by Scott Baron
He spent a good several minutes pacing the chamber, unsure what, if anything, he could do to at least lessen the punishment he would receive for overstepping his orders. A prize prisoner was dead, and on his watch. Under his direct supervision, no less, and as a result of his actions. And there was nothing he could do about that.
What he did not know was that the visla’s head of security had seen this before. Not for quite a long time, mind you, but in his earlier years he had witnessed a captured Ghalian perform the same thing. Utter the spell that not only stopped their heart, but ruptured it irreversibly, killing them in an instant. No one would be reviving them to pull out any information no matter how powerful they were.
It had shocked him at the time. For one, he’d been certain the prisoner had no magic left within them. He very quickly learned that some Ghalian possessed the skill to spread tiny bits of magic in their bodies, locked away for years and years until all but forgotten. Reserved for this one, final option.
He also learned that Ghalian did not fear death. Those who dealt in it their whole lives––even the spies belonging to that secretive order––accepted it as something that might come for them at any time. And that was part of the reason for their myriad successes in the field of assassination and intrigue.
The Ghalian approached any conflict with the mindset that they were already dead and had nothing to lose. Of course, that did not prevent them from doing all in their power to survive every encounter, but the fear of death was something not to be found within them.
The emmik straightened his tunic and took a deep breath, then strode from the chamber.
“I have retrieved a name,” he said victoriously.
“Well done, sir!” the guard outside the chamber congratulated him. “Shall I move the prisoner to the regular cells?”
“There will be no need. She perished in her foolish efforts to resist my power.”
“Sir?” the guard asked, suddenly very uneasy.
“Place the body in the cold room. We shall hand her over to the visla’s man when he arrives.”
“But what of––”
“I will relay the information to him and him alone. See that he is sent to my chambers upon his arrival.”
With that the emmik strode off with the air of a perfectly confident man, leaving the guard to put the dead spy on ice. Once back in his chambers, however, he would have to work fast. He had a plan, and it was not without risk, but knowing the subterfuge and backstabbing within the Council, he thought it could work.
There were twenty members. Well, nineteen, now that Visla Ravik was dead. He just had to choose one. Not Ravik’s brother, though. He was too busy attempting to take his seat on the Council, invoking the claim of familial ascendance, as was his right, but he was nowhere near as powerful as his brother had been, and more than one power user of significant strength was vying for the seat.
With all of that jockeying for more influence, spinning a tale about the spy giving up another Council member’s name just as she perished would be a convincing lie both hard to prove and relatively easy to believe. Much was afoot within the Council, and shifting tides led to many unusual things, least of which was subterfuge by fellow Council members.
All of the other members of the Twenty would be on higher alert now, of course. Once word of a Ghalian in their midst reached them, it would only be natural. They were already on edge after Ravik’s death, and this would serve to ramp up that paranoia even further.
The emmik had no idea what his lie would do in the long run, but for now it should buy him some time. And, perhaps, a minor increase in status. And as the visla would not directly accuse another of the Twenty of spying or attempted assassination, his lie would go uncontradicted. He just hoped it stayed that way.
In the meantime, word of the capture and killing of the Ghalian quickly leaked out to the spies and agents spread throughout the Council’s many ranks. Most were mere agents, doing a job. But a few were fellow Ghalian, and they had just lost one of their own. Something that not only made them rapidly secure additional informants in case a similar sweep was coming to their particular estate, but also an act that inspired them to redouble their efforts.
One of their sisters had fallen, and they would take her sacrifice to heart.
Chapter Three
The small knife flew through the air in a gleaming blur, striking the target fairly close to center. From the distance it had been thrown, the accuracy was relatively impressive. More importantly, it had embedded deep in the wood. The throw, had it been aimed at a living thing, would have very likely been fatal.
“Better,” Hozark said with an approving nod. “You have greatly improved your distribution of force, young Jinnik.”
“Thanks, Hozark,” Happizano replied as he trotted over to retrieve his blade from the target.
“Yeah, not bad, kid,” Laskar added.
The copilot had taken to watching the boy’s lessons on occasion, though he also tended to let out an unimpressed sigh from time to time. Laskar, though only a minorly powered caster, was also something of a proficient knife thrower they had discovered.
It had been something of a revelation to his traveling companions when he first revealed the skill. But talent springs up in unusual ways from time to time, and it seemed he was actually fairly proficient in that one area of power use.
The direction of one’s internal magic to help guide a thrown knife to its target was not exactly what anyone would call a secret technique. In fact, it was about as widely known as one could imagine such a trick would be. But the ability to actually do it with any degree of accuracy, now that was something to take note of.
Many could push their projectiles forward with magic, but most were casting the spells with the mere hope that they might strike their intended target. But Hap was different in that regard. He possessed the Jinnik bloodline, and with it, a rapidly growing magical potential that might even exceed his father one day.
For now, however, he was still a novice, taking his first steps in the ways of magical and manual combat, and his knife-throwing skills showed the diligence of his practice.
He had been on a circuitous tour of the training houses of some of the greatest masters in the galaxy, learning what he could from the esteemed experts, each of whom knew and respected his Ghalian protector.
Hozark, while trained as a Ghalian, had spent much time studying the methods of every school he could over the years, always adding more to his seemingly endless repository of martial techniques. Most from his order did so. It was what made them so difficult to defend against. The Ghalian possessed an almost encyclopedic knowledge, enabling them to counter and defeat nearly any enemy, regardless of style.
And now Happizano was dipping his toes into the welcome waters of that world. Not as an aspiring assassin, but as an eager learner, hungry to feed this newfound passion. Hozark was only too happy to oblige. For after Master Corann and Master Prombatz had imparted their last lesson to Happizano, Hozark knew he could not take the boy to other Ghalian training houses.
Yes, Hozark was one of the Five, and as such he could take Hap anywhere he wanted, but the boy was still being sought by the Council, and bringing him to any of the secret Ghalian facilities could potentially put the secret locations at risk and open them up to a conflict he greatly wished them to avoid.
And so they traveled, he and Demelza introducing Happizano to new sights and ways of thinking as they visited training house after training house. The boy was seemingly constantly practicing under the watchful tutelage of Master Hozark and the other instructors he met, with little time for rest or play. But he’d found something better than play.
To everyone’s surprise, Hap found that he actually truly enjoyed this sort of thing, as was clear in his progress. It showed in his improved attitude as well. They had all been grateful for that.
Life aboard the mothership could be trying at the best of times when the boy acted up. But they were now down two of the
ir number, and tensions were a little high.
Laskar had taken over piloting duties while Uzabud scoured the systems with his pirate friends in search of Henni. It was not status quo, aboard the vessel, but Bud had made it clear he would not be swayed.
She’d been kidnapped, snatched in battle, and right from under his nose. It was something Bud had taken personally, and very seriously. So seriously that he called in more than a few favors to set his tracking and rescue mission in motion, hitching a ride with Lalaynia aboard his former captain’s rather formidable pirate ship, leaving Laskar in charge of his own craft while he was gone.
He had set off hoping to find word of her sooner than later, but they all knew it would be a difficult task. Even Dohria, the greatest of Ghalian spies, had been unable to dig up so much as a whisper of the odd girl’s present location.
“There was talk of a strange jump,” she had relayed, surprising them all with an unannounced visit as the group discussed their next steps. “Not anything about their final destination, mind you, but it seems a very unusual sort of magic jumped Visla Maktan’s ship far from its intended destination.”
“We saw it jump,” Bud grumbled.
“Indeed,” Hozark agreed.
“Yes. But what you did not see was that it was none of the visla’s Drooks who had cast that spell. Apparently––and this is only rumor at this point––a young woman was dragged aboard as a captive. And it was in a fit of panic that her power flared, engulfing the entire craft and jumping it to parts unknown.”
Laskar’s eyes widened with surprise, but Bud just nodded grimly when he heard the news as he pondered his next moves.
“Hey, Laskar?” he finally said, turning to his copilot. “How do you feel about taking over the ship for a while?”
“Wait, what do you mean, take over the ship?”
“I mean, I’m going after her.”
“Well, I’m coming with, obviously.”
Bud shook his head. “No, you aren’t. I need you to stay with Hozark and Demelza. Fly them and the kid wherever it is they need to go. We’ve still got an obligation to help him find his father.”
“It can wait.”
“No, we can’t put Hozark in a bind like that. Regardless, this is something I just have to do. So, will you help them out? Get ’em where they need to go?”
“Thank you for your concern, my friend, but if Laskar truly wishes to accompany you, we shall find other means of transport,” Hozark said.
Laskar hesitated, unsure. It was a big deal being promoted to captain, albeit a temporary position, but he was clearly conflicted about leaving his friend to fend for himself. Of course, the man would be in the company of some of the most dangerous space pirates in forty systems, so that did weigh in his advantage.
“All right,” Laskar finally said. “I’ll do it. But where are we going to be going anyway? We don’t know where to even start looking for Hap’s father.”
“True,” Hozark replied. “But there have been more reports of instances involving weapons powered by Visla Jinnik’s magic, is that not correct, Dohria?”
“It is, Master Hozark,” the spy replied.
“So? It doesn’t mean we’ll find him.”
“But his trail is yet warm. We only just missed him on Gravalis. Had we arrived perhaps a half-day earlier, we would have had a better path laid out for us. Why, we might even have caught Visla Maktan in the act as he drained power from the poor visla.”
Laskar shrugged, unconvinced. “Sure, it sounds good. But they were long gone by the time we got there.”
“Yes, that is rather disconcerting.”
“How so?”
“It seemed obvious from the hasty departure that they somehow got wind of their impending visitors.”
“You mean there’s a mole in the network?” Laskar asked, shocked that it could even be a possibility in the tight-knit group.
“Highly unlikely,” the master assassin replied. “It could have been any of a number of things that prompted our prey into flight. In tenuous, covert situations such as theirs, it often does not take much to spook people into a hasty evacuation. Signs of which we clearly saw.”
“Yeah, but they also have the resources at hand to pack up an entire secret operation and skip out on a moment’s notice,” Bud pointed out. “That points to a very well-funded group.”
“That it does,” Hozark replied, then looked warmly at his friend. “Be safe, Uzabud. I would very much like it if you returned to us in one piece.”
With that, it was decided. Bud quickly packed his go bag full of weapons of particular violence, then took the fastest of the small craft mounted to his mothership’s hull and departed for his rendezvous with Lalaynia.
It was only at dinner that night, after his day’s training had ended, that Happizano noticed yet another member of their party was absent. He had been so intently focused on the foot-trapping and tripping techniques the grizzled old mercenary who ran this particular training house was showing him, he hadn’t even noticed the departure of Bud’s little ship.
“He just left?”
“Yes, young Jinnik. But do not concern yourself. Eat. You will need the energy for tomorrow’s lessons,” Hozark said.
“But he didn’t even say goodbye.”
“You were in the middle of some rather intense training,” Demelza pointed out. “He did not wish to disturb you. But do not worry, he will be with Lalaynia, and she will undoubtedly take very good care of him. Her people are looking high and low for Henni, and the Ghalian network is seeking her as well. I know it is not what you wish to hear, but at least know that all eyes are searching.”
Hap’s posture slumped slightly, but he shrugged it off and kept eating. Nothing, it seemed, could diminish his appetite for long.
“I just hope he gets back soon.”
“As do we all,” Hozark said, wondering how his friend would fare in his quest. “As do we all.”
Chapter Four
A wet thwack sounded out in the dim alleyway, a fine spray of blood Rorschaching onto the wall.
“I think he may have broken something that time,” Saramin said.
“Perhaps,” Lalaynia agreed as they stood guard while Bud had “words” with a Tslavar mercenary wearing the attire of the Council’s unmarked goon squad.
Stripped of his konus, his hands bound to the wall behind him by strong magic, the Tslavar was helpless against Bud’s pummeling. But the green-skinned man was keeping his mouth shut. It was admirable, in a way. Most mercenaries were terrible at keeping secrets. This one, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff than his comrades. Or he just knew he would face worse if he spilled the beans.
“I’m gonna ask you again,” Bud growled as he paced back and forth in front of the man.
“And I’m gonna tell you the same thing,” the captive shot back. “I don’t know nothing about any starry-eyed girl.”
Thwack.
The Tslavar’s head rebounded against the wall behind him.
“Ooh, a double-negative,” Lalaynia noted with a quiet chuckle.
“Yeah. And he definitely broke something that time,” Saramin said.
The wiry boy was only a teenager, but he had matured a great deal since he and Bud had flown together, his thin body filling out with hard-earned muscle after years of back-breaking work. And under Lalaynia’s tutelage, he had developed into quite a fine pirate, far more than just a cog in the machine. In fact, at the rate he was going, Bud could easily see him commanding his own ship one day.
Also counting in the boy’s favor was his utter calm in the face of violence. Bud was doing what needed to be done, and that was all there was to it. Sure, he noted the damage being inflicted upon the Tslavar mercenary, but it was more academic than any true concern.
The Tslavar winced a bit at Bud’s next blow, the impact on what was clearly a fractured cheek finally making a dent in his stoicism.
“You ready to talk now? Because I can do this all day.”
&nb
sp; “I’m telling you, I don’t know about this violet-haired bitch you keep asking about.”
Thunk.
Bud’s fist sank deep into the man’s stomach. Had he not already vomited up the remains of his last meal in the earlier stages of Bud’s interrogation, he certainly would have now. But all the mercenary could do was retch and gag as he tried to regain his breath.
“Uzabud, a word, please,” Lalaynia said quietly.
Bud stepped back from the trapped man and wiped the blood from his knuckles on a rag. “Keep an eye on him, Saramin,” he said, then walked to where Lalaynia was waiting. “Yeah?”
“I know you’ve got a vested interest in this, Bud, but it really looks like this guy doesn’t have anything to give us.”
“He’s one of them, Laynia. He’s wearing their kit.”
“Sure, Bud, but it’s a big galaxy, and not every hired merc is going to be privy to the internal goings-on of the Council, let alone the details of highly confidential kidnappings.”
“But––”
“Look, I like Henni. The girl has some fire in her, no doubt, along with a healthy dose of crazy, which, I must admit, I find rather endearing.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Bud joked.
“Why, whatever are you trying to say, Bud?” she replied with a sly grin.
Bud ignored her wisecrack. “Anyway, Laynia, the word in the network is something unusual happened out in the black nearest this system. Something that left a magical residue an awful lot like a Zomoki jump might. One of particularly sizable magnitude.”
“I know, Bud. I’m the one who found you that intel, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. And I appreciate it. And you know as well as I do that this is our best lead so far.”
“Sure it is. But just because they possibly jumped into the area near this system does not mean they came into it. For all we know, they could have just fired up their Drookonus and moved on to another place, without anyone here being the wiser.”