glaring difference of all. Gujaran swamps were bright green with life. Here, everything seemed tinted gray. There was too much death—fallen trees and scattered animal bones—and every living thing appeared diseased and soft. The air was heavy with the scent of decay.

  Regardless, the men’s morale was high. They were not a real military unit. Most of them had never trained together before. They weren’t unified by an official Order or even caste. Until a few days ago they had been strangers, and the men of the different houses still held an ancestral animosity for each other. Yet they moved swift and sure across the muddy ground, united by their odd faith. Even those who hadn’t a few days ago known that there was a prophet, believed they were doing their gods’ work saving her now.

  Ashok also suspected that some of the warriors were just trying hard to impress him. When he’d been a Protector he’d become used to such behavior from the warrior caste. It was illegal to worship gods, but warriors loved to worship heroes. Not to mention, if a Protector spoke highly of an individual’s service to their Thakoor, it could go a long way toward boosting that warrior’s name and status. Ashok could no longer do that, but he wondered if some of these fanatics thought he was in a position to put in a word with their gods instead…If that was the case they were going to be sorely disappointed.

  Perhaps they were just happy to be off the damnable swaying barges, but whatever it was, the Sons of the Black Sword were looking forward to a fight.

  It was customary for a risaldar to break his paltan into two to five squads, with a havildar overseeing each. They were thirty strong now, so Jagdish had chosen two. Previously, he had picked Shekar of the Somsak, to oversee the original Sons of the Black Sword recruited in Jharlang. Eklavya of the Kharsawan—the young man who had spoken for the fanatics on the road—had been picked as their second havildar to oversee the newcomers.

  Both of them seemed to be doing well as junior officers, though their styles were very different. Shekar was smarter than most Somsak, but was still basically a bloodthirsty savage. Like most of the Kharsawan, Eklavya seemed orderly and composed. What manner of odd god could appeal to such wildly divergent warrior cultures? Ashok assumed that all fanatics were like Keta, and their god was a blank canvas for them to paint whatever motives and traits they desired upon it.

  If that were the case, then Ashok hoped one of those traits was courage, because if this swamp really was infested with demons, then these warriors would need all the courage they could get.

  Where the water was moving, it was too dark to see through. Everywhere the water was still, scum and soft green pads grew on top. It was fresh water, not salt, but demons didn’t seem to care much about the difference, and often swam up rivers when they were in the mood to rampage.

  “Can your gift sense the presence of demon?” Ashok whispered to Gutch. “They’re magic.”

  Their tracker was at the front of their column. Since there was no road or sign of any path, Ashok had told Gutch to lead them toward the strongest magic. The worker had been reluctant to be on point, but Ashok had said he would stay by Gutch’s side to keep him safe. Ashok was not the sort to lead from the rear anyway.

  “Maybe. Sometimes. When they die they rot and stink like everything else. But demons are strange when they’re still alive. Their magic is inside them and kind of blends into their surroundings. I don’t really know. I’ve done my best to avoid living demons! Did I mention yet I don’t like being in front?”

  “Do not worry. In my experience, when demons ambush, they let the lead pass, then attack the middle in order to inflict maximum carnage in the shortest amount of time. Once a coherent resistance is broken, then they devour the stragglers at their leisure.”

  Gutch swallowed. “Oh…I don’t know if there are demons close, but I can feel a lot of concentrated magic that way.” He pointed with his spiked club to the east. “Two, maybe two and a half miles. Hard to tell since there’s so much magic there, black steel and demon both. But there’s something else in this place, confusing things.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never felt nothing like it before, like a fog hangs over something to the north.”

  “To the place with the black steel first. Let us make haste.”

  They had set out as soon as there was enough light to keep from tripping and breaking their necks. They’d been marching for hours. It was slow going across this muddy terrain. If Gutch was right they could reach the wizards while the sun was high. Ashok really didn’t want to be stuck in the swamp overnight. Demons killed just fine in the sunlight, but in his experience they seemed to prefer striking in the dark.

  The Sons were covered in filth and soaked to the bone. Even the warmest clothing became useless once it was sodden, so many of them were shivering. There was no dry path, so they constantly had to wade through the water. Everyone in Lok knew that if a man went into water deep and dark enough to hide his feet, demons could be lurking. Yet the men showed no fear and gave no complaint as they slogged along. If he’d still been a Protector and this had been a lawful mission, then he would’ve given their Thakoors a glowing report.

  Sadly, even with their good spirits, Ashok knew that he could have abandoned them and made far better time. Among the Sons were many strong men, but none of them were as agile as one who’d touched the Heart of the Mountain. This close to the wizards, it was tempting…But Ashok had to check his pride. He no longer had Angruvadal. Without it, there would no longer be any easy victories. And he had not come all this way just to get killed at the wizard’s doorstep.

  Their feet seemed to get heavier at every step as more and more mud clung to them. Gutch was red faced and breathing hard from the exertion. “Hang on…There’s something odd.” He stopped to lean against a tree, and then thought better of it, and slid down until he sat on the ground. Surprisingly, inside Chattarak’s warehouse, Gutch had found an armor shirt made of chain and woven leather plates, big enough to fit even him, though it was snug. He was probably regretting the decision to wear it now. Workers didn’t realize just how heavy armor got after a while.

  “What is it?” Ashok held up his fist, indicating the column should halt. He didn’t want them too bunched up. He’d once seen a leaping demon plow right through an entire shield wall, scattering half a dozen spearmen in every direction.

  “Just…I don’t know.” Whatever it was seemed to have struck him dizzy. G
utch rubbed his hands down his face, but all that did was smear mud everywhere. “There’s some kind of weird magic being used, but in a different spot, where that odd sensation was coming from. Give me a moment.”

  It was good Ashok was there to guard Gutch, because he was too weary to pay much attention to his own safety. Gutch didn’t even see the viper that came out from under the tree he was sitting against. And he never did, because Ashok quickly crushed its head beneath his boot.

  “How is this magic different, Gutch?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like black steel or demon. I can’t puzzle it out. Whatever it is just came out of nowhere, and it’s real strong. Like ancestor-blade strong. It’s clashing against…” Gutch blinked a few times, obviously confounded. “The strongest demon I’ve ever felt! What in the salty hell is that thing?”

  “Thera,” Ashok muttered. Then he grabbed Gutch by the straps on his new armor and effortlessly hoisted the big man out of the mud. “Which way?”

  Gutch nodded. “That way.” It was hard to tell since there were no landmarks and the sky was too cloudy to see the sun, but it seemed to be north.

  “Jagdish!”

  The risaldar shouted back, “What is it?”

  They would not be able to keep up. “You are in command. Continue toward the Lost House. I will find you.” He called upon the Heart of the Mountain to grant him speed as he leapt through the flooded forest.

  Ashok had a Prophet to protect.

  * * *

  The Protector Order would be ashamed to know that the precious magic of their Heart of the Mountain was being so heavily drawn upon to save the life of a rebel, but Ashok didn’t care. A vow had been made. That vow would be kept.

  The ground was treacherous, but Ashok barely touched it as he flung himself through the forest. With great bounding strides he moved, trying to hit logs, roots, and solid dirt, in order to not waste any precious momentum. It was commonly said that a Protector could outrun a horse over short distances, but what most never witnessed was that through terrain this rugged, a Protector could chase down a fleeing deer.