by Scott Baron
Hozark nodded to her once, well aware she knew what he was and what he was about to do. “I will return shortly,” he said, then turned to Bud and Laskar, flashing an amused grin, though he was anything but amused. “Do try not to get too drunk while I am gone.”
With that, he strode off and boarded his own craft, disengaged from Bud’s mothership, and vanished into the sky.
“Well, he said not to get too drunk,” Laskar mused. “So, I guess we’d better pace ourselves. Starting now. You coming?”
“In a minute,” Bud said. “I’ll meet you at the tavern. The one down the road on the left.”
“See ya there,” his copilot said, then trotted off to drown his unexpected boredom.
“Is everything okay?” he asked Demelza when Laskar had gone. “I know Hozark, and he wouldn’t delay something this big for no good reason.”
“Just be comfortable knowing his absence for this short period will eventually increase the likelihood of our success,” she replied. “Now, go join your friend and relax. There will be plenty of stress soon enough.”
Several systems away, Hozark was walking the back streets of a tiny town on a tiny moon that most had forgotten about long ago. It was a place of last resort. A world no one visited by choice. Where those with nowhere left to go came to drown their sorrows and draw breath from day to day while waiting for the end to claim them.
There were many places across the galaxy where the members of the Three had hidden the enchanted keys to the Ghalian vaults. No member knew all of them, and multiple keys were needed to safely access them. That meant each would be retrieving the one nearest their location and heading to the world on which their secret vault was hidden.
The system was working as planned. All of them were in separate ships to avoid a catastrophic loss, and the keys had remained undiscovered and magically hidden. And even if they were found, none would know what they were, nor what to do with them.
Most of the keys were relocated from time to time as a simple precaution, but one set had not moved for centuries. Those were the keys of last resort. But Hozark was not collecting one of those today.
He walked the slick stones of the damp streets to a run-down bath house toward the center of the grimy town. It wasn’t anything like the relaxing spa-like facilities on most worlds. This was a true bath house, as in, many who used it were simply in need of a bath.
Some of them greatly.
The gray water runoff that flowed into the sewers attested to the level of filth many of the patrons had shed on their visit. Coin was hard to come by, and when it was acquired, the choice between cleanliness or alcohol was often an easy one. The bath typically lost.
But every month, the small group overseeing the town funded one free bath for all who needed one. It was a way to, at least slightly, quell the stench that permeated the city and reduce the likelihood of the eruption of a plague.
This was not one such day, though, and the baths were mostly empty. Hozark paid the entry fee and trudged past the little stalls toward the slightly larger one he had spent a piddling amount to use. He stepped inside and closed the flimsy door behind him.
The massive stone tub was already full of steaming water––the magic providing the hot water to the facility was perfectly functional, at least––though the dark ring around the edge said something for the place’s attention to cleaning. But that was of no matter.
Hozark quietly murmured the secret spell only he and two others knew, the power pulling from the konus on his wrist. Silently, the huge carved tub lifted into the air as easily as if it were a child’s balloon, rising nearly a meter before coming to a stop, resting there, the tub not spilling a drop.
Hozark grasped a thick, damp tile beneath it and pulled it free, then reached into the hole beneath, removing a small, magically sealed box. He replaced the tile, then uttered another spell, lowering the tub back to its original position.
He washed his grimy hands in the clear waters, turning them a bit muddy. Perfect to complete the impression of his having washed himself of the daily grit and muck. Then he rose, pocketed the small box, and headed out of the facility, never to come back.
Once a key had been retrieved from its hiding place, that location was finished. After he visited the vault, he would give the key to one of the other Three to be hidden anew. He’d do it himself, normally, but his task with Corann was a priority, and despite this delay, time was still of the essence.
Hozark trudged back to the outskirts of town and boarded his ship, his next stop, the secret vaults of the Wampeh Ghalian.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Hozark arrived at the bustling world of Omatza in good time. He had been pulling a bit harder from his Drookonus than he’d have liked to make longer jumps, but time was of the essence, and the other members of the Three would be arriving shortly, and it would not do to keep them waiting.
Omatza was clean, where the world he had just come from was dirty. Bright where it was dark. Its buildings tall and inspiring where the other’s were squat and depressing.
And the wealth. Oh, this was a world of the elite and powerful. It hadn’t been quite so opulent when the Ghalian overseers of the order’s treasures had selected it a few hundred years prior, but it was a classy environment even then.
Every several hundred centuries the Three would relocate their vast wealth and powerful treasures to a new location, often on a resplendent world but sometimes not. Wealth led to tighter security and reduced the likelihood of war or strife bringing about an unexpected fall of the city. Its own nature provided the first line of defense, as it were.
But there could be too much of a good thing, and this particular location was gaining a bit too much traffic for their purposes these days, all three noted when they met at the appointed location. Once this current affair was completed, they would relocate again. Perhaps to a more backwater location this time.
But that would be dealt with later. For now, they had work to do.
“Marsoon,” Hozark said, greeting the skinny man of roughly his same age as he joined him at the little outdoor cafe.
“Hozark,” Marsoon replied with a wide grin and a warm hug.
This was not the Ghalian way, and it was precisely why he had done it. They were just a pair of Wampeh meeting for lunch. Nothing to see at all, for Wampeh were merely another race among the many on this world.
Nothing gave away their Ghalian nature, and nothing would, unless they were to let their fangs slide into place. And any who saw that, would not be around to spread the tale.
“Is Pintohk joining us today? I see you have a third place setting,” Marsoon asked, taking a seat.
“Indeed, though I do not know how long she will be delayed.”
“Hopefully not long. I am famished!” the rail-thin man said, leaning into his naturally occurring disguise that was not a disguise.
“By all means, order something. I know she would not wish for us to wait,” Hozark said.
The two procured a few small plates of local delicacies as well as a pot of rare, hand-picked tea from the misty peaks of the nearby mountains. It was not a cheap meal by any stretch, but they were men of great wealth, and dropping coin like this was nothing to them.
Precisely the impression they wished to convey. And among the other elite out for a meal, they blended right in.
“Cousins!” a musical voice chirped out with joy.
Hozark and Marsoon rose to greet their “cousin” as she rushed to them and gave each a big hug, dropping her shopping bags clumsily at the table.
Wampeh Ghalian were anything but clumsy.
Her act was a very convincing one, and no one paid her the slightest mind as she blended in with the others perfectly. They snacked, drank tea, and chatted about this and that, all the while communicating by careful phrasing and word choice.
The conversation may have sounded like one thing, but the content of it was most certainly something far different than what any observer would overhea
r.
“Shall we go for a stroll? It’s a lovely day!” Pintohk asked when they finished their tea.
“Sounds like a fine idea. Hozark, are you game?” Marsoon asked.
“Why not?”
The Three dropped ample coin on their table and wandered off into the city’s busy streets, eventually arriving at an artisan’s shop specializing in sculptures actually carved by hand, not magic. They entered and passed through the workspace.
The proprietor had been called away on a job, leaving the place empty. Precisely as intended.
Each of the Three took a small box from their pockets and opened them. The keys were not keys, exactly, but rather, magical implements whose combined power would unlock the entry to the vault. Improper use of them, however, would trigger the fail-safes.
The city outside had no idea just how close they were to annihilation at that moment should anything have gone wrong.
But the Three knew the order and manner in which to utilize the keys, and within a few moments the massive stone column that seemed to be supporting the building itself pivoted away from the wall, exposing a wide staircase to the secret vault below.
“I shall return shortly,” Hozark said, taking to the stairs.
The others turned and faced outward, standing guard and ready to slay any who should stumble upon this scene, regardless of their intent. While the Ghalian avoided needless bloodshed, there were a select few occasions where outright slaughter would be required. Protecting this vault was one of them.
Fortunately, no one came into the shop. Their magically locking the doors had seen to that, but you never could tell when the unforeseen might happen. A friend with a special key, or a delivery person venturing in, for example. But not today.
Hozark emerged from the depths of the magically reinforced vault with two crates on a pair of floating conveyances.
“That is all,” he said, and the Three sealed the vault, adding more power to the already massive layers of magic protecting it, as their predecessors had always done, then tucked away their keys, each to be re-hidden once more.
Hozark slid one of the crates to his comrades. “Weapons,” he said. “The good ones. Make sure the other Masters receive them, and be sure to arm yourselves as well. Things may become tense with what is about to occur, and the order may need this additional power at hand.”
“And the other?” Marsoon asked.
“That is for Corann,” Hozark replied, eyeing the crate, so normal in appearance but containing, aside from a number of interesting toys, a weapon of the most horrible power.
“Understood,” Pintohk said. “If you and she are embarking on a task together, we will take extra care to watch over the order’s affairs while you are gone.”
“The other masters will likely be fine, but with Master Prombatz’s recent encounter, every bit of assistance is appreciated,” Hozark replied. “Now, let us do what needs to be done.”
“Good luck, Master Hozark,” Marsoon said. “May your task be successful.”
“Thank you, Brother. I sincerely hope we are.”
The trio exited the shop pushing the floating crates along on their conveyances. Having exited a sculptor’s workspace, the size of the crates was nothing of note, and most shoppers used the magically powered mode of transit to move items from place to place. Why carry with your arms what a piddling amount of magic could do for you, after all?
The Three said loud and warm goodbyes in the nearby square, then parted ways, as happily as if it had just been another lovely day shopping. But once Hozark was safely back aboard his ship, his false smile faded.
There was deadly work ahead, and the crate he had just retrieved would play a large role in it.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Master Corann had returned early and was already waiting for Hozark when he returned to Etratz with his deadly booty in tow. While Uzabud would not sense the power she contained from her feast, Hozark and Demelza could feel the utterly huge amount of magic she had acquired in such a short time.
Laskar, though a pretty weak power user, was a magical being nonetheless, and he had also made note of the woman’s overflowing power.
“What the hell did she do?” he asked Demelza when the woman had rejoined them.
“To prepare for our pending action, Master Corann has utilized some resources at her disposal,” she replied.
“Resources? You mean she just went and fed on people?”
Demelza stared at him calmly. “Yes, that is precisely what I mean.”
“So, what? The Wampeh Ghalian just have a bunch of vislas and emmiks sitting around waiting to be eaten if you guys need a top-up? That’s insane.”
“Nothing of the sort. Master Corann is one of the Five, and as such, she has knowledge of the whereabouts of many who would otherwise not attract attention. Men and women, powerful men and women operating outside of the normal system. Bad people the galaxy would not miss.”
“So she killed them? Took their power for herself and just left their drained bodies behind?”
“More or less.”
“That’s messed up. I don’t care how much she needs her fix, stealing power like that, it just feels wrong.”
“I can assure you, this is not the Ghalian way. For her to do such a thing only reinforces how dire the situation is,” Demelza noted. “We are killers, yes, but not murderers with no conscience.”
“Murderers with no conscience? Is Hozark back?” Bud joked as he joined the others.
“He landed a short while ago,” Demelza replied.
“I didn’t see him.”
“Because he set down by Corann’s ship, near her lodging.”
“Why didn’t he just come straight here? We’re going to be docking him to my ship anyway, so why not save a step?”
“I could not say. Perhaps he had something he wished to say to Corann before we depart. In any case, he should be joining us shortly.”
“I’ll get him,” Laskar said. “No sense in us yapping around here for another day when we could be talking en route, right?”
The copilot took off at a trot down the alleyway shortcut to the little landing spot where Corann had previously parked her ship. Where Hozark had apparently just joined her.
He and Bud had spent their waiting time dropping a fair amount of coin in the tavern, drinking and gambling and having a pretty good time of it. They might be flying off to their death, after all, so why not do as their friend suggested and live a little before possibly dying a lot?
But they’d sobered up and were ready to go, and with that sobriety, a buzzing anticipation arose. The sooner they were in motion doing something, the better.
Hozark had met with Corann at her ship not only because he wished to discuss a few elements of this mission with her in private, but also because he had to transfer his deadly cargo to her, to store in her craft straightaway. A claithe was not the sort of thing one wanted to hand off on a busy street by any means.
“You retrieved it, then?” Corann asked as he brought the floating crate to a halt before her.
“I did,” he replied, opening the outer lid.
She reached inside and recited the release spells for the bonds holding the claithe. The crate was far oversized for the magical weapon, but given the contents, additional protections around it were warranted, layered and nesting within one another. Only after opening all of them was the device finally revealed.
It was larger than a konus or slaap, though some elements were similar. The band around the wrist, for one. But a claithe also possessed a brass knuckle-like portion, linked with a powered gauntlet across the back of the hand tying it all together.
Corann focused her mind as she carefully removed it from its cradle, concentrating hard to ensure there would be no chance of accidentally allowing any of her newly acquired power to bind with the weapon.
“Beautiful,” she said, admiring the craftsmanship as she slid it over her hand and wrist.
A thrum of deadly
potential vibrated up her arm as it rested against her skin. This was a weapon of incredibly powerful, but also unstable magic. It was why no one ever used them. Why they were hardly even spoken of.
Laskar was jogging down the alleyway toward them, approaching their secluded meeting point, when he saw the shine of something on the woman’s wrist.
“Hey, guys! We’re all ready and waiting for you!” he called out as he drew nearer.
He was so focused on his friends, he failed to notice the footsteps falling in time with his own. Footsteps right behind him. Hozark, however, caught a glimpse of the mugger’s blade flashing in the light as they exited the dim alley.
“Laskar, look out!” he called to the oblivious man.
Laskar spun and jumped aside, startled by Hozark’s abrupt warning but knowing better than to doubt the man. The attacker had likely only planned on taking his coin, but now with the man on guard, his attitude turned more deadly.
Corann did not even think about what she was doing when she cast her spell. She intended to kill the man, yes, but only a quick little flash of her deadly magic to not only protect their ally, but also ensure none spoke of what she possessed.
Things, however, did not go exactly as she had planned.
The claithe felt her power and clamped onto it, the device almost reveling in its use of magic, despite being inanimate. The spell that burst forth was magnitudes more powerful than Corann had intended. In fact, it was arguably the most powerful she’d ever cast, and the would-be mugger vanished in a cloud of red mist, obliterated with brutal efficiency.
The woman strained and fought against the claithe, forcing it to disconnect from her power. She quickly pulled it from her hand and placed it back in its protective crate, closing it and sealing it shut. She appeared all right, but Hozark could sense the drain it had been upon her. She would not need to feed again––she was overflowing with power to begin with––but it had taken a sizable amount of power.
“That was foolish,” Hozark said, quietly.
