House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  “I have mastered three patterns.”

  That was extremely impressive for someone who wasn’t licensed as a wizard, but Inquisitors were given a pass when it came to such things. Omand himself knew fifteen. “Then Taraba will issue you plenty of demon as well. Time is of the essence. You will leave in the morning. Ride your horses to death and confiscate new ones in each town.”

  “It shall be done. Thank you for this opportunity.” Javed sounded sincere, but with a witch hunter, who could tell?

  “I am leaving now,” Omand stood up and Taraba followed. “Feel free to enjoy the rest of the play.”

  “Perhaps the lovely Artya would watch it with me…I must admit, I am curious how it ends.”

  Omand knew the finale of the play featured an orphaned daughter of the first caste singing a poignant song, while in the background Ashok and a casteless mob slaughtered the good people of Sutpo Bridge. The girl was considered the finest vocalist in the Capitol, and it had cost a great deal to secure her contract. The message was rather blunt by his standards, but the judges in the audience needed to leave with the feeling that they could be next.

  But instead the Grand Inquisitor smiled beneath his mask and said, “The saga of the Black Heart ends however I say it ends.”

  Chapter 21

  Radamantha had no desire to go on adventures. She’d never wanted to stumble across a conspiracy, get threatened by wizards, or dodge assassination attempts by Inquisitors. At no point had she ever thought it would be fun to be rushed from her family estate in the middle of the night, disguised as a lowly worker, and smuggled out of the Capitol on a caravan. Nor had she wanted to spend the weeks since hiding on a goat farm, bored out of her mind.

  All she had ever wanted was to fulfill her obligation, working tirelessly in the Central Library, doing vital things like preparing research papers, and taking care of the precious books. She’d been content to read about political intrigue and adventures. Only an imbecile would actually want to participate in such things!

  Though she did have to admit she’d rather enjoyed the romance part. That was the one thing she’d discovered where reading about something just wasn’t as nice as real life. The only good thing that had come out of her stumbling into the plot against the casteless was that she’d met Devedas. Even with the fear, and the running for her life, he actually made it all worthwhile. She’d never known anyone like the handsome, brave, confident Lord Protector. Only duty called, and he was away, thwarting conspiracies and valiantly upholding the Law. Rada had always thought of herself as the rational and pragmatic one, but when she thought about Devedas, the voice in her head sounded like her little sister pining on about true love.

  Rada sighed and went back to staring out the window at the unending vista of scrub brush, sand, and goats.

  The goat farm was a hideously smelly, boring place. There wasn’t anything to read, not so much as a single book. The closest she’d come to reading material was a mass-printed notice from the Order of Agriculture and Irrigation about various livestock diseases and their methods of treatment. She’d already read it sixteen times. If she’d known Devedas was going to hide her in the most uninteresting place in the entire Zarger desert, she would’ve at least insisted on bringing some proper reading material.

  The workers who lived here barely spoke to her. She tried to be friendly, but mostly they acted nervous around her. Though she was dressed in humble clothing like theirs, they all knew she was really of the first caste, and insisted on acting accordingly. Her caste weren’t beloved by the inferior castes, but rather feared. She was staying here because these people were beholden to Devedas for some reason. She didn’t know if he was paying them to hide her, or if he’d spared them from some punishment once, but it was apparent they weren’t enjoying the presence of their house guest.

  When she had asked why he couldn’t put her someplace among her own kind, Devedas had patiently explained that was the first place the conspiracy would look for her. The first caste was so used to living in idle comfort that to most of them the idea of living among the lower classes was inconceivable. Only Rada’s life had been spent in the austere Capitol Library. Unlike most of her peers, she didn’t care about riches or comfort, so she’d be fine.

  There was safety in obscurity, he’d declared, but sadly, it turned out obscurity stunk of goat piss. However, Rada trusted Devedas, probably more than she had ever trusted anyone else in her life, and he had assured her that he was putting some mysterious plan into motion which would secure their future.

  She hated to admit it, but it made her a little giddy to think about how he had spoken about their future.

  After the first few days, she’d been so bored that she’d lowered herself and offered to help the workers with the chores. By then she’d read that pamphlet so many times she was practically an expert on diseases of the goat—not that she’d ever actually touched one of the furry things—but the workers had gently turned her away. It seemed they were afraid that if a daughter of the first caste broke a nail doing manual labor, they’d all be flogged, or worse.

  Rada rather hated being treated like a piece of delicate porcelain. The lower castes were terrified they’d accidently give offense to someone from the Capitol. And what made it worse was that people in the Capitol came from every single great house, with their many conflicting traditions, so it was virtually impossible to not give offense somehow.

  She noticed that the workers were trying hard to never point their feet directly at her, because that was supposedly an insult…In Sarnobat maybe! Her family was from a vassal house inside Harban lands, on the opposite side of the continent! So these poor workers were walking about with feet splayed like exaggerated crows, trying not to anger her with pointing toes, because at some point in their past a different member of her caste had taken offense at how his inferiors were standing.

  Sometimes people were just ridiculous…

  Yet her exile beat being arrested and tortured by the Inquisition, so Rada simply passed the time looking out the window. With no books to read, she’d even thought about trying to write her own. After all, someone should document this incident. Except she didn’t even have any paper, a decent pen, nor ink, so she’d given the farmer a few notes to purchase her some the next time he went to town for supplies. She’d been directed to avoid purchasing anything which would raise suspicion, which meant no books, but even workers needed to write things down. Surely there was some manner of goat inventory to be conducted.

  What should I call my book? Her working title, The Testimony of a Senior Archivist Concerning the Plot to Bring about the Genocide of the Casteless, wasn’t particularly pithy. Titles were hard.

  Rada’s thoughts about her incipient foray into authorship were interrupted when two men on horseback appeared along the road, riding directly toward the farm. From the dust cloud kicked up behind them, they were riding very fast. That was unusual. As they got closer, she could see their horses were powerful Zarger steeds, nothing like the tired old things the workers rode about on. Their clothing consisted of voluminous black robes, and they had curved swords sheathed at their waists.

  There was some shouting in the yard. The dogs began to bark.

  Rada pulled herself away from the window. She’d heard about the infamous desert raiders, but Devedas had promised this place was too close to the Capitol to be troubled by such criminals. Perhaps it was just the local warriors, come to tax the workers for the protection they provided. Either way, Rada didn’t want to be seen by strangers so she decided to stay out of sight.

  There was a quick knock on her door, but before she could respond, someone rudely opened it anyway. Her space was humble, and she was just a guest here, but that sudden intrusion offended Rada anyway.

  “Mistress,”—it was the farmer’s wife, Diya—“you must come out. There are men coming to see you.”

  “You know I’m not supposed to talk to anyone. Where’s your husband?”

  “He’s gone
to the market. Hurry. You must come,” Diya insisted, looking very nervous. “They’re important men and you don’t want to be rude.”

  Rada had never really liked Diya. She seemed too fretful, and she’d never really talked to Rada at all, despite her best efforts to be friendly. Not to mention a few times she’d overheard her through the thin walls, angrily berating her husband for taking in a house guest.

  “Who are these riders?”

  “Important men!” That was not a sufficient answer. When Diya sensed Rada’s hesitation, she quickly added, “Friends of Lord Devedas. Hurry. Come quickly.”

  Something was wrong. Devedas hadn’t sent those men. He’d promised that when he sent for her, it would be someone she knew, or an obvious Protector. They rode around dressed in gleaming silver, not black robes. No one else could be trusted. As soon as her husband had gone off, Diya must have informed on her. That rat!

  But Rada kept a polite smile on her face. “Certainly. I’ll be right out. Please, give me a moment to gather my things.”

  “Good, good.” Diya responded with her own forced smile, and the instant she closed the door Rada headed for the back window.

  Hours of boredom had given her plenty of time to imagine and prepare for various terrible scenarios. She’d kept her pack from the caravan ready, with clothing, food, and water jugs she’d refilled fresh from the well every morning. She opened the shutters, looked around, saw nothing but sand and more goats, so tossed her pack onto the ground with a thump. Since it got really cold at night in the desert this time of year, she pulled on the coat and scarf she’d used to disguise herself when she’d fled the Capitol, and then climbed silently out the window.

  Again, this just illustrated that adventure was for fools. Rada was terrified. There was nothing charming about climbing out a window. Once she was down safely, she pulled the pack straps over her shoulders, and began sneaking away. From the sound of horses stamping, and excited dogs barking, the two warriors were still at the front of the house. They began shouting demands.

  “Where is Radamantha Nems dar Harban? Send her outside! Honor your bargain, woman.”

  She was no warrior-caste scout, but she’d read books written by them, so she’d taken their advice and paid careful attention to her surroundings on the ride in. Beyond the goat pens was a ravine, which would hide her movements until she reached the base of a nearby rocky hill. Unfortunately Rada had to climb over a fence to get there, and it turned out goats make a terrible noise when disturbed. The little ones sounded like wounded children screaming. The old ones sounded the same, but angrier. And these goats were exceedingly upset that the unfamiliar Rada was crossing their pen.

  “Shhhhhhh.” But they just stared at her with their horrible yellow eyes and kept making awful noises. They stuck their terrible snuffling noses against her pants. “Eww!” She realized they weren’t trying to sound an alarm, they just thought she might have food for them. So Rada reached back into her pack, found the sack of dates she’d been hoarding, and dumped it on the ground. That silenced the damnable creatures and they immediately began gobbling up her food. If she starved to death while crossing the desert, it would be their fault.

  Rada climbed over the back fence and ran for the ravine as fast as she could. There wasn’t much athletic competition among librarians, so her run wasn’t pretty, but it would have to do.

  Only one of the riders had circled around the edge of the farmhouse and spotted her. He shouted a warning to his companion, then took off after her. His powerful horse leapt the fence like it wasn’t even there. He immediately began to close the distance.

  And because Rada was looking back over her shoulder while trying to run, she tripped over a rock and fell hard, skinning her knees, elbows, and hands.

  The horseman slowed as he approached, having a good laugh at her misfortune. “Stop before you hurt yourself, girl.”

  She shrugged out from under her heavy pack and got up. The horse was watching her with angry eyes. Now that was a powerfully muscled beast which had surely run down many people. There was nowhere to flee where the rider couldn’t easily cut her off, so she reached into her pack and pulled out the big weapon she’d taken from the caravan. Rada knew nothing about fighting, but it seemed like a cross between a knife and a hatchet, so she at least hoped it was intimidating as she brandished it before her.

  “A cane knife? There’s not much sugarcane to be harvested in Zarger.” The warrior seemed to be having a jolly time as his horse stamped back and forth with heavy hooves that could easily kick her to death. His robes were black to absorb the merciless desert sun, yet baggy enough to keep the heat from reaching his body. The only thing she could see were his eyes, amused. “You’re the librarian, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stay back!”

  “The Inquisition put out the word they’ll pay good money for you. We agreed to split it with that farm wife, but don’t worry. The masks want you alive. Now drop the knife and come along.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “It wasn’t a request.” He drew his sword. All Rada knew about swords came from books. The only one she’d ever really seen in action had been southern, which curved forward for more effective chopping, a fact which Devedas had demonstrated on some Inquisitors. The desert riders’ swords were curved back for slashing from horseback. Either way, it turned out that in real life any sword was incredibly intimidating when pointed at you. “Inquisitors’ notice said alive, not unharmed. Put it down.”

  “No!”

  She didn’t even see it coming. The sword dipped and flashed. Her big knife thing was struck from her hand so hard that it left her fingers stinging. Then just by moving his knees a bit, he directed his horse to bump into her. Its big chest knocked her right back into the dirt.

  “Sorry about that, but I couldn’t risk you accidentally cutting my horse. Now come on. You can either surrender peaceful like and ride with us back to town, or we can drag you along behind with ropes. It’s not so far you’ll die, but at the pace we set your feet will be bleeding by the time we get there.”

  Rada was furious as she stood up and dusted herself off, but she couldn’t fight a warrior. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Everyone I’ve ever found for the Inquisition says that. Look, I don’t care about the Law. I’m here because we make more off collecting one bounty on the side than our phontho gives us to live off of for a year.”

  “Whatever they’re paying, I can pay more. My father is the head of an Order in the Capitol. And I am a close personal friend of Lord Protector Devedas.”

  He laughed again. “Sure you are, and I’m Thakoor of Great House Zarger and my horse is the bearer of our ancestor blade. I’m trying to be polite out of respect to your caste, but you’re a defiant one. Ropes it is then. Just don’t complain to me when the soles of your feet rub off. Maybe after a few miles you’ll reconsider my earlier offer.”

  He reached for the curled rope at the back of his saddle, but then he stopped, puzzled by a noise, and looked back toward the farm house. A moment later the other Zarger horse appeared, galloping off across the desert, riderless. “What the—”

  Then a huge man came walking around the side of the house, dressed in tan desert robes, with a great big hammer resting over one shoulder. A big straw hat was covering most of his features. Only between the beard sticking out and his imposing size, Rada recognized him immediately.

  “Karno!” She waved. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  “Who’s the giant?”

  “I’ll have you know that’s Protector of the Law, Karno Uttara, and his obligation consists of smacking miscreants with that hammer. I warned you I was close personal friends with the Lord Protector.”

  “That ruffian’s no Protector.” From the way his manner changed, that warrior had merely been toying with Rada. He shifted his grip on his sword, and suddenly it seemed far more dangerous. Even the horse’s attitude changed. When
it snorted and turned to face Karno, it made the way it had knocked her over seem almost playful in comparison. All mirth gone, the warrior called out, “What did you do to my brother, stranger?”

  “He’ll live.” Karno just kept walking toward them, seemingly without a care in the world. “Are you alright, Rada?”

  “I’m fine. What’re you doing here?”

  “I was asked to keep an eye on you. Hold, rider, I am who she’s declared me to be. My armor is packed, but I can show you the token of my office.”

  Only he didn’t wait to see if Karno was telling the truth or not. “This is my bounty!” The warrior made a clicking nose with his tongue, and the horse charged.

  “Karno! Look out!”

  Her warning was completely unnecessary. It was hard to miss a warhorse thundering right at you, or a curved sword rising into the air to cut you down. Karno just stopped, calm as could be. Standing in the path of destruction, seemingly heedless of danger, he took the hammer from his shoulder, extended it in one hand to the side, and then flicked it toward the horse’s legs.

  With perfect aim, it spun through the air, wooden shaft hit bone, not nearly hard enough to do a great deal of damage, but then it was twirling between the legs, and the animal tripped. It stumbled hard. The momentum turned into a slide, which turned into a very painful looking crash. The rider was thrown off, black robes turning brown as he rolled through the dirt.

  Karno went over and casually picked him up by the throat. The horse thrashed around, but none of its legs had been broken. It managed to get up and run off.

  The warrior struggled, but Karno was unmoved. He’d lost his sword on impact, but reached for a dagger on his belt. In a blur of motion, the Protector had locked onto that wrist and twisted it in a painful-looking direction. The warrior dropped the knife, then Karno dropped him. It happened so fast that Rada wasn’t even sure what had happened, just that Karno had effortlessly tossed him on his face.