The Vespus Blade

by Scott Baron

  “Like I said, which one? Visla Torund or Visla Ravik?”

  “Visla Torund, of course. Is he available, or is he with that captured assassin we’ve heard word of?”

  “How did you hear about that?” the guard asked.

  “The guards at the landing site were talking about it. Is it true? So exciting––it’s a rare thing to capture one alive, you know.”

  “They should’ve been keeping their mouths shut,” the guard said. “But no, that one’s held in the upper cells.”

  Corann and Hozark shared the briefest of glances. That was what they needed. Aargun’s location. All they had to do was slay these meddlesome guards and they could––

  “In any case, the visla is in a meeting in the topmost courtyard with the other Council representatives at the moment,” the guard added.

  “A meeting?”

  “Yeah. Weird, we don’t usually have so many here at the same time,” the other guard said.

  “Shut it,” his counterpart hissed. “We’re not to talk about that.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I just figured since they’re delivering Ootaki hair it would be okay. I mean, he’ll be thrilled to get that, right?”

  “He will, I’m sure,” Corann said, again catching Hozark’s eye. “We’ll bring this to him in the courtyard, then. It’s one of the upper ones, you say? On the terraced rock areas?”

  “He’s not to be disturbed. But you can wait here.”

  She looked at Hozark a long moment. Aargun was close. Within reach. But there was not one but two vislas from the Council present, as well as who knew how many other representatives of the other members. It was an opportunity they simply could not miss.

  “We were told to keep direct contact with this crate at all times,” Hozark said in a bookish way. “So we can’t just leave it here until he’s done. But is there a kitchen nearby where we might get some food while we wait?”

  The guards looked at one another and decided this pair was harmless enough. And if they were bringing such an item to the visla, they’d best be treated well, if not as honored guests.

  “Down this hall, take a left at the intersection, then the third doorway on your right. There should be someone there to help you find whatever you crave.”

  “Thank you so very much. You’ve been an absolutely lovely pair to speak with,” Corann said, even going so far as to pinch the man’s cheek.

  She and Hozark lifted their crate and headed off in the direction the man had bade them. Once out of sight and earshot, they drew close and quickly adjusted their plan.

  New things were afoot, and they were going to improvise.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  The two disguised Wampeh carried their crate of riches down the hallway toward the kitchens, following the guard’s instructions, but abruptly changed course when they were out of his line of sight, heading toward the smaller, upper courtyard where he had said the unexpected meeting was taking place.

  Hozark pulled out his skree from the crate and called out to all three of their counterparts, notifying them that Aargun had been located and to pull back from their current locations and convene at the uppermost courtyards in the rocky estate.

  It was a dilemma, of a sort. The goal of their incursion was near. Aargun was alive and being held in the upper cells, likely rather near the location of the meeting, if previous layouts of the stronghold were still accurate.

  But this was an opportunity to do more than save an aspirant and slay his captor. This was the chance to actually find out what was going on in Council affairs. Affairs that appeared to encompass this kidnapping, as well as the torture of, and experimentation on, Zomoki.

  It was too important an opportunity to risk missing that information. And with the visla engaged with other Council members, Aargun would be safe in his cell. For now, at least.

  “We determine the number of adversaries, their power, their weapons, and any ingress or escape points. Then we strike,” Corann said. “We have the advantage of surprise. And there are three of us present,” she added with an anticipatory grin.

  “They will never expect that,” Hozark agreed. “This is most unusual.”

  “And unusual times call for unusual actions, Brother Hozark. Now, let us draw closer and see what we might discern of this meeting.”

  The duo knew it might take the others a little time to reach their location, but they could not wait a moment. Too much valuable information might be revealed, and there was no telling when the meeting might end.

  “I see four participants in the discussion. Two appear to be vislas; the others are emmiks,” Hozark said, reaching out with his power as he peered out the small window that gazed out onto the courtyard from their location.

  “Others?”

  “A dozen Tslavar guards, most near the lesser of the magic users. Only one of the guards is near the vislas. Hooded, but the shape of weapons is clear through their cloak.”

  “Typical visla overconfidence,” Corann said, feeling the power of the claithe resting on her wrist beneath its covering.

  She reached out, carefully, sensing the magic in the air. Yes, there was a substantial amount of it out there, and any head-on fight before their backup arrived would likely result in all of their demise. There were simply too many powered people to deal with at the same time as their guards, even with the element of surprise.

  But if they could get closer, somehow, close enough to overhear the conversation, then they might at least glean precious intel while waiting for the others. And from that distance, if they had to, they could likely strike one or more of the key players down, rendering them unconscious and leaving them free to deal with the lesser combatants.

  A plan was hatched, and while it was somewhat audacious, that was the nature of their life. A pair of clean cloaks of the basic type Council staff used were pulled from the crate and slipped over their salvager garb. The two then stashed their crate in a nook in the wall.

  Some might notice it, but none were expecting trouble in this place, so they would almost certainly just walk by, assuming it had been placed there for a reason.

  Hozark took the Ootaki braid and wrapped it around himself. He was still very low on internal power, but the small amount still remaining in the hair would help him power more spells if they were needed.

  He made a note to himself that he and the other members of the Three really must put some resources into fully recharging the remaining cache of Ootaki hair in their possession. Its use was not called upon often, but this occasion reinforced the usefulness of it.

  With the hair safely secured on his person and safe from Council discovery, Corann led the way back to the kitchens below.

  “Drinks and refreshments for the emmik,” she said in a commanding voice. “Chop-chop.”

  The staff knew they had visitors, so the appearance of what had to be one of their aides, judging by her cloak, along with her tone of voice––that of one used to ordering staff around––set them to work at once without question. In just a few minutes a large tray was brought forth.

  “Hand it to me. I will bring it to them. Now, back to your work,” she said, then spun and stormed out without paying them another thought.

  It was almost as if she had actually served in this capacity before. And on several of her deep cover contracts, she had.

  Hozark was wearing his sword, but beneath the cloak, secured as it was, its shape was barely noticeable. He took the tray from Corann and acted as her porter. They would quietly and humbly offer refreshments to the attendees, then strike when the moment was right, dealing a blow to the Council, then freeing their Ghalian brother.

  “The others must be close,” Hozark said.

  “No time to waste,” Corann replied, then opened the door to the courtyard and stepped out into the light as if it were a totally natural thing to do, walking into the lion’s den, so to speak.

  It was not a huge space, perhaps twenty meters across, but it was large enough. Not so large a
s the adjacent courtyard nearby. That would have been overkill for a gathering of this intimate size.

  The guards turned, as did one of the emmiks, taking note of the new arrivals.

  One of the Tslavar entourage stepped away from the others and met them halfway to the group. “What are you doing here? This is a private meeting.”

  He had stopped them just out of clear earshot, and neither assassin dared utter their enhanced hearing spells with the man staring right at them.

  “I was told to bring refreshments,” Corann replied with her warmest, kindest smile.

  “You’re not part of Uratza’s staff,” he said, eyeing the interlopers more keenly.

  “No, we are not. We were pulled from our other tasks to assist,” she said, not daring to go so far as to claim to be part of one of the participants’ entourage.

  There was no telling which of them this guard was attached to, or whom he knew among his peers.

  The guard looked over the tray in Hozark’s hands, then cast a scanning spell. The food and drink was clear of poisons or enchantments. It was just food and beverages, it seemed.

  Corann took one of the smaller, less ornate cups intended for the staff and offered it to the man. “Here, you must be thirsty.”

  He reached to accept the offering, then abruptly stopped.

  “What’s that on your wrist?” he asked, grabbing Corann roughly by the arm, her sleeve pulled up by the act, revealing not only her claithe, but also her pale, Wampeh skin.

  The look of shock on his face was immediately replaced with alert action as he shouted out, “Ghalian!”

  Or, attempted to shout out, for Corann slit his throat with a concealed blade before he could complete the word. But it had been enough. The other guards raced to his aid.

  It was twelve-on-two, which was ridiculously unfair to the twelve under any other circumstances, but power users were present, and they were the real threat.

  “Stop the assass––” a guard shouted, then fell as a thrown dagger pierced his skull.

  Hozark recognized the handiwork, and a moment later Demelza was in the fray, Bud racing in right behind her, the two’s arrival allowing the Ghalian masters to focus entirely on the magic user threats.

  An emmik was the first to act, casting a violent death spell, hoping to shatter Corann and Hozark’s bodies. Even if they’d recently fed, it should be enough to cripple them, at least.

  But he hadn’t counted on one thing. Corann’s claithe.

  The Ghalian master countered his spell, drawing the power within her and obliterating the casting while crushing the man who had sent it her way, leaving him in a writhing, broken heap on the stone.

  It was far more powerful magic than she had intended to use, and costly, especially with others to still contend with. But the effect was immediate, and it made quite an impression. Even the strongest power users feared the dangerous device.

  “A claithe?” the shorter, dark-haired visla said, the realization of just the sort of weapon his would-be killers possessed flashing across his face.

  Rather than fight, he turned and ran, as did the remaining emmik, both fleeing into the stronghold.

  “Ravik, you coward,” the remaining visla shouted after him. Torund, it would be.

  “Laskar! There are an escaping visla and an emmik heading toward the inner sanctum,” Hozark quickly transmitted over his skree. “Stay safe but track them and find where they go. We cannot let them escape. We will come as soon as we can.”

  He would have said more, but Corann was weakened from the sudden, massive draw of power. And they still had another threat to deal with. A visla, no less. And he still had his one guard, the lone lackey who had not rushed into the fight with Demelza and Bud.

  Slowly, the guard lowered their hood, revealing a pale woman with long black hair and silver eyes. Eyes Hozark knew all too well.

  Samara stared at the disguised man with a knowing look, a faint smile cracking the corners of her lips. She knew Hozark. She’d know him anywhere, disguised or not.

  The visla hissed something to her, and the smile faded as she drew her own glowing vespus blade from within her cloak.

  Hozark glanced at Corann as she tried to recover her strength, the two sharing a knowing look.

  Samara was most definitely alive. And she was with the Council.

  The former lovers circled one another as Hozark drew his own vespus blade from beneath his cloak.

  “Hello, Hozark,” she said.

  “Samara,” he replied.

  “Here we are again.”

  “So it would seem,” he replied.

  She stopped in place, the little smile creeping back onto her face. “Well, then. Shall we?”

  He nodded once.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  The men who had engaged Bud and Demelza were the cream of the crop of Council guards. Not mere Tslavar mercenaries tasked with standing around and looking tough––and dying magnificently from time to time. These were very well -trained men, and very well-armed.

  On his own, Uzabud would have fallen straightaway, but with the curvy dervish fighting beside him, he stood a chance. Demelza was a blur of action, handling multiple highly skilled opponents at once, and doing it with great efficiency.

  Normal guards would have stood no chance against her, but these were fighting her in a constant stream of attackers, overlapping their efforts rather than waiting for individual opportunities.

  Due to the proximity of their fellow guards, no magic was being used. The likelihood of hitting one or more of their own was simply too great. But the swords and knives were out in force, and despite her skill, Demelza had received more than a few cuts in the process.

  Of course, three of the guards now lay dead, and another was quickly bleeding out, but the remaining eight were hard at work against her and her compatriot.

  Not far away, Hozark and Samara were engaged in a furious exchange of their own, the sparking magic of their vespus blades flashing out across the courtyard as the glowing blue metal struck its counterpart.

  Ghalian swordfights typically ended in seconds, not minutes, but these two had trained together. Grown up together. Slept together. They knew each other’s movements as well as their own.

  And while Samara had always been the better swordswoman, in the decade since her alleged demise, Hozark had committed himself to bettering his swordplay, partly as a way to honor and remember his friend. Little did he know all that training would come into play against the dead woman herself.

  The visla she was guarding would have ended the fight immediately with his powerful magic, if not for one utterly unexpected thing. Corann and the claithe she was wearing. She had recovered quickly enough from the weapon’s initial use and was now carefully casting powerful counter-spells with it, stopping the visla in his tracks.

  But she was draining the stolen power within her faster than anticipated. At this rate, it would not be long before she ran dry completely. But the alternative was casting with more force.

  However, she was not a visla. She was only using the visla’s power she had absorbed. And she was not a skilled claithe user. No one was, not these days. To attempt a spell of the magnitude needed would very possibly result in the death of them all.

  So she defended herself and her comrades while they fought as best they could, hoping that somehow, they would manage to seize the day. But the outcome was looking increasingly grim.

  Samara’s blue vespus blade struck the slightly brighter metal of Hozark’s. His weapon possessed more power than hers, but both had drained the magical blades significantly not long ago and had not fully replenished them.

  “You’ve gotten better,” Samara said as she slid her blade free while delivering a front kick to her opponent.

  “And you’ve remained impressive,” Hozark replied, his dense muscles absorbing the blow. “But why, Sam? Why work for the Council?”

  “I have my reasons,” she
said, launching into a furious attack that drove Hozark closer to the visla’s dangerous magic.

  A tendril of power lashed out past Corann’s defenses, knocking Hozark to the ground. It wasn’t enough to kill him by any stretch, but it had put a hurt on him to be sure. Samara saw her window of opportunity and lunged at the fallen man, but her blade stopped short, blocked by a far lesser weapon, but a moderately enchanted one.

  Demelza had taken the sword from one of the guards she had slaughtered, the lot of them now unmoving on the ground, save the one their former pirate friend was still dealing with. The enchanted sword was more powerful than her own, so the upgrade was quite welcome. Especially as her opponent had a vespus blade.

  Samara’s eyebrow cocked slightly with both surprise and curiosity. She then launched into a full-fledged attack on the much stockier woman. But Demelza moved with the speed and grace of a woman half her size, the years of hard training honing her into an elite killing machine.

  She wasn’t as good as Samara was, but few were. She could, however, hold her own long enough to allow Hozark to regain his footing and do what needed to be done.

  The master assassin looked at his comrades, each fighting for their lives, and knew his only option. He reached out to the weak braid of hair wrapped around him within his cloak and pulled its power in close. Then Hozark did the unexpected. He turned from Samara and Demelza’s fight and charged the visla.

  Corann, seeing what he was doing, shifted from defense to offense, casting a powerful blast of harmful magic, forcing the visla to shift his own defenses to counter the magical attack. He saw Hozark rushing toward him, but remained unafraid. The man possessed a vespus blade, yes. But it was not fully charged, and he quickly cast his own spells to stop it. And when they did, he would take the assassin’s life with great pleasure.

  But he hadn’t counted on one thing. The Ootaki hair.

  It was an entirely different type of magic than the vespus or claithe. A type requiring a different defense. And Hozark had channeled it through himself and into his blade.