Hozark's Revenge

by Scott Baron

  It was a convenient front, and one that let the Wampeh come and go without raising an eyebrow, for only the tiniest fraction of a fraction of their species even possessed the gift, and of those, it was yet again a tiny percentage who actually became Ghalian assassins.

  “Demelza! Lovely to see you again so soon!” Corann said warmly as she strode out to greet her “niece” on her front porch.

  She waved sweetly to her neighbors as she gave Demelza a big hug.

  “So glad to see you too,” Demelza gushed. “Let’s go inside. We have so much to talk about!”

  The pair stepped back in through the porch door and dropped the façade as soon as they were inside.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly,” Corann said.

  “Of course, Master Corann. I departed as soon as I received the message.”

  “And Hozark? Prombatz?”

  “They are well, and they send you their best wishes. As does Happizano.”

  “Ah, the boy. Is he still practicing his spells?”

  “Yes. And knife work as well. He is actually becoming fairly proficient at throwing a blade.”

  “I am glad to hear that,” Corann replied.

  “And what of the young Wampeh? The feral?” Demelza asked.

  Corann’s look of calm faltered a fraction. “He is well enough, though he is still quite wild. I do not know if we will be able to rehabilitate him, truth be told. His life prior to Council capture seems to have been rough, and only worse once in their grasp.”

  “I am hopeful he can be brought around.”

  “As am I. But at least he now has a name. Jokka is what he is called, and he seems to at least tolerate the moniker.”

  “It is a good name,” Demelza said.

  “I think so.” Corann then shifted gears. “I heard about the troubles you had with Visla Maktan during your attempted contract on Trazzip. That he had a rather robust shimmer-cloaked guard force.”

  “It is true, there were a great many of them, which was something of a surprise. And they were quite skilled in the use of their shimmers, no less.”

  “This could pose a problem, should the visla become accustomed to piercing shimmer magic as a course of habit. And if he is surrounded by shimmers on a regular basis, he very well may.”

  Demelza knew this could be a problematic possibility, but there was little they could do about it. Or so she thought.

  “I have a task for you,” Corann said after a moment’s thought. “One that may very well tax your abilities to the extreme.”

  “I am a Wampeh Ghalian,” Demelza replied. “What would you have me do?”

  Corann smiled at the woman’s confident response. “I wish for you to search out something. An item of great power of a most particular nature. And one that has not been seen for generations.”

  “I can have the others prepped and ready in––”

  “No. You must do this task alone,” Corann interrupted. “You and you alone have the insight to achieve what I am asking of you.”

  “But Master Hozark, he is one of the Five.”

  “And you are more qualified than he for this task.”

  Demelza was taken aback. She never dreamed to compare herself to the great leaders of her order, yet Corann, the leader of the Five, was telling her she possessed whatever it was that the others lacked. She could do what the Five could not.

  “I do not understand, Master Corann.”

  “You shall soon enough,” the older woman replied. “There is an object. An item of some sort, that provides the user with the ability to avoid detection when using magic, even if that magic is wearing a disguise. It is said that not even a powerful visla can pierce its protection without much preparation.”

  Demelza suddenly realized what it was she was being sent to find.

  “The Quommus?” she asked. “But that’s just a myth. A legend. It doesn’t really exist. No one even knows what it’s supposed to look like.”

  A little grin creased Corann’s lips. “So we all believed,” she replied. “But new information has come to light in the wake of the tragedy that befell Xymotz.”

  Demelza felt a slight twinge at the name of Master Orkut’s now defunct world. The greatest living swordsmith had fallen at Maktan’s hands, and somehow, this task related to that.

  “How does that pertain to the Quommus?” she asked. “It has only been spoken of in tales around fires late at night. It was just a made-up device.”

  “Or so we thought,” Corann corrected. “But it seems that Master Orkut had taken precautions in case of the event of his untimely demise––though he had already made himself seem dead to all. Or so he had thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was privy to certain things only a select few of his lineage were granted access to. Arcane knowledge passed down over the generations.”

  “But now he is dead.”

  “Yes, we have lost a great man. But his legacy lives on in his son.”

  “He mentioned him from time to time. That he possessed his father’s gifts. And that was why Master Orkut was in hiding on Xymotz. So his son would never have to worry about the Council the way his father had.”

  “That much is true,” Corann said. “But his son was also versed in other things. Secrets only to be revealed should tragedy fall. And word of his father’s true demise reached his ears, at which point a sealed message held in his possession was sent to me. One that had been drafted relatively recently, it would seem. After your stay with Orkut, in fact.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And it mentioned you by name.”

  Demelza was taken aback by the revelation. She’d been laboring for Master Orkut for some time, hoping to gain his favor to craft her a sword of her own from his legendary hands. But he was dead. And yet she was mentioned in his final correspondence with the order.

  “Do you recognize this?” Corann asked, showing a drawn symbol to Demelza.

  “Yes. It is one of the arcane sigils Master Orkut had stamped into some of his tools and possessions. There were an entire series of them, though he never explained their meanings to me.”

  Corann smiled a satisfied grin. “You are familiar with them, then. Good. Very good.”

  “Why is this good?”

  “Because, it would seem he knew more of the Quommus than he let on. And, in fact, he may have been one of the few living beings knowledgeable in the ways of those who originally crafted it.”

  “But he never said anything of this to me.”

  “Nor would he. But you have spent the most time with him in recent years of any who are still living. And for this reason, you very well may succeed where so many others have failed.”

  “You want me to seek out the Quommus?” Demelza asked. “It is akin to a Spontis hunt. An exercise in futility. Many have sought it over the centuries, but none have ever succeeded.”

  “Yet, with Maktan’s abilities to sense magical disguises, and all of the additional guards protecting him, the Quommus is precisely the thing you need if you wish to get close to him.”

  Demelza pondered what was being asked of her a long moment. “I shall do as you ask, Master Corann, but I worry this shall be a futile endeavor.”

  “Perhaps,” Corann replied. “But perhaps not,” she said as she handed her a folded parchment. “Take this. It contains Orkut’s final message. It is cryptic, but you knew the man better than most. Perhaps you will be able to make sense out of it.”

  Demelza knew better than to protest that she really barely knew the man at all. “Thank you, Corann. I shall do my best.”

  Demelza then took her leave, making a friendly, loud show of it for the neighbors as she boarded her ship, carrying a large basket of fresh-baked goods, as was Corann’s habit. Those she would leave with Happizano and the others.

  It would take but a moment to stop and inform them she would be away, and possibly for some time. Then she would begin her search in earnest. Whether it was a wild goose chase, she w
ould find out soon enough.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Uzabud had long ago given up his pirating ways for the somewhat more relaxing lifestyle of a smuggler and ship-for-hire, though he did still specialize in the more adventurous of tasks and potentially dangerous of cargo.

  But ever since Henni had been kidnapped right in front of him, blasted unconscious and hauled into a Council ship by Maktan and Ravik’s forces, he had found himself traveling down the slippery slope toward his former self. Not the gregarious pirate who was quick with a song or a funny tale.

  The other one. The one people didn’t talk about.

  That Uzabud had been thought long vanquished. But it seemed that in times of extreme duress, such as when a member of his crew was taken prisoner to have lord knows what sort of experiments performed upon her, that deeply buried bit of aggression came clawing his way back to the surface. And he was pissed.

  “I said I don’t know!” the bloody-faced man twice Bud’s size said just before the angry pirate’s fist smashed into his already broken nose yet again. “Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just stop hitting me!”

  “I think you’re lying to me,” Bud growled, cocking his arm for another go.

  “I swear, it wasn’t my ship that took her!”

  Bud paused, the konus on his wrist glowing faintly, but the charge lessening as he held back, to the relief of the man on the receiving end. Bud had been using an unusual technique in his “enhanced” questioning. One he’d learned from his travels with one of the deadliest assassins in the galaxy.

  He was using his konus to amplify his punches, while simultaneously casting healing spells, allowing him to inflict maximum damage, and, thus, pain, while not actually killing the target of his rage.

  If Hozark had seen him in action, he would have likely been quite impressed at the combined spells his friend was weaving within one another. For a layman to cast in this manner was highly unusual. But, then, this entire situation was unusual.

  “You were bragging about your time with Visla Ravik. All the worlds you had helped subjugate. You were part of the group that attacked Inskip.”

  “No, I wasn’t with them.”

  “Liar.”

  Bud’s fist slammed into the man’s face yet again. Interestingly, this entire exchange had been taking place in a rather crowded tavern. It was a rough and tumble sort of establishment, but nevertheless, the beating Bud was handing out was a bit much, even for this place.

  The crowd was watching from a distance, the lot of them held at bay by a small band of particularly hardy pirates, led by a Valkyrie of a woman who towered over most of them. Lalaynia had never seen Bud in quite such a state, and that was saying something, given the years they’d flown together.

  He had been a near indispensable part of her crew in the early days, and she would not have risen so quickly to the upper echelons of piracy without his capable hands piloting her ship.

  Now she had moved on, flying a larger and far more deadly craft with a likewise larger and equally deadly crew. But she and Bud had come up in the pirating world together, and she felt she owed him something of a debt, though more out of friendship than actual obligation.

  “You almost done?” she called out loudly across the tavern.

  Bud seemed to remember where he was at the sound of her voice, and the enormous, yet blubbering man before him was clearly of no use.

  “Yeah. We’re done here,” he said, releasing the man, who slumped to the floor. He then turned and stormed out the front door.

  Lalaynia and her men stepped back from the group they’d been keeping from interfering. It was tense, but as none had actually been harmed in the process––aside from the poor fellow Bud had been interrogating––a relatively calm exit was made while the tavern’s proprietor looked on.

  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Lalaynia said as she tossed him a small pouch of coin. “For your trouble. And the mess.”

  Minutes later, they were all safely back aboard her ship and quickly rising from the planet’s surface. As soon as they were clear of the atmosphere, her pilot jumped to a nearby system. One where Bud hadn’t made quite such a mess. It was a far better place to reassess and adjust their plans.

  Bud was sitting in the galley when the young pirate he’d known since his earliest days came looking for him.

  “Bud? You okay?”

  He looked up at the fresh-faced youth. The boy had filled out even more since he’d last seen him. Wiry. Strong. A sharp look in his eye. Some were made to follow, but young Saramin was clearly made of hardier stuff.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “Lalaynia asked that you come to her quarters,” he relayed.

  Bud knew he had gone a little bit overboard back there, so this wasn’t entirely unexpected. “Okay,” he said, slowly rising to his feet. “Better get this over with sooner than later, I guess.”

  He walked the corridors, reflecting on the day’s efforts and their disappointing lack of results. Before he knew it, he was at Lalaynia’s door.

  “Come,” she said as the chime sounded.

  “Hey, Laynia. Saramin said you wanted to see me. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get better intel from that––”

  “Shut up and sit down,” she said, gesturing to a nearby seat as she poured two tall glasses. “Let’s have a drink, you and I.”

  “No thanks. I’m really not––”

  “You don’t understand,” she said with a bit more force. With her captain’s voice. “Let’s have a drink.” It was not a request.

  Bud accepted the glass and took a sip. He raised an eyebrow. This was the good stuff. Normally that meant a celebration, but he had a sneaking suspicion that was not the case today. She sat across from him and sipped her own drink, quietly staring at her friend a long while before finally speaking.

  “We’ve known one another a long time, Bud.”

  “That we have.”

  “And we’ve been through a lot. More than most would believe.”

  “Some good times, those,” he agreed with a bit of nostalgia.

  “And in all of those years, I never once felt that I had to watch my back around you. Not once. But today? That shit you pulled?”

  “Look, I know it was a bit extreme. But the guy––”

  “Bud, you were reckless. It was a crowded location, unsecured, and potentially packed with that goon’s friends. We were lucky only a few were there or it could have devolved into a real problem for all of us.”

  “But the guys are more than capable––”

  “That’s not the point,” she cut him off. “There are ways to do these things, and that was not it. You going off the plan like that is unacceptable. You’re better than this, and you know it.” She stared hard into his eyes. “We’re friends, Bud, and I want to help you, really I do. But I have a responsibility to my crew as well, and I won’t jeopardize their lives for no reason. So get that cold, in-control edge back before you get yourself, and the rest of us, in a mess we can’t just walk, talk, or buy our way out of. We clear?”

  Bud knew she was right, and the realization of what he’d really done sank in. Her point was indeed clear. And it hurt that she’d actually had to say it. He was her friend and colleague, and it should never have needed voicing at all.

  “Yeah, we’re clear,” he finally replied. “Shit, I’m sorry, Laynia. I fucked up.”

  “Yes, you did,” she shot back, then downed the rest of her glass. “Keep your head on straight and we’re all good. Now, drink up and get the hell out of my quarters. I need some shut-eye after all that nonsense.”

  Bud emptied his glass in a gulp and rose to his feet. “Captain,” he said with a nod, then stepped out her door, heading for his own bunk. He had a lot of thinking to do. Or sleeping. Or both.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The away team who had accompanied Bud and Lalaynia on his impromptu interrogation were all gathered in the pirate ship’s spacious galley, a facility large enou
gh to accommodate the main bulk of the crew at a single seating. Those who eat and bond together tend to fight harder together, and Lalaynia thought the modification was well worth the expense.

  It was still too early for dinner, but Bud had something he needed to get off his chest. And in the process of making amends, he was cleaning out his personal supply locker as well.

  “What’s with the spread?” a stout turquoise-skinned man named Otsmund asked. His hands were up in a questioning gesture, but his pair of mid-torso tentacles were already grabbing delights from the assorted delicacies laid out in front of them.

  “It’s my way of saying I’m sorry,” Bud replied. “Look, I really messed up yesterday, and it put you all at risk. It was stupid and selfish of me.”

  The pirates shifted a bit, uncomfortable with this unexpected show of open emotions. Bud really had changed in his years away.

  “Hey, it’s no big deal,” Otsmund said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We’re men of adventure. It was nothing we couldn’t handle, right, fellas?”

  A chorus of agreement rang out, though some of the mouths were muffled by the food they’d been unexpectedly presented. Bud had intended to use the crates of pricey goodies as bribes, but he had more than enough aboard to make up for his mistakes and still have a decent stash should the need arise.

  The thing was, it wasn’t all right. Not by a long shot, and they all knew it. But Bud had come through with an apology, and an impressive one by pirate standards. And with that, it was now water under the bridge.

  Of course, had he truly screwed up, he’d have had to throw a proper feast far greater and far more expensive than this little nosh. Fortunately, he had not made a blunder of that magnitude in many, many years, and he had no desire to start now.

  Lalaynia watched the entire exchange from the doorway, where she was casually leaning. She caught Bud’s eye and gave a little nod of approval. All was well aboard her ship once more, and they were good. The pirate captain gestured for Bud to join her while the men stuffed their faces like kids on a sugar bender.