Hozark's Revenge

by Scott Baron

“No!” Henni shrieked, her magic sparking and flaring around her. She was exhausted, but that didn’t stop her from casting as best she knew how, trying to control her power to slay those around her as she dove at them with her blades.

  Many fell to her hands as she defended Bud’s prone body, but soon she too succumbed to the sheer number of blows her weakened body received, falling to the ground on top of Bud, her blood mingling with his as it slowly trickled from their bodies onto the soil.

  Samara watched with conflict in her eyes as the events all unfolded, digesting the realization of just how badly she, too, had been used.

  Demelza saw what was unfolding but was too far away to have stopped the attacks, but nevertheless she slashed her way through the combatants, leaving a trail of carnage as she raced to her friends. Hozark began running toward them as well, hoping he could at least save his friends if not himself.

  Laskar, the new Visla Maktan, let him. There was no escape, and seeing his friends fade before his eyes would make Hozark’s defeat that much more painful. Precisely what he wanted.

  Hozark slid to his knees beside the bleeding pair, digging inside of his tunic with great urgency. Visla Tozorro Maktan just watched with amusement at Hozark’s futile efforts.

  “Well, I suppose that’s enough of that,” he said. “It’s been fun, but the fun’s over.”

  He began to cast a killing spell at Hozark when a cold prick on his neck startled him. But his strength was massive, and he could withstand the initial attack. Laskar violently flung away the Wampeh who had dared bite him.

  Samara flashed her bloody fangs at him, but she had only taken a tiny portion of his power. He looked at her as one would an ill-behaved pet, then shifted his gaze back to Hozark. The Wampeh was barely paying attention to him, all of his focus on his dying friends.

  “Goodbye, Hozark,” he said, then cast his killing spell.

  The magic flew true. Hozark, powerless as he was, was as good as dead. But as the last syllable of the spell left his lips, Samara lunged in front of him, blocking the spell with her body. Maktan’s magic struck her, fighting his own stolen power now flowing within Samara, then tossing her aside.

  She hit the ground in a limp pile.

  “Samara!” Hozark bellowed, the grief in his voice plain to hear.

  Maktan grinned. He was enjoying this more than he expected, even if it did mean the loss of one of his favorite servants. But then his smile faltered.

  Uzabud, his clothing still soaked in blood, slowly rose to his feet, not only unharmed, but positively buzzing with energy. But that wasn’t what alarmed him. It was the other one.

  Henni floated up into the air, her eyes ablaze with power, her magic crackling all around her in a focused rage. This was very much not the uncontrolled young woman he knew and ridiculed. And for a moment, he actually felt scared.

  Sensing a shift in the tide of battle, others turned their attention to the lone visla on the battlefield. Maktan might have been able to take them all, but with Henni’s newfound power, he knew he was at far too great a disadvantage to risk all he’d just achieved.

  So he ran.

  Henni raced after him, actually floating over the ground. She had no idea how she was doing it; her instincts had simply taken over. Maktan threw powerful spell after spell behind him, slowing her as best he could as he raced to the parked mothership. He began casting the jump spell the moment he was inside its doors, risking an in-atmosphere jump despite all of the reasons you never did so.

  For one, jumps from atmosphere were hardly accurate. You could jump into a sun if you weren’t careful. For another, debris oftentimes got carried along, damaging the craft catastrophically upon exiting its jump. But the former copilot didn’t care, trusting both his piloting skills and his power to see him through the day.

  Henni felt his power surge, and her own flared to match it. She jumped, flashing out of existence and reappearing where the mothership had just been seconds earlier.

  She had missed him. Laskar, aka Visla Tozorro Maktan, had escaped.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Henni was no longer flying when she made her way back to the battlefield. It seemed that her display of truly frightening magic had sent everyone scattering. The Council forces had fled, once they realized their support was gone and one of their vislas was dead. There was simply no reason to keep fighting, so they retreated with great haste and abandoned the Council estate.

  The pirates and their mercenary compatriots let out a huge victory cry, then set about pillaging the grounds of anything of value. The Council would be back to retake the property in a show of force, and they had no intention of being anywhere near when they did.

  Bud, Demelza, and Henni looked across the field of carnage at their friend but did not approach. It didn’t require magical skills to know he needed space.

  Hozark sat quietly on the bloody soil, cradling the broken shape of his former lover in his arms. The power she had taken from Maktan had lessened the killing spell, but her breaths were ragged and labored, and it was clear she had but moments left.

  Despite the many times they had tried to kill one another, Hozark felt his heart shattering into a million pieces as he felt her weaken, sliding closer to oblivion. Samara surprised him one last time, though, her eyes unexpectedly flickering open with a surprising clarity.

  She focused on his face and smiled. Then a look of urgency flashed in her eyes. She tried to speak, but her voice was but a whisper. Hozark leaned in close, feeling her last breath warm on his ear as she spoke her final words.

  Hozark’s body went rigid, then heaved but once. To any watching it might have been nothing more than a muscle tic or a stifled sneeze. But his friends knew better.

  He slowly rose to his feet with Samara’s body in his arms, her vespus blade tucked under her hands like a fallen warrior queen. Weak, injured, and exhausted as he was, he carried her to his shimmer ship, his face a block of stone. The others didn’t say a word as he passed.

  He would be gone for a while. There was no telling how long it would take. But he was Hozark. Eventually, he would show up at Corann’s to debrief. He may have been hurting, but he was a Wampeh Ghalian through and through.

  “Uh, Demelza? What exactly just happened?” Bud asked, his fingers examining the myriad bloody holes in his clothing, as well as the mended flesh within.

  She pointed to an empty vial lying on the ground, a single drop of water clinging to its lip.

  “Master Hozark has given you a priceless gift,” she replied, eyeing the water warily.

  Henni crouched down and dipped her finger on the lone droplet. Her magic flared brightly, and her eyes began to glow even brighter than before.

  “Whoa! What the hell is that stuff?”

  “That was a vial of the Balamar Waters,” Demelza replied.

  Bud paled at her words, knowing full well what that meant. “The vial he took when he killed Emmik Rostall?”

  “The same.”

  Bud was silent a long while, his emotions churning within.

  “What’s that all about? And who was Emmik Rostall?” Henni asked.

  Demelza stepped in for the shocked pilot. “Rostall was the man who killed Hozark’s pupil. Reduced him to ash with his vial of Balamar waters, the very one you now hold.”

  Henni looked confused. “But they just healed me. Healed Bud. And they made my magic so much stronger.”

  “Yes, they have that effect on nearly every species in the galaxy. Applied topically, even a drop can cure a great many ailments. In quantity, they can heal even severe wounds, such as you both received.”

  Bud’s eyes glistened.

  Henni looked at him. “I don’t get it. What’s wrong with you? You’re being all emotional. Quit it, it’s weird.”

  Bud wiped his eyes and turned to his violet-haired companion. For once, there was no snark in his tone.

  “He risked his life for us, Henni.”

  “Well, yeah. We were all fighting for our––�
�

  “No,” Bud interrupted. “You don’t understand. He used the Balamar waters on us. And if just a single drop had gotten on him in the process, he’d have died in burning agony.”

  The implication struck the young woman.

  “He kept the vial, that I knew,” Bud continued. “It was supposed to be locked safely in the Ghalian vault after Enok was killed.”

  “But it wasn’t?” Henni asked.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Bud said.

  Demelza sighed. “It is true. Master Hozark kept it with him in case he could not defeat Samara. As his fail-safe weapon.”

  Henni seemed confused. “But if he splashed her, it would almost certainly have gotten on him too.”

  “Indeed,” Demelza replied.

  “But…” she trailed off as the implication set in. “But he risked his life to save us, and before Samara had even been hurt.”

  “And poured out a fortune doing so,” Bud added.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A few drops of that stuff is priceless. And that whole vial? You could buy a small city. Or a moon, even,” he replied. “But now it’s in us. And I suspect we’re going to have some lasting effects from it, if I’m not mistaken. Right, Demelza?”

  “It is true, you shall both be more or less impervious to injury for a short while. How long is unclear. But in the long term, you will undoubtedly see a great extension of your lives, as well as some other more unusual side effects in Henni’s case.”

  “Does that mean my magic will stay this strong?”

  “There is simply no way of knowing,” Demelza replied. “You are unique, Henni. And if your magic is truly akin to that of the Old Ones, then it is quite possible this change may be permanent. Or at least very long lasting.”

  Henni was floored by the implications. She might have power. Real power. But if she did, it would require some serious training to learn to control it. But with Visla Palmarian at her side, the idea was suddenly far less daunting than she expected.

  “So, Demelza. Uh, I need to check in with Lalaynia, but after that, could you give us a ride back to Corann’s? It seems my treacherous former copilot has stolen my ship.”

  Demelza allowed herself the tiniest hint of a smile. “Of course, Uzabud. It would be my pleasure.”

  Henni hesitated. “But what about Hozark? Will he be okay?”

  Demelza knew he would be, in time. But what he had just endured was enough to challenge even the most resolute of Ghalian.

  “He is Hozark,” she finally said. “Of course he will.”

  Outside the compound grounds, Hozark walked silently into his shimmer ship’s small cargo bay. In it, he removed a long cloak he had worn for many years. It had been a gift from someone very dear to him a long time ago. And now he wrapped her body in it, returning it to its giver all these years later.

  He gently secured her, then stepped into his command center, setting a course for an uninhabited system he had not visited in a very long time. He lifted his ship up into the air and made his way to the vacuum of space. Then he jumped.

  The planets of the system were nothing spectacular. Just a few small, uninhabitable worlds and a handful of utterly average moons. But the sun itself was something altogether different.

  The black sun radiated its invisible spectrum of light and power with a steady thrum. Even through the hull of his shielded ship, Hozark could feel the healing power of the dark star. It was an uncharted system that he and Samara had discovered together not long before her supposed death a decade earlier.

  They had stumbled upon it quite by accident, a slight mishap with their Drookonus having put them a bit off course. But it had been something of a happy accident, and the pair wound up spending a few days orbiting that sun, enjoying its rays as well as each other.

  The memory cut deep as Hozark gazed upon the lifeless form of his childhood pal. His lifelong friend. His lover. Quietly, he cast a protective spell around himself and opened the cargo door. The rays of the sun were even stronger now, and he could feel his minor injuries itching as they began the long process of mending.

  Hozark gently pushed Samara’s weightless body out into the void, set adrift toward the dark blaze of the sun she would become a part of. Maybe, he thought, one day he would come back to visit her. One day.

  He closed the cargo door and repressurized the compartment. Then he slid to the deck and cried. Cried for the first time in over a decade. Since the last time Samara had died. But this time it was for real. Final. And just as before, he would mourn her in private.

  Hozark spent several days silently orbiting that sun as Samara drifted closer and closer to the system’s center. Then, finally, he cleaned himself, put on fresh clothing, and settled into his pilot’s seat.

  He had things to do. Important things. For Samara’s final words had driven into his heart as surely as the point of any blade ever could.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Several months had passed since Visla Zinna Maktan had fallen at the hands of a Wampeh Ghalian. Many had seen it, including Visla Egrit, and the entire Council had gone on a defensive footing ever since. To have two of their vislas slain in short succession meant great additional precautions for the remaining members.

  Of course, there was the matter of filling the two vacant Council seats. While Visla Ravik’s brother was weak by comparison and thus challenged for his position, Visla Maktan’s son, Tozorro, was as strong, if not stronger than his father. And while he had steered clear of the Council for his entire life, he seemed ready to take up his father’s mantle and represent the Maktan line when the situation was brought to his attention.

  It was touching. The man had seemed quite distraught at the news of his father’s demise at the hands of an assassin, but he soon pulled himself together, vowing to make his father proud and help lead the Council to new glory.

  After that, it was just a matter of time before he began slowly swaying other Council members over to his side. Being the neophyte, always glad to ask questions and learn from his elders, it was easy to get them to commit to supporting him, each hoping to hold sway over the powerful newcomer. In but a few short weeks he had already formed alliances with several of the most powerful men and women on the Council.

  Of course, the manipulation was entirely on his part, and when the time came to truly seize power, he would eliminate the weaker ones while drawing the others closer to him. The destruction of his weapons cache and smelting operation had been something of a setback to those ends, though. But he would rebuild, and this time aboveboard and with Council funds instead of his own.

  Tozorro Maktan moved to one of his father’s estates on a quaint little world. It was scenic and lush, though the landscape needed quite a bit of work. Fortunately, he acquired a groundskeeper who, despite his rather reclusive personality, had somehow acquired a lovely young new wife, also one of his servants. She was an Alatsav, with their kind’s fair green skin and almond eyes.

  “Hertzall,” he said to his new servant.

  “Yes, Visla?”

  “I wish you to plant a grove of fruit trees over there,” he said, gesturing across his overgrown lands.

  “Of course, Visla.”

  “And a flower garden there. And then clear the brush on the far end of the grounds for animal pens. My son is eager to have some new playthings.”

  “Immediately, Visla,” Hertzall replied.

  He was a hard worker, and Maktan was confident the man would have the grounds in top shape in no time. And all for the best. He had been away for ages. His wife and teenage son had been without the man of the house for far too long. He just hoped the offering of exotic beasts would appease his boy.

  The grounds themselves had been extensively reinforced the moment he had decided to reside there. The far wall was rebuilt, and the powerful wards on it were increased even more than their original, and rather impressive, levels. The entire perimeter was one giant tripwire, waiting for the slightest tickle to spring its traps
on any would-be intruders.

  Now that he was no longer hiding his power, Visla Maktan let it surge from him in waves. He began every day by casting his detection spells as a matter of habit, and had personally vetted all of his staff from day one.

  Nevertheless, he was a cautious man. Cautious, yet cocky at the same time. He had bested the Ghalian, and he had assumed a great deal of power in the process. And now, knowing the order intimately, as he had spent so much time embedded with them, he felt confident in his safeguards for himself and his family.

  A month after he had given Hertzall his orders, the grounds were finished. The man was a miracle worker when it came to vegetation, eager to beautify the property as much for his wife’s pleasure as the visla’s.

  It was just a lucky fluke that she had been bought from a recent shipment of slaves. How she and so unlikely a mate had connected was anyone’s guess, but their love seemed as strong as any, and if it kept them happy to work, he didn’t mind his slaves bonding. Besides, it gave him one more bit of control should one get out of line.

  Maktan toured the grounds with an appreciative eye. Hertzall had done excellent work. But the visla smelled something in the air. Was it magic? He heightened his awareness, probing for any magic in his vicinity. Something tickled his senses in the small grove of trees. He cast a powerful spell, shattering one of the trees into thousands of tiny pieces.

  No one moved. No one flinched. There were no shimmer-cloaked assassins in hiding after all. No magically camouflaged killers lurking in the thicket.

  Detecting magical disguises and shimmer cloaks was one of the skills he had honed after witnessing how effective the Ghalian were with them. He also had double the guard the Council had provided with additional men of his own. Better safe than sorry, he reasoned.

  Maktan looked at the ruins of the tree and chuckled. It was no worry. Hertzall would have it cleaned up and replaced by morning.

  The visla walked into his estate and crossed to the small patio outside his offices. It was his favorite place to sit and think, a tiny patch of vines and shrubbery nestled against the warmth of the building’s stone. He did all of his best thinking there. As well as his plotting.