House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  “I have changed my mind. Your opportunity has passed. I will allow none of you to run back to the sea to hide. I will show no mercy to demons tonight. Come out and face me!”

  There was a line of braziers set out along the path, Ashok dropped the torch into one, and took up the pole arm in both hands. There was movement near the base of the ruined tower. A dark round head rose over the rocks to peer at him. A second demon appeared, crouching on the roof of the slave barracks. With the helmet covering his ears, and only a narrow slit for his eyes, Ashok focused his senses to make sure there were no others sneaking up on him. It was just the two for now.

  Insufficient.

  “Who will contend with me first?”

  The rooftop demon leapt down soundlessly and started toward him, while the tower demon waited.

  “Excellent.”

  This one moved with a strange fluidity, going to all fours and nearly disappearing into the tall grass. It was not a large one, merely man sized. He aimed the pole arm at the nearing threat, surely it couldn’t be stupid enough to use its own momentum to help impale its body upon the blade. Of course, it wasn’t, and the demon came to a smooth stop, just outside the reach of the dim firelight.

  Alone among the Protector Order, Ashok had wielded an ancestor blade, the only thing in the world which could easily pierce the hide of a demon. The others had fought them with regular steel. Master Ratul had allowed Ashok no crutch in training though, so he’d learned to fight demons like everyone else. Their skin was incredibly resilient, but a perfect strike might cut them. Their bones were impossibly hard, but a powerful enough blow might break one. Jagdish and the Sons had dispatched one by striking it a multitude of times, until they’d gotten lucky. Protectors relied on cold calculation and skill.

  Still on all fours, the demon began to circle. This one had a thin torso, and arms and legs that seemed too long, sticking up above its body, then bending sharply at the knees and elbows to shoot downward. Unlike the others he’d fought, it seemed shaped more spider than man.

  Ashok began to spin the reclining moon blade between his hands, picking up speed until the foot of steel on the end was whistling through the air. He was not as skilled with this particular weapon as Bundit Vokkan, but they’d trained together, and given room to maneuver, Ashok knew its blows could generate an incredible amount of force.

  The demon lunged at him. Never interrupting the rhythm of the spin, Ashok slid back, and brought the heavy blade straight down on that featureless head.

  It bounced off, but with a resounding crack. The shock traveled up the haft to sting his palms. Against a man that mighty blow would have split a helmet, the skull beneath, and launched brains from the hole. It merely made the demon wobble a bit.

  Only Ashok never hesitated, never let up for a second. Only an ancestor blade could drop a demon in one blow, and even that was rare. Using the momentum of the blade rebounding, Ashok whipped around the haft and slammed it into one planted arm. Of course wood wouldn’t break demon bone, but that hand slid across the damp grass, and the demon dipped forward, off balance. The blade was already coming back down, and it slammed into the demon’s spine.

  Surely it felt that.

  Ashok had to leap back to avoid a claw, and then the toes—which were just as sharp—as the demon rolled forward through the grass. Smooth as a Capitol acrobat, it came up on its feet, rising to its full height, reaching for Ashok’s face.

  Only he’d ducked back while rotating the shaft so that the back of the reclining moon blade was pointing toward the demon, and he dragged the steel hook into its ankle and pulled hard. That leg went out from under it, flying forward, and off balance again, it crashed against the brazier, knocking it over and spilling torch and sparks.

  Before it had hit the ground, Ashok had spun the pole arm overhead to build speed, and he brought it straight down, stabbing for the demon’s chest. The point struck true, and with all of Ashok’s unnatural might behind it, the hide gave way.

  The demon made no sound as its chest was pierced. It grasped for him, but Ashok brought the blade down again. This one didn’t hit as clean, and glanced off its shoulder, but the first wound had been dealt. Blood had been shed, and it was white rather than red.

  Perhaps they would take him seriously now.

  The demon from the tower was headed his way, and another had appeared, leaping over the fences, from where it had been spitefully tearing apart the wizard’s livestock. Good.

  Ashok had time to slam the blade into the wounded demon a few more times before the others were upon him. The tower demon turned out to be bigger, similar in build to the ones he’d fought in Gujara, with shorter legs, longer arms, and a massive chest. It seemed demons came in many different shapes and sizes, but experience had taught him that this type was exceedingly dangerous.

  Unlike the first, this one didn’t slow its approach. There was no caution, no strategy, simply destructive might. Ashok braced the pole arm against his hip to aim the blade, roared, and met charge with charge.

  He planted the blade into its chest so hard the shaft bent, but nothing being certain with demons, the steel slid off. Ashok had to duck and roll beneath a mighty swing. With the rattle of metal and jangle of chain, he came right back to his feet, spinning the pole arm so that the hook struck demon arm. Green sparks rose from magical flesh, but it accomplished nothing.

  With shocking speed, the demon struck back. The impact pulverized the wood into splinters, and the reclining moon blade went flipping away into the dark. The claws had left deep scratches across his armored chest.

  He still had a sword sheathed at his side, but the third demon was nearly here, and the wounded one was back up. Jagdish had better have gotten everyone to the basement by now, Ashok thought as he ran for the House of Assassins.

  They were right behind him, but the Heart of the Mountain provided him with a burst of speed. He leapt up the stairs and bolted through the doorway. He didn’t even bother trying to close it behind him.

  The demons pursued him right into the killing field Gutch and the workers had prepared.

  The plan required him to hold them as long as possible. Weapons would break faster than a Protector, so they’d scattered the assassin’s tools around the great hall. Every lantern had been lit. Little would the demons realize that they’d been positioned to light the barrels or trails of Fortress powder they’d poured on the floor.

  For now though, Ashok was mostly interested about the statue they had suspended from the balcony over the entrance. Made of solid bronze, the ancient deity had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. It hung there, creaking, dangerous. Ashok picked up the battle axe which had been leaned against the marble pillar securing the taut, easily severable ropes.

  It turned out workers were surprisingly creative.

  The demon was tall enough it had to duck to get through the doorway. Once through, it came for him, arms spread wide, as if it wanted to embrace.

  Ashok cut the ropes.

  The statue landed on the demon. Bronze bent, but bones shattered. White blood sprayed across the entrance as it went down hard.

  It lay there, twitching, head pulverized between metal and the stone. The smiling fat man seemed pleased. Ashok did not think the smiling fat man was the Forgotten. The Forgotten did not strike him as a kind god. Anyone who would choose Ashok Vadal to be his warrior would never be portrayed as kind.

  The other demons made their way up the stairs, slower, cautious this time. The spiderlike one twisted through the doorway, head lump aimed upward, checking for more falling gods. It was bleeding down its chest, but still seemed capable enough. The one behind it was shaped like a gangly, thin man, but over seven feet tall.

  There was a scraping noise from above, demon hide brushing against broken glass. The fourth had climbed the wall and was upon the balcony.

  All he needed to do was draw the ire of the big one. Then he could die, oath fulfilled.

  Ashok lifted the battle axe. “Fight
me, demons.”

  They did.

  The spider demon rushed him. Ashok slammed the axe into it, spinning it aside. The thin one attacked, claws flashing. It was far stronger than it looked. He struck it with a mighty overhand blow that it simply shrugged off, but then it backhanded him into a marble pillar. Green sparks rose from its claw as it tore into the steel of one shoulder plate. Ashok ducked beneath another swing that left marks on the marble.

  There was a spike on the end of the axe. He drove it into the thin demon’s side. It didn’t penetrate, but the shock of the blow made it step back. That gave him room to set up another blow, this one coming in from the side, at waist level, striking the demon in the pelvis. Nothing.

  Rolling across the floor, the spider demon reached for his ankle, but Ashok moved away. If they pulled him down, it was over.

  The demon which had climbed through the window leapt down from the balcony. He heard it land behind him, surprisingly lightly. Ashok moved to the side, narrowly avoiding claws, and he spun against that attacker, axe low, instinct telling him to go for its legs. Sure enough, it wasn’t a big one, and the blow was sufficient to sweep the feet out from beneath it.

  Had that been his instinct, or was Angruvadal helping him again? At this point, he couldn’t even tell the two apart.

  He was hit again and a claw pierced his side. It didn’t feel deep. Let it bleed. He needed the Heart to give him speed. Moving quickly between the statues, Ashok made distance. The three demons were all coming for him at once, getting in each other’s way. There was a war hammer leaning nearby, and none of these demons were particularly dense, so he might do better with bludgeoning than cutting. So he hurled the axe into the nearest demon, and scooped up the heavier weapon.

  The demons were relentless. The Heart of the Mountain gave him incredible speed, but these things were just as quick, and far more resilient. For creatures of the ocean, their bodies seemed to exude a dry heat. They traded blows back and forth. His breath couldn’t keep up. The muscles of his arms burned.

  He’d sparred with Blunt Karno using hammers the same way he’d trained with Bundit on the pole arm. His whole life, whenever possible, he’d sought out those who were better than he was at some certain skill, so he could learn from the masters. By this point there probably wasn’t a tool in the world Ashok couldn’t be lethally effective with.

  He slammed the hammer into one, sending it flying back, but the spider demon immediately swept around behind, striking at him. Chain broke, leather tore, but the armor saved his life. Ashok whipped the hammer around, cracked it into the space where the demon’s face should be, and sent it skidding across the floor.

  A glistening black fist crashed into his helm. An indent of linked chain was crushed into his cheek. But Ashok broke away, rolled past that demon, and hammered it square in the back.

  The Protector this armor had belonged to had been a bit larger in stature than Ashok, so the fit wasn’t exactly right. It was slowing him down slightly, but he knew he already would be—at minimum—severely injured without it. Gutch had promised that if they lived through the night, give him a hammer and an anvil and he’d be able to adjust it to perfection. An easy job for such a skilled smith, he’d bragged. But up to his neck in demons, Ashok sincerely doubted Gutch would ever have the opportunity.

  The spider demon started to rise, and for just a moment Ashok had a perfect opportunity. Driven with all his might, he brought the hammer down on the back of its head with a blow that could kill an elephant.

  It hit the floor, but it wasn’t finished. Temporarily stunned, the lump of a head was resting against the unyielding stone. There would be no give this time. No neck acting like a spring, no distance to absorb energy. Ashok lifted the hammer high overhead and roared.

  It was like smashing a melon.

  Bleeding and breathing hard, Ashok stumbled away as the demons paused. They were expressionless as usual, but he hoped that these things could be shaken by the death of a comrade. If they were troubled, it wasn’t for long, because they started toward him again.

  Now there are two.

  Then the front wall bulged as the biggest demon in the world collided with it. Dust rained from the ceiling.

  Three, Ashok corrected himself.

  He began backing toward the nearest hanging lantern. Beneath it had been poured some of the black Fortress powder, the beginning of a trail that led back to the stacked barrels. Gutch was no architect, but he’d directed them to be stacked against a vital interior wall, in the hopes of collapsing the whole front of the building.

  Jagdish had better not waste this.

  It was like being in an earthquake. The entire House of Assassins shook as the great demon battered its way inside. It was hitting the building so hard that Ashok might not even need to break a lantern, the demon would probably do it for him. But he wanted it inside first, catching flying debris and falling roof beams, not outside, sheltered from the blast by stone.

  The big demon didn’t bring the whole wall down, it simply punched a hole big enough to squeeze its bulk through, and then slid inside. Ashok had never imagined such a thing could be. There were whispered rumors of such vast beasts, small parts of them occasionally glimpsed by witnesses way out in the surf, but he’d always dismissed such things as rumors. Besides, as long as the demons didn’t trespass on dry land, he didn’t care what they got up to beneath the waves. Hell had been out of his jurisdiction.

  It was black as oil, same as the lesser demons; it was on all fours to squeeze through the gap, but the way its claws were curled like fists, and it was walking on its knuckles, he could tell it was meant to stand. There was a line of a mouth, and as he watched, fascinated, it spread open, four feet wide, and filled with teeth like black daggers. There was a sick gurgle, and then it regurgitated the mangled blue remains of a few Dasa servants and their weapons and armor into an acidic puddle across the floor, probably to make room in its belly to consume him.

  Rising to its full height, its dome of a head easily cleared the second floor balcony. It casually shoved the fallen bronze out of the way, and heedlessly crushed its fallen brother beneath its giant webbed feet as it stomped toward him. A hanging banner of the Lost House got in its way, and the great demon tore it down and flung it aside.

  Though strangely tempted, he knew it would be impossible to fight such a being. Ashok knocked the burning lantern from the wall.

  The glass shattered. The oil rolled outward, catching fire. There was a sudden, alien hiss, and a gout of orange flame as the Fortress alchemy erupted. Belching smoke, that fire ripped across the floor, following the trail laid by Gutch and the workers.

  The demons didn’t seem to know what to make of the strange magic. They simply stepped out of the way, heads swiveling to watch as it burned past them. The little fire moved with startling speed, leaving a trail of smoke and scorched stone.

  “I warned you there would be no mercy,” Ashok said as he awaited their inevitable destruction.

  A sudden gust of wind howled through the great hall. Banners whipped about. Furniture toppled. Ashok had to shield his eyes as he was blasted with grit. Then the wind passed as suddenly as it had begun. Most of the other lanterns had been extinguished, plunging them into darkness.

  The trail of Fortress powder had been blown from the floor. With nowhere else to go, the little fire sputtered and died.

  “Treacherous magic!” Ashok roared. “Is that your doing?” he demanded of the demons, but of course, they didn’t answer.

  A voice came out of the darkness. “Did you think I would let you so easily destroy that which I’ve built?”

  “Sikasso,” Ashok snarled.

  Across the great hall, the abomination stepped from the shadows. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he seemed less. As he got closer, Ashok could see that the Lost House’s ruler was ragged and disfigured, with strips of flesh missing from his face. He was covered in red holes where the insects that had been burned to ash should have
gone, a few so deep they showed white bone beneath. His teeth could be seen through the hole in his cheek. He was like a puzzle that had been put together, but missing pieces.

  But then Ashok had to return his attention back to the demons, who were once again trying to eviscerate him. The hammer was swatted from his hands. He drew his sword as he fell back.

  “We reclaimed this house from the sea. We rebuilt it with our own hands. We rediscovered our old ways and grew our numbers. Through murder and intimidation we founded a secret empire which will someday overthrow the Law itself! And you think you can come in here and take that all away? You killed my men. The rest have fled like cowards. And now you think you can use a traitor’s alchemy to burn my home? How dare you?”

  Sikasso’s angry shouting had caught the great demon’s attention, and it had turned his direction.

  “And you, champion of hell, I could feel your god begin crawling around inside my mind, trying to tell me what to do, but I will never obey, for I am Sikasso, master of the House of Assassins. I would not bow to the Capitol and I will never bow to you.” He opened his tattered robe, and threw something on the ground.

  It was his demonic arm. Long thick veins hung from the jagged stump, bleeding white. The wizard had torn his corruption off.

  Ashok could respect that.

  “Better to die a cripple, than a slave.” With his remaining hand, Sikasso lifted a long strip of demon hide. He bit the end to hold it in place, and then wound it tightly around his hand. Once supplied with magic, he drew his sword. “Now get out of my house.”

  The great demon went after Sikasso, covering the distance in a few great strides. Only when it reached for him, the wizard stepped back into the shadows and was gone. Ashok knew how that game was played, and sure enough, Sikasso came out of the demon’s own shadow, futilely slashing at its legs.