Assassins' Dawn

by Stephen Leigh

  Sartas and d’Mannberg, several steps behind the Thane and in the clothing of lassari, stared into the semi-darkness around the Thane and Gunnar. Sartas held a wide-dispersion infrared beamer and both Hoorka wore night glasses. To them, the alley was a brilliant wash of scarlet and orange.

  To the Thane, it was merely dim. A faint glimmer of city-light glazed the sky and sent down a weak glow. Sleipnir cast a harsh shadow ten meters or so up the sooty brick walls that lined the street. He could see, if not particularly well, the garbage wind-piled at the edges of the wall, the gritty earth of the unpaved ground, and the mortar falling in a brittle dust from between the bricks.

  A chance meeting of strangers in a dismal landscape.

  Gunnar spoke first. “I didn’t really think you’d come, Thane.” He smiled.

  In the night, the Thane could sense that meaningless smile. Gunnar extended his left hand, palm up and the hand inclined slightly below horizontal—a greeting between kin of different guilds—a gesture of gratitude and mild deference. Should the thumb move any higher above horizontal, it would be demeaning for a man of Gunnar’s stature; too low and the Hoorka would be insulted at the implication that Gunnar considered himself above him. Proper form dictated that the Thane should return the gesture, but he kept his hand at his side. Hoorka have no friends outside the guild: you may be contracted to kill them the next day.

  “I almost stayed in Underasgard. My coming seems to be against everyone’s better judgment,” the Thane replied. His voice was dry and uncaring.

  Gunnar withdrew his hand as it became apparent that the Thane would not return the gesture of peace. His smile flickered and returned. “So my own kin thought. I thought, though, that it might be to our mutual advantage. We seem to have a common enemy, Thane.” Gunnar glanced about him, from the dirty walls to the two Hoorka standing behind the Thane. There, his eyes seemed to be snagged. He laughed, a short bark that skittered into moonlight and was shattered. “You don’t need to fear me that greatly, Thane,” he said. “There’s no feud between our houses, our gods are at peace, and there are, I trust, no contracts on me.”

  “You can understand my caution. I wouldn’t care to have the Li-Gallant become aware of this meeting, no matter how innocent it may be—nor do I think you’d find it to your liking either, neh? It would not only be the Hoorka that would come before the Assembly.”

  Again the laugh. “I have no doubts that he’d try to break my guild if he thought it would serve his own purposes.”

  (And the Thane remarked to himself: I don’t trust this man, don’t care for his light-hearted friendliness or his handsome face. Everything about him rings false and hollow . . .)

  “Your information, Gunnar?”

  Gunnar shook his head, the smile—it seemed to be an unvarying feature of his face—moving with him. He stuck his hands between folds of his clothing, putting all his weight on one foot: the pose of a relaxed man. “You’re impatient, good sirrah. The information will come to you. But you must listen to my proposal first. I’m sure it will be neither startling nor unexpected to you. Look at the present situation on Neweden, and you can certainly see that we are in a position to lend each other considerable aid.”

  Silence from the Thane. In the middle distance, someone could be heard singing discordantly, while overhead the roar of a transport from Sterka Port shook mortar dust from the parapets above them.

  The Thane stared at Gunnar, waiting.

  The man continued his speech hurriedly, as if trying to get all the words out before the Thane turned and strode away. “My ruling guild has a small policing force, unlike that of Vingi. If we were to gain a majority in the Assembly, if I were Li-Gallant, we’d need a larger, far more efficient force. The Hoorka could provide the nucleus for that. And if you joined us now, well, Vingi’s people simply aren’t the trained professionals of the Hoorka. Should there be, say, a bloodfeud between the guilds of Gunnar and Vingi—and should the Hoorka side with us—we might well be in a position afterward to amply reward our allies.”

  “Do you know that m’Dame d’Embry of the Alliance is considering letting the Hoorka continue our work offworld?”

  Gunnar spread his hands wide, sweeping them toward the stars above them, pale through the miasma of Sleipnir’s light. “Do you know the woman, sirrah? I think her influence with the Alliance is on the wane. Yah, she is well-known among the Diplos, but she’s here, and Neweden is just another name to the Alliance rulers on Niffleheim. They’ve given her a token assignment where she can no longer bother them with her unorthodoxy. You think she’ll actually be the key to letting the Hoorka go offworld?” Gunnar’s smile became sad, his head shook. “I grant you, Thane, that the Alliance would be a huge arena in which the Hoorka could work, but Neweden is large enough, and you have the advantage of knowing how to work here. Would you pass up what would be almost certain success to chase a ghost?”

  “Your specter or hers, what difference?” The Thane shrugged. “And hers more closely resembles my own.”

  “Ahh, so the Hoorka can sting with words as well as weapons. Yah, of course I’m chasing my own dreams. And I’ll guarantee you that my ruling would be better for all Neweden. And for Hoorka.”

  “Every ruling guild says no differently.”

  “The Neweden bureaucracies need us to function, Thane. If there is no government providing a stable economy in which the guilds can operate, then there is no payment for Hoorka. Or do your people enjoy killing for its own excitement?”

  The last statement was couched in a jocular tone that belied its sarcasm. In another person, the Thane might have found it simply distasteful—with Gunnar, it was bald insult. The Thane eyed the man, wondering again how he’d managed to escape Aldhelm and Sartas. Dame Fate had most decidedly smiled on him, but She had a way of suddenly releasing those who relied too heavily on Her good favor, laughing as the unfortunate fell. The Thane would enjoy being there when that happened—he would enjoy it even more were he the instrument of the Dame’s reprisal.

  He wondered if Gunnar knew how close to Hag Death he was.

  The Thane scuffed a foot against the gravel of the alley, deciding finally to ignore the insult and let Gunnar live. Aldhelm and Valdisa had been right, and the worst realization was that he’d suspected that all along. “Neweden’s a violent world,” he said finally. “You’ve never drawn blood?”

  Gunnar shrugged. “What guild-kin hasn’t done so at one point or another? I can defend myself in a feud, if that’s your meaning.”

  “You found it . . . pleasant? Unpleasant?”

  “Neither.”

  “The Hoorka do their job on a contract. They don’t do it for pleasure. But it would give me great pleasure to slay a man who slighted my kin.”

  The Thane watched the smile on Gunnar’s face fade. The man backed away from the Hoorka a step before the Thane waved a hand in dismissal.

  “The Hoorka have no interest in your offer, sirrah,” he said. “You know the Hoorka code. I intend to continue to follow it.”

  Gunnar stood as if poised for flight. Without the smile, his face looked naked, the lips a trifle too thin for the full cheeks and strong chin. Slowly, the man relaxed as the Hoorka made no move to harm him. “I had to make the effort, Thane. For my kin. You can understand that.”

  The Thane nodded slowly. “I can. And your information, so that I may feel that the evening wasn’t totally wasted . . . ?”

  “Vingi sent another assassin to our headquarters. A lassari.”

  “You’re sure it was Vingi? Lassari have been known to be foolish.” The Thane thought of the man that had attacked him in Market Square.

  “Do you know of a lassari that could afford a light-shunter, or that would have 100C in her pocket? Look around us, Thane. This is where lassari live. Is this a rich district where a person can afford to have the equipment to foil my detectors?”

  “If you have proof of your charges, then why haven’t you gone to the Assembly with the complaint? It’s il
legal to involve lassari in a guild matter. Declare bloodfeud. Or don’t you care for the excitement of killing?”

  Gunnar ignored the irony. He looked up at the light-smeared sky, then back to the Thane. “You underestimate the resources of my guild. And what this might indicate is that Vingi already believes the Hoorka to have allied themselves with my kin. Why else send a lassari when the Hoorka are available? What’s to prevent him from attacking the Hoorka in the same manner? The man’s mad, sirrah. He no longer follows the dictates of Neweden society.”

  “I don’t think his arrogance that blind. If he couldn’t defeat you, then he’ll have no chance against my kin.”

  Gunnar stared at the Thane. He shrugged, as if ridding himself of the thinly-veiled insult. “Granted. But it would still be a nuisance to you, would it not?”

  The Thane wished himself back in Underasgard. The night had already depressed him more than he’d expected: the squalid surroundings, Gunnar’s irritating self-confidence, a vague feeling of dismal failure—he wallowed in a gray ennui. The Thane stepped back, turning half away from Gunnar as the man suddenly stood erect and held a hand up to halt the Thane’s retreat.

  “Thane, I might be holding Hoorka’s fate in my hands. The interested parties in this altercation have a meeting with the Regent d’Embry, if you recall. And I know that your men are flooding this alley with infrared light. What if I had the forethought to position a person on the roofs and film this little meeting?”

  It was a measure of Gunnar’s desperation that he used that ploy. If he had expected his words to frighten the Thane, to cow the assassin, he had seriously misjudged his mark. Already angered by Gunnar, the Thane put one hand beneath his flowing cape. His eyes grew cold, the lines of his face as deep as if etched in an ippicator bone. Sartas and d’Mannberg, sensing the tension, moved closer to their leader; the menace on their faces was open. Gunnar stepped backward once more, the mask of his face broken and fright written there.

  “You’d find the Hoorka to be a strong enemy.” The Thane fingered the hilt of his vibro. He spat on the ground. “You’d also delight Vingi by doing that. You’d spare him the expense of buying a contract for you. Or are you simply a fool?”

  A direct insult was something that should provoke guild-kin into a feud. Words such as the Thane’s were seldom tolerated. The Hoorka could see the muscles of Gunnar’s body at war with each other, vacillating between anger and fright. The Thane found himself wishing the man would make a threatening move, so that he would have no qualms about ending the matter here. Sartas had a flat-camera with him and had been recording the meeting, for the Thane had anticipated Gunnar using a conveniently-edited tape of their meeting to blackmail Hoorka. It would be easy . . .

  But Gunnar seemed to rein himself in. The smile made a weak return.

  “Not a . . . fool, Thane.” Gunnar stumbled over the word, emphasizing it. “Simply a man trying to further the influence of his kin. Something we would all do, neh? Neither of us can blame the other for doing so, can we? If I speak frankly to you, it’s because of the importance of our actions. I mean no insult to Hoorka. And I”—he paused—“apologize for any insult.” He bowed his head in submission.

  The Thane remained silent, staring over his shoulder at Gunnar. Sleipnir peered over the lip of the buildings.

  Gunnar cleared his throat, looking up again. “There’s nothing for me to say, then. I think the Hoorka might have done well to consider my offer, but . . .” He shook his head. “Potok will be at the meeting as my representative. I refuse to face Vingi as an equal until this matter is settled. If you should change your mind, Thane, please inform Potok. He’ll relay the news to me. Good night, and may Dame Fate smile on your kin.”

  And with an unhurried pace that the Thane admired despite himself, Gunnar strode past the Thane and the two assassins and into the maze of streets.

  Chapter 10

  AN ARMED ESCORT met the Thane at the entrance to Diplo Center.

  It seemed an indication of the times—to his knowledge, the Alliance had always depended on automatic systems to guard themselves against attack and unwanted visitors. He might have been flattered to a degree if he thought that he was the only one accorded such treatment, but the Thane wasn’t quite so vain. It seemed more likely that both Potok and Vingi had been met similarly. The Thane, deliberately late as a minor protest, followed the Diplo guards across a grassed lawn and into the yawning maw of the Center. The huge edifice swallowed them without effort. The Thane ignored the curious stares of those they passed in the lengthy corridors or moving the opposite way on the slidewalks. When the guards shuffled off the walk at an unmarked door, he nodded to them with mocking politeness. His muscles tense despite the show of calm, the Thane activated the door lock and stepped through.

  There were three other people in the room, gathered about a wooden table in an otherwise barren room: Li-Gallant Vingi, Regent d’Embry, and Potok. The Thane bowed to d’Embry—he hoped she knew of the contract the Hoorka had completed for the last Alliance Regent. The Alliance shuffled Diplos so often that it was conceivable she might not know of her predecessor, and it had been to a young and too casual man that the Thane had first broached his dream of an offworld Hoorka guild. An obvious truism, he knew; but much was at stake here.

  The Thane seated himself, ignoring the presence of both the Li-Gallant and Potok, directing all his attention to the Regent as the most important of the people in the room.

  She appeared impatient. Her lips were tight and drawn and her posture was rigid—she looked as if she might rise and stalk off at any moment. One hand fondled a carved medallion on a chain around her neck. From the sheen and ivory brilliance of the jewelry, the Thane knew it to be a polished ippicator bone, worth far more than its size might indicate. He couldn’t decide if her irritation was truth or a sham, for he knew that the Diplos were trained in psychological subtleties and deception. That meant he couldn’t trust instinct here; she might be leading him. That bothered him—the Hoorka preferred to be the manipulators.

  The Thane examined his callused hands, waiting for someone to speak.

  It was Vingi who broke the uncomfortable silence, clearing his throat to gain their attention. “The Regent has asked that this be a private meeting rather than a full Assembly conference, a request I’ve bowed to, considering that this is neither an official trial nor a registered complaint. Thane, you recognize Representative Potok of Gunnar’s ruling guild? The Regent wished the opposition party to have their representative here—”

  “Hold, if you will, Li-Gallant.”

  The Regent spoke suddenly and coldly, her gaze drifting past the others at the table and then boring into Vingi. The pupils were gray, the Thane noticed, as frigid as the void. For the first time since he’d entered the room, he allowed himself to relax, if slightly. The Regent was obviously on no side but her own. She seemed to hold a weary contempt for the Li-Gallant’s pomposity, and that could only be to Hoorka’s advantage. “Everyone here is aware of the context for the meeting,” she continued. “I’m interested in one thing only: the Assassins’ Guild’s credibility—and my ship lifts in an hour for a conference on Aris. Leave your local squabbles for your Assembly. Please waste no more of my—our—time with such things.”

  (Cold, always cold. Does it come from erecting an Alliance from the scattered ashes of Huard’s long-dead empire? the Thane wondered. They all seemed like her, at least to some degree, these people of the Diplomatic Resources Team.)

  Vingi accepted d’Embry’s rebuff with a curt nod. He again cleared his throat. “To the point, then, m’Dame. Isn’t it true, Thane, that Gunnar escaped from two Hoorka while totally unarmed and helpless? Doesn’t that seem a trifle odd or suspiciously well-timed to you, with all respect to the whims of Dame Fate?”

  The Thane glanced at d’Embry.

  She shrugged and rested her chin on a cupped hand, while the other toyed with the ippicator medallion.

  The Thane leaned back in his chair. �
�Gunnar escaped, Li-Gallant. That’s hardly in dispute. And so did Geraint Sooms, and Erbin ca Dellia, and several others over the last several standards. You seem to forget, sirrah, that it’s part of the Hoorka code that the victim retains a chance of escape. We contract only to attempt a fair assassination, and our efforts cease when the contract day expires. Gunnar was intelligent or favored enough by Dame Fate to elude my people. It was not conspiracy. Anyone can escape the Hoorka, should it be decreed by the gods that he should. You might escape yourself.”

  “Someone paid, Hoorka-Thane. Someone paid for death, not sophistry and rhetoric.”

  “The person who signed that contract should be advised that death is not for any man to buy. Hag Death makes a jealous lover.” The Thane glanced at Potok, wondering what emotions were hidden behind that man’s intent and serious stare. It was an ill-kept secret, the identity of the contractor for Gunnar, but it would be improper for any of those here to admit that, by Neweden morals. Yet the Thane admired Potok’s reserve. He steepled his hands as he waited for Vingi’s reply.

  Unconcerned. Always appear unconcerned.

  “You’re dangerous if you’ve allied yourselves with Gunnar,” said Vingi. “I make no pretext of enjoying the presence of members of his guild in the Assembly, nor do I conceal the pleasure I find in hearing that others of Neweden feel as I do”—this with a glare at Potok, huddled deep in the recesses of his chair as if seeking some hidden warmth—“since they only impede Neweden’s progress to prosperity. I don’t know who paid for the Gunnar contract, obviously, but the outcome disturbs me. That is why I must make certain of Hoorka’s role.”