House of Assassins

by Larry Correia

  The prisoner had originally been captured in Vokkan. A massive, destructive tidal wave had struck the northern coast, and in the aftermath he had been discovered far inland, trapped, badly injured, yet still alive. The Inquisitors there had been quick to claim such a rare prize.

  It was humid in here. The air always stank of mold. Omand had ordered the construction of this facility after he had grown tired of traveling back to his homeland for interrogations. When needed, pipes brought in clean water, and more pipes sent the filthy waste off to the Capitol’s sewer system. In the center of the room was a great metal tank, filled with thousands of gallons of murky water. The guards had been instructed to keep it as salty as the ocean.

  There was a single window in the wall of the tank, made out of the thickest glass in the world. On the other side, gray muck swirled and bits of rotting flesh floated by.

  Omand took up a piece of demon bone in one hand, and pressed his other against the glass. It was cold to the touch.

  The glass vibrated. Ripples appeared across the top of the tank.

  Something dark and hideous appeared in the water.

  No Cut No Cut No Cut

  The Grand Inquisitor grimaced against the painful noise inside his head, and the awful images forming behind his eyes. Demon speech was a terrible, unnatural thing. If he could bottle demon speech, and give it to his torturers, even the hardest criminal would spill his guts when bombarded with this.

  “Each time your claws start to grow back, we’ll chop them off. This will continue until you give me what I want.”

  It was hard work, having a sea demon as a pet. Even keeping him starving in filth, their kind was so resilient that they could grow new limbs in a month. It did give the Inquisition a nice reliable supply of the freshest demon magic. In fact, they’d simply called the old facility in Vokkan the farm, since they’d continually harvested the demon’s flesh there. It had been Omand who had figured out how to interrogate their prisoner. He had even taught the demon a few of their words.

  Pain Blood Burn Cut Beg No

  “Then it is simple. It doesn’t have to be this way. Give me what I want and I’ll send you back to hell.”

  The prisoner floated closer, until it pressed its odd bulbous head against the glass beneath Omand’s hand. The demon presented his counter offer.

  Ramrowan Revenge Suffer Death Death Death

  They’d had this discussion many times. “He wronged your kind, and now his descendants are beyond your reach. But you know they are not beyond mine. If you want them to suffer and die for the crimes of their blood, then you know what I must receive in exchange.”

  The demon slowly drifted back from the glass, dark and malevolent, thinking. Demons spoke mind to mind, so it could plainly see his conviction and intentions.

  The answer came in the form of a vision. Omand saw all of Lok, as if he was looking down upon it from high above, green and brown, shrouded by white clouds, and surrounded by blue ocean. This must have been how wizards who could turn into birds saw the world, only no bird could fly this high. Suddenly, the vision jerked, as if he were speeding downward. Omand could tell what region he was heading for, but then the vision abruptly ended before he could discover his destination.

  Remainder Upon Kill

  “Very well. When the blood of Ramrowan’s children has begun to water the land, we will speak again.”

  The Grand Inquisitor removed his hand from the glass and began walking away from the tank. That vision had brought him tantalizingly close to the location of the ancient source. The gods were a myth, but their powers were real. Man may have forgotten about the great and terrible forces they had controlled in the days of old, but the demons remembered. One thing he had learned…demons never forget.

  Omand had known the prisoner for a very long time. He was a simple, cruel, focused, vengeful creature. Their capacity to hate was awe inspiring. He had learned much from this demon over the years. In a way, he could be considered one of Omand’s oldest friends. On the way out of the room, he commanded one of the guards, “Drag him out and cut him.”

  The Inquisitor looked uncertain. The demon wasn’t due to be harvested again for another week. The process was difficult and dangerous, involving harpoons and chains.

  “Do it. And skin some of him too.”

  As Omand returned to his duties, he thought about how his careful plans were finally coming to fruition. In a season, war would come. The Capitol would fall, and be born again. Millions would die. It was a small price to pay for progress.

  Truly, he did not mind making Devedas king, because Omand intended to become a god.

  Chapter 51

  Before him was the symbolic face of the Law, carved into the eternal stone of the Capitol, unyielding, unflinching, seeing all and forgiving none. There was no mercy, no middle ground. Cruel perfection, it appeared spotless, unmarred…But he understood now that beneath those carved lines was a seething corruption. It dispensed order, but at a terrible price.

  He touched his hand—the hand which had so faithfully served—to that perfect face. And when he took it away, there was left a smear of blood.

  The Law had been stained by his rebellion. The illusion of perfection was ruined.

  Good. Let them all see.

  Ashok awoke from his dream to a world of crushing pain and total darkness. His broken limbs were trapped beneath fallen rubble. There was absolutely no give. He didn’t know how long he’d been out…hours? No…It had been days. But the Heart of the Mountain had been working on him the whole time. What a waste of precious magic. It could have been better spent helping a loyal servant of the Law, rather than on a criminal who was just going to perish, buried alive. Better to save it for someone who deserved it. He let go of the Heart.

  His mouth and nose were mostly filled with dust and dried blood. There was so much weight pressing down on him that he could barely breathe, but there was enough air flow he wouldn’t asphyxiate. The armor had kept his ribs from being crushed. Death by dehydration then? With as much blood as he’d lost, that wouldn’t take too long. Who would have ever guessed that the mighty Ashok Vadal would die of thirst beneath a pile of bricks? If it had been physically possible, he would’ve laughed at the irony of it.

  He was glad that the House of Assassins would be his grave. He’d spent his entire life serving the Law. He’d thought he’d die a humiliating criminal death, rebelling against the Capitol. But instead he’d been able to strike one last blow against lawless evil. Such a death was a greater honor than he’d allowed himself to hope for in a very long time.

  Forgotten. You are probably not real, but I have no one else to talk to. If this was the end you intended for me all along, I am grateful. May the others live. My work is done.

  As consciousness faded, Ashok was content.

  When it returned, there was torch light above. Dust rained down as bricks were lifted away.

  “Over here! I’ve found him!”

  Ashok should have known he wouldn’t be able to shirk his duty so easily. Grudgingly, reluctantly, he once again called upon the Heart to sustain his life.

  It took a very long time, drifting between awake and asleep, for them to dig him from his tomb. Through his grit-clouded eyes, he recognized some of the Sons, but there were many others, strangers with ashen faces. As they pulled him free, whenever his broken bones banged against the rubble, the pain brought him back. Someone put a rag soaked in water against his mouth and wrung it out so it could run across his cracked lips and down his parched throat. It seemed the greatest kindness he’d ever known.

  As the sun rose over the sea, he found that it was Thera who was peering down at him. The wind was blowing her hair so that he could see the long scar, from which the gods had cursed them both.

  “Rest for now, Ashok. I don’t think they’re done with us yet.”

  No. Their rebellion was just beginning.

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