The Vespus Blade

by Scott Baron

  Hozark stepped out of the hidden door and ducked down behind a small pile of crates. He studied the area around him. Empties were ready for return to the depot, and an empty transfer conveyance was sitting nearby.

  Perfect.

  He picked up several crates, stacking them high on the floating device, then headed back along the pathway, keeping the crates between himself and the new guard, blocking his face as he walked at a leisurely pace.

  As soon as he was out of sight of the guards, however, he left his load and veered into the brush at the side of the trail. Yes, Alasnib the trader was going missing. And Hozark the master assassin was going home.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Freed of the guise of his bumbling and often alcohol-hindered trader persona, Hozark made exceptionally good time through the scrub brush and trees as he moved back toward town. The dimming light of the approaching dusk only added to his stealthy approach.

  When he arrived, all appeared to be calm, but he had to be sure. Before he could depart, it was imperative he first make sure no alarm had been raised among the others. It was unlikely, given what he knew of the secret facility thus far, but one didn’t live to his age in this line of work by taking things for granted.

  Fortunately, all appeared quiet in town. The late shift was finishing up their labors, and the earlier work group of which he was a part was milling about in a mildly inebriated state, as was their typical status after a hard day’s work and a hard night’s drinking.

  And it appeared they had begun their nightly merriment without so much as missing their new friend.

  It was all as Hozark had hoped. Better, actually, for no one was even questioning where he was. It seemed quite likely his absence would go unnoted until the morning, and perhaps even longer, depending on the severity of the others’ hangovers.

  That established, he skirted the rest of the town, taking the long and less-traveled route via game tracks through the trees. The more direct path was simply too visible, and he hadn’t enough magic left in him to effectively don any disguises.

  It was a strange sensation for him. He’d had a konus or stolen power at his disposal for so long these days that the absence of both left him with an oddly thrilling sense of vulnerability. Not since his youth had he been so completely on his own. The challenge, rather than worrying him, raised his spirits.

  This was interesting, and he loved interesting.

  That attitude changed, however, when interesting of the annoying variety reared its ugly head as he reached the outskirts of town. Signs of new arrivals were visible up ahead. He’d been entrenched within the town and its workers for weeks, and this was relatively far from their environs. That was why he’d parked his ship there in the first place. It was remote enough to be safe from discovery, yet close enough that he could reach it relatively quickly should need arise.

  Only this, he had not planned on.

  Hozark stayed in the tree line as he drew closer to the clearing that abutted his shimmer ship’s hiding place. The craft was undisturbed, tucked deep within the bramble patch beneath the copse of trees, but the empty field he had previously traversed after landing was not.

  In fact, it was anything but. It seemed that in the time he had spent living in disguise, the Tslavars had set down a number of new arrivals, but rather than housing them in town, where he would have noted them, they had set up a separate camp a ways away.

  Unfortunately, they pitched their tents and arranged their supplies in that very same field. Directly in front of his vessel’s hiding place. And even if he could make it to his ship undetected, lifting off and flying forward out from under the trees would definitely garner attention.

  While the shimmer-cloak would protect the craft from visual observation, the air around it would move, and if that happened, word of an invisible craft lurking in their midst would certainly put everyone on high alert. Exactly the opposite of what he wished to achieve.

  The cooking tents were closest to his little bramble patch, Hozark noted. At least that was fortunate. Typically, the more important encampments would be set up far from where the noise and smell of food preparation was taking place. The dining areas, however, would be relatively close. And with them, there would be dozens, if not more, Tslavar mercenaries.

  There seemed to also be a few recreation tents erected toward the outskirts of the little encampment. “Entertainers” from town had likely been ushered out to service the lonely crew who had been brought down to the surface for shore leave.

  That meant the large craft in orbit had been joined by more. They’d not have allowed their crews to be diminished in such a manner otherwise. Whether they were preparing to depart after this break and were simply being relieved by the new ship, or whether the newcomers were adding to the existing force stationed above was unknown. All that mattered at this point was that Hozark’s departure had just become even more difficult.

  He was going to have to run them off, somehow. It was the only way he could take off safely. But to do so, he would need the devices stored safely aboard his ship. The same ship he could not reach at the moment given his diminished power. Even if he had his shimmer cloak, he doubted he had enough magic remaining to utilize it.

  No. He was going to need to come up with something different. Something he could do with no magic, and with the very limited resources at his disposal. After his ordeal in the deadly pit, it seemed yet another trial was before him. If he were a superstitious man, he’d almost have thought some sky deity had it out for him.

  But the Ghalian did not believe in such fairy tales. They dealt in cold, hard facts. And death, of course. And all of his instincts told him it would take something exceptional to move so large a body of men from the area without the use of any magic.

  Gears were turning in his mind as he ran through possible scenarios, no matter how unlikely they were to succeed, when a whuffling sound reached his ears from not too far away. Several, in fact.

  Hozark smiled to himself. Oh, yes. This might work, he mused, then set off in the direction of the sound.

  A half hour later, the encampment was both quiet and loud. Quiet with all of the men contained therein gathered together, eating their nightly meal, and loud with the clamor a gregarious collection of mercenaries that size could generate. By his estimates, there were over a hundred of them, all counted, but that wouldn’t make a bit of difference in a minute.

  The men were eating and drinking to their hearts’ content when a thundering rumble began to cause their beverages to ripple and shake. A few noticed the disturbance sooner than the others, but soon all were looking around in confusion. They were obviously not under attack, they had lookouts for such a thing, as well as defenses against magical attacks.

  Yet the ground shook harder. Soon a faint red glow was seen approaching from the far end of the clearing. And it was getting closer. Fast.

  “Stampede!” someone shouted out in alarm from the perimeter of the camp.

  The men and women leapt to their feet and scattered in a panic, unsure which way to run. It wasn’t an attack they were experiencing. It was dozens of spooked Malooki racing right toward them.

  The animals were massive, horse-like creatures with mighty hooves and a long hair that shifted color with their moods. It had made taming and utilizing the creatures easy, enabling their trainers to easily tell when they were calm and at ease simply by looking at them.

  And now their manes were flushed deep red with panic and agitation as they thundered straight into the camp. Normally, they were quite harmless. Tranquil beasts that no one feared. But their size could make them a danger when they were spooked and in numbers. Times like this, for instance.

  Tents toppled, and tables were overturned and smashed as the Malooki tore through the area with wild abandon. Whatever had set them off had been enough to not only make them break from their enclosure, but also to charge quite uncharacteristically into a populated area.

  Of course, Hozark would have no id
ea who could have done such a thing.

  With a satisfied grin, he watched the Tslavars flee, rushing for the safety of anywhere but their own camp. A minute later, the space was devoid of his primary obstacle. Malooki were still there, trotting to and fro with displeasure, but the assassin had no intention of interacting with the enormous animals any more than he already had.

  Quietly and with great speed, Hozark darted through the trees and brush, racing to the tiny camouflaged pathway that would take him aboard his ship. There were still some Tslavars in the area, trying to figure out what to do next, but in all of the commotion, no one even noticed the man who seemed to vanish into a section of brambles.

  Nor did they take note of the slight shift of wind as the invisible ship lifted off and slowly slipped free from the brush and trees, though the latter did shift from the force of the ship as it moved. But everyone was so preoccupied with the danger on the ground that they were completely oblivious to the one above.

  With great restraint, Hozark guided his shimmer ship away from the commotion below, taking a wide path around the town, just in case any new detection spells had been placed since the arrival of the newcomers. Then he lifted up into the welcome safety of the vacuum’s embrace and jumped away.

  He was finally free and clear, and he needed to get back.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “Where the hell have you been?” Uzabud blurted as he rushed up to his friend’s ship as it settled into a hover beside his larger craft. “It’s been weeks. Weeks, man. You said it was just going to be a quick detour for some Ghalian business.”

  “And it was,” Hozark replied calmly.

  “For over three weeks? You and I obviously have very different definitions of the word quick. We’ve been waiting for you, wondering if something went wrong.”

  “I am fine, Bud. Though I do appreciate your concern. It is most flattering.”

  “Flattering? Shit, Hozark, you’ve got some strange workings going on in that head of yours.”

  “Perhaps,” the Wampeh replied with a little grin.

  “Well, come on, then. Corann wanted to speak with you as soon as you landed. We should go tell her you’re here.”

  “My dear Uzabud, you should know by now, Corann knew of my arrival before I had even touched down.”

  “Is that some sort of Wampeh Ghalian thing?”

  “No. Just the simple courtesy of a call,” he replied with a chuckle. “I skreed her from orbit as I was making my approach.”

  Bud flashed an amused, yet annoyed look at the man. He drove him nuts at times, but they’d made a good team, and it was something he hoped to continue for many, many years.

  Provided the damn fool didn’t get himself killed, that is.

  “All right, then. Let’s head to Corann’s place. I’m sure Demelza and Laskar will be glad to see you too.”

  “A sentiment I share.”

  The duo walked the short distance from the landing pad to the leader of the Five’s home. Hozark had not visited Corann on Inskip for quite some time. It was not something the Five often did. Not for respect of each other’s home bases, but the practicality of not wishing to approach their “ship number.”

  Bud had once asked what the hell a ship number was when Hozark had made him take a circuitous route after a particularly hairy contract so as to pass nowhere near Master Prombatz’s homeworld, which happened to be in the same system.

  “A ship number is the maximum number of individuals in charge of an organization that may be aboard a ship at the same time.”

  “What, like some sort of weight limit?”

  “Hardly. It is far more practical than that. A ship number is the maximum quantity of casualties the organization could sustain while still functioning properly. For the Ghalian, it is three, though the remaining two would have a difficult time of it at first.”

  “Morbid, dude. Just morbid,”

  “You asked, and I explained. It is not my fault you do not appreciate Ghalian practicality,” Hozark said with a chuckle.

  But here on Inskip, there were only two masters present. And these two would present a particularly difficult target should anyone have learned their true identities and gotten any clever ideas.

  Many had met their ends thinking themselves smarter than the Ghalian masters, though none would ever hear of their attempts––or failures––nor would they ever find the bodies. More often than not, not enough of one remained for them to be identified anyway.

  Corann was resting comfortably on the porch with the others when Hozark and Uzabud approached. Laskar jumped up and rushed over to offer a warm welcome. Demelza and Corann, however, merely nodded their casual greeting, as if he had merely returned from a trip down the road for some tea.

  “An eventful trip?” Corann asked, casually

  “Nothing terribly exciting,” he replied. “Just handling that bit of Ghalian business we discussed took a little longer than anticipated. I’ll tell you about it later, if you wish for details.”

  He knew she would certainly want to know all about what he had learned. It was an uncommonly long delay, and she knew Master Hozark well. Something had most definitely come to light, but that bit of business was not for mixed company.

  “Tell him what happened,” Laskar blurted.

  “Please, Laskar. I will get to that in due time,” Corann replied, turning her gaze back to Hozark. He, Demelza, and Corann all shared the briefest of looks. One that confirmed that the Ghalian assassins already in the know felt it okay to discuss the matter further in front of the others.

  “’Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any,” Corann said. “Something has come to light, Master Hozark. Something nefarious.”

  “Oh? What has happened?” he asked, sensing the seriousness of her tone.

  “A tragedy, I am afraid.”

  The look on Demelza’s face was so faint none but another Ghalian would have noticed it. But for Hozark it was plain as writing on a parchment. She was upset. And for that to occur, something truly bad must have happened.

  “What sort of tragedy?” he asked.

  “It’s all kinds of messed up,” Laskar blurted.

  “Hey, shut up. Not cool,” Bud hissed, elbowing the man.

  Corann continued. “I am afraid Laskar is correct in his assessment. It is all kinds of messed up, to use his parlance. While you were away completing your contracts, Master Prombatz took one of the aspirant Ghalian on his final trial. The perfect contract to prove his skills and become a full-fledged member of the order.”

  “Who was the youth?” he asked, directing the question to Demelza rather than Corann.

  “Aargun,” she replied.

  He knew the student, of course. He knew all who were reaching the age of their final trials. But this one in particular held some significance to Demelza. He had been one of the youths she was helping train so recently, just before they left for their mission.

  “He was quite skilled,” Hozark noted, a sinking feeling settling into his gut. “He showed great promise.”

  “That he did. But his contract was a failure, ending in catastrophe,” Corann said.

  “That is most unfortunate,” Hozark replied, the memory of his own recent brush with death when Enak––an aspirant under his very own wing––had met his end at the hands of Emmik Rostall.

  The youth had performed admirably, but was nevertheless reduced to smoldering ashes by an unexpected splash from the emmik’s damned bottle of Balamar waters. It was so rare, and so valuable, no one ever thought he would possess such a thing. And it had cost Enak his life. A life that Emmik Rostall quickly repaid with his own under the fangs of a very displeased Hozark.

  “Prombatz must have been upset by the youth’s failure,” Hozark sympathized. “I assume he completed the contract. With some malice, of course.”

  “This is where the problem comes to light,” she said. “He was unable to do so, Hozark. In fact, he used so much of his power, and was nevertheless gravely in
jured, and unable to feed on a magic user in order to heal himself, that he barely made it out alive.”

  “He is currently recovering under the care of Denna Finnleigh,” Demelza noted.

  The healer was not a Wampeh, but she possessed great skills and was willing to put them to use on his kind when the need arose. She also happened to enjoy not only the coin of the Ghalian, but also their protection and thanks. A gratitude that had resulted in more than one member of her family being saved from difficult circumstances over the years.

  Master Prombatz would heal, but it would take time, judging by Corann and Demelza’s demeanor.

  Hozark scratched his chin as he pondered the situation. “This is indeed unfortunate news. Aargun is dead, and one of the Five is wounded.”

  “No, he is not dead,” Corann corrected. “Or, he was not the last we heard.”

  “I am afraid I am not following.”

  “This was not a job gone wrong, Hozark. This was an ambush. A group of many Council casters were there, and all of them had prepared specifically for a Ghalian attack.”

  “Members of the Twenty?”

  “Not all. Perhaps one, maybe more. But their lackeys were there, and they are skilled casters, who we know can be dangerous enough, in numbers.”

  “How would they have known?” Hozark mused. “There are safeguards. Many safeguards, known only to us.”

  “I can think of but one explanation,” Corann said. “Impossible as it may sound. But, then, our recently deceased sister seems rather fond of the impossible, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Samara?”

  “Who better to betray the order?”