by Scott Baron
The assassin scanned the guards not engaged in the fighting, hoping to see Demelza’s familiar shape. She would not have used too much magic in her disguise lest the feel of it put the vislas on guard. But a modest amount would allow her to assume the look of a Tslavar guard, permitting her to edge closer without being seen.
Of course, Samara would also notice any substantial disguise magic. She was a Ghalian, after all, and would be particularly sensitive to that sort of thing, even while engaged in heated combat.
Hozark watched her mowing down her attackers. It was a mixed feeling observing her fight. On the one hand, she was slaying his backup, pirates and mercenaries falling to her blade. On the other, a small feeling of pride welled up within him watching her move with such expert precision. She was good. Damn good.
More importantly, she was preoccupied. This was as good a chance as he would have to move against Visla Maktan. His guard was down against attacks from all directions but one, but there were too many people around him to cast a killing spell from any distance. Likewise, a thrown blade could too easily be intercepted by an unintentional target stepping in the way.
Hozark would have to do this up close and personal.
A bit of commotion caught Samara’s attention, and thus Hozark’s as well. It seemed a violet-haired dervish had entered the fray and was eagerly stabbing anything in her path. Hozark was pleased to note Bud close at her side, powered up with both konus and blades.
The two were working in tandem, laying waste to those in their path. And Henni seemed to be defending herself with some pretty decently cast spells as well. Apparently, Jinnik’s lessons had made a difference. One that she and Bud could now enjoy the fruits of.
Across the way, just outside the door, a familiar fighting style caught Hozark’s eye. Sword and dagger used in tandem, not fighting the opponent, but rather the opponent’s blades. Demelza had made it to within striking distance of the visla as well, but had become embroiled in the fight with Samara’s men. And by the look of it, her hands were quite full.
It seemed that the task of finishing Maktan rested entirely on Hozark’s shoulders. And he was ready.
Hozark watched as another wave of guards rushed out from behind Maktan and Egrit’s shield spells and into the fray. Their entrance into the battle, combined with the Council casters already engaged, brought the balance of power on the field squarely in the defenders’ favor.
But pirates were not ones to quit, and the mercenary forces had not only been well paid, but they had also been offered a hefty share of whatever pillage might remain should they be victorious. It was quite an incentive, and they fought with the strength of several times their number for it.
Hozark joined the line of guards edging toward the shield perimeter, slowly marching forward to do battle. It was a fairly sound tactic, feeding them out from within the estate’s walls in a stream with protection rather than multiple unguarded exit points. It allowed them to avoid the enemy’s longer distance spells and also quickly rush them once clear of their protections, moving in too close for magic to be used.
Hozark drew closer to the visla, and as he did, he felt a tickle brush against his disguise magic. Nothing major, but it was there. Quickly, he released most of his disguise spell, letting it dissipate smoothly to avoid further detection. In the rush toward the fight, he just hoped those all around him wouldn’t notice the man beside them slowly shifting into a pale-skinned assassin.
He realized that with the proximity of the two vislas, it would be near impossible to strike Maktan down and avoid the wrath of Egrit. But his order had been attacked by Maktan, his people tortured and experimented on. This contract had to be completed, and if he fell in the process, so be it.
But an inspiration hit him as he drew his non-magical dagger from its sheath. Perhaps there was a way to survive. Or, at least, he hoped so. It was risky as hell, and he would likely be gravely injured in the process, but he might just survive.
He was about to pass the visla, not quite within striking distance, but so very close. It was now or never.
Hozark let his fangs slide into place. If he could drain even a portion of the visla’s magic, he would be able to heal the injuries he was about to receive. If not, his internal store of magic could rapidly be drained to empty.
“Another ship is descending!” he shouted, pointing to the sky.
All eyes shifted upward, even those of the vislas, as all scanned for the new threat. Hozark had but a fraction of a second to act, and he did.
With two powerful strides, he doubled back and dove at Maktan, casting a disabling spell as he did. The visla sensed the magical attack and extended his defensive magic accordingly. Hozark’s spell shattered at once, leaving the visla safe from the pathetic attempt.
But what he hadn’t noticed was the utterly unmagical blade driving toward him. A moment later he did, though. When it plunged into his chest.
“Assassin!” someone shouted, dozens of hands pulling at Hozark, keeping his fangs from finding the dying visla’s neck.
Visla Egrit turned, and for just an instant, caught sight of the fanged killer so close by. Then he realized what had happened as Visla Maktan fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He blanched at the sight. It was so unlikely, so utterly impossible that any could lay hands on either of them. Not like this. But it was clear the pale man had done just that.
Hozark’s blade had struck true, piercing the man’s heart, and no healing spell would be able to fix that hurt. His deadly efficiency also meant that with the people striking him, pulling him back, Hozark would not be able to reach the visla’s neck to take his power before the man’s life was fully extinguished.
So, rather than fight futilely against the pull in a hopeless attempt at power that would be gone by the time he got there, Hozark instead pushed off and back into the crowd, surprising the troops and knocking many over in the process.
He quickly slapped on the most basic of camouflage spells, darkening his skin so as to not stand out quite so much. Even a second of confusion could give him the time he needed to escape. Egrit would detect him soon enough, but if there were enough of his own men around him, there was the possibility he would not cast and kill them all along with the assassin.
It was a risky move, but it was all Hozark had.
Demelza saw what had happened and immediately dropped her disguise, casting a killing spell directly at Visla Egrit. The unexpectedly deadly spell shattering on the visla’s defenses had precisely the distracting effect she had hoped for.
“Ghalian!” the visla exclaimed. “Two Ghalian assassins!”
Apparently, Egrit was not nearly so confident as he’d seemed when working with another more powerful visla. Now that Maktan had actually been slain, he realized that he was very much in jeopardy. They always worked alone, everyone knew that, but he felt his adrenaline surge. His eyes flitted about, worried there could be more Ghalian at any turn.
Egrit scanned the battle and saw another pale shape, swinging a glowing blue blade, no less. A vespus blade. A weapon of the Ghalian. That meant there were three of them here. A decision was quickly made, and it was for self-preservation. Egrit immediately wrapped a protective bubble around himself and retreated into the building.
“Bring the body!” he shouted to his men.
Those nearest Maktan’s corpse tried to grab the deceased visla, but they were stymied by a barrage of magic. The few who remained unscathed hurried after their master. Visla Egrit had seen it. They all had. Visla Maktan killed by a Ghalian. It would set the Council on the highest of alerts.
While those of Egrit’s forces close to the visla began to retreat, Maktan’s troops seemed to be enraged, fighting even harder after what had just happened. And the remains of Egrit’s joined the surge.
The fighting grew more intense, and bodies from all sides began to pile up. Hozark felt the injuries adding up, but he was still able to mend most of them, though at the cost of his internal power. How much longer
he could keep it up, however, was anyone’s guess.
Chapter Sixty
Demelza, her disguise shed, found her hands full, fighting attackers from both of the vislas’ forces as well as Samara’s. But this was what she had trained so diligently for. To mete out death.
She moved through her opponents in a blur, a dervish of gleaming metal, her blades ringing out as they clashed with the swarming attackers.
Bud and Henni were also powering through the foot soldiers, but having a bit more trouble with the sheer numbers of them, despite the help from their pirate comrades. It was the Council power users creating problems. They were holding back a bit at a distance, providing cover for their forces while picking off those who happened to be in the clear of their own people.
Maktan was dead, and Visla Egrit was already in retreat. But fleeing to regroup was not an option. Samara’s forces were in the thick of the fighting, and none could avoid their attacks. It seemed that the insignia-lacking attackers confused the Council guards, even more so when they engaged them as well as the pirates and mercenaries.
The fighting grew in intensity, and Hozark was beating back wave after wave of attackers, his own internal magic nearly spent. He hadn’t been able to drink from Visla Maktan, and that power was gone forever. But the Council casters who remained behind would do quite nicely, if he could just get to them. And it was looking like that would be very, very difficult.
Hozark felt the tiny vial tucked away in its protected pocket. Given his injuries, it was looking like the weapon of last resort might just have to be used after all, he mused as he watched the slender woman with her own vespus blade approach.
Samara slashed her way over to her former lover, leaving a trail of the dead or dying in her wake, her glowing blue blade dripping with the blood of her enemies. She paused, the two of them enjoying a brief lull in the fighting immediately around them.
“Hozark.”
“Samara.”
Niceties completed, the two assassins launched into combat, their swords clashing in sparks of bright magic as the two killers put on a display of magnificent swordsmanship.
Hozark was slowed a bit by his injuries, but the adrenaline surge of facing Samara more than made up for it. For the time being at least. But he knew his strength would only hold out for so long.
Bud and Henni both stole glances at the pair. Watching Hozark move with the speed and grace they’d rarely seen him unleash was awe-inspiring. But against a fellow Ghalian with no holds barred, he had let it all out. But so had Samara.
Round and round the two went, slashing and slicing, dropping any who happened to get too close as they battled to the death. It should have been an epic duel, but the grim reality of fighting on a crowded battlefield put the kibosh on their combat, just as Hozark felt his strength begin to flag.
Respite came in the form of a wave of fighting, a surging mass of men and women from all of the varied factions, a chaotic mix that washed right into them, separating the two Ghalian, forcing them to fight not each other, but the dozens of others who now wanted a piece of them.
Hozark and Samara shared a glance. A look of almost amusement that their final battle had been interrupted in this way. No matter how hard they tried to kill one another, history was thicker than blood, and that was something they had a lot of.
“Hozark! Over there!” Bud called out, gesturing to a pair of Visla Egrit’s casters who had been separated from the other magic users in their group. They were holding their own quite well, but without the support of the others, they were just what Hozark needed. Namely, fresh magical blood to replenish his internal power and heal his injuries.
Hozark shifted his attentions, pushing through the sea of fighters toward the two casters. They didn’t see him coming, or, they didn’t realize he was a direct threat as they were busy stopping all comers foolish enough to attack them head-on.
Samara saw what he was doing but knew she couldn’t reach him in time. And if he topped off on power, it would be she at the disadvantage when their blades next clashed.
Bud and Henni watched Lalaynia and her pirates adjust their ranks, communicating with Andorus and his mercenary troops so as to rearrange their forces in a more effective manner.
“Look out!” Bud shouted, throwing his dagger over Henni’s head.
The Council goon dropped in a gurgling heap at the young woman’s feet. She nodded her thanks, but her gaze suddenly shifted, her face one of surprise. Bud turned to see what had caught her eye.
Laskar was there, walking through the battlefield right toward them. How he had managed to land the ship with all the fighting going on was anyone’s guess. Bud sincerely hoped his copilot hadn’t crashed the damn thing.
“Laskar! What the hell are you doing here?” Bud called out, but it seemed his friend couldn’t hear him over the din of fighting. That, and he seemed focused on something else.
Bud shifted his gaze to follow Laskar’s. It seemed Hozark had closed the gap on the two Council casters and was only steps away from taking them down. Bud felt a tiny wave of relief at the realization. Hozark at full power would be a very good thing for their side.
Hozark cast a pair of rapid stun spells, using the final dregs of his power and draining his konuses as well. It was his all-or-nothing last-chance attempt, and his magic flew true.
The two casters stumbled as those around them fell to the ground. He would cross the gap in mere moments and drink deep. His power would be restored. Then the fight would get interesting.
“Azkokta!” Laskar barked, sending his spell barreling across the battlefield.
The two casters crumpled in a heap, quite dead.
Hozark felt the raw power of the spell and turned to see where this new threat came from. Bud stared, wide-eyed, at what he’d just seen. Laskar? Casting a killing spell? It made no sense.
“Laskar, what the hell? How did you do that?” Bud asked.
His copilot ignored him and kept walking, the combatants on the field all giving this new, and clearly very powerful, man a wide berth. Samara alone stood in his path.
“You are Laskar?” she asked. “Uzabud’s copilot? The one who has flown all this time with Hozark?”
The man smiled. It was not in any way a warm expression.
“Step aside, Samara.”
She hesitated a moment, a sad look in her eye as she glanced at Hozark, realizing just how badly he and his friends had been played. Then she did as she was told, falling in beside the surprising new player to enter the deadly game.
“What’s going on?” Bud demanded, the fighting only now beginning to slightly ramp back up, although well clear of the man and his Wampeh companion.
Laskar turned and uttered a spell, blasting a wave of stun magic at his captain. Bud drained his konus to its capacity defending himself, but without Henni’s assistance, he’d have fallen. The spell dissipated, though, and he still stood.
“What the hell, Laskar?”
His copilot laughed. “Oh, you can stop calling me that now. The name isn’t actually Laskar.” He turned toward Hozark, wanting to see the look on the man’s face. “My name is Tozorro. Tozorro Maktan, but you may call me visla.”
It was impossible, but Bud realized it had to be true. There had always been a little something off about his copilot, but he could never quite put his finger on it. Now it all made sense. The man he had known as Laskar had been playing the long con.
“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!” Bud growled.
“Oh, really, Bud. Don’t blame yourself. I’ve worked long and hard to make my plan come to fruition. And now it finally has.”
“I don’t get it.”
Hozark did. It was abundantly clear. “Familial ascendancy,” he informed his friend. “This has all been no more than a Council power grab.”
Tozorro Maktan laughed brightly. “Well, you certainly catch on fast, although a bit late.”
Hozark felt a rage rising within him, but without power to latch on
to, he was horribly outclassed. There was simply nothing he could do to the man he’d known as Laskar. Not now that he could sense his long-hidden power. And not with Samara at his side.
“He needed his father slain by someone else,” Hozark explained. “Seen by all so he would be free of suspicion.”
“Precisely. And now I can take my father’s seat on the Council with none the wiser. And with that power in my hands, I will show them what a true Maktan can do.”
“But they heard you admit it,” Bud said triumphantly.
“Afraid not,” Maktan said, gesturing around them. “Muting spell. One of your friend here’s favorite tricks, in fact. This has been just between us old friends.”
“Why couldn’t I sense him?” Henni asked, still stunned.
“Oh, sweet, ignorant child. Because I knew of your talent and blocked it every damn moment we were together, which is quite annoying, I’ll have you know. But since you all saw fit to deliver those Ootaki to Visla Sunar when you believed you were rescuing me, I’ll let it slide.”
Bud’s face grew red. “You weren’t a captive at all, were you?”
“Nope. The visla is a good friend of mine. And, in fact, Sunar was acquiring Ootaki for me. Quite the irony, wouldn’t you agree? My plan was sheer elegance in its simplicity.”
All around them the fighting had begun raging once more, and was spilling into the little bubble of calm that Maktan’s show of force had provided. It finally burst through around Bud and Henni first, forcing them to shift their attention back to the other dangers on the battlefield.
Maktan took the opportunity to cast a little stun spell. Nothing huge, just enough to cause Bud to falter. It was all it took. Blades found their way home, several piercing his body as he struggled against the magic.