The Vespus Blade

by Scott Baron

  “And completely unintentional,” she replied. “Though it does serve as an impromptu test, I suppose. At least I now understand it better and have more of a sense of my boundaries.”

  “A test I do not approve of, obviously,” he said. “But your point is a sound one.”

  Laskar, unlike the two assassins, was flabbergasted by what he’d just witnessed. A man had literally exploded into nothing before his eyes. It was unlike any use of power he’d ever seen.

  “What in the hell was that?” he blurted, eyes wide with shock.

  “Just a Ghalian spell, is all,” Corann replied with her usual sweet smile.

  “Yes, and a good thing she cast it,” Hozark added. “That man would likely have killed you, Laskar. Why would someone be after you? What exactly did you get up to while we were gone?”

  The stunned man blinked a few times, clearing his head before his power of speech settled back into full function. “I don’t know.”

  “Laskar?”

  “No, really. I mean, you left, and I went to the tavern,” he began. “I mean, I did drink a fair bit, but nothing too excessive. And I gambled a bit, of course.”

  A look of understanding settled onto Hozark’s face. “Did you win?”

  “Oh, yeah. I actually cleaned up. It was amazing.”

  The two assassins shared a look, then Corann turned and pushed the crate into her ship.

  “You were marked for your winnings,” Hozark said, walking over to better see the remains, or lack thereof, of the attacker.

  There was nothing left but scraps of cloth and a bit of red powder on the ground.

  “He followed me from the tavern?” Laskar asked.

  “Undoubtedly. And had you not spun on him, he might have slain you. Or he may have merely robbed you. In any case, the point is now moot. However, you would do well to learn from this and pay better attention to your surroundings in the future.”

  “I will.”

  “Good. Now, come. Let us join the others. We have a long flight ahead of us.”

  Chapter Sixty

  Actaris.

  It was an unusual world with an unusual history. One that made it particularly well suited to play host to an off-book Council of Twenty black site where mere torture was likely the least of the unsavory things going on.

  In the past, the rocky world had been a stronghold used by various space pirate conglomerates. It had served that purpose for hundreds of years, in fact, hosting a great many adventurers and doers of nefarious deeds.

  It was a dry world, with limited water but a breathable atmosphere, though its slightly stronger-than-normal gravity did have the tendency to make one’s lungs burn all the same. But, in time, one would grow accustomed to the additional pull.

  It had been a safe place to take refuge. The naturally rough terrain, with massive spires of stone jutting out at all angles across the globe, made any sort of large-scale attack from space nearly impossible.

  That is, until the Council of Twenty took note of it one unfortunate day. Normally, they’d have written it off as being too magic and troop costly a target to claim as their own, but Visla Trixzal, the leader of the Council at that time, was a prideful man with an overdeveloped sense of self-worth.

  And the pirate leader holed up on that world had not only stolen one of his prize ships, but had also taken one of his brides prisoner. And she had been his favorite of the lot.

  Rather than let an offense so great as that go, he rallied the Council’s forces and stormed the battlements of Actaris, the fight laying waste to tens of thousands of both his own as well as his enemy’s men before the remaining pirates surrendered and threw themselves on his mercy.

  It was at this point, the appropriateness of using that particular world for evil deeds became set in stone. Trixzal accepted their surrender, the many thousand remaining relinquishing their weapons in defeat. But once they had been taken into the visla’s custody, he reneged on their deal.

  The men and women were returned to the surface, and they were tortured and slain, the thousands of bodies put on display along the rocky outcroppings as warning to any who would ever dare attack Visla Trixzal or the Council again.

  For obvious reasons, no one went anywhere near that world after that day. And while the elements and time had claimed almost all signs of that conflict, a few skeletons still dotted the rocky slopes as a gleaming-white reminder of what had happened there in the not too terribly distant past.

  And that was where they were now going.

  The old junker Uzabud had sourced was a scavenger craft. It flew, but only barely, and its loss wouldn’t be too great a concern. His mothership was tucked away at the far edge of the system on a cold and barren moon none ever visited. As for the Ghalian shimmer ships, the sheer amount of magical power employed around the stronghold on Actaris meant even they would not escape detection.

  One might be needed, however, and Hozark parked his ship, fully cloaked, hundreds of miles away, just in case. If they had to steal a vessel from the Council, it would be a relatively short hop to surreptitiously drop them at the hidden craft while making it appear the stolen ship had either escaped or crashed.

  In any case, it was a backup. And Ghalian always had a backup plan.

  Corann shadowed Hozark when he deposited his ship, then the two flew back to the distant moon to park her craft and join the others aboard the junker. Then it was just a short flight to Actaris, where either success or death awaited them.

  “You guys ready for this?” Bud asked as they neared the prickly world.

  Even from space, the giant rock spires made it look like an uninviting ball of danger.

  “We are prepared,” Corann said as they approached the Council stronghold.

  “Speak for yourself,” Laskar gulped. “Look at that place.”

  There were several powerful craft in a low hover nearby, always stationed there to protect whichever Council member should choose to visit, if the need arose. And the facility itself was protected by layer upon layer of spells. That, plus everyone’s general aversion to the world made this a place where members of the Council felt safe.

  But it was also not often used, and for that reason, security, intimidating as it seemed, was somewhat lax in its own way. The infiltration would be difficult, no doubt, but not impossible.

  “Never fear, dear Laskar. We will succeed in this effort,” Demelza said, patting him on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

  It didn’t work.

  Laskar and Uzabud were clothed as salvage traders, as were the others. But the three Wampeh knew full well that any of their race’s complexion would receive additional scrutiny in this place. And with all of the magical protections in place, their usual disguise spells would be ineffective, leaving them but one option.

  The old way.

  The makeup was good, and though they were all a bit out of practice in its application, by the time they were approaching the landing area they’d been directed to by the control facility, all three bore no resemblance to their normal selves.

  All were armed with the usual accoutrements one would expect of salvagers. A konus, a sturdy blade to pry and cut with, a sword, though little good that would do them against trained Council guards, and a pouch for whatever treasures they might come across in the course of their work.

  In essence, they were not seen as a threat. They’d be allowed to pass with these, but nothing more.

  But Hozark’s vespus blade would most certainly be needed, as would Corann’s claithe. It was with extreme care they applied the golden strands of Ootaki hair Hozark had recovered from the Ghalian vaults, wrapping them carefully around their weapons, casting obscuring spells of the greatest power.

  It was a huge amount of power being spent for a mere shielding spell, something that no one would ever waste Ootaki hair on. But that was what would make it so effective. None expected it.

  But the Ghalian were a wealthy order, and this was a small cost in the big picture
of their efforts. Once the hair had been properly affixed and the blocking and glamour spells cast, the pommel of the magical sword seemed boring. Plain, dull, and unworthy of note.

  And Corann’s claithe was covered by gloves and her sleeves, the Ootaki hair masking its magical presence, but only just. Concealing a weapon like that took far more power than the vespus blade.

  “What’ve you got there?” the guard at the landing site growled as they approached carrying a pair of floating crates. “And why aren’t they using a conveyance? I don’t see any slave collars.”

  “It’s good stuff, in there. Quality trade, that is,” Bud replied, opening the crates to show off the miscellany on the top of the pile. “And they’re carrying them because that idiot gambled away the last functional conveyance we had,” he said, flashing an angry glance at Laskar.

  Having been in the pirate game a long time, he knew the ins and outs of scavengers and their ways, and now that knowledge was coming into play.

  “Trade? At Actaris?” the guard asked, incredulously.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to be here,” Bud said with a friendly laugh. “Probably no more than you do, am I right?”

  The guard didn’t smile, but his agreement with the sentiment was almost palpable nonetheless. No one wanted to be stationed here, and guard duty, outside no less, was the worst.

  “But we’re short on options. If it wasn’t for our ship being in such dire need of repair, we’d have just as soon passed right by this whole system,” he continued. “But as it is, we find ourselves in need of parts. And we all know the saying about beggars.”

  “They’re not worth killing because they have no coin,” the guard replied.

  “What? No, no,” Bud said. “They can’t be choosers. Beggars can’t be choosers. Surely you know that one.”

  “Mine’s better,” the guard said, stepping aside and gesturing them toward the nearby entrance. “Go on, and hurry up about it.”

  “Thanks, Brother,” Bud said with a smile. “Come on, you lot. You heard the man. Get a move on!”

  “Okay, Boss,” Hozark said, lifting his side of the crates with a grunt.

  The former pirate led the way, walking to the waiting entry. They were about to enter the belly of the beast, and if they hoped to survive once inside, success was the only option.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Inside the corridor there were no further guards to be seen. In fact, there was no one anywhere.

  “This is some pretty lax security,” Bud noted as they walked deeper through the long tunnel into the main heart of the stronghold complex.

  “They feel safe here,” Hozark replied. “A stronghold build into the very rock of the planet, the entry guarded by Council ships, and a reputation surrounding this world that keeps all but the most foolish, or the most desperate, away. It is no wonder.”

  “I guess so. It’s just weird, is all. I’m used to people trying to kill us when we do stuff like this.”

  “Give it time, dear Uzabud. I’m sure they will start soon enough.”

  “Come, divide the crates, and let us begin,” Corann said, quickly separating the containers, lifting a third from where it had been hidden within the original two.

  This smaller crate held more than just salvage junker material. It contained several items of great value from the Ghalian vault. And one rarity that would be certain to grab the attention of whoever was really behind all of this deceit.

  “Uzabud. You and Demelza will take the larger crate of trade and see what you can learn of Aargun’s location on your way to the quartermaster. If you should happen upon him, skree me at once.”

  “We shall, Master Corann,” Demelza said as she and Bud lifted their load.

  “Laskar, you will take this other crate, as we discussed. Your idea was a good one, so activate the hidden conveyance and act as though it is just a routine foodstuff delivery. Once in the kitchens, talk with the staff and see what you can learn.”

  “Getting people to talk is my strong suit,” he replied.

  “Talking is your strong suit,” Bud chimed in. “Just stick to the plan.”

  “When do I not?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?”

  That left Corann and Hozark with the smaller crate. One they would carry by hand. And that crate would be taken to the heart of the stronghold. To the visla’s chambers. There, she would unleash the power of the claithe if necessary and do whatever it might take to reclaim their captive brother from this place.

  “Be safe, and be smart,” Hozark said. “The workers here have no reason to expect an attack, but they are also very familiar with the Council members and their aides, so be cautious what you say and to whom. Remember your role, and stick to your part of the plan.”

  The group nodded as one and headed off in different directions. The basic layout of the place wasn’t much of a secret, since it was simply occupied when the Council took over this world. Yes, modifications had been made over the years, but the foundational design was the same.

  The interior of the stronghold possessed a multitude of outdoor courtyard spaces, some quite large, a holdover from the old days when pirates would host great feasts and festivities, the smaller ships actually landing in some of the larger ones to offload alcohol, food, and entertainment.

  That aspect was largely unchanged, and the route toward the inner chambers the visla would most likely be using was as they’d expected it to be. What they hadn’t expected was the cries of a beast ringing out through the walls. And this was not a guard animal; it was obviously captive and in pain.

  “Is that a Zomoki?” Hozark mused as he and Corann moved along as if nothing was wrong.

  “I believe so. But what could they be doing to such a beast to cause that reaction?” she replied.

  Neither had a clue, but that question was soon answered when they passed out into one of the courtyards on their way to their destination. It was the fastest route, avoiding twists and turns of the corridors inside. It also lay bare the mystery of the crying beast.

  Zomoki were there. Medium-sized specimens, but quite large regardless. Hozark and Corann shared a look as they passed the still creatures. Both of the Zomoki lay there with eyes open but not seeing. They would never see again, it was quite clear.

  Someone had killed them. But not an outright slaughter. No, these magnificent, magical animals had clearly been experimented on. And while they were still breathing, from the looks of it. Just like the dead Wampeh Hozark had seen at the smelting facility. Now the cries of their cousin made sense, but the machinations at work did not. Someone was engaged in dark things, but to what end, they could only guess.

  The two Ghalian carefully avoided the deadly Zomoki blood that had dripped onto the stones and made their way to the far doorway leading back into the halls.

  Inside the hallways once more, Hozark and Corann made good time toward their goal, walking with purpose, but also the casual demeanor of one not at all concerned about anything.

  Anything like breaking into a Council stronghold to fight off guards, mercenaries, and a visla, for example.

  “Hold there,” the nearest guard said when they arrived at the doors to what had to be the visla’s chambers. “What are you doing here? This area is off limits to all but the visla’s staff.”

  “Oh, we’re here to see the visla,” Corann said in her sweetest tone. “We have a valuable delivery for him.”

  “No one makes deliveries here. Only at the depot.” He turned to the other guard. “Scan them.”

  The guard summoned up a scanning spell, reciting the words with the bored tone of years of repetition. But the intent behind the words was there, and that was what made a spell work, ultimately. A faint green glow encompassed the two interlopers and their cargo, then abruptly flashed bright red.

  The guards drew their blades at once.

  “Show me your hands!”

  “What seems to be the problem?” Corann asked in her motherly way.
>
  “You’re wielding magic, that’s what.”

  “Oh, young man. We are not wielding magic. We’re delivering it,” she said, slowly opening the top of the crate to expose the contents within.

  “Is that––” the guard said, his eyes going wide with disbelief as he lowered his blade, a hand reaching out in disbelief.

  Inside the crate, a thick braid of golden hair lay coiled with several other items of great value. Items sacrificed from the Ghalian vaults that were now playing their part as intended.

  “Don’t touch!” Corann chided, smacking his hand like a mother would a child reaching into a cookie jar.

  Little did the man know, the contents were set to burn in a magical fire if anyone but she or Hozark were to touch them. A safeguard in this deadly place.

  “Yes, it is Ootaki hair,” Corann continued. “Not first cut, mind you, but a respectable length just the same. We were told to deliver this.”

  This particular Ootaki hair had fallen into the order’s possession during an assassination not too long ago. Once the target had been eliminated, it would have been foolish to leave so potent a source of magic for his replacement to find. And so, it had been stored in the Ghalian vault.

  Until now.

  The Ootaki magic had set off the scanning spell alarm, as intended. And as their real weapons were masked by strands of that same hair, the impression was maintained that it was simply the braid making the alarm trigger.

  Corann kept her distance, though, being sure not to touch the golden braid. If she were to handle it while wearing the claithe, there was no telling what might happen.

  It was a very weak bit of magic-storing hair they had brought from the Ghalian vaults, but even an old and largely drained length of it could still have unknown effects on the unstable weapon, and that was the option of last resort.

  “I’ll take it to them,” the guard said, coming to his senses.

  “We were given explicit orders to deliver it personally. Where is the visla?”

  “Which one?”

  Corann flowed with the startling revelation that not one but two Council vislas were present. “The visla, of course.”