Space Assassins: The Complete Series 1-5, page 12
But for the distracted Ootaki girl, they had proven more than enough and served their purpose well in the dim light. Certainly, any with a fair degree of training would have spotted them, but a scared Ootaki girl with no off-world experience didn’t stand a chance.
“Skree back to Captain Moratz we’ve got another one,” a Tslavar said as he loomed over the fallen girl.
“She’s young. And her hair is long. We’ll get a nice bonus for this one,” his associate said.
“Yeah, and it’s about time,” his friend replied. “Work’s been picking up lately, and I gotta say, I’m getting a bit antsy for some shore leave.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I’m looking forward to a stiff drink and a warm woman, once we get paid.”
“You said it,” the other Tslavar said as he threw the young woman over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get this one back. We might get lucky and find a few more if we hurry.”
The two carried her back to the hastily constructed pen the other captured Ootaki had been corralled into and unfastened the gate. A golden control collar was slapped around her neck, magically sealing into an unbroken band, keeping her under the control of her owner. She was no longer free. She was now someone’s property.
Just like all of the other slaves in the galaxy.
Chapter Two
Death came in many shapes and sizes, and while it was sometimes delayed, eventually, it would visit all. The specifics, however, were a crapshoot for the most part.
Time, place, method. Some people simply met the shadowy specter of their demise sooner than others, and they never knew who, or what, would herald its arrival.
Some deaths came via bearers that were long in tooth and claw, stalking their prey with bloody focus and intent. Other bringers of death walked on two legs, or ambulated on rippling tentacles or cushions of magic, and wielded all manner of weapons, conventional and magical alike.
In their grasp one would find swords and knives, blades both enchanted and not, and each non-magical variety was well capable of ending life in its own manner with brutal efficiency.
And then there were the magical devices. Items that did not look like violent implements at all. And some were not. At least, not in their original design.
The magic-storing konuses, their metal bands resting around the wearer’s wrist, holding often vast stores of magic for later use. Whether the smallest of service units used to power the casting of day-to-day housework spells, or the heftiest of battle konus, they were alike in that they were tools used by nearly everyone, as only a tiny portion of the galaxy’s inhabitants possessed actual power of their own.
In addition to konuses, there were slaaps, the heftier versions more military in design, and not often used for anything but fighting. However, those devices were extremely dangerous and required far more training to handle, the absence of which could result in a tragic end to an unskilled wielder as well as those around them.
Other, far rarer magic storage and concentration items existed, but for the most part, those were the two most often encountered in daily life. But on this evening, in this dimly lit maze of alleyways and corridors, despite the danger in the air, only limited magic seemed to be in play.
A well-muscled woman, fairly tall, but by no means what one would call lithe or statuesque, moved from shadow to shadow with a smooth grace that belied her stockier build.
She possessed great physical strength, that much was clear, despite the layer of womanly padding that provided her the curves she had often used to her advantage to distract a target. Just before ending their lives.
Her name was Demelza, and she was a Wampeh Ghalian. An assassin of the highest order. And this particular pale woman was on the hunt.
Demelza’s long, dark hair was woven into a snug braid that barely moved behind her as she stalked. It served two purposes; not only keeping her locks out of the way in case of battle, which was pretty much a given on this evening, but the braid also possessed multiple weapons hidden in the tight bindings.
There were numerous guards and sentries stationed in the area, nearly all in varying degrees of concealment. Any lesser killer wouldn’t have stood a chance, but she wasn’t just any killer.
Demelza slid into place behind a young man who believed himself shielded from view without so much as a whisper of a sound. Even her clothing was utterly silent, laced with a handful of muffling spells––one of her strong suits––that kept her movements unnoted by all.
Her arms wrapped around the youth’s neck fast. So fast he didn’t have the chance to sound an alarm before the blocked blood flow to his brain rendered him unconscious. Demelza carefully bound him, applied a magical gag spell, then hid the body before continuing toward her ultimate target.
Two more guards fell in quick succession. One in much the same manner as the first, but the second possessed a fair amount of skill, managing to evade the initial choke and sound the alarm. Unfortunately for him, his attacker had been prepared for that, and the air around them absorbed his shouts, dissolving them to less than whispers in the wind.
He resorted to martial engagement immediately, drawing his knife from his belt and settling into a fighting stance. Demelza was on a ticking clock, however, and simply didn’t have the time for a knife fight. So she did the last thing he expected. She lunged right at him.
The knife brushed her side as she pivoted away, bringing her elbow crashing across her opponent’s face, right into the corner of his jaw, striking it just so. The way she’d been practicing for what seemed like her whole life, making it second nature. The guard fell in a heap and was quickly trussed up and hidden with the others.
On she progressed, unseen, unheard, taking down guard after guard. Even the most camouflaged of them were no match for the deadly assassin. Ten had fallen to her skills by the time she reached the outer door to the building the target was hidden within.
She approached cautiously, senses on high. This was too easy. Sure, there had been guards in some numbers, but it still didn’t feel quite right.
She was just deciding whether or not this was a trap when the answer was provided to her in the shape of the foot that crashed into her chest, blindsiding her and sending her flying backward.
Demelza dug her feet into the ground and pulled a bit of the stolen magic flowing in her body, bringing her feet to an abrupt stop. She then leapt into action, not allowing her attacker another moment to formulate a next step.
The two fought fast. So fast it was almost impossible for the naked eye to register the strikes and counterstrikes being exchanged. Demelza was amazing, skilled, and driven. Unfortunately, the man she was fighting was, almost impossibly, simply better. And much better, at that.
A trio of combinations stunned her, knocking her back on her heels as the man shifted his angle of attack to her weak side just as she launched another counter. It caught her off guard for only a moment, but that was enough.
He swept her feet, a move that would normally take an opponent to the ground in short order. But this assassin was fast and nimble and twisted aside, somehow staying upright. But that was what he had been expecting, and the stronger man was already in place, locking her arms up while gently resting his blade against her throat.
“Damn. Well done. I yield,” she grumbled.
Hozark smiled and released his grip, the knife in his hand vanishing back to its hidden sheath.
The lighting around them brightened, and all of her now freed victims moved in closer, as did the other students who had been watching from the wings. This wasn’t a true assassination attempt, but a very, very realistic training exercise, put on for the benefit of the young would-be assassins in the Wampeh Ghalian training house.
Hozark, the man who had triumphed against her, was one of the handful of masters of the order, the other four spread out across the systems visiting the other Ghalian training facilities between contracts, as was their way. He was more than just another assassin. He was one of the Five. The best of the best.
“A most impressive showing,” the master assassin said. “Ten students incapacitated, and all without raising the slightest alarm.”
“Thank you, Master Hozark,” she replied. “But, ultimately, it was not enough.”
“Perhaps not, but failure is a valuable lesson as well. Even for the best of us,” he said, turning and surveying the attentive students’ faces. “In fact, topped up on power as she is, had magic been allowed in this contest, she very well might have bested me in a purely magical contest.”
A murmur would have quietly flowed through any other body of students had a teacher admitted as much. But these were older trainees, and the silent, attentive ways of the Ghalian were as ingrained and natural as breathing by now.
Demelza, however, and quite in spite of her training, felt the beginnings of a blush rising to her cheeks. Redirecting her attentions, she forced it down, her face remaining as pale and emotionless as a statue. But inside, the blush had spread into a broad smile.
For Master Hozark to simply say such a thing was enough. He was not one for overt shows of flattery, nor did he lie to his wards. But for him to admit this in front of the students? Demelza’s ranking had just taken a serious bump upward in the eyes of all within the training house.
And Demelza was topped up with magic. A lot of it, in fact. She had been born without any significant power of her own, as was normal for the vast majority of those in the galaxy. But she had also been one of the fraction of a fraction of a percent of Wampeh born with a different gift. The rarest of abilities that only the tiniest amount of her race possessed.
A grain of sand on a beach. That was how rare it was. And yet, it was an ability all aspirants to the Wampeh Ghalian order possessed. One that made them feared even more than the deadly skills they spent their lives perfecting.
It was their ability to take another’s power.
And they did so by drinking their blood.
Chapter Three
Only a few weeks prior to their demonstration at the assassin training house, Demelza had been working in the service of a violet-skinned, elderly man residing on the deadly, gaseous planet of Xymotz. It wasn’t a permanent gig, but in between contracts, she was assisting him in any way he asked.
Master Orkut was his name, and he was one of the last surviving swordsmiths possessing both the magic and the arcane knowledge needed to craft the rarest of Ghalian weapons. The vespus blade.
It was a sword made of a magically enhanced blue metal. A weapon capable of causing great damage regardless of who swung it. But in Ghalian hands, it was far more, its magic allowing the sword to absorb and redeploy the power a Ghalian assassin had stolen. Few enchanted blades could match its power, and Hozark had visited the old man seeking such a weapon.
Given whom he was about to be facing at the time, he knew full well he would need it.
It was there, while seeking Orkut’s services, that he had met Demelza and joined forces. Not met, technically, since he’d known who she was from her time as an aspiring trainee not too many years before. Partnered would be a better choice of words. And an odd one, for Wampeh Ghalian almost always worked alone. But, then, he wasn’t the one who had decided on their unusual pairing.
Orkut had.
Demelza was working in the swordsmith’s service in order to earn favor enough for the man to craft her a weapon. Nothing so elegant as Hozark’s vespus blade, but a fine weapon worthy of a Wampeh Ghalian just the same. One day, perhaps, she would be worthy of a vespus blade. But for now, she would gladly take what he might offer her.
Hozark, however, was one of the Five, and he had visited the man in search of the finest sword the master artisan could craft. And, after passing Orkut’s many tests, the man had agreed. But at a price.
His requested payment, however, would not be in simple coin. This particular weapon would be used against one of the Council of Twenty’s key players, and that same group of power-hungry vislas and their hangers on were threatening more than just some random systems this time. Their activities had put Orkut’s homeworld at risk.
“The Council has always been a thorn in the side of free men,” the swordsmith had said, and it was true. The Council was one of the main forces behind the magic-user slave trade. “But these times are becoming even more dangerous. Greed and lust for power is threatening all but the most stable of systems. This chaos they are causing is even threatening my own home and those I hold dear.”
It seemed Orkut had a family far away, including a son who shared his father’s swordmaking gift. The youth could craft weapons to nearly his father’s level of skill, but all the man wanted was for his children to be able to live a normal, safe life, hopefully never being called upon in service of the Wampeh Ghalian, or any others, for that matter.
But war and conquest were in the air, and the Council of Twenty was engaging in far more than their usual quest for power and control in the known and newly discovered systems. They were threatening the order of things, including Orkut’s home planet. It was for that reason he made Hozark a deal.
Fight the Council and kill his target. Stymie them and their plans. And in exchange, he would receive the finest vespus blade ever crafted by his hands. A weapon that would feel as natural in his hand that it would seem as though it had always been a part of his body.
Hozark had accepted and returned to his ship to await delivery of the blade. Three days later, it arrived, delivered by Demelza at Orkut’s request. And it was everything he had ever hoped for and more.
It was at that moment that Hozark learned the other component to the swordsmith’s price, and it was an unusual one. He was to bring Demelza on this contract and utilize her skills to ensure success.
It wasn’t insulting, exactly, but the Wampeh Ghalian always worked alone, especially one of the Five. It was simply their way for as long as any could remember. But on that particular occasion, an unlikely partnership had been formed, the two thrown together at the insistence of Master Orkut.
As it turned out, it was a good thing, for while Hozark was battling their target’s bodyguard and right-hand killer, Demelza had snuck up on the man and completed their task, sinking her fangs into his neck, draining the man of his life and his power.
Visla Horvath had been a moderately powerful visla, and that magic now belonged to Demelza until such time as she utilized it. Unfortunately, once it was gone, it was gone. A Wampeh Ghalian could only take the power that was present. The ability to create power from within died with their victims.
And while the assassins only drank from power users, the general public didn’t know that, and the sight of a Wampeh’s deadly fangs sliding into place was enough to loosen the bowels of even the hardiest of men.
But Visla Horvath hadn’t had that opportunity, nor the chance to deploy any of his powerful spells. He had been too engrossed watching Hozark battle his bodyguard, their vespus blades clashing with bright, magical sparks, for his right-hand man was a woman. And she was a Wampeh Ghalian.
Samara was her name. A deadly assassin possessing one of the few vespus blades still known to exist. But the Wampeh Ghalian did not work for the Council, nor did they take this sort of employment.
Samara was different, however. She was dead.
Or so they had all believed when she had been lost on a job a decade prior. Finding her alive had been a shock to the order, but to none so much as Hozark, for not only had they grown up together, working their way to full-fledged Ghalian assassins side by side, but there had been more. While bonding was simply not something the Ghalian did, the two had been lovers from time to time, and they were as close as two could be without crossing that invisible line.
But she had perished.
Again.
Killed in the aftermath and chaos following their hit on Visla Horvath. She had fled, and her ship had been destroyed in the process, her remains scattered to the stars. Yes, Samara was dead again. Everyone had seen it.
But Hozark still harbored doubts.
Chapter Four
“Your form is impressive,” Hozark said to the younger woman as they walked from the training site hidden within the facility’s grounds. “And I mean what I said. Had you utilized the magic currently residing within you, I might very well have been unable to best you.”
“Because the rules of this exercise precluded lethal force,” Demelza noted.
“Well, yes, there is that,” he admitted. “But regardless, it was a good showing. It was only your counter-counter that I felt could use a bit of refining.”
“Oh? I appreciate any knowledge you are willing to impart to help me improve my combat skills. One never ceases learning, even after becoming a full Ghalian.”
“I could not have said it better myself,” Hozark replied with a little grin. “Come, this practice space is unutilized at this time of day,” he said, stepping into a nearby chamber.
Demelza followed, ready for a sneak attack to test her skills, as her teachers had so often done under the guise of a simple, innocent bit of practice. But Hozark had no need for such games with her.
She had more than proven herself in combat. This was merely helping her achieve an even higher level of proficiency. And as Orkut had more or less saddled him with her as a partner, he thought it wise to help make her the deadliest woman possible, given their resources.
“Stand here,” the master commanded.
Demelza complied, standing before him where he had indicated.
“Turn. Face as you were when I first engaged you during the exercise.”
She did as he asked, waiting for his arms to slide into place. But this time, he did so slowly, so she could better feel the angle of attack, as well as her best means of evasion.
