House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  “Archers hold. Spearmen up!” Jagdish bellowed at the top of his lungs. The warrior who’d dropped his spear in the mud was huddled there, too frightened to move, so Jagdish snatched up the weapon as he ran past.

  The demon had already caught up with poor Murugan. It casually kicked out with one long leg, black toes striking the warrior in the heel. Murugan tumbled, momentum taking him on a face-first slide through the mud. It bent over, reaching down for him.

  Except another warrior had been hiding nearby. Abor Somsak came out of the bushes, swinging an ax with a berserker scream that would make his raider house proud. He struck the demon in the arm hard enough for weird sparks to fly from its hide.

  The demon backhanded Abor across the swamp.

  “Spear wall! Spear wall!” The other spearmen were trying to catch up with Jagdish, but since he was going to get to the action before them, he just set the shaft against his side, locked his elbows, and drove the steel point into the demon’s back with all his might.

  The spear ground to a halt. The shaft flexed and the shock of the impact traveled back into Jagdish’s cold, numbed hands. He might as well have charged into a brick wall for the all the good that had done. Jagdish hurried and scrambled back as the demon turned toward him. He barely flinched out of the way as claws whistled past his face.

  Murugan may have run, but Jagdish could not call him a coward, because from on his place on the ground, he’d drawn his sword, and hacked at the demon’s feet. The demon casually kicked him into the stream.

  The other spearmen had reached Jagdish. He held up his own bent and blunted weapon and shouted. “Spears up!” Warriors and workers of three different houses followed suit. It was almost orderly. If he’d not been scared to death it would’ve brought a tear to his eye.

  “Strike!” The spears were thrust into the demon, retracted, and then thrust again. The monster seemed almost bewildered as the steel blades crashed against it. Reaching for them, it quickly discovered that the spears were slightly longer than its arms. Each time it tried to strike a spearman, that warrior would withdraw, and two others would stab instead.

  “Keep it up! Swords and hammers, to the flanks!” Jagdish shouted. His gut told him to fight, but his brain told him to lead. Damn it. He was the risaldar, not some pissant footman infantry. He needed to be able to see what was going on.

  The warrior he’d taken the spear from, Dilip, had returned to his senses and followed. “I’m here!”

  “Take your place and do your bloody job, Nayak.” Jagdish tossed the spear back.

  The demon was not stupid, so it changed tactics. Since the spears weren’t breaking through its hide, it simply pushed into them, then started swatting shafts aside. Wood splintered. Men were knocked down. But the rest stood, and their brothers got back up. It grabbed hold of one man’s spear, but the warrior refused to let go, which was a terrible mistake since the demon used it to lever him over its shoulder and toss him through the air.

  But the men had heard their orders, and those armed with shorter weapons had moved around the sides. They came at the demon, hacking, stabbing, and cutting.

  The demon responded, but each time it did, it got hit in two other places.

  “Strike and move out of the way! Rotate through. Let your brothers have a turn.”

  The demon hadn’t been prepared for this.

  “You’re not showing off for your gods. This is business. Strike and move! Keep those spears up!”

  Even a surprised and overwhelmed demon was still dangerous. It moved away from the spears and lunged to the side, sending swordsmen flying. Claws flashed and warriors screamed.

  They were past orderly and organized combat now. There were no commands to give in a brawl. Jagdish drew his sword and went into the fray.

  Another warrior went down. Jagdish couldn’t even tell who it was through all the mud and blood. The demon opened its head and fell atop him, biting deep into the warrior’s shoulder, and then shaking him, like a dog with a rat.

  Half a dozen warriors were on it then, slashing and striking the demon. Maces rebounded off its back. Swords turned against impenetrable skin.

  Since the casteless of Haradas had sworn there were demons near the Lost House, and Jagdish had access to a well-stocked warehouse, he’d made sure the Sons were armed with a variety of weapons. Ashok had said demons came in all sorts of different shapes and sizes, so it made sense that some things would work better than others.

  Nothing seemed to work.

  With a roar Jagdish struck the demon in the back of its head. The edge of his sword left a visible dent.

  Soundlessly, the demon rose. Red human blood was running down its chest. Bits of tattered cloth and flesh clung to its blank face. It was hell, come to dry land.

  None of them fled. Jagdish was proud.

  Then suddenly the demon lurched to the side.

  The lump of a head twisted down to see a sword was stuck into its belly. Demon blood—white as cream—spilled from the hole.

  The surprised warrior who’d delivered that blow shouted, “I got it!”

  In return the demon ripped his face clean off. His body went spinning away in a shower of blood.

  But the rest of them saw the wound, and they knew…Demons could die. They just died hard.

  The Sons of the Black Sword went after the beast, striking madly at it. Only so many of them could strike at the creature at one time. Jagdish kept them from getting in each other’s way. “You’re an army, not a mob!” When Jagdish saw men faltering, he dragged them away. “You’ll get another turn!” And whenever there was a gap, he took it himself, striking at the demon until the calluses on his hands ripped and bled.

  Jagdish had never fought this hard in his life, and it was because he wasn’t just fighting for himself, but for his men. When it swung at one of them, Jagdish was there, putting his sword and his body in the way. Several times he collided with the beast, and it was surprisingly hot to the touch. The first time, its skin seemed almost soft, the second time he hit it against the grain, and it cut him.

  He got knocked down. And got back up. He got knocked down again. And this time one of his men dragged him up. He didn’t have the breath left to give directions or orders. This was nothing but brutality.

  The demon lifted a struggling worker into the air, claws stuck into his chest. It sunk its other hand into his pelvis, and pulled him in half. Though they stood in a rain of blood, the Sons did not falter. Then another wound appeared on the demon’s back. And a moment later, one of its arms was spraying milky blood.

  The demon was still clawing and biting, but it was slowing down. Then there was a sharp crack and it stumbled. One of the multitude of hammer blows had finally broken a bone, and its leg flopped about useless. Then the great beast toppled over.

  Gutch was standing there, covered in blood, holding the great spiked club that had finally shattered the demon’s knee. He seemed amazed that something had finally worked, before the demon’s other foot struck him in the chest and sent him flailing into the mud.

  It was down. That’s what mattered. And it knew it was beaten! The demon had changed tactics from destruction to escape, and had begun dragging itself toward the safety of the stream. He shouted a command to stop it. What came out of him was more anger than coherent words, but the men understood, and they piled on. One enterprising miner wrapped a rope around its broken dangling leg, and his brothers all grabbed hold. The rope snapped tight, and they dragged it away from the stream.

  Jagdish didn’t know at what point he’d lost his sword, but he found a discarded mace, and proceeded to club the demon over the skull with it. The mace rose and fell, striking over and over and over, until he forgot what he was doing. In that moment, he was more worker than warrior, it was just repetitive movements. He might as well have been digging a ditch.

  The demon made no sound as it was beaten to death.

  Jagdish finally stopped when he realized the mace was coated in white, and black b
its of hide were stuck to it. The demon’s skull was a flattened, splintered mess.

  Panting, he looked around the forest. His vision was blurry, so he had to wipe the milk from his eyes in order to see his men. Half the Sons were still standing, covered in blood and demon filth. There were many wounded and many dead.

  The forest had fallen quiet except for a rhythmic thumping noise. It took Jagdish a moment to figure out what it was. Murugan, who’d first run, and then been thrown in the stream, had come back fighting. He’d managed to impale his sword into the demon’s back, and had picked up a rock to beat against the pommel, like he was driving a tent stake. From the depth, by now he’d put it through the demon’s chest and was pounding it into the ground. Jagdish reached out to grab Murugan’s arm. The warrior flinched, and was so consumed in the moment he appeared as if he were about to strike Jagdish with the rock, before he realized who it was and what was happening.

  “It’s over, Nayak.”

  “I’m so sorry, Risaldar. I caused this.”

  Jagdish rested one hand on his shoulder. “Go and tend to the wounded.”

  The Sons of the Black Sword had just killed a demon. That was the stuff of legend.

  They were all too stunned to cheer.

  Chapter 38

  “What manner of evil is this?” Ashok demanded as he approached the field of bones.

  The thing in the center was an abomination. Not just before the Law, but before all of existence. Dark magic was practically pouring off it in waves, so foul that it made his skin crawl. It was a device of hell and a corruption festering upon the land. He may have no longer been a Protector, but he didn’t need to be a perfect servant of the Law to understand that this disgusting demonic creation did not belong in this world.

  It had to be destroyed.

  The ground was rumbling. Thunder rocked the sky as Ashok started toward the light, and his three Dasa followed.

  There were two kinds of light, an unnatural jade glow coming from the abomination, and a hazy white light coming from the other side of it. They seemed to roil and clash against each other, pushing back and forth. The air felt charged, as if lightning had just struck here.

  Then Ashok found what he’d come for.

  Wreathed in the strange white light, Thera stood in front of the abomination…No…Not standing. She was hovering a few inches above the ground, as were hundreds of bits of bone swirling around her feet. Her palms were pressed together before her, head down, eyes closed, almost like she was meditating. Her hair and long coat were floating about her, weightless. There was a whirlwind of clashing colors, lights, and sparks between her and the abomination.

  “Damnable witchcraft.”

  As he got closer, he realized Thera wasn’t meditating. Her face was closer to that of someone who was trying to close their mind to resist torture. Thera was in pain. That realization filled him with a great and terrible wrath. The demonic abomination was trying to break her. Though the method of warfare was beyond his understanding, he could tell this was a battleground.

  As he went to enter the circle, he crashed against a wall.

  There was nothing there. Ashok reached out, but when his hand crossed the boundary, it struck something invisible, yet hard as stone. He pushed. He threw his shoulder against it. He kicked it. There was no give. He moved along the perimeter, searching for a hole, but the air remained solid, from the ground to as high as he could reach. He drew his sword and struck it as hard as he could. It clanged off uselessly.

  “Damnable witchcraft!” Illegal magic was keeping him from fulfilling his oath.

  He’d already spied a large demon nearby. It had seemed oblivious to his presence, and was watching the conflict from just outside the circle. Its casual presence on dry land offended him, and he wanted nothing more than to go over there and punish the trespasser, but that was no longer his mission.

  The demon had heard the commotion and started toward him.

  The Dasa must have been set to attack demons on sight, because they lifted their weapons and moved to intercept the monster.

  Ashok slammed the tip of his sword into the hardened air. Trying to find some seam that he could pry open, except there was no texture to it. He was used to water being treacherous, but it angered him to have other elements be so vindictive.

  “I am Ashok Vadal and I must protect that woman. Get out of my way.”

  Desperately, he picked one spot and went to work against it. Over and over he struck, concentrating force sufficient to shatter bricks. His knuckles split open. His blood just seemed to hang there in the air, seemingly attached to nothing.

  “It will do you no good.”

  Ashok spun around. A man had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and he’d been smart enough to appear sitting high in the branches of a tree, so that Ashok couldn’t just simply cut him down by reflex. He reached for a knife to throw instead.

  “Hold, Ashok Vadal!” The stranger lifted his hands to show they were empty. “I mean you no harm.”

  Muscled and fit, this one looked more warrior than wizard, but his sudden arrival way up there suggested that wizard was far more likely. Ashok pointed his sword at the man’s chest. “I mean you great harm if you do not remove this wall!”

  “The barrier is not my doing. I tried to break through myself, but it’s a powerful pattern that goes all the way around the graveyard of demons, from the sky above to the ground below. Look.”

  As if to prove his point, it had begun to rain, a great crashing downpour. The drops were striking the invisible wall and rolling down it. His bloody knuckle prints became diluted and runny. Cloaked in water, the force around Thera and the evil took on the appearance of a great glass dome.

  “I am here to protect that woman.” Ashok looked toward where Thera was floating, unmoving, yet locked in a deadly battle all the same.

  “As am I. My name is Kabir. I have been obligated to be Thera’s guide. She was forced here against her will by a man called Sikasso.”

  “I know of the Lost House wizard.”

  “Yes, he’s been rather surly ever since you cut his arm off.” Kabir looked over at the sound of a crash as the demon hurled one of the Dasa against the invisible wall. He turned back to Ashok. “I wish to help you, but there’s not much time.”

  “Indeed, wizard. There’s a multitude of demons converging on this place now.”

  “I saw them. That’s why I landed in a tree! They climb quickly, but not as quickly as I can change shape. Now listen to me carefully. This barrier is the creation of Sikasso. He hoped exposure to demon magic would force the god in her head to come out and fight, and he’s trapped her inside until it does, or she dies. Sikasso is the only one who can remove the barrier. If you want to save Thera, you must kill him.”

  Illegal wizards disgusted him. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Do as you see fit. Those Dasa can hold off one demon, but they’ll be destroyed by several, as will you eventually. Even the legendary Black Heart has his limits. Yet those limits are greater than mine. You can defeat Sikasso. I cannot.”

  The two men studied each other in the crashing rain.

  “Why would you help her?”

  “Sikasso is my adversary, and I support the idea of her rebellion. Plus, I must admit I’ve become somewhat fond of Thera.” Kabir spread his hands apologetically. “She’s direct.”

  “That she is.” He looked back toward the magical conflict and sharpened his vision enough to see that there were tears streaming from her eyes, which were clenched hard shut. Veins stood out in her neck. Then something changed in the battle, and Thera let out a scream of agony.

  The abomination was winning.

  “Where’s Sikasso?”

  “He hides within the Lost House. It is that direction, but there is a lake in your way. Go toward that thicket of dead trees and you will find a secret foot path which will take you directly across the marsh.”

  “When I kill him and the barrier is broken—”

/>   “Then I will fly Thera from here before the demons can get her. You have my word.”

  An illegal wizard’s word was worth salt water, but Ashok saw no other way. “If you have crossed me, Kabir, then nothing will save you from my wrath.”

  Chapter 39

  When gods collide, the last place you wanted to be was caught between them.

  Thera couldn’t explain what was happening. The Voice had come upon her again, but for once she hadn’t been pushed aside. She still had control of her mind, but it was also there inside her head, screaming.

  From the outside—trying to get in—was an inconceivable darkness.

  Her god was afraid.

  The two gods were fighting, but she didn’t understand their words. The Voice used a language that was unlike anything she’d ever heard before, and the demon god spoke in colors and madness.

  What she could understand was their hate for each other. It burned hot as the sun. That hate extended to their children, for the Voice hated the demons, and the darkness hated humanity. The gods had grown old and weak, a tiny fragment of what they’d once been, but all their hatred remained. If they couldn’t destroy each other, they’d use their children to destroy in their name.

  These weren’t even the real gods, they were partial gods, shadows of shadows, distorted echoes of a sound that had happened a long time ago. Images flashed through Thera’s mind. Things that she’d never seen, nor imagined, but were terrifyingly real.

  She saw the War in Heaven, forces beyond her comprehension clashing. That was when this piece of the darkness had been torn from the rest of itself, and hurled down in a ball of fire, amid a rain of demons. It had struck the ground so hard that it had dug a crater which had filled with water. Broken, it had died. Its children had sensed its presence and come to worship. Some of them chose to die here next to the piece of their fallen god, because its darkness reminded them of home.

  It had lain there, unthinking, until it had sensed a small part of its ancient enemy hiding inside Thera, and its hate was strong enough to wake the dead.