by Scott Baron
The vespus blade, however, also possessed an impressive amount of magic, having been filled to the brim with the overflow from Ravik’s demise. And if it was indeed Maktan whose forces were heading toward the Ootaki enclave, he would need every bit of it.
The jog into town was uneventful, even with Hozark not using his shimmer cloak to mask his arrival. These were people under Ghalian protection, and seeing one of the order in their midst would be of great relief to them, no doubt. Of course, the other citizens would just see a Wampeh and think nothing of it. Why would they? There was no reason to suspect a Ghalian would ever bother visiting this small world.
Hozark slowed his progress, making a small circuit on his way to his final destination. In addition to letting the Ootaki see his arrival, it also afforded him a ground-level chance to better survey the area on which he would soon be fighting. Indeed, most buildings did seem to have subterranean areas. Good for hiding the locals when the time came.
The taller buildings were spaced out far enough that they would not hinder any craft from landing, as he was sure the attackers would do, surely choosing to drop right into town instead of the marked landing area not far away. But that was no matter. Their overconfidence would be their demise.
As he strode the streets, dyed-hair Ootaki gave a slight nod to the Ghalian. A sign of thanks and respect. He returned the slightest of nods and carried on his way.
The other citizens in the area were far less interested in his arrival. To them he was just some random man walking into town. But even if any did take note, the unexpected fighting soon to break out would erase any thoughts about it soon enough.
Chapter Thirty
“I assume you’re Hozark?” a wiry man with clear gray eyes and shiny silver stubble gracing his face and closely shorn head asked the Ghalian trotting into the center of town.
He was dressed in average civilian clothes with a hooded tunic worn on top of his base attire. It was a very casual and comfortable ensemble. All the better to hide weapons beneath, and easily discarded at a moment’s notice.
Hozark looked at the fellow a moment. His skin, normal as it seemed, was clearly of a harder substance than it appeared, and his stubble was not mere hair, but wire-sharp in its composition. Cut to a short length as it was, it made his entire head and face a potential weapon. The man was a Rakanni, and judging by the bits of scarring he could see peeking out of his hooded collar, a mercenary. This was his contact.
“Indeed, I am. And you would be Andorus, if I am not mistaken,” Hozark replied.
“You are not mistaken,” the mercenary replied with an amused gleam in his eye.
Hozark grinned. He liked the man’s demeanor. Casual in the face of hostilities. Competent and confident. This one would be a good ally in battle. “Then it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the assassin said. “What are our numbers thus far?”
“We’ve got seventy-nine men and women spread throughout the township. All armed and ready to go on your command.”
“And the locals?”
“It looks like a few of them might be good for a fight, but most seem pretty timid, if you ask me.”
“Yes, it is a rather helpless group,” Hozark admitted.
“If you don’t mind my asking, why these folks? I mean, I’m happy to fight, but there doesn’t seem to be much worth protecting here.”
“True, it does appear so, but the Ghalian made a pact a long time ago, and our word is our bond.”
“Which is partly why so many showed up on such short notice,” Andorus said. “The Ghalian have quite a reputation. Everyone here knew whatever your reason, it was a just one. Even if it was for this placid lot.”
Little did the mercenary know a good number of the timid folk he was referring to were actually peaceful Ootaki. The value of the magically charged hair in that town would have been enough to make all but the most loyal have second thoughts about which side to back.
But the Ootaki were extremely well disguised, and thus were seen simply as yellowish-skinned locals but nothing more. The other inhabitants were varied in race, but were likewise a mostly gentle group. It had been part of the reason this place was selected for resettling in the first place.
But now it seemed that same peaceful demeanor meant it would be pretty much entirely up to the mercenary forces to keep them safe once their adversary arrived. And from what the Ghalian network had reported, it looked like they would be arriving any time now.
Hozark quickly walked the neighborhood, acting as though he was no more than passing through. Andorus had been in the game a long time and didn’t bother pointing out his people to the assassin. He knew they’d been spotted by his sharp eyes the moment he strode into town. Finally, they arrived at the home of the leader of the hidden Ootaki. A woman named Piri.
“Thank you for your protection, Master Hozark,” the woman said as she poured both men tall glasses of chilled water. “You say we are at risk?”
“You are,” he replied. “But we have forces here to help protect you and yours. Quietly spread the word. When the intruders arrive, you must have your people hide in the most secure location possible. That is the only way we can be sure you will remain safe while we drive them off.”
“And after that? We will have to relocate all over again.”
“Yes. But first things first. You cannot relocate if you do not first survive.”
She nodded. “Of course. Yes. I’ll tell the others. And thank you. Thank you both.”
The men nodded and downed their drinks. It would be thirsty work, fighting off Council forces, and every bit of hydration would be welcome.
“So, relocated?” Andorus asked.
“Refugees from Council aggression. The order helped settle them here some time ago,” was all Hozark said.
The mercenary nodded. The explanation was good enough for him. “Well then, now we wait.”
The wait was not a long one. One of the mercenary scouts casually strode up to his leader just a short time later with news from above. A Council base ship had just jumped into the system a distance from the planet, launched a pair of nondescript landing craft, then immediately jumped away.
“Seems like they’re making a sneak attack,” Andorus said.
“Yes. And by jumping the base ship away and using unmarked craft, it will make the attack seem like a band of raiders, not official Council forces,” Hozark noted.
Andorus nodded. “Yeah, but they should still be easy enough to pick out, I’d wager. I mean, despite lacking markings, they’ll still be wearing the same basic garb as one another most likely.”
“They shall, indeed. Now, prepare your people. When the attack begins, we shall have to allow them all off of their ships before we respond. Only then will we best utilize our element of surprise, cutting them off from easy retreat.”
The mercenary nodded once and took off at a jog to spread the word. The enemy was coming. Soon it would be time to fight.
Only a few minutes had passed before the pair of ships came in hot through the atmosphere, the bright orange of their heat-displacing spells glowing in the sky as they descended. Both landed right in the middle of town, settling in hard in the open town squares between the taller buildings. Hozark turned slightly to protect his eyes from the small cloud of dust raised by their arrival, but making sure to never lose sight of the enemy.
It was time, and the intruders were not wasting any of it. The instant the ships touched down, their doors opened and many dozens of Council mercenaries streamed out of each of them, all clad in the same uniforms, totally devoid of any markings, as expected. It was a shock-and-awe campaign designed to be brutally fast and efficient. Typical Council tactics.
The invaders rushed forward, ready to dominate the poor, helpless people of this place. People were shoved against walls and to the ground, and none of them lifted a finger. It was all going according to plan. Or so they thought.
Andorus and Hozark watched the ships carefully. Finally, the stre
am of troops ceased. It was time to fight back, and the Council goons would regret their overconfidence.
Their ships were not Council in appearance, at least not on the exterior, and the uniforms could have been from any rebel band, but Hozark knew better. And even if there had been some lingering doubt, that would have evaporated in an instant with what he saw next.
A tall, lean woman with pale skin stepped out and surveyed the scene with an air of annoyance. She did not appear happy about their situation one bit, but that would not stop her from doing her job.
“Begin,” she commanded.
The Council forces started manhandling the locals, pulling them toward their ships for collaring and imprisonment. Or so they thought, but a shrill whistle rang out through the air. A moment later all hell broke loose.
“Wait. What the hell?” one of the Council goons blurted just before the seemingly benign local shed his cloak and skewered him with a short sword.
In an instant, the roundup became a full-on battle, blades and spells flying with fury. There were more Council forces present, but as the defenders had hoped, the element of surprise had given them a significant advantage.
Fighting, magical and conventional, raged through the streets and town squares as the two forces engaged. Samara stood quietly a moment as it all unfolded, realizing the mistake the fools who had planned this had made. She drew her vespus sword, fully charged and crackling with blue magic, ready to stride into the fray, but she paused.
Samara cocked her head slightly, sensing something familiar. She turned and gazed across the battlefield. It was him. Even if not for the vibrant blue sword in his hand, she would know him at a glance.
A little smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “Hello, Hozark.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The ferocity of the regular mercenary combatants clashing in the streets and courtyards was a thing to witness. That is, if any of the locals had stuck around long enough to see it. But they had wisely fled the moment the two ships dropped down into their home.
The Ootaki had already quietly made their exit from public view well ahead of that, thanks to Hozark’s warning, and were safely tucked away deep beneath one of the more secure buildings in the area. It was still possible they might be taken, but it would require quite a bit of effort finding them first.
Meanwhile, the battle raged above, the opposing forces laying into one another with the skill and efficiency one would have expected of seasoned warriors. The Council goons, while paid thugs one and all, were nevertheless talented combatants. The Ghalian-aligned mercenaries, while fewer in number, were also extremely skilled, and were holding their own against the superior forces quite admirably.
Blades, fists, cudgels, and spells were all being wielded with great efficacy and violence as the forces sought to gain advantage over one another. The magic had flown fast and furious at the onset, but the ranks quickly blended into one another in a seething mass of fists and assorted implements of harm, leaving few clear shots for spell casting.
It was for the better that way. Too powerful a spell could easily cause a catastrophe, taking out your own men as well as your enemy’s. It wasn’t the same degree of risk as combat in space, but the risk was there all the same.
But for all of the masterful violence being meted out on the battlefield, there were two whose clash put the others’ skills to shame. In fact, as the assassins’ blades rang out against one another, their magical sparks flying from the force, many of the other fighters from both sides even paused as if by a temporary unspoken truce to gawk at the spectacle.
Two Ghalian fighting one another? It was unheard of. Those combatants from each fighting force nearest them quickly learned the error in their hesitation when Hozark and Samara sliced them down with the slightest of effort while their swords flew in a blur of motion.
If they could even the odds for their side in the process, why not? In addition, if any were foolish enough to actually think to attack either of the pair, their fate would be met so laughably fast that their descendants would feel embarrassment from it for generations to come.
So the former lovers were left to it, a wide buffer quickly forming around them as they fought with both blades, bodies, and magic. It was epic combat, the two having trained together their whole lives, and thus countering one another on sheer instinct. It seemed supernatural how fast they were moving, and yet, they still pushed harder.
This was no mere combat. This was a fight to the death between two people with history. A lot of history. And despite being cool and collected assassins, the raw emotion flowing through each of them was almost palpable in its intensity. There was so much left unspoken all these years, but even for fighters as skilled as they were, there was simply no opportunity for a breath, let alone conversation.
Samara finally landed a solid kick to Hozark’s chest, sending him flying backward into a building. She followed up with a brutal force spell, hoping to slam him into submission. But Hozark was already casting his defense before his body even hit the wall, and Samara’s attack was blasted apart, taking down several nearby combatants with its shattered force.
He leapt from a low crouch, casting a series of deceptively small attacks, all requiring Samara to respond, even though they would cause no significant damage. But the point was not to cause harm. It was to set up his next move. The real attack. Hozark’s vespus blade flashed in front of Samara, barely missing her chest as she contorted herself to her limits to dodge it. But this was precisely as he’d planned.
The worst part for her was she realized exactly what he was doing as it happened, but regardless, there was no other logical choice but to avoid the blade and absorb the kick that followed it.
The spinning kick drove his shin hard into her lead leg, spasming the muscles momentarily and forcing her to retreat. Until her pivot leg regained function, Samara would be on defense. Fortunately for her, she’d trained long and hard to fight through these things, and this was by no means the first time she’d felt this sort of pain. It was not even the first time Hozark had landed that particular blow on her, though previously it had only been in training.
She forced the surrounding muscles to fire hard to take the load off of the cramping ones while they recovered. Many would have moved in immediately for the kill, sensing she was weak and vulnerable.
And it would be the last thing they ever did.
Hozark, on the other hand, knew full well what Samara was capable of and treated her with the respect her formidable skills deserved. He circled her, assessing the situation. The mercenaries defending the township were doing an admirable job of it, it seemed, and the invaders were certainly having a hard time with them. It was looking as if Andorus and his men would come out victorious.
The thought had only just passed through Hozark’s mind when a massive magical explosion rocked the street, vaporizing combatants from both sides with its force. Everyone paused and looked up. A Council drop ship was heading right for them, firing off deadly spells one after another. The ground shook from the impacts, and those who had been trying so hard to kill one another just moments before suddenly gave up their fighting and scattered, running for their lives.
Hozark and Samara were no different, the pair ducking into a nearby building as quickly as they could, narrowly avoiding what would have been a fatal blast for the both of them. They looked outside. Everyone was taking cover wherever they could as the descending ship rained down death upon them.
“Why are your people doing this?” Hozark demanded.
“They’re not my people,” she replied as the tall building next to them suffered a direct hit.
The ground rumbled menacingly as the structure swayed, then began to topple. Right toward their hiding place. Hozark and Samara locked eyes. They both knew there was no time to flee, nor any chance of getting clear of the impact zone. But inside the structure as they were, they might just stand a chance.
Without a moment to lose, they wrapped their arm
s around each other tightly, casting the strongest defensive spells they could, joining their power in a way few ever could. But they had cast together since childhood, and there was only one spell that would work for this threat. The spell they both cast simultaneously.
Power flowed from their bodies, their konuses, and even their vespus blades, creating a swirling bubble of crackling-strong magic. The building toppled upon their hiding place, which absorbed some of the impact but by no means all of it. The walls crumbled, the support columns buckled, the floor itself collapsed to the lower levels.
But when the rumbling ceased and the dust began to clear, the two remained standing. Safe in their little sphere of power. Safe, but shut in.
“It has stopped, Hozark,” Samara said.
“Yes. Of course,” he replied, releasing their embrace.
The two had been trying to kill one another just moments before, and their sweaty bodies stuck together awkwardly a moment as they pulled apart.
Hozark shifted his attention and cast a minor illumination spell, allowing them to take in the damage around them. The situation was not good. They had survived the tumbling building, but were now facing a deadly problem of another kind.
“It seems we are trapped down here,” Hozark said. “Sealed in by what I would assume to be an impressive quantity of rubble.”
“An astute assessment,” Samara replied as she scanned the aftermath.
Hozark looked at her a long moment, then slid his blade into its scabbard. “Truce?”
Samara considered it a few seconds, then likewise sheathed her sword. “Truce.”
Their murderous antics on hold for the time being, Hozark and Samara then quietly stared at one another in the dim light, each of them wondering what might come next.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Come, let me,” Hozark said, reaching out with his internal power to heal a small slice Samara had gotten on her arm during their combat.
