The Vespus Blade Read online

  The man strode into the general admission area and took a seat with a fair view of the field of battle below. Demelza and Laskar did likewise, seating themselves several rows behind him so as to avoid the possibility of his unintentionally noticing them. He’d have had to spin entirely around to see them. Not likely. And that was precisely what she wanted.

  Laskar leaned in and spoke in a quiet tone. “What do we do now?”

  “We watch the bout, of course,” she replied. “There is no more we can accomplish here. It is far too public a place, and entirely non-conducive to discourse, let alone intensive questioning.”

  “So, we really get to just sit here and enjoy the show?”

  “Yes, Laskar. So long as he stays, we stay.”

  A huge grin spread across his face. “Fortune is smiling on us today.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Down below, the dirt arena had been cleaned of blood from the prior bout, and a new group of gladiators were ushered out. Novices, this lot, and all of them using underpowered konuses in addition to their conventional weapons.

  The match began without fanfare while patrons were still milling about. It was unimpressive, to put it nicely.

  Watching the novices was light fare that only the diehard fans paid much attention to. But for the combatants, it was an opportunity to hone their skills, and without the certainty of death. That would come later, as they became much more proficient in the combat arts. Then death was more likely, but still rather uncommon.

  In fact, most gladiatorial engagements were fought until there was a victor, but given the time and coin required to train up a gladiator from a novice, rarely were the bouts to the death. And with these green combatants, there was simply no excitement to be had in the killing of a lesser opponent.

  That said, if they did become too injured in their contest, the cost benefit analysis would be performed, and if it was too expensive to heal their wounds, they were fed to the Zomoki more often than not.

  That was something that always amused the audience to no end.

  The combat ceased nearly ten minutes later with a few of the gladiator slaves victorious, the others injured but not terribly.

  “That was pretty pathetic,” Laskar grumbled.

  “We all start from somewhere,” Demelza noted. “Even the greatest warrior was once a novice.”

  “Well, yeah. But it’s boring to watch, is all I’m saying. And it took forever.”

  Demelza agreed with him on the inside, but she didn’t say as much. When Wampeh Ghalian fought, contests were decided in seconds, not minutes. In fact, if she had gone against all of the young fighters they had just observed, she would have achieved victory in the time it took to pick up a dropped blade.

  “Give it a few more contests,” she said. “I believe the later ones will be much more to your liking.”

  Indeed, after one more novice contest, a battle between three small teams consisting of three gladiators each began. This time, there was much more efficient use of magic, and the fighters were doing some impressive maneuvering to protect their strongest caster while fending off attacks of both magical and physical nature.

  Unlike a simple two-sided contest, having three teams, each striving for victory, meant paying attention to more than just one opponent. If a gladiator got over-enthused in his pursuit of an opposing team member, he would very likely be separated from his group and taken out.

  Just as Demelza was about to comment to that effect, a man from the yellow team found his insides suddenly on his outside. The combination blow of blade and spell had opened him like a piñata, only, rather than candy, it was entrails that fell to the soil.

  “Yes!” Laskar shouted, clearly enjoying this much-improved level of combat.

  “Not too enthusiastic,” Demelza reminded him.

  “Right. Sorry. But did you see that?”

  “It was rather hard to miss.”

  “So cool,” he said with a huge grin.

  Apparently, his bloodlust was greater than she’d assessed. That, or being among the throngs of enthused spectators was amping him up. He wouldn’t be the first to fall victim to such a crowd mentality.

  Demelza nudged her partner. The target was heading inside while the arena was cleaned for the final bout.

  “He’s on the move. I need you to keep an eye on him.”

  “Aren’t you already doing that?”

  “There are places I cannot follow him,” she replied.

  “What do you... Oh,” Laskar said. “Got it.”

  “Yes. Just ensure he does not depart the arena. I will be nearby at the refreshment stand.”

  “Got it. See ya in a minute.”

  The two of them blended in with the flow of spectators heading to either relieve themselves or acquire more snacks for the upcoming finale. Demelza lingered at the vendor’s stall a long while before purchasing a small bag of roasted kernels of a local plant. The aroma was actually rather pleasing, and the flavor not bad.

  A few minutes later, Laskar came hurrying back to join her. He eyed the bag she was holding.

  “Did you wash your hands?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Your hands. Did you wash them.”

  “Of course I did,” he replied.

  Only then did she tilt the bag and allow him to grab a handful of the toasty snack.

  “Come, we should return to our seats,” she said, nodding toward their man heading back into the arena.

  They had just settled back into their seats when Laskar noticed a trio of vislas casting a protective spell around the combat zone of the arena. For not one but three vislas to be placing the spell, something good must have been coming up.

  “Why so much effort on that spell?” he asked.

  Demelza smiled. “You shall see.”

  She was certain Laskar was going to love the final contest.

  A loud horn sounded, and heavy gates at either end of the arena floor slid open. What came forth was enough to draw a huge cheer from all in attendance. Not one, but two Zomoki came out from opposite ends. And with them were a half dozen men per side.

  “What are they doing?” Laskar asked.

  “A team event.”

  “But why aren’t the Zomoki just eating everyone?”

  “Do you see their control collars?” she asked, noting the thick golden bands around the animals’ necks. “There are limiters placed on them. Spells to keep them from attacking their own team’s colors.”

  Laskar leaned forward in his seat, studying the crackling power visible from the collars every time one of the beasts thought to try to devour one of the men alongside it.

  Now the containment spells made perfect sense. These were pretty big Zomoki, and if they could manage to get outside of the containment spell and overcome their collars, they could possibly manage to harness their magic and jump away somewhere the collar’s control could not reach.

  Or they might try to eat the audience.

  It was really anyone’s guess.

  The fight began without warning, just a quick smattering of deadly magic cast as the two teams jockeyed for position, attempting to take down their opponents while also avoiding the beast partnered with the other team.

  It made for a fluid battleground. The gladiators all knew their offensive and defensive spells and were casting them expertly, but the Zomoki threw an unknown factor into the mix.

  Any misstep could lead to incineration and death. And that was if you were lucky. Worse still would be finding oneself eaten yet still alive, slowly digesting in the beast’s belly.

  The gladiators fought with great skill, but soon enough the first fell, his head separated from his neck by a swirling counterattack that caught him off guard. Laskar’s bloodlust seemed to be back, Demelza noted as she saw the look of glee in his eyes, but at least he was keeping himself restrained, so that was something.

  One of the Zomoki bellowed in pain as a spear found a weak spot in its armored hide. The
flames it spewed missed its intended target, but a spray of its blood landed on the hapless gladiator, some of it directly contacting his skin.

  The man crumbled to the ground, writhing in agony before succumbing to the magical blood’s deadly properties. To injure a Zomoki, one had to be exceedingly careful for precisely this reason. Contact with Zomoki blood was almost always fatal.

  Soon enough it became clear one side was about to lose. Down two of their number, they simply could not stop the onslaught from the other team. They fell in short order, injured but alive. But this was not a novice’s event, and the crowd demanded blood.

  With a simple spell, the visla in charge of overseeing the beasts released one of their restraints. In a flash, the Zomoki descended on the wounded men, and a few screams later, they were removed from the arena, courtesy of the hungry beasts. The handler then directed them back to their pens, guiding them with shocks from their control collars.

  The excitement was done for the day, it seemed, and what a showing it had been.

  “Are you sated?” Demelza asked.

  “That was fantastic!” Laskar said in reply.

  “I thought you would approve.” Her attention shifted down several rows. “Time to go,” she said as their target rose to leave.

  Blending in with the rest of the patrons, the assassin and her over-enthused sidekick followed. They’d have answers soon enough. What remained uncertain was how much work would go into prying them loose.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The crowd leaving the gladiator arena was a somewhat gregarious bunch, the excitement of the final bout leaving them buzzing with a slightly aggressive energy. But it had been others doing the fighting this day, and the spectators, while feeling the flush of battle, were not inclined to violence of their own.

  It was one of the reasons those with a more tenuous grip on the worlds they oversaw tended to favor such exhibitions. A means to quell the masses and distract them from mischief of their own. And for the most part, it worked.

  Laskar seemed to have been greatly energized by the display and was walking with a bit of a spring in his step as they trailed their target from afar. The man was no more than fifty meters ahead of the pair, though the crowd flowing around them made it feel like a hundred.

  “Shouldn’t we get closer? I lost sight of––?”

  Demelza held up her hand to silence him and kept walking, her eyes focused on the man far ahead, but all while moving her body like the other mildly inebriated fight patrons.

  She was, however, very skilled at what she did, and where Laskar might have had a hard time keeping track of a single person in a crowd of hundreds, Demelza could follow him with little difficulty. If pressed, she could even tell you what the twenty people nearest him were wearing.

  Of course, when you might need to get as close as, say, one of twenty people nearest your target, that was a particularly useful skill to have. And that was why it had been drilled into every Ghalian aspirant since early in their training.

  “Let’s get a drink!” Demelza abruptly said with a gregarious laugh totally unfitting her normal demeanor.

  But she was on the hunt and had slipped into this character with such ease that it seemed as if she had always been a jovial, bronze-skinned woman of mirth and leisure. Tugging Laskar by the arm, she swam upstream through the river of people toward one of the many pubs dotting the dimly lit street.

  “This one looks good,” she said with an exaggerated wink.

  She then popped open two more buttons on her top, flashing her curves even more than previously. They were moving on to a different part of their game, and now was the time for that sort of attention.

  Laskar couldn’t help but notice the appreciative glances she was garnering. Even without a disguise, Demelza’s thick and curvaceous build was enough to draw attention from those appreciative of a strong, well-built woman.

  She possessed curves in all the right places, and when she chose to flaunt them, she was quite the sight to behold. And with her magically applied bronzing of her skin, her womanly form was even more accentuated.

  On a world of no light, where everyone was particularly pale for want of sun in a different spectrum, the warm-toned woman garnered much attention from locals and visitors alike.

  She was particularly appealing to the locals for her exotic look, and it was that additional attention that would increase her desirability and make her more intriguing to her target.

  People always seemed to want what everyone else wanted, and she would use that weakness to her advantage.

  “Stay here,” she quietly instructed Laskar, nudging him toward a seat at the far end of the bar nearest the door.

  If the target were to unexpectedly leave, he would be in the perfect position to casually follow without Demelza having to abruptly jump up and follow him. Laskar slid onto a seat and ordered a drink. Not a terribly potent one, the assassin was pleased to hear.

  With a womanly sway to her hips, Demelza casually walked the length of the bar while looking over the room with a bored glance. Nothing seemed to interest her, so she pulled up a seat. Conveniently, that seat happened to be right next to the man they had been tailing.

  “Whew. I’ll never get used to these dark systems. Is it always like this, or does it ever get lighter out?” she asked casually as she ordered a drink.

  “Pretty much the usual,” the man replied, then went back to his own beverage, gazing off across the bar.

  This was not going quite as she had planned. Demelza sat quietly a moment, shifting in her seat in a way that better accentuated her cleavage but without being too obvious about it. The man didn’t seem to notice.

  “Quite an exciting bout,” she said offhandedly when her drink arrived.

  She’d ordered a strong one, and a double at that. All the better to play up her inebriated role. But she had cast the spell Hozark had taught her, directing the fluids that passed her lips to materialize in an alleyway a few hundred meters away.

  She could drink heavily yet remain stone-cold sober. A useful trick for an assassin. But the man still didn’t seem to react to her.

  For ten minutes she tried making small talk, and for ten minutes she was shut down. No matter what she said, it seemed he was either incredibly shy, or simply not interested.

  Demelza took a big gulp from her glass and swayed a bit in her seat, leaning into the man, pressing her breasts against his arm as she did, making him spill a bit of his drink.

  “Oof, I’m so sorry,” she slurred. “That’s a bit stronger than I’m used to.”

  “No problem,” he replied, not even glancing at her.

  “Oh, I spilled your drink! Silly me. Lemme make it up to you. I can get you another.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” he replied.

  It was perplexing. The man was being handed an opportunity on a silver platter, yet he was not interested. He did, however, seem to keep glancing at the door.

  Demelza wondered if he might be waiting for one of his shipmates to join him. If that was the case, he’d have a long time waiting. Hozark would have taken care of them a while ago by now.

  She followed his gaze once more when he glanced that direction and realized what was up.

  Of course. She chided herself for not noticing sooner. Swaying a bit, she rose to her feet and made her way to the restroom.

  After staying there a reasonable amount of time, she returned to the bar, but took up a seat at the far end, by Laskar. She sat with her back to the bar, as if observing the crowd. What she was really doing was hiding her face from their target so he would not see her conversing.

  “Don’t make it obvious we’re talking,” she said quietly. “He’s not interested.”

  “Not interested?” he replied in a low voice, appearing to glance the other way. “Are you serious? Look at you. All boobs falling out and flirty drunkenness. What man wouldn’t––?”

  “He’s looking at you,” she said, cutting him off.

&nb
sp; “I’m sorry? What?”

  She took a casual glance around the room, looking anywhere but at the man seated next to her. Laskar was a good-looking man, she had to admit, and it seemed his accompanying her on this contract had been a fortuitous thing after all.

  “You need to go talk to him,” she said. “Get him to invite you back to his place, which conveniently happens to be his ship.”

  “I’m not interested in men.”

  “You don’t have to be interested. You have to get the job done. You said you wanted to be of help. So, help.”

  Laskar’s face struggled to remain impassive. An internal struggle was underway. Finally, reluctantly, he slid up from his seat.

  “You so owe me,” he hissed as he walked past Demelza.

  She almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost.

  While fluid sexuality was as common as breathing, some people were not only set in their ways, but also became uncomfortable when directly faced with a situation such as this. It seemed Laskar was one of them, but now he would have to overcome that and get the job done.

  She nearly smiled when she turned back toward the bar to order another drink. Laskar had not only taken a seat next to their target, he was actively engaged in conversation. More than that. He was flirting, and he was doing it well.

  Another round of drinks was acquired, and the two men chatted away, thick as thieves. Eventually, she noted Laskar even appeared to rest his hand on the man’s knee, drawing a little lip bite from the fellow, along with a look of great interest.

  She had to hand it to him. For not being his thing, the guy was actually handling himself like a pro. It was only five minutes later that Laskar leaned in and whispered into the man’s ear, cupping his cheek with his other hand as he did so.

  Demelza could see the man blush from across the bar.

  The two quickly settled their tab and headed out into the dark night. A moment later, the assassin followed, her curves hidden once again, and her skin returned to a far cooler tone. She no longer wished to be seen. She was going to become as plain as she could. And once she found a suitable alleyway, she’d don her shimmer cloak.