The Vespus Blade Page 21

  In fact, to suggest something so crude as pulling or pushing any item of weight along on a wheeled contraption would draw laughter from one and all. It was simply so inelegant, unlike nice, clean magic.

  An early issue, however, was that not all possessed innate magic within them. Casting and imbuing items with magical power had initially been confined to a smaller set of men and women who possessed the ability.

  But the means to channel power and store it, allowing others to then tap into it, was found. It was highly inefficient at first, but over time, that too was refined until the konus was developed as a catch-all tool that pretty much everyone had these days, though of widely varying power.

  But even with a konus on their wrist and a few spells in their tool bag, the power to protect oneself from the crushing weight of an ocean’s waters was incredibly specialized magic known only to a few, and capable of being cast and controlled while underwater by even fewer. For to cast, again, the spell had to be spoken. No easy task while submerged.

  Amphibian races could create an air bubble, allowing the vocalization, but land-bound races had no such ability. It was what would give his amphibian prey a bit of overconfidence. And that, he could exploit.

  Hozark had an ace up his sleeve that only a few could manage. He had trained under Master Garrusch in his early years. The man was incredibly knowledgeable in arcane spells, and had spent a long, long time practicing and experimenting with them over his decades as a Ghalian master.

  And though he had died while Hozark was still young, Master Garrusch had taught several of those obscure spells to a pair of young aspirant Ghalian who had shared his thrill in practicing the arcane magic. A Wampeh named Hozark, and his sometime paramour, Samara, both of whom showed great aptitude for the unusual arts.

  It was their drive for self-betterment that helped that pair rise to the top of their peers and graduate to full Ghalian early. And that knowledge from so long ago might very well come into play today, for Hozark knew the spell to craft a small air shell across his nose and mouth.

  It was not enough to allow him to breathe underwater for any great length of time, but it was enough to allow spells to be enunciated, even while submerged. And with that little trick in his arsenal, he was the deadliest assassin under the seas.

  But for now, he would stick to the above-water areas of the town in the cavern.

  The streets were illuminated by the gleaming stalactites above, the minerals comprising them having absorbed background magic that seeped down from above and percolated up from the planet’s core over millennia. The glow they cast off provided ample illumination round the clock, though additional magic had been put in place to light the more heavily traveled pathways.

  And the town itself was nice and cozy, the geothermal activity of the currently inactive volcano beneath them providing a comfortable degree of heating for the entire area, including the waters, which took up a full third of the vast cavern’s space.

  Pens containing sea life for harvest were found at the far end of the watery area, while pirate vessels of various makes, carrying crews from myriad systems, floated lazily near the shore. The captains of those craft had studied long and spent much to possess the magic necessary to travel beneath the waters.

  Hozark emerged from the water at the far edge of the docking area, silently stepping ashore and forcing himself dry with a carefully placed surge of magic. He had come by neither ship nor the tunnel system, and his arrival had gone entirely unnoted. Just as he wished.

  He quickly altered his appearance. A Wampeh in a place such as this would raise suspicions quickly, even if he or she was not a Ghalian. It was simply not the sort of environment his people frequented. And one as cheerful and harmless as Alasnib the trader would not do so well in this place. Instead, he took on the guise of a swarthy pirate, similar in look to Demelza’s preferred visage.

  Bronze skin and sandy hair completed the look, his own firm muscles already adding to the appearance of a man of action. And that he was, only not the type they expected.

  And from what he’d managed to suss out in just his first few minutes within the cavernous township, the presence of a blue-green person residing nearby seemed to point to one thing. He had come to the right place. And things were about to get interesting.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Hozark had caught wind of a blue-green-skinned individual from several lines of inquiry. Yes, he was on the right path, and the confirmation he had received––while utilizing a handful of relatively similar disguises to validate his findings––meant one thing. The time for the inevitable confrontation was almost at hand.

  But Tikoo appeared to have friends in this place. The Fakarian was liberal with coin, and the resulting goodwill his generosity had generated would make merely snatching him off the streets impossible. It had been a clever use of funds, and one Hozark approved of, despite it forcing him to alter his plans.

  He was getting close, though. And once he found the wily Fakarian, he would either get him drunk, or simply hit him with a spell that made it seem that way, then remove him to somewhere they could chat more privately. And what an interesting discussion that would be.

  A flash of blue-green skin caught his eye far off down a roadway. He couldn’t be entirely certain in the unusual light of the cavern, but Hozark was willing to bet that was his man. He altered his course and made quick time in that direction.

  His pursuit was a subtle one. One that used several disguises as he followed his quarry across the undersea township, always shifting to a different face as he drew nearer and nearer to his target. Finally, several minutes later, he saw the Fakarian step into a seedy pub.

  Given, all of the pubs down there were seedy, but this one possessed an extra layer of seediness that made it feel even rougher than the others.

  Hozark waited a few minutes, tucking into a dark alleyway, not to await a victim to mug, but to change back to his pirate disguise. The bronzed visage firmly in place, he then stepped back out onto the street, walked up to the pub, and waded right on into the establishment’s crowded entry, pushing his way toward an empty seat at one of the long communal tables.

  He grabbed a passing bar wench and ordered a hearty seafood stew, then tore off a piece of the loaf of bread in the center of the table as he greeted those around him. They exchanged the crude pleasantries people in this sort of gritty establishment so often did, then, determining the newcomer was a source of neither coin nor hostility, went back to their meals.

  The Fakarian was across the establishment, seated at a table against the far wall. He seemed at ease in the room of rough adventurers. Just as a Council agent would be.

  Hozark began forming a plan. He would find a way to apply a spell to the man’s food, causing some gastric distress. He would then follow him to the restroom and see what information he might pry out of him while seeming to help the poor, ill fellow.

  Then he saw her.

  This is not good, he thought as the second Fakarian caught his eye. What are the odds?

  The answer to that silent query was slim. The odds were really, truly, exceptionally slim. But it had happened. And now, of all times.

  There was another Fakarian here.

  Hozark’s expression remained unchanged, even as his mind raced. The two were seated at opposite ends of the establishment, and they didn’t seem to be acquainted. At least not outwardly. It was just stupid luck.

  Adding another layer of confusion to the mix was that the Fakarian nearest him was a female. Normally, that would have made his job easier. Tikoo was definitely a male, and that should have taken the other amphibian out of the equation.

  Unfortunately, Fakarians were one of the only known races who could switch genders. And for a Council agent, especially one on the run and not wishing to be found, changing not only one’s attire, but also one’s gender, could prove an incredibly effective means of throwing off the scent.

  Hozark settled into his seat and slowly chewed his brea
d, taking his time to formulate a new plan.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Both Fakarians seemed to have arrived roughly when he did, and their food came out at approximately the same time. That allowed him a nice cushion to settle on a plan. Finally, as he was finishing up his meal, Hozark set into action.

  Belching with gusto, he rose from his seat and swaggered over to where the female was sitting, plopping down beside her and leaning in close.

  “Hey, I saw you from over there and wanted to buy you a drink.”

  The blue-green woman ignored him, focusing on the food in front of her.

  “I’m Garamush, by the way,” Hozark said, offering his hand.

  The only way he could employ the little spell that would detect a recent shift in gender would be through several seconds of uninterrupted contact. Again, she ignored him. His little ploy to take her hand, or at least get a name, had come up short.

  “You know, you have some really beautiful skin,” he said, pressing on, adding an increased hint of inebriation to his swagger. “The blue and green are incredibly flattering. And those eyes. Oh my.”

  Her eyes were indeed something to look at, their coloring being rather striking in contrast to her skin. All four of them, in fact. But his flattery didn’t so much as cause a glance his direction.

  “So, about that drink? What’re you having?”

  A long silence ensued. One so uncomfortable, those around them even flashed sympathetic looks.

  “Fine. But if you change your mind,” he said, flagging down the barmaid.

  The woman stopped at his table and took his order. Hozark pulled out all the stops, ordering a glass of the most expensive liquor in the house, dropping ample coin on the table as if it were nothing.

  Now that had gotten her attention. This was a den of scum and villainy, after all, and this drunk seemed like an easy mark. At least for a very, very expensive drink. He might not be good for much more, but the useful idiot would at least provide her one perk for the annoyance of his company.

  “Okay,” she said, turning to the barmaid. “Make that two.”

  A casual glance at the other Fakarian told Hozark two things. First, the man was watching. And second, he seemed pissed. Apparently, the assassin had just unintentionally cock-blocked the poor fellow.

  “Garamush,” he said again, once more offering his hand.

  This time, she took it, his warm grip holding hers firmly as she politely replied.

  “Dintza,” she said, letting the awkward man hold her hand a moment longer before politely pulling it free.

  It had been enough. The spell Hozark quietly muttered had told him all he needed to know. She had not changed gender recently. Dintza could not be his target. That meant the man watching them with an annoyed glare was Tikoo.

  But the confirmation didn’t give him the freedom to act. Not now. Not like this, surrounded by at least a few of his target’s likely friends and cohorts. Hozark would have to bide his time and strike when the moment was right. But for now, he would chat, drink and play the part. Soon enough, it would be time for action.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  It was a painfully slow ten minutes, but Hozark forced himself to smile, chat, and act like the casually flirtatious pirate he’d made his approach as. But inside, he was aware of every second as he bided his time before he could act.

  He needed to break free of this engagement with the Fakarian woman, but once she’d seen the coin he was willing to spend, her attitude had warmed to him. He was a pirate, yes, but possibly an easy mark desperate for some female company.

  “I’ve gotta have a slash,” he finally said, excusing himself and heading to the restroom. That would give him a break from the intent stare Tikoo had been subjecting him and the Fakarian woman to ever since he’d sat down and begun his flirtatious questioning.

  Just a few minutes later, Hozark returned from the toilets, only to see Tikoo had left his table. As nonchalantly as he could, Hozark made his way toward the establishment’s front doors. Why had the man chosen now to leave, of all times?

  “Hey, where are you going?” Dintza called after him as he made for the exit.

  “What? Oh, I was just getting some air, is all,” he replied.

  It was only then that he caught a glimpse of the blue-green-skinned man watching him from the shadows at the back of the pub.

  It had been a test.

  Somehow, Tikoo had thought something was amiss, even though Hozark had played it entirely right, leaving no hint of his true nature. But the man had sensed something, and that was all that mattered. He was a skittish, and very wary target, and now it seemed that the constant paranoia from his many years as a Council agent had finally paid off.

  The two locked eyes from across the tavern, separated by tables and patrons. Then the Fakarian bolted out the back door, while Hozark, maintaining his disguise, stumbled drunkenly out the front.

  He rounded the corner as if he were about to vomit, then took off at a run as soon as he was out of sight. Hozark knew which way his target would flee, given what had just happened. And he had plotted out the fastest routes to the water’s edge when he first arrived.

  A few quick turns down small side alleys shaved time off of his pursuit, and he was hot on the amphibian man’s tail in moments.

  “Seal the tunnels!” Tikoo yelled to a deep-yellow-skinned man as he raced past.

  The man did not hesitate, but instead took off at a run. Obviously one of his comrades in this undersea realm, he was about to cut off the only terrestrial routes to the surface.

  Hozark pushed hard, but the Fakarian was a surprisingly fast runner. So fast, it seemed, that the street in front of him leading to the water’s edge was already empty. He had already made his escape. Or had he?

  There was something about the water, Hozark noted as he raced closer. The water was still. As if no one had recently jumped in.

  This doesn’t look right, he realized as a powerful tail lashed out from behind a vendor’s cart, striking him square in the chest and sending him tumbling backward onto the ground.

  Hozark had kept a grip on his magic the entire pursuit, protecting himself, just in case. A habit that had probably just saved his life, though it felt like one of his ribs might have broken regardless.

  Tikoo was already on the move as Hozark pushed himself back to his feet. With a final jump as he reached the shore, the fleeing man dove the remaining distance, disappearing into the sea.

  He was in his element, his tail free of his clothing, powering him ahead through the undersea tunnel and out into the open water. The odd man, whoever he was, had been shaken loose. And with the tunnels to the surface sealed, even if he did manage to get them open, Tikoo would be long gone.

  He’d have to alert the Council, though. Someone had tracked him to Kraam. And that meant they had to clean house and ferret out the loose-lipped traitor. That, and move on to one of his other safe worlds on which he could lie low until he was called to meet with his masters.

  Tikoo slowed his pace once he hit the open sea, relishing the feeling of the water flowing against his body. He’d been on land too long this time, he realized. He would have to make a point to take full advantage of the waters of the next world he stopped at.

  Amused with his skillful escape, the Fakarian lazily swam to shore, rising from the sea like an oceanic deity walking out of the surf line and into the seaside shantytown.

  Down the long, main pathway he walked, heading toward the parked conveyances lined up near the local eateries. One of which he would steal, finalizing his escape as he headed to board a departing craft.

  Tikoo turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. An intact, dry, and very annoyed man was standing in his way, blocking the path. The man he had just left under the sea. The place he couldn’t have possibly followed from.

  “Impossible,” was all he managed to say before a powerful stun spell blasted him to the ground, unconscious.

  “What.
..? Where am I?” the dazed Fakarian said as the waking spell more or less slapped him across the face.

  Magically, that is.

  A moment later, panic set in as his eyes opened to darkness, and he felt the restraints around his arms and legs holding him quite firmly in place. There was a blindfold over his eyes, he realized, hence the darkness, and he could tell by the weight of his clothes and how they lay on his body that every last one of his hidden weapons and magical devices was gone.

  A true professional, he stopped struggling and focused his hearing. He was inside. Quiet, as well. Too quiet. He was on a ship. And there was the faintest hint of a smell.

  Shit.

  Just a whiff, but it was there. Only a few places on the planet smelled like that, and none of them were good. Yes. Shit. He smelled it, and he was in it. Deep.

  Sitting quietly, Hozark watched the subtle microexpressions on the man’s face shift as he worked out his situation. Or so he thought. The Wampeh had abandoned his disguise and was now back to his normal coloring and attire. That of a Wampeh, and a Ghalian by the look of the weapons he chose to allow to be seen.

  Hozark reached out and pulled the blindfold from the man’s eyes, allowing him a moment to adjust to the light. His underwater eyes were squinting a bit, but his land pair shifted to handle the illumination quickly, the assassin noted.

  Rather than blurt out questions and beg for his release, the Fakarian shed his initial discombobulation and merely observed, quietly sitting in his seat, though on that matter he didn’t have much of a choice.

  Hozark looked at him calmly for a long moment.

  “You know,” he finally said, “I only wished to speak with you. There was no need for all the fuss.”

  Tikoo said nothing, but he recognized who had captured him. What had him in his control. Hozark noted the subtle shift in his irises as his adrenaline flushed in spite of himself.