House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  “We’re all monsters to someone. How many thousands of widows and orphans cry themselves to sleep at night because of the murders committed by Black-Hearted Ashok? You are the monster. This is your fault. I was looking for another way, but your arrival forced me to take the more dangerous path. It’s because of you I used this arm, and it’s because of you that I sent Thera to her trial.”

  Ashok put the Heart to healing the crack in his skull. He needed to buy time for it to work.

  “How have you not lost control?” Hybrids were normally driven insane with bloodlust. Sikasso seemed angry, but rational. Their sickness quickly became obvious, because it caused terrible mutations of the flesh. Obviously, the new arm had sent veins and arteries crawling to his heart to feed it, which was why he bled demon blood, but other than the telling hole in his chest, Sikasso looked completely normal. “What kind of illegal magic is this?”

  “I am far from the first to try to blend human and demon, but I am the first who will succeed. Through the arcane knowledge my people have gained, and by the strength of my will, I will not allow it to corrupt me. Living demon flesh never runs out of magic. It renews continually. With that power, I can create the patterns necessary to keep it under control.”

  “Not even criminals will follow an abomination.”

  “As long as I do my part, they’ll never know.”

  “You’ll go crazy eventually.” Though Ashok did not find this amusing, he forced himself to laugh, just because he thought it might enrage his foe, and rage causes mistakes. “We’ll see how loyal your assassins are once you lose your mind and start drinking blood and eating babies. You’re the one who cursed Nadan Somsak. You know I’m right.”

  “Then they’ll accept my affliction because I’ll be unstoppable. I’ll return this house to glory and burn the Capitol to the ground. My people will love me for it. They will appreciate my sacrifice.”

  Ashok got shakily to his feet. He could almost see and think clearly again. Sikasso stopped a few feet away.

  “I’m not a monster. I am a seeker of truth and a solver of mysteries. I am the leader of the Lost House and the taker of lives. But most important of all, I will be the man who killed Ashok Vadal.”

  Sikasso swung, but Ashok had been ready for that. He ducked as he pulled a dagger from his belt. He came up and slammed it into Sikasso’s guts, hard enough to lift him off the ground. Ashok shoved him back, stabbing the whole way. Sikasso hit the wall, and Ashok kept on stabbing.

  “You’re nothing but an abomination,” Ashok bellowed as he perforated Sikasso’s torso another half dozen times.

  “So are you.” Sikasso smashed a fist into Ashok’s chest, sending him staggering back. “There is black steel inside you. I can smell it. We are both hybrids of a sort.”

  Fiery pain radiated out from the impact point. Ribs had broken. Ashok struggled to breathe. Sikasso struck him with a mighty overhand blow that sent Ashok to his knees, dazed.

  Sikasso continued speaking, unperturbed by the multitude of what should have been fatal wounds. “I couldn’t before, but I can see it now. The black steel is in your blood. It intends to use you the same way this arm will try to control me…Only I’m better than you, stronger, smarter. I will bend the demon magic to my will. You’ve been nothing but an unwitting pawn your whole life.”

  Sikasso’s demon hand shot out and clamped around the back of Ashok’s neck, hard as a worker’s vise. He effortlessly lifted Ashok high into the air.

  “And now that life is over.”

  Ashok saw the danger coming, but there was nothing he could do in time. The wizard swung him around and he was impaled on one of the dangling hooks.

  Ashok screamed as the curved steel slid into his chest.

  “You know what else my old master taught me about Protectors? The best way to kill one is to cut his heart in two.” Sikasso let go.

  His body dropped. The chains snapped taut. The hook pierced Ashok’s heart and burst out his back.

  Not even the Heart of the Mountain could save him from such a wound.

  Ashok dangled there, boots inches off the ground, helpless…dying.

  “Now the mighty Ashok Vadal is just another dangling piece of meat.”

  There was a banging against the vault door. “Master Sikasso!” The voice was muffled. “Demons approach! We need you!”

  “Deal with them! I’m busy!” Sikasso roared, never looking away from Ashok. “Before you go to the endless nothing, I need you to realize you’ve failed. You only had one thing to protect, Protector, and you couldn’t even do that. Once I’ve dealt with these trespassers, I’m going to rip Thera’s magic out of her. Then I’m going to skin you, and pluck every piece of black steel from your corpse, so that even the broken remnants of your sword serve me. I need you to understand this.”

  The world was fading away. Ashok could not fear death. There was just an emptiness where the fear should have been.

  Death cannot take me. I am not finished.

  Had Ishaan Harban had similar thoughts go through his mind before the darkness had taken him? It had done him no good either after Ashok had stabbed his brother in the heart.

  He could no longer keep his head up. Blood ran down Ashok’s limp fingers to splatter against the floor below. That red puddle reminded him of a long-ago memory, tiny casteless hands scrubbing blood from the floor. Then that too was gone…

  The wizards in the hall were still pounding on the door, but Sikasso waited, watching Ashok until the light faded from his eyes.

  “It is done,” Sikasso hissed once he was certain.

  Ashok Vadal was dead.

  Chapter 42

  Demons to the left. Wizards to the right. And Jagdish once again wondered why fate was such a stone-hearted bitch.

  He’d sent the wounded back to the barges. Their leader, Ashok the unstoppable killer, was still missing. That left Jagdish with only fifteen men to storm a fortification held by an unknown number of enemies with dangerous magic.

  It was a good day to be a warrior.

  “Sons of the Black Sword, heed my words! We are mighty! We have already defeated a soldier of hell today! Compared to that, what are some cowardly wizards?”

  His men roared. The battle fever was on them. They were from different houses and even different castes, but they’d done the impossible together. And they’d had time for that realization to sink in while he’d run them across the rest of the swamp.

  “It’s just a little bit further now. Eyes up. Double time!”

  Now they were nearly at their journey’s end. Jagdish would have his revenge. Gutch would have his treasure. The Sons would rescue their prophet. Or not, and they’d all die out here on the edge of nowhere, and no one would ever know of their heroic exploits. But such was life!

  Shekar rushed out of the trees. He’d ordered the Somsak to range ahead as scouts. Say what you would about their barbaric nature, but those men could run through a forest like deer. Murderous, tattooed, raider deer. Jagdish moved to the side and stopped to hear Shekar’s breathless report.

  “Bad news, Risaldar. The big demon is swimming across that lake directly towards the wizards’ house.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “The lake isn’t that deep, so it’s more like wading than swimming.”

  “Salt water…” The scouts had seen the group of demons a few minutes earlier. He’d been hoping they’d head back to sea, but they were plodding along up the coast instead. The normally swift creatures seemed inclined to proceed at the pace of their slowest ally, which was unfortunately the biggest demon he’d ever heard of.

  “We’ll get there first, but the demons won’t be far behind. There are some warriors with blue-painted skin waiting to fight them at the shore. I don’t think they’ll hold for long though.”

  Going in at all was suicide. They’d be better off running away and letting the demons tear the place apart. The logical thing to do was to return to the barges and give the demons a few days t
o satisfy their bloodlust, then sneak back in to loot the place afterward.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but we’ve got to save our prophet first,” Shekar begged.

  “She’s not my prophet, Havildar.”

  “You didn’t get to hear her in Jharlang, or see one of the gods appear that day. Believe me, sir, she speaks for the Forgotten. It’s true! We came so far to find her, if we abandon their chosen servant now, the gods will forsake us forever.”

  At times Jagdish had to remind himself that, though he was very proud of this little group he’d helped mold into the semblance of a functioning military unit, they were still a bunch of religious fanatics who believed in tall tales.

  “Please, Risaldar, I beg you. We must do the right thing.”

  Jagdish mulled it over. What would Ashok do? Probably something insane that would instantly be the death of a normal man. That was no help. “How much time do we have before the demons arrive?”

  “At this pace, by the dots of that pocket clock you’re so fond of, fifteen minutes at most.”

  Regardless of what had brought Jagdish here, it was not what these men were fighting for. Their mission was to serve their gods. He had no doubt at this point they’d follow his orders because they trusted him, but a good leader never put his own desires first. It was about the mission and then the men.

  “Then we’d better go faster.” Jagdish raised his voice. “Sons! Full run! Don’t slow until we’re knocking on the wizard’s door. Move! Move!”

  The men picked up the pace. Shekar’s marked-up face split into a delighted grin. “The gods will bless you for your faith, Risaldar!” Then the scout took off through the trees.

  Jagdish just shook his head, and set out at a run to catch up. It was easier going now since the treacherous swamps had given way to pastures, and thankfully the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. The warriors were used to running long distances, but his handful of workers were struggling to keep up. There are different kinds of strength, and strong arms did not necessarily make for strong lungs.

  It didn’t take Jagdish long to catch up and then pass most of the men. “Come on! We’re almost there,” he shouted, encouraging the workers in the rear. Poor Gutch was so red faced that he looked like his heart was about to rupture. “This is why you don’t see many round bellies in the warrior caste, Gutch!”

  Gutch didn’t have the wind sufficient to insult him back, but he still managed to give Jagdish a vulgar gesture.

  “That’s the spirit, friend. Just think about all that treasure up there and keep going.” Jagdish left the workers behind and pushed harder. It had been months since he’d thought about Ashok breaking his leg, but that bone was really beginning to hurt, warning him that he needed to slow down, but Jagdish would be damned if he wasn’t the first of them to reach the Lost House.

  The column ran past crumbling ruins of once great buildings, now serving as mere corrals for livestock. The pigs and goats were snorting and panicked by the smell of nearby demons. There was a cluster of wooden houses. These were of newer construction, simple, humble dwellings, probably for servants or those who didn’t rate a spot inside the great house.

  They saw no one. No warriors tried to stop them. No wizards lurked in ambush. The forces of the Lost House were otherwise occupied. There was nothing more distracting than a pack of rampaging demons, but Jagdish wasn’t about to thank the foul oceans for anything.

  The path curved uphill. With burning legs, even some of the warriors began to falter. Jagdish didn’t need to shout encouragement to them. He just put one boot in front of the other until he was past them. It was a universal truth across every house, that proud young warriors did not like being shown up by anyone, especially an officer. So seeing Jagdish get ahead of them made them push harder to keep up.

  The top of the hill opened onto wide flat. A few hundred yards ahead of them was a magnificent building, but Jagdish didn’t pay any attention to the lavish decorations or intricate carvings. He focused on the fact that the Lost House had a very solid-looking set of reinforced doors and no ground floor windows. It wasn’t like they’d carried ladders or siege equipment through the swamp.

  It didn’t matter. They’d come this far, and he was getting in there if he had to dig a hole through the wall with his fingernails.

  There were spots along the roof where archers could be hiding. If they ran up in a strung-out line, they’d be easy pickings for arrows, or since these were wizards, something worse. So Jagdish held up his fist. “Slow!” He’d let the hounds catch up with the gazelles, or in the case of Gutch, the ox. “Group up!”

  The Somsak raiders immediately began turning the hand cranks to cock their powerful crossbows. Of course, leave it to the mountain barbarians to outrun Jagdish. If he was a few years younger he would’ve showed those tattooed maniacs what’s what.

  “Remember, lads, no mercy, no quarter. You fight a wizard, you gang up and kill him quick. Don’t give ’em an inch. The longer you fight, the more tricks they’ll pull.”

  As the rest of the men reached the crest, Jagdish gave them directions. They’d lost so many men to the demon that the two squads he’d organized them into had basically ceased to exist. It was easier to address them by their houses than by name in the heat of the moment. “Somsak spread out, watch for archers. Thao, Akershan, on me. Kharsawan, as soon as the workers catch up, bring up the rear with them. Go.”

  They started toward the house at a quick walk. There was a ruined tower nearby which would be a fine spot for an observer. Jagdish thought he caught a bit of movement up there, so he got Shekar’s attention and pointed. Satisfied the Somsak had it covered, Jagdish turned back to his men.

  “Risaldar!”

  Jagdish looked back just in time to see a woman plummet from the top of the tower. Limp, she tumbled through the air. The fall was soundless until the abrupt wet thud at the end.

  Shekar held up his crossbow to show that the bolt was still there. “Wasn’t me.”

  Jagdish drew his sword as he approached the corpse. The fine clothing indicated she was probably one of the Lost House. Her limbs were twisted in odd directions, but it was fairly obvious it wasn’t the fall which had killed her, but rather the chunk of metal sticking out of her bleeding ear canal.

  “Think that’s a wizard?” Shekar whispered.

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Shekar approached cautiously, then squatted next to the woman. He grabbed hold of the weapon that had killed her, slid it right out of her head, and held it up to examine it. The Somsak was so nonchalant about it that even jaded Jagdish grimaced.

  “It’s not even a real blade, Risaldar, just a sharpened chunk of pot metal.”

  “I told you wizards aren’t that tough,” Jagdish said with forced bravado, because really, nobody was tough once stabbed in the ear hole. Yet who had killed this wizard? This didn’t look like Ashok’s work. Did they have other allies here?

  He got his answers a moment later when two people descended the broken tower’s stairs. One of them was a woman, as filthy with swamp muck as the Sons, so covered in mud that it was hard to tell what she looked like, but from the way the man was supporting her, she had been wounded. He was dressed in drab worker’s garb, bald, and missing an eye. Her hands were wrapped in gauze, and even though she was practically being carried down the stairs, she met Jagdish’s gaze, head up, proud as any warrior.

  “She murdered my guide,” the woman seemed a little out of it as she explained herself, almost as if she’d been drugged. “He was a treacherous bastard, but he was my treacherous bastard. Serves her right.”

  Shekar and the other Somsak must have recognized her, because they immediately went to their knees. One of the workers from Jharlang cried out, “It’s the prophet!”

  That answered what would have been Jagdish’s next question.

  “Who are you people?” Thera demanded, confused why a bunch of strangers were suddenly bowing before her.

  �
�I am Risaldar Jagdish. These are the Sons of the Black Sword.” He answered on behalf of all of them, since most of his fanatics had gone to bowing. Jagdish wasn’t about to bow to some outcast, regardless of how many imaginary gods she had in her head. “These men have come a long way to find you.”

  “Really?”

  Jagdish could see it plain upon the faces he’d come to know so well. They truly believed this woman spoke for their gods. This was devotion unfeigned. It made Jagdish a little sad. This was no longer his unit to command, in a way it never had been, but it had been an honor to be their steward for a time.

  “They’re here because they believe in the Forgotten. This is your army, Thera. They’re not many, but they are good men, strong and true. They are yours to command. Please, command them well.”

  “I have an army?” Thera seemed rather surprised by this development, but then a malicious grin slowly spread across her face. “Then I want to burn this place down.”

  “We’ve got to loot it first!” Gutch interjected.

  “The wise thing to do now is retreat,” Jagdish said. She might speak for them, but the gods hadn’t taught this woman a damned thing about tactics. “There are demons on their way.”

  “Risaldar,” Thera was battered and exhausted, but there was steel in her voice. “There’s always time for arson.”

  Chapter 43

  Ashok was truly dead.

  Once, he’d thought he died in Jharlang, but that had merely been close, on the edge between life and death. This was something different entirely.

  He had been promised that death was nothing. This was not nothing.

  Death was indescribable.

  Until the gods spoke with a voice as thunder.

  Hathiyaar Punarjanm.

  The black steel embedded in his chest turned into molten fire.

  His heart couldn’t beat split in half, but Angruvadal gave him strength, and then it shocked him with a bolt of lightning.

  Life came rushing back.

  His eyes flew open. Ashok still hung from the meat hook stuck in his chest.