House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  It was rather a lot of pressure to be under.

  “A wizard who is skilled in this aspect can record and send messages as mundane as columns of numbers, or maps with troop movements marked upon them. Powerful men will pay great sums of money to send vital messages that would take days by pigeon, or weeks by horse.” He held up the demon chunk she’d been using, and then showed her the one he’d had in his hand all along. “These are from the same creature, adjoining vertebra even, sending between the two would be child’s play, or should have been if you could even get the first part right!”

  Omkar was growing angry, and though he wasn’t as threatening as Sikasso, no good could come from angering a magical assassin. So she tried to placate him by feigning humility. “I apologize, Master Omkar.”

  “My patience wears thin, woman, and I am probably the closest thing you have to an ally in this house.”

  As sad as that statement was, it was also true. Sikasso had ordered him to teach her how to use magic, and though he obviously didn’t like it, at least he would speak to her. The others ignored her, or actively threatened to kill her as soon as she was no longer under Sikasso’s protection. She needed to stay on someone’s good side.

  “I will try harder.”

  “You had better. Your list of failures grows daily. You have no talent for shape changing, manipulating the elements, or even giving strength to your own limbs. If you were one of the children, I would declare you unteachable, so we didn’t waste any more valuable demon on you.”

  Curious. She had not left the great house since Sikasso had shown her the sea, but in that time she had only seen wizards and their oddly untalkative slaves. There had been no sign of their families. “Where are your children?”

  “There is no class at this time, only a few hopefuls. There is a cap. We are never to exceed a certain number…Never mind all that. There will surely be a new crop soon to replace our many recent losses caused by your associate, Ashok.”

  “No…I mean, your children. Surely, you have families here. A man of your status must have a wife and heirs.”

  Omkar scowled. “That is none of your concern.”

  “For their sake I hope they live further inland.”

  “There is much you do not understand, Thera. I have little time to teach you. If you do not show some improvement soon, Master Sikasso will become annoyed and have you killed. Do you wish to waste our limited time speaking of these frivolous matters, or would you rather unlock the secrets of your power?”

  It was time to get back to work. Sikasso was probably going to murder her anyway, but until that happened or she found a way out, Thera would play their game. She took back the demon bone and got ready to relive the worst moments of her life.

  * * *

  Five years ago, the ocean had rushed up to meet her.

  She fell for a long time before the water hit her hard as packed clay. Smack. Her whole body crumpled around the impact, and overwhelmed with pain she curled into a ball. But that only lasted for a split second before fear of drowning overcame the agony and she forced her muscles to struggle for the surface. The waves were fierce and made a terrible roar as they crashed violently against the rocks.

  Thera hadn’t known how to swim back then. She’d confronted that fear later, while she’d been living as a criminal among the lowest workers along the rivers, and had no choice. She would have drowned that night, except Dhaval had thrown her into the shallows. The nicest thing he had ever done for her had been on accident.

  Her fine clothes, once sodden, were heavy as armor and tried to drag her down, but her wildly kicking sandals hit something solid. The waves hurled her against the rocks at the base of the cliff. Somehow she grabbed hold, incoherent with terror, knowing only that she had to get back onto land as fast as she could. No one could survive if they were caught trespassing in hell.

  Scrambling for purchase, her hands were clumsy and shaking. Desperate, she tore at the rocks, trying to hold on as another wave engulfed her, greedily trying to suck her into the deep. She was bleeding profusely from where Dhaval’s boot had split open her skin, and from new cuts as she was bashed against the rocks. Thera called out for help as she tried to climb, but nobody was coming to save her. The soldiers above probably couldn’t even hear her over the crashing of the surf.

  Then from the darkness, it rose.

  The demon had no eyes. Its face was just a smooth black lump. Unfeeling. Blank. Terrifying.

  She screamed and tried to climb higher.

  It slowly swam toward her. The powerful waves didn’t seem to move it at all.

  Somehow Thera scrambled on top of the rocks. “I’m on land! I’m on land! I’m not trespassing!”

  Insufficient. The demon disappeared as a particularly massive wave rolled over its head. Then that wave hit Thera and knocked her off her seat.

  She landed with a splash on the other side. Thrashing, panicked, she immediately sat upright. There were rocks beneath her bottom. It wasn’t very deep. She moved strands of wet stringy hair from her eyes. Canda had come out from behind the clouds, stark and white, and Thera could see that she was in some sort of little pool, sheltered beneath the cliff she’d been thrown from.

  Thera stood up and tried to wade to the side, slipping on moss and slimy underwater vines, hoping to find a path out, but another wave came over the rock and swept her off her feet. She screamed as something moved beneath her, thinking it was another demon. She kicked it, but it was only one of those disgusting water beasts the casteless ate. Later she would learn they called it a crab.

  The demon followed her.

  It climbed up onto the big rock she’d just been on, just a blacker spot than everything around it, malevolent and silent. She’d been told demons could be gigantic, but this one wasn’t much bigger than she was. Yet the strongest warriors spoke of demon strength in awed whispers. Even a little one could pluck the legs off a horse like children pulled the wings off bugs. The sharpest spears glanced off their nearly indestructible hide. And their hunger was legend.

  “Go away!” She needed a weapon. She’d lost Dhaval’s dagger on impact. Thera found a stone the size of her fist. It would have to do. “Leave me alone!”

  The demon slipped over the rocks and into the pool. Death was coming for her.

  She would die like she lived. Defiant. Her aim was true, her arm strong. The rock hit the demon right in the center of its featureless head, hard enough to crack a man’s skull, and bounced off uselessly.

  It struck. Thera was hurled against the cliff. Unseen claws had parted her silks, and nearly opened her guts. She could see her belly exposed in the moonlight. Where its hide had brushed against her, the skin was scraped raw and bleeding. Salt water burned.

  The featureless head split open, revealing rows of pointed black teeth. It twisted toward her as the mouth somehow hinged open wide enough to bite off her entire face. She struck at it with her fists, but all that did was split open her knuckles. It exhaled, breath strangely hot and dry as it closed in. She closed her eyes.

  The jaws snapped closed. There was no blast of pain. No endless nothing. Somehow, it had missed, but had been so close the teeth brushed her cheek. Thera opened her eyes to see that the demon’s sleek head was tilted upwards, as if something had distracted it.

  Then the Protector hit the water next to them.

  Even though he landed on his feet, the impact still made a great splash. The fall should have broken the old man’s legs, but he immediately sprang up and launched himself at the demon, sword flying.

  The creature lifted one arm and the sword rebounded off the eerie black hide. It spun, swinging its other arm, but the Protector caught that with his blade. Glowing sparks flew, not from the metal, but from the creature’s claws.

  “You can’t have this one. Back to hell with you!”

  They were about the same size, but the demon moved with blinding, unnatural speed, so fast it was hard to track the movements in the dark. Yet, the Protector
seemed just as inhuman, just as unnatural, as they traded lightning-quick blows back and forth amid the crashing waves. She had seen the best warriors in Vane sword fight. They looked like children playing Dirt War in comparison to this man. Claw marks and dents appeared on his silver armor. He grimaced as a claw ripped deep through his side, but then he rammed his armored shoulder into the demon, knocking it over the rocks and back onto the ocean side.

  A moment later the black thing slithered back atop its perch on a boulder, studying them. Thera’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it was going to explode. She grabbed another rock to throw.

  “Go on, demon. There is no easy prey for you here.” The old man was breathing hard through the wet white hair hanging in front of his face. Far too much blood was pouring from his side, slick and red in the moonlight. “We apologize for entering your realm and will return now to ours.”

  Then Thera realized there was a white milky liquid running down the Protector’s sword. Demon blood. One of his strikes had pierced its hide after all. How incredibly strong was this man?

  The demon had no face to hold an expression, but she could tell it was thinking. Then with the crash of another wave, it was simply gone, vanished back into the darkness below.

  She splashed over to the Protector’s side. “You came for me!”

  The Protector stayed watching the sea, sword raised, salt water up to his knees. “I had to.” Satisfied the demon had truly left, he turned to look at her. “When the Forgotten spoke, I was momentarily taken by surprise.”

  “What? The Forgotten? No.” Whenever a Protector thought someone was speaking for the old gods, executions followed. She was still badly shaken, but was coherent enough to hope that she hadn’t been saved from a demon just to be killed because of the Voice. “Come, hurry. Please, you’re badly hurt.”

  They made their way across the slippery rocks toward where the rugged cliff gave way to a sandy beach. The Protector was much older, wearing heavy metal, and had a wound that would have been quickly fatal on any normal man, but he still made it across the treacherous terrain far easier than she did. Thera was not content to stop on the sand. Instead she kept walking until there was grass underfoot, and the awful ocean was far behind them, and only then did she stop. Her legs were shaking so badly she had to kneel. And then she threw up.

  In a grassy field, beneath a million stars, overlooking the hell that had just tried to bite her face off, the Protector declared, “After all this time, after all my searching, I’ve finally found you. I have finally found the prophet.”

  Thera had no idea what he was talking about. She’d just been kicked in the head, slashed her husband with a knife, and almost been eaten by a demon. Her father was dead. Oceans. This man had executed him.

  Despite the terror that had robbed her limbs of strength, and the waves of throbbing agony in her head, that realization crowded out everything else. Andaman Vane was gone and this was the man who had taken him.

  “You killed him!” Thera struggled to her feet, and then hurled her body at the Protector. She struck him in the face and tried to claw out his eyes. If she’d had a weapon she would’ve sliced him to ribbons.

  But this was a man who could hold off demons, so he easily stopped her. “Calm yourself, please.” Finally the old man knocked her hands away, spun her around, and grabbed her around the arms, pinning them. Incredibly strong, he hugged her tight, steel plates jabbing her in the back. Thera kept struggling, kicking and thrashing, except he was unbreakable. The Protector could have snapped her in half, but he just held on, like a patient parent with a toddler having a fit.

  The futility made it even worse.

  “Shhhh. Listen to me. I didn’t know. I was following the Law.”

  “Damn you! Damn your Law!”

  “That may be what it takes. Please, I beg you. Calm yourself.”

  She’d never been so completely overwhelmed by sorrow before, and she was in too much pain, both emotional and physical, to continue. Thera began to sob. When it was obvious that the strength was fleeing her limbs, the Protector slowly let go of her. It took everything she had left in her just to stand.

  The Protector’s face was wracked with guilt, his voice earnest. “I truly am sorry. Great and terrible offense has been given, and for that, I must atone.”

  “I, I don’t know—”

  “I do. I know what to do. I’ve been preparing for this moment for many years, I suppose in a way, my whole life.” Then the strangest thing happened. One of the highest status servants of the Law in the entire world humbly bowed to her. When he looked up there were tears in his eyes as well. “I am Ratul and the gods have commanded me to serve you.”

  Chapter 23

  After many grueling hours of being insulted and berated by Master Omkar, Thera walked back to her room. Wizardry wasn’t very physically demanding so far, but it was mentally exhausting. Her lack of achievement made it worse. Normally when she worked this hard she at least had something to show for it. Thera had been good at most everything she had ever put her mind to. As a woman of the warrior caste she had done more than what was expected, and once she’d forsaken the Law, she’d been an excellent criminal. When it came to magic, she was rubbish.

  She was also, frankly, a terrible prophet. But she’d never asked for all that. She’d been forced into that role by the damnable bolt from the sky. Claiming to speak for the gods had been Ratul’s idea. And after he had disappeared, it had been Keta who had taken over spreading the Voice’s message to the people.

  Sometimes it was like her whole life was similar to being in the ocean, pushed and dragged back and forth by powerful forces, and all she could do was keep her head above water.

  Before she could make it back to her room, she was intercepted by a wizard in the hall. It was the handsome one, Kabir, who had been friends with the man she had killed in Jharlang. Every time Thera had seen him, his behavior had been malicious and threatening. When she’d asked about him, Omkar had warned it would be in her best interests to avoid angering Kabir because he was very dangerous. She wondered what manner of evil it took to gain the reputation of being a dangerous man among a house of assassins.

  Regardless, Kabir was standing in front of her door, eating a piece of strange-looking eastern fruit, and blocking her way. “Good evening, Thera.”

  She gave him a polite nod. “Excuse me. I have had a long day and wish to retire.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve been making real progress. You recorded some fuzzy images of sea demon teeth and sent them to another bone a whopping two feet away. You’re practically a master wizard now.” He took a big crunching bite of the fruit, but didn’t move aside.

  “What do you want, Kabir?”

  “Don’t be so defensive. If I desired harm to come upon our esteemed guest, there are a thousand ways I could achieve that without something as simplistic as threatening you in the halls. Poison in your food most likely.”

  As he said that, the door to her room opened, and a slave carrying an empty serving tray walked out. Her dinner had been delivered. This slave was another tall man, nearly as big as Kabir, with a patch covering one missing eye. The timing was rather suspicious, almost as if the wizard had timed it to unnerve her.

  “Poison is a tool for cowards.”

  “Spare me the warrior-caste sanctimony. We both know there is no such thing as bravery or cowardice. There is only risk and reward, success or failure, life or death. Goals are more important than methods.” With his deep voice and smooth delivery, Kabir sounded like he was either giving some profound lecture, or trying to sell her something.

  “Did he put something in my dinner?” she demanded of the slave. All of the slaves were dressed in drab colors, with shaved heads and faces. Except for the eye, this one was no different from the others, and like them, he just stood there, staring off blankly into space. She’d never heard any of them say so much as a word.

  Kabir finished the fruit, dropped the core on the slave’s empt
y tray, and wiped his hands on his baggy pants. “That will be all, Dattu.” The one-eyed slave lowered his head in acknowledgement, and obediently began walking back toward the kitchen.

  “Your slaves never talk back. You wizards must be harsh masters.”

  For whatever reason, Kabir seemed to take that as a personal insult. “I’ve done him no harm.”

  “I meant no offense.”

  “Of course…I’ve been giving some thought to your predicament. By now you must realize that once he gets what he wants from you, Sikasso won’t just let you leave. The existence and nature of the Lost House must remain a closely guarded secret.”

  “The thought has crossed my mind. I assumed you would be fine with that, considering what I did to your friend.”

  He shrugged, as if his earlier anger had been exaggerated. Only Thera was certain it had been real, and his current nonchalance was the act. “I’ve had time to mourn Vilsaro’s passing. I have come to terms with his loss, and I know he would approve of my current ambitions. Your presence here presents a great opportunity. Don’t worry. You may speak freely. You are almost always being spied on, but unlike you, I’m extremely talented with magic. For a moment at least, Sikasso can’t hear us.”

  Was this some sort of test? “Are you here to conspire against your master then?”

  Kabir spread his hands apologetically. “It is our way. How else do you think assassins choose their leader? We’re not some pathetic house where leadership is decided by heredity. We pick our governors based upon who benefits us most. Sikasso was the most dangerous among us once, but now he is distracted by his studies, trying to rediscover the pattern which will allow him to magically replace his arm. He might even succeed. He’s rather tenacious that way. However in the meantime, his injury has caused him to neglect our greater purpose and to lose sight of our goals.”