by Scott Baron
The knife brushed her side as she pivoted away, bringing her elbow crashing across her opponent’s face, right into the corner of his jaw, striking it just so. The way she’d been practicing for what seemed like her whole life, making it second nature. The guard fell in a heap and was quickly trussed up and hidden with the others.
On she progressed, unseen, unheard, taking down guard after guard. Even the most camouflaged of them were no match for the deadly assassin. Ten had fallen to her skills by the time she reached the outer door to the building the target was hidden within.
She approached cautiously, senses on high. This was too easy. Sure, there had been guards in some numbers, but it still didn’t feel quite right.
She was just deciding whether or not this was a trap when the answer was provided to her in the shape of the foot that crashed into her chest, blindsiding her and sending her flying backward.
Demelza dug her feet into the ground and pulled a bit of the stolen magic flowing in her body, bringing her feet to an abrupt stop. She then leapt into action, not allowing her attacker another moment to formulate a next step.
The two fought fast. So fast it was almost impossible for the naked eye to register the strikes and counterstrikes being exchanged. Demelza was amazing, skilled, and driven. Unfortunately, the man she was fighting was, almost impossibly, simply better. And much better, at that.
A trio of combinations stunned her, knocking her back on her heels as the man shifted his angle of attack to her weak side just as she launched another counter. It caught her off guard for only a moment, but that was enough.
He swept her feet, a move that would normally take an opponent to the ground in short order. But this assassin was fast and nimble and twisted aside, somehow staying upright. But that was what he had been expecting, and the stronger man was already in place, locking her arms up while gently resting his blade against her throat.
“Damn. Well done. I yield,” she grumbled.
Hozark smiled and released his grip, the knife in his hand vanishing back to its hidden sheath.
The lighting around them brightened, and all of her now freed victims moved in closer, as did the other students who had been watching from the wings. This wasn’t a true assassination attempt, but a very, very realistic training exercise, put on for the benefit of the young would-be assassins in the Wampeh Ghalian training house.
Hozark, the man who had triumphed against her, was one of the handful of masters of the order, the other four spread out across the systems visiting the other Ghalian training facilities between contracts, as was their way. He was more than just another assassin. He was one of the Five. The best of the best.
“A most impressive showing,” the master assassin said. “Ten students incapacitated, and all without raising the slightest alarm.”
“Thank you, Master Hozark,” she replied. “But, ultimately, it was not enough.”
“Perhaps not, but failure is a valuable lesson as well. Even for the best of us,” he said, turning and surveying the attentive students’ faces. “In fact, topped up on power as she is, had magic been allowed in this contest, she very well might have bested me in a purely magical contest.”
A murmur would have quietly flowed through any other body of students had a teacher admitted as much. But these were older trainees, and the silent, attentive ways of the Ghalian were as ingrained and natural as breathing by now.
Demelza, however, and quite in spite of her training, felt the beginnings of a blush rising to her cheeks. Redirecting her attentions, she forced it down, her face remaining as pale and emotionless as a statue. But inside, the blush had spread into a broad smile.
For Master Hozark to simply say such a thing was enough. He was not one for overt shows of flattery, nor did he lie to his wards. But for him to admit this in front of the students? Demelza’s ranking had just taken a serious bump upward in the eyes of all within the training house.
And Demelza was topped up with magic. A lot of it, in fact. She had been born without any significant power of her own, as was normal for the vast majority of those in the galaxy. But she had also been one of the fraction of a fraction of a percent of Wampeh born with a different gift. The rarest of abilities that only the tiniest amount of her race possessed.
A grain of sand on a beach. That was how rare it was. And yet, it was an ability all aspirants to the Wampeh Ghalian order possessed. One that made them feared even more than the deadly skills they spent their lives perfecting.
It was their ability to take another’s power.
And they did so by drinking their blood.
Chapter Three
Only a few weeks prior to their demonstration at the assassin training house, Demelza had been working in the service of a violet-skinned, elderly man residing on the deadly, gaseous planet of Xymotz. It wasn’t a permanent gig, but in between contracts, she was assisting him in any way he asked.
Master Orkut was his name, and he was one of the last surviving swordsmiths possessing both the magic and the arcane knowledge needed to craft the rarest of Ghalian weapons. The vespus blade.
It was a sword made of a magically enhanced blue metal. A weapon capable of causing great damage regardless of who swung it. But in Ghalian hands, it was far more, its magic allowing the sword to absorb and redeploy the power a Ghalian assassin had stolen. Few enchanted blades could match its power, and Hozark had visited the old man seeking such a weapon.
Given whom he was about to be facing at the time, he knew full well he would need it.
It was there, while seeking Orkut’s services, that he had met Demelza and joined forces. Not met, technically, since he’d known who she was from her time as an aspiring trainee not too many years before. Partnered would be a better choice of words. And an odd one, for Wampeh Ghalian almost always worked alone. But, then, he wasn’t the one who had decided on their unusual pairing.
Orkut had.
Demelza was working in the swordsmith’s service in order to earn favor enough for the man to craft her a weapon. Nothing so elegant as Hozark’s vespus blade, but a fine weapon worthy of a Wampeh Ghalian just the same. One day, perhaps, she would be worthy of a vespus blade. But for now, she would gladly take what he might offer her.
Hozark, however, was one of the Five, and he had visited the man in search of the finest sword the master artisan could craft. And, after passing Orkut’s many tests, the man had agreed. But at a price.
His requested payment, however, would not be in simple coin. This particular weapon would be used against one of the Council of Twenty’s key players, and that same group of power-hungry vislas and their hangers on were threatening more than just some random systems this time. Their activities had put Orkut’s homeworld at risk.
“The Council has always been a thorn in the side of free men,” the swordsmith had said, and it was true. The Council was one of the main forces behind the magic-user slave trade. “But these times are becoming even more dangerous. Greed and lust for power is threatening all but the most stable of systems. This chaos they are causing is even threatening my own home and those I hold dear.”
It seemed Orkut had a family far away, including a son who shared his father’s swordmaking gift. The youth could craft weapons to nearly his father’s level of skill, but all the man wanted was for his children to be able to live a normal, safe life, hopefully never being called upon in service of the Wampeh Ghalian, or any others, for that matter.
But war and conquest were in the air, and the Council of Twenty was engaging in far more than their usual quest for power and control in the known and newly discovered systems. They were threatening the order of things, including Orkut’s home planet. It was for that reason he made Hozark a deal.
Fight the Council and kill his target. Stymie them and their plans. And in exchange, he would receive the finest vespus blade ever crafted by his hands. A weapon that would feel as natural in his hand that it would seem as though it had always been a part of his body.
Hozark had accepted and returned to his ship to await delivery of the blade. Three days later, it arrived, delivered by Demelza at Orkut’s request. And it was everything he had ever hoped for and more.
It was at that moment that Hozark learned the other component to the swordsmith’s price, and it was an unusual one. He was to bring Demelza on this contract and utilize her skills to ensure success.
It wasn’t insulting, exactly, but the Wampeh Ghalian always worked alone, especially one of the Five. It was simply their way for as long as any could remember. But on that particular occasion, an unlikely partnership had been formed, the two thrown together at the insistence of Master Orkut.
As it turned out, it was a good thing, for while Hozark was battling their target’s bodyguard and right-hand killer, Demelza had snuck up on the man and completed their task, sinking her fangs into his neck, draining the man of his life and his power.
Visla Horvath had been a moderately powerful visla, and that magic now belonged to Demelza until such time as she utilized it. Unfortunately, once it was gone, it was gone. A Wampeh Ghalian could only take the power that was present. The ability to create power from within died with their victims.
And while the assassins only drank from power users, the general public didn’t know that, and the sight of a Wampeh’s deadly fangs sliding into place was enough to loosen the bowels of even the hardiest of men.
But Visla Horvath hadn’t had that opportunity, nor the chance to deploy any of his powerful spells. He had been too engrossed watching Hozark battle his bodyguard, their vespus blades clashing with bright, magical sparks, for his right-hand man was a woman. And she was a Wampeh Ghalian.
Samara was her name. A deadly assassin possessing one of the few vespus blades still known to exist. But the Wampeh Ghalian did not work for the Council, nor did they take this sort of employment.
Samara was different, however. She was dead.
Or so they had all believed when she had been lost on a job a decade prior. Finding her alive had been a shock to the order, but to none so much as Hozark, for not only had they grown up together, working their way to full-fledged Ghalian assassins side by side, but there had been more. While bonding was simply not something the Ghalian did, the two had been lovers from time to time, and they were as close as two could be without crossing that invisible line.
But she had perished.
Again.
Killed in the aftermath and chaos following their hit on Visla Horvath. She had fled, and her ship had been destroyed in the process, her remains scattered to the stars. Yes, Samara was dead again. Everyone had seen it.
But Hozark still harbored doubts.
Chapter Four
“Your form is impressive,” Hozark said to the younger woman as they walked from the training site hidden within the facility’s grounds. “And I mean what I said. Had you utilized the magic currently residing within you, I might very well have been unable to best you.”
“Because the rules of this exercise precluded lethal force,” Demelza noted.
“Well, yes, there is that,” he admitted. “But regardless, it was a good showing. It was only your counter-counter that I felt could use a bit of refining.”
“Oh? I appreciate any knowledge you are willing to impart to help me improve my combat skills. One never ceases learning, even after becoming a full Ghalian.”
“I could not have said it better myself,” Hozark replied with a little grin. “Come, this practice space is unutilized at this time of day,” he said, stepping into a nearby chamber.
Demelza followed, ready for a sneak attack to test her skills, as her teachers had so often done under the guise of a simple, innocent bit of practice. But Hozark had no need for such games with her.
She had more than proven herself in combat. This was merely helping her achieve an even higher level of proficiency. And as Orkut had more or less saddled him with her as a partner, he thought it wise to help make her the deadliest woman possible, given their resources.
“Stand here,” the master commanded.
Demelza complied, standing before him where he had indicated.
“Turn. Face as you were when I first engaged you during the exercise.”
She did as he asked, waiting for his arms to slide into place. But this time, he did so slowly, so she could better feel the angle of attack, as well as her best means of evasion.
“There. Do you sense it? The weak point you failed to exploit previously?”
“I do,” she said.
“Now, move through the sequence and counter.”
She did, and his muscle memory began countering her counter without requiring thought.
“There. Do you feel that? The control shifting once more?”
“Yes. And it was there that my form was unequal to your attack previously.”
“But now, taking your time, you see the way, do you not?”
Demelza paused a moment, her body feeling the pressure exerted at each contact point between them. At full speed it would be a very different sensation, but the principle was the same. And, she was pleased to note, the correct counter-counter was suddenly as clear as crystal.
She moved slowly, ensuring her motions were perfect.
“Yes, that’s it,” Hozark said, pleased at the speed with which she realized and corrected her prior error.
They flowed through the sequence, then moved into a freestyle adaptation on the theme, utilizing each of their own particular techniques. That was the thing about Wampeh Ghalian. While they trained in dozens upon dozens of martial styles, each Ghalian assassin ultimately developed their own unique form, special only to themselves.
It was what made the assassins so difficult to handle. Where other orders and military units would drill in a fixed set of styles, the Ghalian took what worked for each of them and blended it until they had a deadly series of moves that none could foresee. And, better yet, they knew the rote patterns most of their opponents had memorized, making their slaughter all the easier.
Twenty minutes passed in a flash, as time often did when skilled fighters were practicing their art.
“I’ve greatly enjoyed this session,” Hozark said, dabbing the light shine of sweat from his brow. “We will practice further at a later time. For the moment, however, it is time for the meeting of the Five.”
“The others are here?” Demelza asked, surprised. “All of them?”
“Yes. After what so recently occurred with the Council of Twenty, as well as the reappearance of a formerly deceased Ghalian working for them, it seems we have quite a bit to discuss.”
“Understandable,” she agreed. “May your meeting be productive.”
“And the remainder of your training day be rewarding,” he replied, then took his leave.
The Five rarely gathered in one place for several reasons, the least of which was the concern of what should happen if all of the Ghalian masters guiding the order fell in an attack.
Their training houses were robustly reinforced with year upon year of defensive spells and wards layered into and around the structure every single time any entered or exited the locations. As such, it would take an attack of extraordinary magnitude to have even the slightest possibility of breaching their defenses.
On top of that, in addition to the assassins and their trainees residing within the walls, if the Five were present, and with the extensive weapons caches at their disposal, their combined, deadly skills could make a five-on-one-thousand battle seem almost trivial, depending on the enemy.
Master Corann, the head of the Five, was in her seat atop the low platform the masters often used while observing the young trainees as they demonstrated their progression in the Wampeh Ghalian’s deadly arts. But today, there were no students present in the chamber. Today, they had things of great weight to discuss.
The others were there as well. Master Varsuvala sat to Corann’s right, as she often did. Masters Falsam and Prombatz were chatting off to her left, the young, and
rogynous assassin and the elder Ghalian engaged in an energetic discussion.
Hozark completed the group, and he had to admit, it was nice having all of them together again, even if for just a short while.
“The youngster is quite talented,” Varsuvala said as Hozark took a seat with the others. “Not only is she proving quite adept in her continued training, but she is also a great help teaching the novices.”
“It is our way, Varsuvala,” he replied.
“Yes, but not all thrive as she does. The woman possesses skills.”
“That she does,” Hozark agreed. “She is exceptionally talented for one of her years.”
“And she took down a full-blooded visla. A rather powerful one at that.”
“To be fair, he was distracted by Hozark and Samara’s battle,” Master Prombatz noted.
“True, but regardless, it was still no easy task, especially for less than a master of the order.”
“On this we are in agreement,” the older Ghalian replied. “She is a valuable asset, and a credit to her teachers. We are fortunate she was paired with you, Hozark.”
“So it would seem,” he replied.
Corann sensed his reticence. The Wampeh Ghalian always worked alone, and having a partner thrust upon him had been a bit disconcerting, to say the least. Nevertheless, the young woman he had been saddled with had done an admiral job, and even Hozark had to admit his pleasure with her performance.
“It seems Demelza’s attempt to acquire a blade from Master Orkut has proven beneficial in unexpected ways,” Corann continued. “While she was successful in finding the man in the first place––no easy task, I would add––it will take time for her to work her way into his good graces enough for him to forge her an enchanted blade. And even then, he’d likely never make a vespus for her.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised he made yours, Hozark,” Master Falsam chimed in. “Though he only makes them for masters of our order, he hasn’t crafted one in many, many years. In fact, I thought he’d sworn off the practice entirely.”
