Hozark's Revenge

by Scott Baron

  “That fast? Wow,” Laskar marveled. “How many were there? Couldn’t you have just taken them out too?”

  “There were dozens,” Hozark replied.

  “Dozens? Holy shit. Overkill, much?”

  “I would not say so,” the master assassin said. “They were merely being extra careful in their duties protecting the visla. Obviously, with Visla Ravik’s demise and the turmoil within the Council, they were expecting something, even if they did not know what. I will say, however, that the additional layers of security went far beyond our initial intel on the property, and it seems he has a rather talented captain of the guard running his protection detail.”

  “Almost sounds like you admire the guy,” Laskar joked.

  “It was a very well-configured defensive strategy,” Hozark replied. “And regardless of whether he or she is my adversary, I respect a tightly run ship.”

  Laskar snorted with both amusement and frustration. “You seem pretty okay with these guys putting the kibosh on your hit. I mean, the visla got away, and now he’s going to be on high-alert for future attempts.”

  Hozark could see where Laskar was going with this and quickly cut him off before he worked himself up into a tizzy.

  “Yes, it is an inconvenience, and yes, our efforts were stymied this evening. But it was all by happenstance, not a specific rebuttal of our tactics. In fact, that we were not detected even after the alarms had been triggered attests to the efficacy of our stealthy approach and camouflage.”

  “But he got away!”

  “He did, but we now know which ship he was flying out on, and the Ghalian network will be keeping a very close eye on it from this point. He may employ decoy vessels again and swap out, and it may take some time to reacquire him at another suitable location, but it shall come to pass, sooner or later.”

  The pilot shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the situation and antsy just sitting on the ground when they could be flying in pursuit, or escape, or pretty much anything other than waiting.

  “So, we’re just going to sit here?”

  “For now. This craft has drawn no attention, partly thanks to your performance at this establishment, for which we both thank you. However, if it were to abruptly depart so shortly after Visla Maktan effected an emergency egress, some would take note, and if they happened to work for the visla or the Council, that would bode very poorly for us indeed.”

  Laskar realized they were right. It was frustrating, but they had no choice but to let the spies do their thing and keep an eye on Maktan’s ship while the trio sat on this rock and did nothing. It was a fate he reluctantly resigned himself to.

  “It’s still weird, if you ask me,” he said. “I mean, there’s no reason he should have that many guards. Not for a plain old babysitting gig at his own estate. There was no reason for the old man to be so paranoid. Whatever’s going on within the Council, Ravik was killed in battle, not in a stealthy assassination. So why all the extra men?”

  Hozark nodded his agreement slowly. “It was a bit unusual, yes. However, it is clear that his security captain knows something unusual is afoot. Even if he cannot discern what exactly the threat is. And his use of shimmer-cloaked guards shows he is well-acquainted with unusual forms of warfare.”

  “They were shimmer-cloaked?” Laskar asked, the shock clear on his face. “You didn’t think to mention that in the first place?”

  “It was irrelevant, Laskar,” Demelza said. “What is done is done, and we have had a temporary setback in our plan. That is all. And whether the visla has a dozen men guarding him or a hundred, we are Wampeh Ghalian, and we shall complete our contract, one way or another.”

  The look in her eye told him that while she was calm about the evening’s failure, she was also still harboring quite a grudge for the murder of her mentor. Master Orkut may not have been a Ghalian, but he had clearly made an impression on her all the same.

  “So, what now?” he finally asked after a long, frustrated sigh.

  Hozark leaned back in his seat and kicked his feet up. “Now? Now we shall let the network do what they do best. They shall track his ship, keep tabs on his whereabouts, and as soon as he settles in a location suitable for our needs, we shall strike once more. And this time we will not miss.”

  “Uh, I meant what now as in, what do we do now that we’re stuck here on this planet with nothing to do?”

  Hozark let out a little chuckle. “My apologies, Laskar. Perhaps I was getting a little ahead of myself.”

  “Ya think?”

  Hozark ignored the snark. The fellow was obviously out of his element, and the frustration was getting to him.

  “In answer to your question, now we relax and focus our minds on the task ahead of us.”

  “But what about me? What can I do?”

  “There is not much to do, I am afraid.”

  Laskar’s shoulders slumped a moment, then slowly began to straighten until he was fully upright. “Hey, I was just thinking. If we’re not going anywhere, how long do you think we’ll be stuck down here?”

  Hozark considered the question. “I would think another few hours should provide us enough time to fully establish our cover story and avoid scrutiny upon our departure.”

  Laskar grinned and rose to his feet and headed toward the door. “Well then,” he said with a bright grin. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some unfinished business to attend to. See you back here in a few hours.”

  With that he strode back to the house of ill-repute, determined to make the most of a bad situation.

  “It is not going to be as easy as you told him,” Demelza said when the ship was clear. “Our spies will likely not be able to keep track of that craft once it jumps.”

  “I know,” Hozark replied. “But it seemed pointless to concern him with that detail. Now, come,” he said, heading to the galley where they could better sit and discuss their failed attempt. “Let us go over what we learned of our dear Visla Maktan this evening.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The flight back from Trazzip was relatively quick, given the lack of need for a circuitous route to mask their flight path. Laskar had plotted only two misdirect jumps, and had done so in a far more pleasant mood than he had been in when the contract on Visla Maktan had failed to be completed.

  That he made his return to the ship some hours later with his hair a bit ruffled and his cheeks a bit flushed told the waiting assassins all they needed to know. At least he had let off some steam––or whatever else––and his mood would be far more agreeable for it.

  The two Ghalian were in decent spirits as well, though for other reasons. While they had failed at their attempt to end Visla Maktan once and for all, it had been through no error or fault on their part. It was simply bad luck, as was wont to happen on occasion.

  Their intel had been accurate. That was important. And their ingress into the fortified estate had been successful. If not for the unexpected appearance of a hapless courier, they would likely have been able to complete their task.

  The mishap had also almost certainly spared them a significant amount of harm. With the dozens of hidden guards, each of them skilled in the use of their shimmer cloaks, it would have been a difficult escape even with their own camouflage in place and after having drunk deeply of the visla’s power.

  It had made sense for there to be a robust security presence lurking around the grounds, but this had been a bit much. Of course, a visla on the Council would have a solid defense strategy and guards close by.

  In fact, the only reason Visla Ravik had fallen as easily as he had was due to the battle he had been caught in the midst of. Had his men not been dealing with hordes of combatants rushing them, they’d certainly have provided the man an additional line of defense. But Ravik was a powerful caster, ready for all comers, and cocky because of it.

  But it had not been brute strength that overcame him, but rather, a clever bit of misdirection. Hozark’s injuries had been feigned, or at least exaggerated, causi
ng the man to discount him as a threat.

  It had been the last mistake he would ever make.

  “How has the boy behaved?” Hozark asked after they touched back down on Arkoval.

  Master Prombatz nodded his greeting to his fellow Master and associates as they strode into his residence.

  “He is doing quite well, actually.”

  “Where is he?” Laskar inquired. “It’s unusually quiet for having the kid around.”

  “Training with Aargun,” Prombatz replied. “We shall join them momentarily. But first, tell me, was the attempt a success?”

  “I am afraid not, Brother,” Hozark replied. “The intelligence was sound, and our ingress successful, but, as is known to happen, an unexpected variable was inserted themself into the mix.”

  Prombatz nodded knowingly. More than a few of his contracts had suffered such events over his lengthy career. It simply came with the territory.

  “I am sorry to hear it, Brother.”

  “It is the way of things,” Hozark replied with a little shrug.

  “Indeed. Well, come along. We shall join the others. I am sure your young friend will be happy to show you what he has learned in your absence.”

  The Ghalian master led his guests through the building to a small courtyard surrounded on all four sides by high walls. Muting spells shielded them from any outsider hearing the goings-on within. So far as anyone in the area knew, this was just another unremarkable building, like any other.

  The truth, however, was a different matter. Most notably, it currently housed several of the deadliest killers in the galaxy.

  “Hozark!” Hap blurted out when he saw his friends’ arrival.

  “Hello, Happizano,” he replied.

  Aargun turned slightly and nodded to the new arrivals. Had it not been for his lack of eyes, it would have seemed as though he was looking right at them. His other senses were picking up the slack for his missing eyes and had become even sharper, it seemed.

  He was doing well. Recovered from his ordeal and well past merely recovering to a state of health, Aargun was thriving. And not just with the joy of training his young friend. He had also been gradually learning to cast stronger spells without the use of his tongue. They were still the most minor of things, utterly inconsequential for an assassin such as he, but the mere fact he could cast silently at all was a marvel.

  “Hey, check this out!” Hap called out.

  He turned to face a wooden target far across the courtyard and drew his small dagger from its sheath. The boy paused a moment, collecting his thoughts and focusing on his goal, then hurled the blade in one smooth motion.

  The knife flew true, more or less, and sank deep into the target. Hap had tapped into his magic to help guide it and add force to the throw, as he’d been shown. And, to his delight, the concept was finally sinking in and becoming second nature.

  “Well done, young Jinnik,” Hozark commended. “A most impressive throw, indeed.”

  Laskar, however, was not impressed. This was one thing he too had skill at, and he seized the opportunity to show off. His own knife flew across the open space, sinking into the target’s center with a solid thunk.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” he said with a cocky grin, then strode over to retrieve the two blades. He sheathed his own and handed Hap his smaller knife. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re getting better, but there’s a long way to go.”

  “Always with the ego,” Demelza sighed. “It is not a competition, Laskar. He is but a child, young enough to be your own. Of course you are more proficient. You are an adult with years of experience under your belt.”

  “She is correct, Laskar,” Hozark noted. “And it is unbecoming a grown man to belittle the accomplishments of a hard-working youth.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Laskar grumbled, chided by not one but two Ghalian, his little show of skill downplayed. “Hey, Hozark,” he said, rebounding from the ego hit. “I forgot to ask you earlier. Was your ex there? That Samara chick? It must have been tough, seeing her with Maktan, I bet.”

  If an emotional response had been what he had expected, Laskar was going to be disappointed. Hozark ignored the man’s tone. He was impulsive and childish in his ways despite his years, evidenced by his defensive remark, but he was still a damn good pilot and part of their team, even if abrasive at times.

  “She is not my ex,” he replied casually. “And no, there was no sign of Samara there.”

  “She might have been cloaked too,” the copilot noted.

  “And I would have sensed her.”

  “But she’s a Ghalian. A talented one at that, from what you say.”

  “One of the best, indeed. But I know her magic.”

  Laskar shrugged, his little dig not making so much as a dent in the assassin’s stoic armor. “Weird, though. I mean, she’s working for him. Your ex and the Council’s big bad visla. You’d think she would have been there.”

  “Whatever task he has her performing, she was not present anywhere nearby, from what I could discern,” Hozark replied calmly.

  Prombatz and Demelza watched the exchange impassively, but both noted Laskar’s attitude. It seemed that despite his bit of relaxation and respite in the ersatz spa facility, he was still a bit grumpy. And now, like a child, he was having a bit of a tantrum, though in his far more restrained manner. At least his age provided that modicum of maturity.

  “Well, it’s probably for the best that she wasn’t there,” the copilot continued. “No one wants to fight a crazed, vespus blade-wielding assassin lady, anyway. I mean, except you, I guess. It’s like some kind of love-hate thing, isn’t it?”

  “Neither, dear Laskar,” Hozark replied.

  “Hozark,” Prombatz interrupted, “there is a matter I would discuss with you, if you have a moment.”

  Hozark turned back to Laskar. “If you will excuse me, we can continue this later,” he said, then walked off with his fellow member of the Five. “What is it you wish to discuss?” Hozark asked when they were clear of the courtyard and well on their way toward the building’s kitchen.

  “Oh, I merely thought you might enjoy a cool beverage after your long trip,” Prombatz said with an amused grin. “Away from that rather abrasive man.”

  Hozark chuckled. “Thank you, Brother. I would be delighted.”

  Evening brought with it a sense of relaxed calm to the reunited group. Hap and Aargun had enjoyed Demelza’s rather robust addition to their day’s training exercises, and all three of them were famished by the time dinner rolled around.

  Hozark and Prombatz had taken the opportunity to engage in a little private training of their own, the two master assassins working through forms in private.

  While the vast majority of the time they performed for up-and-coming Ghalian students, this was one of those rare occasions allowing them the freedom to practice things in which only the upper echelons of the order had been trained.

  Each Ghalian developed their own personal style as part of their evolution through the myriad fighting systems in which they spent their days and nights, but it was only at the highest levels of the order that two masters could really let their foot off the brakes and show their truest forms.

  Occasionally, injury would occur, even among the best of them. It was only natural. But the vast majority of the time the combatants would emerge from their session with no more damage than a few scrapes and bruises, which a simple healing spell could easily repair. And a good meal only added to the recovery.

  The group tucked into their meal with particular gusto, and conversation was held to a minimum by the food rapidly filling their face holes. Finally, after a rather satisfyingly light dessert of whipped fruit in a pastry shell, they all settled down for a casual bit of conversation over a post-dinner tea. They were in the midst of a lively discussion on the merits of single versus dual blade wielding in combat when there was a knock at the door.

  Prombatz excused himself and returned a moment later with a young Ghalian dres
sed in clean, simple attire. On his hip rode a wide pouch. A courier.

  “He has requested to speak with you, Demelza,” Prombatz said.

  “Thank you,” she replied with a nod, then rose from her seat. “If you will all excuse me a moment.”

  Demelza led the young man from the room into one of the adjacent chambers and offered him a seat. He politely declined.

  “You have been requested,” he said simply.

  “Oh? By whom?”

  “Master Corann,” he replied.

  Demelza nodded once. It was all he needed to say.

  “I shall depart at once. Do you head back that way?”

  “This was my only task in this system.”

  “Then please tell Master Corann I shall see her shortly.”

  The messenger bowed slightly, then took his leave. Demelza walked back to join the others, her arrival interrupting the conversation that had begun again in earnest.

  “Everything all right?” Happizano asked.

  “Yes, everything is fine. I have to go see Corann,” she said, her attention focused on Hozark. “I shall be departing at once.”

  “Fly safe, Sister,” Hozark said. “And give Corann my greetings. I shall visit her soon.”

  “I shall inform her, of course.”

  Happizano hopped up from his seat and ran over to give her a farewell hug. She reciprocated, though a bit awkwardly.

  “Come back soon!”

  “I shall try, Happizano,” she replied. “I hope to see you all soon.”

  With that, she bade her final farewells and headed out to her shimmer ship. A few minutes later, she was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The flight to Corann’s home was uneventful, and Demelza made good time, even in her small craft. Uzabud’s mothership could handle far longer jumps, but there was no need for such a thing at the moment. The message had requested her presence, but it had not been one of urgency.

  Demelza flew in casually and landed in plain sight, her shimmer cloaking not once engaged. To those near Corann’s abode, this was a familiar face returning. Not an assassin, but merely Demelza, the kindly older woman’s niece.