The Vespus Blade

by Scott Baron

  “And the Ghalian possess a spy network vast enough to pin down a few supply ships across hundreds of inhabited systems?”

  “In time, yes,” Hozark replied.

  Laskar looked at his companions with a newfound appreciation for the immense resources these seemingly ordinary people had at their fingertips. It was inspiring.

  “Well, then. This should be fun!” he said. “Let’s get this party started.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Five days of utter boredom later, the foursome finally received word from a Ghalian envoy of a single ship spotted in a not-too-distant system. One that might actually be one of Billian’s supply craft. Hopefully, this time, it wasn’t another wild goose chase.

  The hunt had begun with excitement and high spirits, and even after the first three leads turned out to be dead ends, the group’s energy was good. But after nearly a week of incessant waiting, punctuated with periodic disappointment as Bud’s pirate friends identified wrong ship after wrong ship, the tension was growing.

  Of course, the Ghalian assassins were as tranquil as always. In fact, Hozark had been rumored to have sat almost perfectly still for nearly two weeks once while lying in wait for a target. But the order trained their aspiring members in stillness of body as well as mind from their earliest years.

  Bud, however, was getting antsy. And Laskar? He was absolutely climbing the walls. A tough thing to do when inside the confines of a spacecraft, even one as spacious as Uzabud’s mothership. And with his increasing agitation, Laskar’s annoying personality tics were turned up to eleven.

  “Oh, thank the gods,” Bud said with palpable relief when they finally got word of the likely target. “It’s about time.”

  “Yes, it sometimes takes our spy network a bit of time to properly track a target,” Hozark said, calm as ever. “Fortunately, this time was relatively fast, all things considered.”

  “Okay, I’ll admit it, they were harder to find than I anticipated. A lot harder,” Bud said.

  “Your friends’ efforts are appreciated nonetheless,” Demelza said. “They identified a fair number of craft.”

  “Yeah, the wrong craft,” Laskar groaned. “We were on wild Bundabist chases more often than not. The letdown is almost worse than just waiting.”

  Hozark understood his sentiment. Just because he didn’t show it did not mean he did not feel the boredom as well. He was just used to tamping down unpleasantness and clearing his thoughts of the tedium. “Well, this appears to actually be one of Billian’s supply ships,” he said. “So sharpen your minds and prepare yourselves for action.”

  Bud had begun the jumps required to reach the planet the Ghalian had identified as soon as their envoy had departed the ship, wasting no time to get them doing something other than waiting. After arriving in the system, the black sun at the center radiating its power well into the ultraviolet spectrum, he directed them on what appeared to be a casual approach to the dark world of Faloon.

  But they were anything but casual. Bud and Laskar were buzzing with energy at finally having something to do.

  “There,” Laskar said from his copilot’s seat. “That’s the one, I know it.”

  “Patience, dear Laskar. We must confirm before we act. Haste is the downfall of many,” Hozark said.

  “It looks like any other ship,” Bud noted. “How are you so sure?”

  “I just am, okay?”

  Demelza and Hozark glanced at one another. Laskar could be an issue if he didn’t rein in his impulsiveness. But they also noted something else as they drew closer. It seemed Laskar was right.

  “Ingenious,” Hozark admired as they flew a casual pass over the parked ship and lined up their descent to a relatively close available landing site.

  “Quite elegant, really,” Demelza agreed.

  “What is?”

  “Look closer, Uzabud,” she said.

  “I am looking closer. What am I missing? It’s just another ship. It looks like any other of the smaller craft dotting the landing area.”

  “Yes and no,” Hozark noted. “It’s a very clever means of avoiding scrutiny. And if the main body of their ships were to be forced to scatter, they could hide among any number of craft innocuously. But there is something to them. Laskar was correct in his instinct.”

  “See? Told ya,” he said.

  Hozark ignored the comment and continued. “Note the faint markings on the craft’s hull. Do you see the glyph that is worked into the skin of the vessel? How it is masked by the lines of the hull itself, appearing almost as if it were residual damage markings from atmospheric entry?”

  “But spells protect the hull,” Bud noted.

  “Yes. A unique flavor of magic. We can use that to our advantage, actually.”

  “But why the damage?”

  “We’ve all seen craft that have had issues with their shielding spells. It’s quite common, especially with lesser-powered craft. And as these are all smaller ships, it’s the sort of thing we see every day and don’t even think about. Much like many Ghalian methods of camouflage, actually.”

  “Ooh, really?” Laskar said, perking up. “You’ll have to show me those!”

  “No, I do not,” Hozark replied as politely as he could.

  Some things were not shared outside the order. Laskar was part of their trusted team, but even so, the Ghalian had a great many secrets guarded to the death.

  “So, the crew’s gonna be just as hard to recognize, I assume?” Bud said.

  “Oh, I would expect nothing less, seeing their ship. It will take a bit of careful observation to find our mark.”

  “This is going to be a pain in the ass,” Laskar groaned.

  “You said you wanted to come with,” Hozark reminded him.

  “And I do. It’s just, this is all a lot more boring than I expected. I thought we’d be getting into some real action.”

  Again, Hozark and Demelza shared a glance. One that Bud caught and understood. Laskar wanted action, but a true man of adventure never really wanted action, per se. Sure, they were deep in it at times, often over their heads, but survival often meant in and out without anyone the wiser.

  He’d flown with Hozark on a lot of dangerous jobs, and they’d barely made it out of more than a few. Even for one of the deadliest assassins in the galaxy, shit still went sideways sometimes.

  “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, Laskar, the Ghalian way is one of efficiency and stealth. We do not telegraph our presence, nor do we leave trace of our work, unless specifically needed to send a message. We complete our contract and are systems away before anyone knows we were ever there.”

  “But you said you send a message sometimes.”

  “Yes. But that is exceedingly rare, and usually not reported outside the victim’s household. Often, the slaying is enough to prevent others in their circle from pursuing the target’s plans, you see.”

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense,” Laskar mused.

  “And more often than not, we try to not leave any body at all,” Demelza added. “When people go missing, it is hard to attribute it to an assassination. And sometimes, the job entails making it appear the target has simply fled for greener pastures.”

  “Or you make it look like an accident,” Bud noted. “Those are always fun.”

  Laskar laughed at the idea. “Ha! Like how Emmik Zingal got crushed to death when the Malooki he was riding slipped and landed right on top of him? That was such a humiliating way for a man of his power to go. And funny as hell.”

  Hozark and Demelza looked at him, their expressions impossible to read. Well, almost impossible.

  “No way. No freakin’ way! There’s no way you could have made that happen!” Laskar blurted.

  Neither assassin replied, but the twinkle in their eyes and faintest of twitches to the corners of their mouths spoke volumes.

  Bud had settled the ship into a low hover, the magical cushion keeping his ship a few inches above the ground. It required only a small amount of magic t
o sustain that particular spell, and should they need to depart in a hurry, it would give them those few seconds of additional speed that could prove the difference between success and failure should pursuit, or flight, be warranted.

  “I shall be going into the city to locate, then gather information from, whichever members of the crew I can find. Laskar, you have been exceedingly patient. Why don’t you come with me?”

  He jumped out of his copilot’s seat in a flash. “Hell yes. I’ve got your back!”

  Hozark and Bud shared an amused look at the man’s enthusiasm. He was accompanying a full-fledged Wampeh Ghalian. He most certainly did not need to ‘get her back.’ Demelza was on a simple, non-violent part of the task, and this was simply her way of affording the man an opportunity to get some fresh air and let off some of that pent-up energy.

  “I’ll hang back and keep this baby ready in case we need to make a quick run for it.”

  “And I shall enter the target ship and await Demelza’s return,” Hozark said.

  “What about the crew?” Laskar asked.

  “What crew?” Hozark said with a smile. One that implied that once he was through with them, there would not be a crew aboard when his friends joined him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The oppressive feel of a black-sun solar system varied, depending on the strength of the dark orb throwing off its rays that were well past ultraviolet, as well as a particular planet’s distance from it. Given that, the little world of Faloon was actually not terribly unpleasant, all things considered.

  Of course, all of the cities were illuminated with magical lighting, as there was no visible sunrise or sunset to brighten the day. Not to the naked eye, at least. And with the lack of an obvious day or night, most venues and shops were open round the clock, staffed by an ever-shifting group of employees who had adapted to their particular work schedule.

  It was the sort of system that Wampeh thrived in, their pale skin right at home in the dark environs. Other races lived on these worlds as well, and over time their skin lightened as well, all of them fading to lesser shades of blue, or green, or whatever color they might be.

  On rare occasion, a black sun’s unusual power could enhance the magic of certain users. Typically not much, but occasionally more than expected. It could also make one’s spells fail in a most spectacular manner, the invisible solar power flares causing magic cast at an inopportune time to react in all sorts of ways, often detrimental.

  For that reason, Demelza and Hozark had decided before they had even landed that they would only use magic if absolutely necessary. Especially as Demelza was carrying a hefty load of stolen magic inside of her.

  Visla Horvath’s power would be used eventually, but given the power the man had possessed when she took it, Demelza had to be extra careful wielding it, lest she damage herself in the process. This system’s sun didn’t seem to be particularly strong, but safe was far better than injured or worse.

  The curvy assassin walked the city in the most minimal of disguises, again keeping her magical output to a minimum. All she did was shift her complexion from pale white of the Wampeh to a light bronze. It was a little thing, but she had found it to be one of the skin tones most likely to draw the sort of attention she wanted. The sort that could earn her information from loose lips.

  The topmost buttons of her tunic were unfastened, revealing far more cleavage than she would normally expose. But the deadly woman had more than one way to manipulate her targets, and this was one of the oldest known. And simplest.

  Laskar walked at her side, eyes wide as he took in the sights of the unusual world. Magical lighting and buildings that seemed dark from the outside, but revealed a warm glow when patrons would filter in and out of their doors.

  “Would you look at that!” he blurted as a swirling green glow wove across the sky then dissipated.

  “It is just an aurora. I thought you’d been to all sorts of worlds, the way you talk.”

  “I have, but never Faloon. This place is legendary, and it’s famous for its gladiator arena.”

  The air was pierced by a shrill cry as if to punctuate his words.

  “What was that?”

  “You said you know of the arena,” Demelza said. “Did you not know of the other combatants it houses?”

  “You mean... Zomoki?”

  “Your grasp of the obvious is inspiring, Laskar. Yes, they are Zomoki.”

  The man’s eyes went even wider with excitement. The thought of seeing actual Zomoki was turning this into a very, very interesting outing indeed.

  The feral beasts were enormous, winged things, with a tough, scaled hide and huge, deadly teeth. Dragons, some in a distant galaxy would call them. Fire-breathing creatures of some magic, capable of jumping from world to world with their innate powers.

  Centuries earlier, there had been immensely powerful Zomoki, huge, intelligent creatures capable of not only great magic, but also speech. The Old Ones they were called. The Wise Ones. They had been Zomoki of incredible power. And they were all dead, the last of them killed off in the destruction of Visla Balamar’s domain.

  The visla had possessed a singularly unique gift in his lands. A small flow of magical waters he had learned to focus into a healing elixir capable of enhancing not only magic, but granting great longevity. To bathe in the waters would restore one’s power and health.

  But there was a catch. Any could bathe, but for all but the most powerful, to drink them, would cause instant death. And for Wampeh Ghalian, merely touching the waters would make them burst into flames. A funny quirk of the normally healing waters that only affected the tiny subset of Wampeh who possessed the Ghalian’s innate power.

  The Council of Twenty had long coveted Visla Balamar’s waters, and they had tried to cajole and pressure him into joining them for many years. But he had wanted nothing to do with their machinations of power and glory. And with the Zomoki who had befriended him and resided on his grounds, there was little the Council could do about it.

  That is, until the Council decided to take his waters by force.

  It had been the single greatest use of Ootaki hair in history, and that, combined with the full magic of the Council’s strongest members, had blended into a doomsday spell even deadlier than those casting it had intended. The result was the obliteration of Visla Balamar, his Zomoki friends, and his entire realm, turning it into a barren wasteland as far as the eye could see.

  It had been the end of the Wise Ones, and the loss of the Balamar waters. The few traces still remaining in private hands were immediately rendered priceless.

  Zomoki hadn’t gone extinct that day, but the best of them had. Now only the most feral and mindless of their species remained, and those were routinely captured and bound, forced to act as guard beasts or gladiator fodder.

  The shrieks of the Zomoki rang out again, as did the sound of the clashing of blades. The gladiatorial combat in the arena was underway, it seemed, and Laskar’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

  “Might we see a bout?” he asked.

  “We are not here for recreation,” Demelza reminded him. “The job always comes first.”

  “But after?”

  She sighed. “Perhaps after, yes.”

  He was a grown man, and skilled in many areas. But sometimes he could be as unintentionally annoying as a demanding child.

  Demelza cast a seeking spell, carefully pulling a tiny bit of power from her konus, testing the air to ensure there was no interference from the dark sun. It seemed there was no alteration to her spell.

  Good.

  She cast a little more forcefully, the intent behind the words driving the spell more than what she spoke.

  Of course, the spell would not work if not spoken aloud, but the intent was what made it function. It was why lesser casters could not perform greater feats of magic despite knowing the words. It was something that could take years to learn. For some spells, a lifetime.

  Her casting reacted far sooner than she h
ad anticipated, a faint tug pulling her toward an ordinary-looking man casually walking toward the arena. He possessed traces of the same magic that was unique to his ship’s shielding. Just a trace, but at this proximity, it was enough.

  “Well, it looks as though you are in luck, Laskar,” she said. “For it seems our target had a similar desire.”

  “You mean?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “We are going to the gladiator bouts.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Demelza produced coin and paid their admittance into the arena. It was a thick-walled structure, with multiple levels capable of holding a respectable number of spectators. Not all contests warranted the capacity, though. Many of the bouts were lower-level fighters trying to claw their way up in the rankings.

  Today, however, it seemed there were going to be a few particularly interesting fights. Apparently, they had arrived in time for some of the best combat of the month. Possibly why this was the chosen resupply time, and likely why their target was headed into the arena rather than stocking his craft, as was his task.

  A few hours’ delay wouldn’t be noted, though, and how often did he get to see the likes of this? Rarely, was the answer.

  “Which one are we––?” Laskar began to say when Demelza elbowed him somewhat hard and flashed a cold look. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  The fool was blurting out things without care for those around them, and if he wasn’t careful, he could tip off their target without realizing he was doing so. Demelza was beginning to regret bringing him along. But a Ghalian made do with the cards they were dealt, and she would make this work, whatever it took.

  She nudged him and gave an almost imperceptible nod toward a thick-necked man with elongated upper arms but far shorter forearms. His hair was such a deep green it almost looked black in the artificial light.

  Demelza had dealt with this kind before. Strong laborers, but not the brightest more often than not. Likely why he had been selected to resupply the others. She wondered what the rest of his crew was like. That didn’t matter, though. Hozark would have that handled long before they reached the man’s ship.