House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  That slash opened Ishaan from shoulder to chest.

  The Protector roared, and then he did something desperate. Ashok felt the change as Ishaan let go of the Heart of the Mountain for just a moment, directing it away from controlling his injuries, to providing him with brute strength instead. It was a suicidal move, but if a Protector was about to die, he would always try and take a criminal with him.

  “Ishaan, no!”

  Despite Ashok pushing down with all his might, the dagger came up and pierced his side. The steel was winter cold, but the pain was like fire around it. Ishaan began to lift him so that Ashok’s own body weight would split him open around the blade like a butchered pig.

  Ashok lifted his sword, angled the tip down, and drove it through the top of Ishaan’s chest and into his heart.

  The two men fell, crashing into the trench.

  They hit the rock hard, and lay there for a moment. Slowly, Ashok managed to get back up. Ishaan didn’t.

  The Protector was on his side, blood covering half his face, sword sticking out of his chest, but he was still alive…for a moment. They had fought together, bled together, and served the Law as brothers, and now he had killed him.

  Ashok was in agony, and not just from the two massive holes in his abdomen. Blood flew from his lips as he shouted, “Why didn’t you quit when you had the chance?”

  His response was barely a whisper. “You wouldn’t have.”

  Then Protector of the Law, fifteen-year senior, Ishaan Harban’s eyes slowly unfocused until he was staring at the great nothing.

  Chapter 17

  Ashok stumbled into the darkened street, hands keeping pressure on his side and stomach. He could do nothing to staunch the blood running from the entrance wound on his back. He needed to stop moving to give the Heart a chance to work, but if he stopped here, he would be found.

  The bell was still ringing, which meant the fire still burned. Ashok could barely hear the bell over the noise in his head, like the buzzing of bees. He was losing too much blood. He needed to rest, focus, and slow his heartbeat before he pumped all of his life into the snow.

  A nice carriage stopped before him. It was pulled by two white horses, and they shied away from him because of the smell of blood. Ashok was so dazed that for a moment he couldn’t understand why some high-status man was stopping for the likes of him, but then he realized the driver was Jagdish.

  The door swung open and Gutch extended a hand. “Get out of sight. Hurry.”

  The inside of the carriage was opulent, all silks and pillows filled with soft feathers. Ashok was hauled in. He lay down, pulled open his shirt to see how bad his wounds were—very bad—and as soon as he’d taken his hands away, began staining the fine carpet red.

  There was a small window so the important riders wouldn’t have to stick their heads out into the weather to give directions to their driver. Gutch shouted through it. “It looks like he’s been stabbed a bunch!”

  “Try to stop the bleeding.” There was the snap of a whip, and the carriage began to roll.

  “I don’t think I can. It’s right in his stomach.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Ashok said as he jammed a piece of silk against the hole. He just needed to rest and be still for a while. The Heart would do the rest.

  “I’ve seen gut wounds like that. I’m sorry. Even if they don’t go right away, they always sicken and die in terrible pain.”

  “Protectors can’t get sick.” Then Ashok realized he’d spoken as if he still were still one of them, not some criminal dog. He’d stolen that ability from the Order, just like he had stolen his entire life. That gift had been meant for better men. He wasn’t even a whole man. “Never mind.”

  The illness Gutch spoke of, the battlefield surgeons called it sepsis. When certain organs were pierced, they would release poisons into the body which would fester and rot. Protectors did not die of sepsis. They rarely died from any kind of poisoning at all. In fact, when any of them was exposed to a new poison, it was as if the Heart learned from the experience. The next time any Protector was exposed to that same poison, the Heart was prepared to counteract it. Like whatever had been on the poison arrow that had struck him at Sutpo Bridge, all Protectors would be immune from it in the future.

  Ashok went back to putting pressure on his wounds, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the pain. His agony was a useful indicator of damage, but it took some practice to sort out the useless pain that radiated outward from a wound, with what was actually important. Only this time he found a new pain, deep in his chest. Though Ashok had been physically injured far worse than this before, it turned out guilt left a more fearsome wound than being run through with a sword.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, General?” The way Gutch asked that, he probably meant, like make him comfortable before he died.

  “I must focus. Be silent.”

  Ashok only understood how magic worked well enough to fight against its illegal users and to take advantage of the gifts the Order had bestowed upon him, but he was one of the few who knew that the power within the Heart was finite, and every time one of them drew hard from it, the Heart became a little weaker. One day it would expire, and when it did, the Protectors would be no more. It angered Ashok that any of that precious magic would be wasted on a wretch like him.

  Only the Law had spoken, and he still had a prophet to serve, so Ashok used that precious magic to seal his wounds and keep his blood pumping to his vital organs instead of all over the interior of the carriage. But he would try to use up only enough magic to save his miserable life, none to dull the pain, and the rest could heal on its own time.

  After a long while, there was a rattle as Gutch opened the small window to speak to the driver. “I think Ashok has stopped breathing.”

  “I’m not dead. I’m meditating, you fool.”

  “Oh…Never mind, Jagdish. He’s alive and pleasant as ever.”

  Ashok opened his eyes. He was unsure how long he had been out. He was still in terrible pain—stomach wounds were the worst—but nothing he couldn’t fight through. The worst of the bleeding was stopped and the rest had slowed to a trickle. The carriage had continued moving the whole time. Ashok couldn’t tell in which direction they were heading, but he could no longer hear the fire bells.

  “Whose carriage is this?”

  “His.” Gutch nodded toward the unconscious man sprawled across the other seat. Ashok had been so light-headed from his injuries that he’d not even noticed they weren’t alone. To be fair, Gutch’s prisoner was a small man, who did not take up much space. He was wearing a white coat, splattered with fresh mud, and his wrists had been bound with cords taken from the carriage’s curtains.

  “Who is he?”

  “That’s Bajwa and he runs this town. Isn’t that right, Bajwa?” Gutch leaned over so he could kick the man in the leg. Their prisoner groaned. “Hopefully, he’s the man with the answers to all our questions.”

  The ringing in his ears had died enough that Ashok could think clearly again. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re back in the Thao district, but I don’t know where we’re going to end up. Because of this nasty bastard, I’m fresh out of friends. The watch is sure to be out in force, so Jagdish is trying to find a place to abandon this thing so we can hide.”

  Teerapat was still alive. Ashok had crushed his larynx, but that was simply a hollow tube of muscle. He would already be fully recovered, and if he followed protocol for this situation he would order the city sealed and searched, house by house if necessary. From Ashok’s own investigations, he knew that wanted criminals never lasted long without allies to hide them, especially among a populace eager to inform on them.

  “Head for the nearest gate. We’re leaving tonight.”

  “It’ll be closed until dawn.”

  “And heavily reinforced by then as well.” If they were going to escape it was now, or not at all. “Tell Jagdish to make haste.”

  “They’ll stop us!�
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  “I will not let them. Do it.”

  Gutch hesitated, surely because Ashok looked more corpse than man, but he did as he was ordered, opening the window and nervously passing on the directions.

  Ashok closed his eyes. “Wake me when we arrive.”

  Chapter 18

  Like all honorable warriors, Jagdish was not a religious man. Belief in gods was banned by the Law for the moral good of all the people, so on and so forth—he’d never cared enough to understand why the Capitol felt so strongly on the matter—but it was hard for a warrior to not develop an almost, dare they say, superstitious belief concerning luck.

  A veteran quickly learned that sometimes no matter how skilled you were, or how clever your tactics on the battlefield, sometimes luck was just out to get you. Turn left instead of right, die. Look up instead of down, die. You could do everything right, be unlucky, and die. You could do everything wrong, get lucky, and live. In the warrior caste there was no shortage of old cowards with chests full of medals, and graveyards filled with young heroes.

  So there were probably no such thing as gods, but fate…A warrior knew that fate was real…She was a stone-hearted bitch. And judging by the full paltan of guards already standing around the Thao Gate, Jagdish had really done something to anger her.

  “Whoa,” Jagdish told the horses as he pulled back on their reins. There was no place to turn the carriage. The hour was very late, their mere presence would be suspicious. Thao warriors were already moving to intercept them. There were more men atop the walls, and surely more inside the gatehouse.

  These men looked like they had just gotten out of bed. Uniforms hastily thrown on, sleep still in their eyes, told to assemble, and rushed into position, Jagdish had looked that way himself many times over the years. Grumpy and tired, it was what all soldiers looked like when roused by an alarm in the middle of the night that they knew would probably turn out to be nothing.

  Four men approached the carriage. Behind the battlements, bows were being strung. The rest of the warriors stayed in positions of relaxed alertness around the gate. Perhaps it was just the laconic, disheveled nature of these jumped up half-farmers, but the Thao warriors were taking their midnight alarm far more seriously than Jagdish had expected them to. He had drastically underestimated their professionalism a few days ago.

  Two of the four warriors were carrying lanterns. The others had spears. “Ho, Kharsawan. What’s all this?”

  Jagdish remembered he was still wearing a red uniform. They meant him. “Good evening. A bit of bodyguard obligation is all. I’ve got an important man here and he wishes to go outside.”

  “Everyone knows the gates are closed until dawn.”

  “But my employer is very rich.” When they’d searched Bajwa after clubbing him over the head, they’d found a folded roll of banknotes on him, big around as a fist, perfect for bribery. “Perhaps arrangements could be made.”

  “His wealth won’t make the sun rise any faster. I know the apothecary’s carriage.” As the lanterns got closer, with a terrible sinking feeling, Jagdish realized that the speaker was the same havildar who had greeted him upon arrival. Once again, fate held a grudge against poor Jagdish. “Everyone in this part of the city recognizes that gaudy thing. Perhaps another time, but unfortunately for your master there was some sort of altercation in the pleasure district earlier. We are locked down.”

  Jagdish nodded, not daring to say another word, and hoping they wouldn’t recognize him in the dark. Unfortunately, they kept getting closer. The soldiers didn’t stop until he was within the circle of flickering yellow light…and spearing distance.

  “Hang on,” said one of the spearmen. It was the junior nayak who had questioned him a few days ago. At some point Jagdish must have given a grave insult to fate, because she certainly hated him with a burning passion. “You look familiar.”

  Jagdish shrugged. Hopefully a clean shaven face would make the difference. Pakpa certainly thought it made him look younger.

  But the havildar was a sharp one, and more observant than he looked. He squinted suspiciously in the lantern light. “Your master couldn’t leave the city without stamped traveling papers, let’s see them.”

  A cold bead of sweat ran down Jagdish’s neck. He tried to keep his words short. “Forgot them.”

  It didn’t work. “I thought that was you…but you’re in the wrong uniform, Vadal man.”

  “That’s where I know him,” exclaimed the nayak. “It’s the one I was telling you boys about, the one who claimed to have actually met Ashok Vadal!”

  Oceans. “For your sake, brothers, open that gate and get out of our way, or you’ll get to meet him too.”

  The warriors laughed.

  The door of the carriage opened and a blood-soaked nightmare got out.

  The warriors stopped laughing.

  Ashok strode right up to the four men. Before the havildar could shout a warning, Ashok was on them. He kicked a soldier in the chest, hurling him into another. One of the lanterns hit the cobblestones and exploded. A spear descended, but Ashok effortlessly ripped it from the warrior’s hands and smashed him in the face with the butt of it. Then the spearhead flicked around, knocking the other lantern from fumbling hands to fling it against the gatehouse, where it shattered and bathed the walls in flame. Then spinning the spear, he swept the havildar’s feet out from under him, sending him flying. He finished by jabbing the blunt end hard into the nayak’s stomach.

  All four were down in the blink of an eye.

  Walking toward the gate he bellowed, “I am the rebel Ashok Vadal!”

  One of the archers let fly. Ashok simply caught the arrow before it could strike him. Jagdish had never seen anything move that fast before. Ashok threw the arrow down in disgust, and then hurled the spear. It struck the battlement next to the archer like it had been fired from a ballista. Bits of stone flew as the archers took cover.

  There could be no doubt in their minds that it really was the legendary killer in their midst. In the light of the broken lanterns, Ashok delivered his ultimatum. “I just murdered Protector of the Law Ishaan Harban, who I loved like a brother. Yet I stabbed him in the heart because he got in my way. I care nothing about any of you. Now open this gate or I will tear it down!”

  It was as if Ashok’s anger had silenced the perpetual industrial racket of Neeramphorn. All that could be heard was the nervous stamping of the horses, the moaning of the injured warriors, and the crackle of flames. The rest of the soldiers readied their weapons. Oh, they were all awake now.

  The door to the gatehouse opened and a man wearing the golden mask of an Inquisitor stepped out. Ashok and the masked man stared at each other for a long time. The mask made it hard to tell what the Inquisitor was thinking. He had to be afraid. Only a fool wouldn’t be in this situation. Finally, the Inquisitor raised his hand. Jagdish got ready to dive off the seat, hoping to take cover before the arrows hit.

  Instead of ordering them to attack, the Inquisitor loudly declared. “Open the gate. Let them go!”

  The Thao seemed stunned by this, but they did as they were told. Iron bars were lifted. It took two of them to push the heavy door wide. Then the warriors pulled back, terrified that this was all some sort of elaborate trap. They still expected a fight.

  Ashok walked directly toward the Inquisitor, right past a line of spears and arrows. He paid them no heed, because all of his focus was on that golden mask. He stopped, a mere foot away from the Inquisitor, as if daring the man to act. To the Inquisitors credit, he didn’t turn and run, though from the trembling in his legs, he was surely tempted to. A mask can’t hide the shakes.

  The most terrifying criminal in the world slowly raised one red hand. “Protector blood has been spilled. Loyal servants of the Law have died.” And then Ashok pressed his hand against the Inquisitor’s mask. Ashok cruelly pushed against the metal, grinding it against the Inquisitor’s face. “Tell Omand that this is his doing, as much as it is mine.”

 
Then Ashok dragged his palm away, leaving half of the leering visage of the Law smeared with blood and the Inquisitor quaking in his boots. He nodded toward Jagdish. “We are done here.”

  Fate may have had it in for Jagdish, but she had no hold over Ashok Vadal.

  Jagdish flicked the reins and made a clicking noise with his tongue. The horses obediently began to pull. As they rolled past, he looked down at the poor nayak lying on the cobblestones, holding his stomach, gasping like a fish. “I warned you he makes an unforgettable impression.”

  * * *

  It wouldn’t take long for them to be followed. Inquisitor be damned, the warrior caste of even the easygoing Thao were too proud to absorb that level of insult. Jagdish had no idea what the Inquisitor had been thinking, letting them pass, but he knew that as soon as an officer with any sort of pride arrived at the gate, there would be a pursuit organized. That’s what he would have done.

  So Jagdish pushed the carriage horses hard. Except this path was rutted and covered in snow. These poor animals had been chosen for their beauty, not their stamina. The carriage was an ostentatious show of wealth, from a worker who was far too proud for his own good, and now it was being rattled to death. It had been built for parading through the city so a criminal could pretend to be first caste, not for bouncing along rough mountain roads. They had one small lantern, but it was mostly for decoration. He could barely see the road ahead of them, and was trying to remember if there were any sudden turns terminating in steep cliffs through here.

  After a few miles, Ashok got out of the cabin, stepped carefully over the spinning wheel, and up to the driver’s seat next to Jagdish. He raised his voice to be heard over the wind and the rattle. “The warriors will give chase.”

  “If they didn’t they wouldn’t be fit to be called warriors,” Jagdish answered, as he cracked the whip again to keep the horses motivated. “There’s just enough new dusting of snow there’s no way they can miss our tracks. They’ll catch us eventually. Assuming this delicate piece of porcelain doesn’t crack an axle, and then they’ll catch us soon.”