by Scott Baron
Laskar couldn’t help himself any longer. “Wait a minute, but we saw her die. I cast right at her and her ship blew to pieces. We all saw it.”
Corann ignored the pilot and focused on her fellow master. “Hozark, I see you have doubts.”
“I do. Perhaps it might be within the realm of possibility that Samara yet lives. But if she does, I do not believe she would commit such an act against the order. Whatever conflicts we may have, we are her family, and have been since her childhood.”
“What else could it be?” Demelza asked. “You must admit, given what we know of her, Samara is a likely suspect.”
“I understand your reasoning, but I have another theory,” he replied. “One that is equally disturbing if it proves true.”
All eyes were upon him, wondering what other explanation he might have for them. They would not like it. Not one bit.
“What if this was not a specific target, but a wider attempt on Ghalian masters? What if someone engaged in a contract not in hopes of its completion, but with the intent of snaring one of us? The other masters had high-level contracts given to them roughly when we received ours. Have they been set upon as well?”
Corann looked as calm and pleasant as always, but inside, her mind was ablaze with activity as she connected the dots between all of the contracts and Ghalian fulfilling them.
“No. Not as of yet,” she said. “It seems as though this was the only trap.”
“Were all of the contracts made by the same party?” Demelza asked.
“On their surface, no,” Corann replied. “But given the rapid proximity of them all being made, and despite coming from different sources, I have already anticipated that particular concern and have sent messengers far and wide. All who have not already gone dark engaging their target will be recalled until we can verify the true identities of the parties involved. So far, it appears as if it is just one person.”
“Then you know what I must do.”
“Yes, Hozark, I do. His name is Tikoo. A Fakarian smuggler who was last seen in the markets on Obahn.”
“A Fakarian?” Hozark mused. He wouldn’t divulge what he’d heard in the smelting factory until he and Corann were alone, but it seemed to be far too much of a coincidence. Fakarian were uncommon, and for two to be involved so close to Ghalian affairs seemed near impossible.
“I’ve never seen a Fakarian,” Laskar said. “They’re amphibious, right?”
“Yes,” Corann replied. “A blue-green-skinned race. Bipedal, but with webbed feet and a short, powerful tail to aid while swimming. They also use it as a weapon, striking out at their enemies.”
“So, they really do live on both land and water?”
“Yes. They’ve evolved for just such a thing, and they possess two sets of eyes. A pair for their time under the bright lights of the surface, and another to see in the murky deep.”
Corann rose and asked Hozark to join her inside so she could give him something that might be of use on his journey. It was no more than a bauble, of course. What she really wished was for his update on what he had found.
“Things are far more unclear than we had believed,” she said after hearing his tale and word of a Fakarian involved with amassing arms for the Council. “And it looks like far deadlier times are coming.”
“Indeed,” he replied, his jaw set with determination. “I will find him, Corann. And I will get answers.”
She looked at her friend and knew he would. Or would die trying.
“Of that I have no doubt,” she said. “Happy hunting, Brother.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The private discussion with Master Corann had been brief. The intelligence Hozark relayed was both detailed, yet concise, and there was no need to talk in circles about who or what might be in play. Balls were in the air, and when they landed, everyone could be affected. That was all they needed to know for the moment.
As for the other part of their chat, it was decided that the trio who had been spending the past several weeks as her guests would be a fine addition to his mission. Despite preferring working alone, both masters agreed that this was simply too big and too crucial to forego any assistance, even that of Bud’s chatterbox copilot.
“We’re gonna do what?” Laskar blurted when he heard the plan. “You want us to track down a Council agent? That’s the kind of thing that’ll get a fella from alive to dead in a hurry. Chasing Council of Twenty agents is a whole new level of dangerous.”
“Which is why only Demelza or I will engage the target,” Hozark said. “You and Uzabud will act as our eyes and ears as we narrow our search and close in on the man. But once we find him, you are to step back and remain safe, is that clear?”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Laskar said with visible relief.
“All talk,” Bud grumbled.
“Hey, I just don’t have a death-wish is all,” he shot back.
“Gentlemen, enough,” Hozark said. “We have much to do, and not a great deal of time to do it in. The intelligence we have received from our spy network indicated that the target is indeed currently on Obahn, in its capital city.”
“Isn’t that a pretty wet world?” Uzabud asked.
“Yes, it is, and that is likely why he has chosen to utilize it as a base of operations. His kind always feel more secure with water close by.”
“So, what are we supposed to do? I mean, we can’t exactly go around asking if anyone’s seen a Council agent,” Laskar said.
“No, obviously not. Rather, we will break into teams and casually search, and occasionally inquire, until we develop leads that take us to the man.”
“If he is still a man,” Demelza added.
“I’m sorry, what?” Laskar asked, a puzzled look on his face.
“Fakarian are not only an amphibious race, but also one that comes from rather remote and isolated pockets across the galaxy,” Demelza explained. “Over time, they developed the ability to change their gender depending on the reproductive needs of their society.”
“So he could be a she by now?”
“Potentially. Though it is unlikely. Most tend to stick with the gender of their birth unless a breeding predicament presents itself. And with modern jump transit spells, they are no longer isolated as they were thousands of years ago, so that sort of thing really happens far less often than before.”
Demelza’s words made sense, but Laskar still seemed to have a hard time wrapping his head around how a he could become a she, and without the aid of magic or surgeons. The galaxy, it seemed, was a far more interesting place than he had realized.
“So, do I get to fly this time?” Laskar asked, clearly putting the quandary behind him and diving headfirst into their pending adventure.
Normally Uzabud would do the flying, leaving navigation, peripheral spell casting, and that sort of thing to his copilot. But Laskar had been a prisoner not long ago, and despite his jovial demeanor, Bud still worried the man might be suffering the effects of it. Not outwardly, mind you, but internally. It was with that in mind that he thought any little perk could help.
“Sure, Laskar. Why not? You take the helm for this one,” Bud said, to the man’s delight.
“Excellent!”
“Just don’t get too carried away and fly us into a sun or something.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m the best pilot in twenty systems!”
Bud and Hozark shared a pained look. The guy really was a great pilot, but his incessant cockiness was exhausting. It was really only for his recent ordeal that they were giving him such leeway. But eventually he would be back to his normal self, and when that happened, the lunacy would need to be reined in a bit.
After a quick resupply, Corann and Hozark stepped aside from the others and conversed one last time in private before the mission got underway. Once that was done, the team regrouped and boarded the freshly stocked ship. They weren’t going to be gone incredibly long, but Hozark had insisted on extra supplies, just in case.
He hoped
they wouldn’t need them.
“So, navigator,” Laskar asked Bud with a ridiculously pleased grin as he settled into the pilot’s seat and engaged the Drookonus powering the ship. “How far away is Obahn, anyway?”
Bud thought a moment, then consulted some star charts. “It’s going to be a long trip, Laskar. A whole lot of jumps to get there.”
“Then let’s get going,” the freshly minted pilot chirped. “Hang on, everyone, we’re on the move!”
With fresh coordinates for the first of many magical jumps in place, Laskar then set the ship in motion, hurtling it through space with a burst of magic. Then he did it again. Fifteen times, in all, though they did stop to allow the Drookonus to cool more than once.
It was a robust and sturdy device, but pulling that much magic that quickly was putting an excessive strain on it. Sure, Hozark had spares, but Laskar didn’t know that, and there was no sense in overloading a perfectly good Drookonus to save them only a few hours of flight time.
It turned out to be a wise choice, because once they reached Obahn and settled the ship into a low hover in the landing field, things wound up going not exactly as they’d planned.
Chapter Thirty-Five
“This place smells funny,” Laskar grumbled as he trudged off the ship.
Hozark and Bud shared that look. The one that is usually reserved for parents dragging obnoxious tweens on a trip they, for some reason, had nothing better to do than whine about.
Only, this child was a full-grown man and one of the best pilots either had ever seen, though they wouldn’t tell him that to his face, lest they inflate his ego even further.
“Merely the nature of the environment due to the relatively low salinity of this planet’s main body of water,” Demelza said, taking in a deep breath of the damp air. “All of which happens to be surrounding this island, as you know.”
They had landed on the island that comprised the main city of Obahn. It truly was a water world, though its surface appeared to possess much land when one made an approach from space. It was the interlinked networks of islands that did it, tricking the eye from afar. The more populated areas of the planet were often the ones where the proximity between them had made it easy to island hop either by conveyance or boat.
Fortunately for Hozark and his crew, Tikoo had made his contract from the capital city. A city that happened to be a bit farther set off from the others, its island surrounded by deeper waters. It was ideal for an amphibian with a need for a sense of safety. It also, conveniently, limited the area the hunters would have to search.
“I will head toward the city center,” Hozark said. “I possess the address of Tikoo’s last known residence. However, he may not be at home, and we must keep on the lookout for him. Demelza, I think the main marketplace would be a good location for you to begin. Bud, you and Laskar will survey the less reputable establishments along the shoreline.”
“Why do we have to go to the smelly dives?” Laskar groaned.
“Because you and Uzabud can fit in quite easily without need for a disguise.”
“Hey, buddy, what’re you saying?” Bud joked.
“Just that your former pirating ways will serve you well as a second-nature sort of camouflage. But, again, do not engage Tikoo if you see him. Contact myself and Demelza. We shall keep our skrees active, but on silent. Call us at once if he is spotted and await our arrival.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Laskar said. “A Council agent? No way I want to tangle with one of those.”
“Your courage is quite reassuring,” Demelza cracked. “I shall begin straightaway. Let us reconvene in five hours at the central square if none have located him by then.”
Hozark nodded once, then vanished into the crowds.
“How does he do that?” Laskar asked.
“He is Hozark. A master of the Ghalian. There is much he can do,” Demelza replied, then turned and did much the same thing.
“These two, always disappearing like that. Even without a shimmer cloak. It’s disconcerting,” Laskar said.
“Just be glad they’re on our side,” Bud replied with a grin. “Now, come on. We’ve got work to do and establishments of ill repute to visit.”
He may have groused about the task, but Bud was secretly looking forward to the opportunity to let his inner pirate out once more, even if only for a short while.
Hozark made quick time to the central hub of the city. Obahn was a cultured place, and a world where visitors from far and wide came to restore their energy in the numerous thermal baths that dotted many islands, as well as partake of its rather legendary seafood.
The Wampeh assassin had not come for such niceties, and he bypassed many of the local establishments offering such delights. Tikoo’s last known residence was close by, and he would not take his eyes off of that prize.
The place at which he finally arrived was a gleaming building rising above the lesser ones in one of the richest sections of the neighborhood. The winds at altitude caused by the churning seas had made towers an unpopular construction design due to the slight swaying their tenants would have to endure, even with spells to counteract them. As such, more modest buildings had been erected.
Modest by the wealthy’s standards, that is.
The entry hall was ornate, and every staff member wore resplendent uniforms color coded based on their post and rank within the staff. None of them wore control collars, Hozark was pleased to note. Slaves were much harder to get information from. The threat of their collars’ shocks tended to make them quite gun-shy when it came to any form of disobedience. Or things that could remotely be construed as such.
The master assassin entered the building wearing the face and garb of a member of the elite. The aloof expression on his now-tanned face was that of a man so used to getting his way that the mere thought of someone objecting was utterly foreign. And distasteful at that.
It was precisely the type of man he needed to be to grill the staff while seeming like any other resident or guest. If he needed to, that is. It was his sincere hope that the man would be home and he could simply interrogate him and be done with it.
Unfortunately, life of late did not seem to be so simple a thing.
Tikoo’s rooms were empty. Not of his possessions, but they had the look of a place quickly emptied of anything of real value. The layman might not notice, and in fact, it was clearly intended to give the appearance that he’d just stepped out, but Hozark had a feeling his prey had fled this particular hidey-hole.
A full twenty minutes of carefully played questioning had produced nothing. All of it had been in the guise of a wealthy guest who had prior dealings with the man and could not understand why it was so hard for the menial staff to simply fetch him so he might discuss more business with him. Even so, the staff was tight-lipped.
Hozark was impressed by their commitment to their employers, but he also saw the hint of fear in their eyes. Oh yes, they knew the sort of people Tikoo ran with, even if they wouldn’t say it aloud. One servant, however, appeared to be a relatively new addition to the staff. One who might not have the same reservations as the others.
It was that one he focused on, shifting his appearance to that of a fellow worker. Normally he wouldn’t have risked it, since the odds of being noticed as not belonging were great. But in this case, the person he wished to talk with was so new, it would be easy to play off their not yet having met.
He approached in the guise of a senior staff member and asked for assistance with delivering a few packages to Tikoo’s rooms. Packages he himself had just ordered and had delivered to the property. Once there, the questions were casual, the conversation fluid, and the two parted ways without so much as a lick of drama. But Hozark had learned a bit of new information, and he was not amused.
His konuses were powering his shifting disguises with a degree of ease, but he had a feeling he might need a little safety net in place before they engaged their quarry. He had used up all of his internal magi
c escaping Garvalis, and it was time to replenish it a bit.
Of course, he would not go out and murder a random power user for their magic. For one, it was crude and tactless. For another, despite all the countless men and women the Wampeh Ghalian had eliminated, they nevertheless valued life as only those who witnessed death so often could.
But he could find a suitable mark to drink from in this circumstance. Oh yes, that was perfectly fine. Not enough to really drain them. Just enough to give himself a little backup cushion of power, just in case. The Ghalian were always ones for backup plans, and this was just one more instance.
He actually did wind up going to the thermal baths in hopes of finding a suitable meal there, but in the four different facilities he visited, not a one had a power user of anything worth taking.
It was beginning to look like he might simply have to forego his impromptu power-up when he caught wind of the faintest whiff of power. He quietly uttered the words to the spell he knew so well, his konus powering a refining tool that allowed him to pinpoint the location.
A gambling hall.
It was just the sort of place a power user might be expected to try to conceal their gifts. Typically, this was done by blatantly displaying no konuses or any other magical accoutrements while at the tables. And losing, of course. They had to lose just often enough to make their good fortune seem like luck and not magic.
The rotund, bald-headed man who sat amid the crowd at the farthest game was easy to pick out once Hozark had caught his scent. He was quite skilled at hiding his power, but the specialized Ghalian magic had locked in on him as he cast once more.
He wasn’t being terribly overt in his manipulation of the game. Just enough to come out ahead. Not too ahead. Not enough to draw the notice of the gambling bosses patrolling the floor. But he would win enough to maintain a comfortable existence while not being blacklisted for cheating.
Hozark stepped up and placed a wager on the game. Then another. Then one more, each successive play allowing him to get a better sense of the man’s gift.
