He knows the answers are out there. The trick will be living long enough to find them.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Assassin Journals: Hunter:
I woke to darkness and the certain knowledge that I was in very deep shit.
Light crept in under the door of the windowless room, and I heard muffled voices outside. I sat up slowly, closing my eyes against the pain in my head and shoulders.
Someone had sold me out.
Probably the waitress in the bar.
I really was going to have to stop trusting women like that. The odds were pretty good that Jak the Rigian Rat Boy rotted in the alley along with the garbage while the barmaid spent his cash.
I listened through the pain in my head, trying to figure out where they’d taken me, but the voices outside the door weren’t dropping many hints. I could only assume the Guilds had elected themselves a new Grand Poobah, and I was at the top of his shit list.
Shouldn’t I be dead?
The heat and stale air in my windowless cell weren’t doing much to help alleviate my headache. I heard the sound of a lock rattling and looked up as the door opened. Skinny Sorrellian stood over me with a canteen that he tossed on the floor in front of me. I thought about asking him where I was, but he didn’t look like he was in the mood for conversation. He shut and locked the door without speaking. I opened the canteen and sniffed, then took a tentative sip. Water.
Another hour or so passed and I dozed, jerking awake when the lock rattled again. Skinny Sorrellian was back.
“Get up,” he said. “The master will see you now.”
I got to my feet, and he led me from the room. I wouldn’t want to keep the master waiting.
I was led into a large, spacious room, furnished with expensive Terran antiques and hand-blown Lyrian crystal. A log fire burned in a black marble fireplace; above it hung a watercolor painted by a renowned Rigian master, five hundred years dead. A massive rosewood desk sat in the center of the room and a man stood before the French doors leading to a stone flagged terrace. Rigian, older, gray streaked his yellow hair. He didn’t turn as I was brought in, just continued staring across the darkening lawn.
“You disappoint me, Hunter,” he said at last. “Is there no honor at all among murderers and thieves?”
I didn’t reply and he turned to face me. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Do I know you?”
“My name is Artur Melardis. I am the Guild Master. I believe you were acquainted with my predecessor. You seemed to have no trouble at all taking the money he paid you to eliminate our esteemed president.”
I shrugged. “My shot went astray. Sometimes it happens.”
“An interesting argument. It is not often that an assassin pleads incompetence. You took the Guild’s money and reneged on your contract. A rather substantial sum provided in good faith with the expectation of results. There are those within our organization who scream for your head, but I believe that would be…unproductive. You owe us a death.”
“Who did you have in mind this time? Delaren? Again?”
“Master Delaren is learning, to his frustration, that attempting to transform a system like ours is rather like trying to bail a sinking ship with a thimble—a valiant attempt, but in the end, an exercise in futility. He has made some modest gains, I will admit. Members of the civilian security patrol are less inclined to accept Guild direction, and financial benefit. The general population does not fear us as they once did. These things are inconvenient, but will be overcome with time. His constitutional amendments, however, are making potential business associates nervous. Several have already canceled rather lucrative contracts. This I cannot allow. Since you are directly responsible for inflicting him upon us, it is only right that you correct your mistake. Kill him, and your debt to the Guilds will be cleared.”
There had to be more to it than that. They’d never make it that easy.
“I don’t suppose refusing is an option.”
“Unfortunately, no.” Melardis moved to the desk and switched on the com-link. “Bring in the boy.”
He looked back to me. “Equally unfortunate is the fact that we find ourselves unable to trust your word. Once burned, you understand.”
The door behind me opened, and Skinny Sorrellian came in carrying Jak the Rat. The boy’s hands were bound, and an angry, purple bruise decorated his left cheek. Skinny Sorrellian dumped him on the carpet at my feet.
“A friend of yours, I believe.”
I kept my face carefully neutral as I looked from the boy back to the man behind the desk.
“Let him go; he’s no threat to you.”
“I am afraid that is not possible. He is our guarantee of your good conduct. Once Master Delaren is dead, we will release him to you, and you both may be on your way.”
They’d release us all right. Into death.
“You will spend tonight as my guest. In the morning Oren will drive you back to the city. I expect to hear of our esteemed president’s death within the month. Otherwise, I fear your young friend will meet an unfortunate end.”
Skinny Sorrellian picked Jak up and tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He drew his weapon and motioned for me to leave the room ahead of him, passing Jak off to a man standing guard outside the door. A nudge in the back with his blaster told me he expected me to precede him down the hallway. I glanced back in time to see the other guard carry Jak through a doorway at the end of the corridor.
Fuck.
I knew I shouldn’t have come back here.
Sword Empire
Robert Leader
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
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Sword Empire, The Fifth Planet book 2
Copyright © 2007 by Robert Leader
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First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2007
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