Assassins' Dawn (6 page)

The Thane didn’t move, nor did his eyes flinch. He spoke with distillate calm. “There was no body to give you, Li-Gallant. Gunnar survived. He lived until our dawn. I can’t put it any more simply for you, nor do I think I owe you any further explanation.” A moment. “With all respect due kin, Li-Gallant.”

Vingi backed away from the assassin, his face screaming undisguised anger, though his body sought to put the comforting bulwark of his desk between himself and the Hoorka. The Thane’s lassitude increased Vingi’s nervousness, made his bladder ache to be emptied.

“You followed my orders?” The Li-Gallant seated himself.

“We followed the code. You’ve read the contract, Li-Gallant. The victim is given his chance. We’re not murderers, not acting for our own kin in bloodfeud. We tilt the scales of life and death, but we don’t presume to be gods, able to take life at whim. That is Her prerogative.” The Thane bowed his head at the mention of She of the Five and watched Vingi expel an irritated breath. Good, he thought, Vingi’s upset, and our failure is justified ethically. Let him try to bring us before the Assembly. For the first time, he had hopes of leaving the keep with Hoorka safe.

“I’ve no interest in the gods of your kin,” the Li-Gallant said, “simply in results.”

“Results are often in a god’s control.”

Vingi scowled. “What weapons did your people use?”

“Daggers from Khaelia. The Alliance brought them to us as payment for a contract a few months ago. Very effective.”

“Obviously.” Vingi waited for a reaction to his sarcasm and received none. He hurried to fill the silence. “Why didn’t you use firearms? Lasers?”

“Li-Gallant, Gunnar had no bodyshield. The odds would have been over-balanced, and Dame Fate would have been angered. It isn’t our intention to tamper with destinies. If a person dies by the Hoorka, then he wasn’t meant for survival. If he lives, he was meant to live. The weak: they fall. The strong—perhaps they live. If that’s cruel, it’s no crueler than Dame Fate Herself.” The Thane folded his hands on the gray-black cloth of his lap as his eyes glittered darkly, daring objection. He sounded bored, as if reciting a lesson to a child.

“I should have sent my own people.” Vingi’s right hand made a bejeweled fist that hovered indecisively over the marbled desk top. The fist was an impotent weapon, speaking of too much disuse to be a symbol of anything but wealth. The Thane’s lips curled in a vestige of a smile that flickered for an instant and was gone.

“You sent your forces,” he said. “They interfered with the two assassins and were in part to blame for Gunnar’s escape. I wouldn’t bring that up before the Assembly, Li-Gallant, but let’s not try to deceive ourselves here. You sent four killers of your own—and without declaring bloodfeud, which the Neweden Assembly might find interesting—and they failed. Accuse Hoorka, Li-Gallant, and Hoorka will speak the truth. Again, with no disrespect.”

Vingi didn’t deny the veracity of the Thane’s words. The raised fist struck the desk with soft anger. Papers scattered there didn’t move.

“Almost,” he said.

“They killed Ricia Cuscratti, Gunnar’s mistress, I believe.” The Hoorka’s voice seemed devoid of any emotion, but behind the words was contempt. “I understand that, as kin-lord of a competing guild, you’ve sent a tithing to defray the expense of the death rites. A gift. I hope it eased your conscience.”

“M’Dame Cuscratti’s death was unfortunate but almost unavoidable. She was harboring Gunnar.” Vingi smiled. “And
if
those people responsible are ever found, my government will punish them. They’ll pay the fine for accidental death.”

“Ahh.”
So he won’t admit it, even privately.

“I fail to see, in any event, what bearing that has on the failure of Hoorka.”

“It caused the two Hoorka trailing Gunnar to lose several hours. Had, ahh, the person who sent the intruders more trust in the Hoorka,
you
might have had your death.”

“I’m not interested in excuses.”

“We’ve no need for excuses. The Hoorka had to deal with interference. It doesn’t matter who caused it. But I intend to post notice of feud with the Assembly, should we find those responsible. So I wish your investigation success, neh?” The Thane waved a disparaging hand. “The Hoorka can also play the game of pretended ignorance.”

Vingi shrugged. The cloth of his robes glistened with interwoven metallic strands. The Thane allowed himself another brief moment of amusement. Vingi compounded distrust on distrust. That fabric would turn back the sting of any hand weapon, and the Thane was certain that when he’d arrived he’d been surreptitiously searched: beamed and probed. He also knew that if he intended to kill the obese man before him, he wouldn’t need any weapon other than his hands. The Li-Gallant didn’t trust him—that was obvious, and it was disturbing. The Hoorka-guild was based on the precept that no Hoorka would kill unless threatened or contracted to do so. Never without warning, unlike the other guilds, who declared bloodfeud at the slightest provocation. Vingi’s uncertainty in the face of that code was a bad omen.

The Thane decided to waste no more time. “You have our payment, I suppose?”

Vingi’s face became a rictus, a snarl. “You demand a large price for small results.”

“You know the code, and you declined to pay in advance.” There was no apology in the Thane’s voice. It lashed at the Li-Gallant with feigned nonchalance. Yet the Thane knew that this was a dangerous moment. He felt uncertainty in his tactics.
Do I doubt myself so much? Where is the vaunted confidence?

“I’ve registered a complaint with the Neweden Assembly.” There was a triumphant sneer on Vingi’s face, a vestige of bravado. “The Alliance Regent, m’Dame d’Embry, has expressed her interest in this situation, and I felt it might aid her, as she has said that she would like answers to the questions I’ve raised.”

“You play dangerously, Li-Gallant, if I may speak frankly. I wouldn’t care to have a bloodfeud between your kin and mine, were I you. We are trained for fighting.”

“You’ll be notified when to appear, Thane. You must admit that circumstances—despite any protestations of interference from, ahh, outside sources—are suspicious. If the Hoorka are aligned with Gunnar’s party, they’re a danger to the stability of Neweden government. Surely you see that. No disrespect intended for Hoorka. I merely wish to have an account of that night.”

“Do you intend to reveal that you signed the contract?”

The Li-Gallant laughed. “I’m not so foolish, Thane. And should it happen that Gunnar learns that I was the signer, it would simply add to the suspicions.”

“It still wouldn’t be wise or prudent to neglect our payment, Li-Gallant.” The Thane stood abruptly, his nightcloak swirling. Vingi started, his eyes wide, and his hands disappeared below the surface of the desk. The Thane could see him fumbling for something unseen there.

“Should I think you were summoning your guards, Li-Gallant, I might take it as a personal affront. I could easily appease my wounded dignity before they could enter.” The Thane hoped he’d taken the right path, had gauged Vingi’s fear correctly. If not—he thrust the apprehensions from him.

“I don’t care for your threats, Hoorka,” Vingi replied, but his hands were now still. “If we were in public . . .”

The Thane said nothing, waiting. In the silence, the sound of a muffled voice could be heard in Vingi’s outer office, followed by a high, clear laugh. It held no threat.

The Li-Gallant brought his hands up and slid a pastel check across his desk. The Hoorka-thane smiled, his eyes openly laughing, and he leaned forward to take the payment.

“Our thanks, Li-Gallant.”

•   •   •

The Thane walked easily through the streets: easily because the throngs parted before him with an apprehensive glance at the black and gray nightcloak of the Assassin’s Guild. Gray and black: no colors, no loyalty except to Hoorka-kin. The aura of the deathgods hung about him, subtle and menacing, and none cared to taint themselves by approaching too closely to this impassive man. They were used to hardship and death—the people of Neweden, a ghetto world by any standard—but the Hoorka were hardened and deadly beyond the norm. Better they be avoided. That was the consensus.

The check from the Li-Gallant didn’t give the Thane as much pleasure as he’d expected. He had anticipated Vingi’s covert avoidance of payment, the hedging of an angered ruler. But Vingi’s anger had been something beyond the measured and calculating displeasure of a kin’s defense of offended pride, and it wasn’t in the Li-Gallant’s nature to let his ire fester long within himself. He’d exorcize the demon. How, and how would it affect Hoorka? The question nagged at him. Surely Vingi wouldn’t be so foolish as to declare this a matter of bloodfeud between their guilds? Vingi’s kin would die, and that would allow Gunnar’s ruling guild access to vacant seats on the Assembly. No, something more devious.

The populace noised about him as the Thane passed through a market square. Carts loaded with produce were surrounded by shouting buyers while farmers bellowed vaguely-heard prices and boasted of the quality of their particular products. Someone brushed against the Thane’s side and muttered a quick, overly-sincere apology as he darted back into the crowd. Here and there a few flashily – clothed Diplos—members of the Alliance Diplomatic Resources Team—made their way through the milling people, but even they, the aristocracy protected by the offworld power of the Alliance, gave the Thane wide berth. It was, after all, a Neweden jest that even the Dead would part to let a Hoorka pass.

The Thane walked slowly, letting the noise and bustle fade to the edges of his consciousness, thinking—

—the Li-Gallant wants Gunnar dead, and he wants to know whether the Hoorka have sided with his opposition. He’ll find a way to determine if his paranoia is founded in truth or not. But how will he go about it, what can he do?

—and what bothers me? Once I would have reveled in a confrontation like this, would have enjoyed the knife-edge of tension. Now I’m simply tired and unsure—I’d avoid this if I could. Cranmer’s thought: is it time to step aside? Should Aldhelm or Valdisa or someone else be Thane? No. No.

—it’s a fine day. The sunstar shines, She of the Five smiles. But my frown puzzles these people. Do they think I’m contemplating my next contract, that I’m daydreaming of spilled blood and death? And how many of them, thinking my imagined thoughts distasteful, would still advise their kin to come to Hoorka to settle a bloodfeud with another guild?

—I should rest. I’ve been so tired lately. Perhaps Valdisa—but no, that relationship has passed. Too many complications—

He touched the pouch in which the check rode and smiled, forcibly evicting his pessimism. Passersby shook their heads at the evil omen.

The Hoorka smile only at death.

•   •   •

The Thane was nearly across the market square, in the bluish shadow cast by the spires of the Tri-Guild Church. Just ahead of him, a man shoved his way through the throngs before the Hoorka. The Hoorka could see the wake of the disturbance spreading as people scattered, and in a brief clear space he caught a brief glimpse of the problem. A man without a badge of kinship—a lassari, kin-less and status-less—was shoving aside those in front of him. Then the crowds closed in again, pushing. The Thane saw a blur of blue-and-yellow–tinted flesh as a woman was knocked to the pavement, though he couldn’t tell if it were due to the manic lassari or the pressure of the crowd. He started to walk away at an angle to the welling struggling as a roar of wordless protest began to rise. He kept a scowl on his face, relying on that and the uniform of the Hoorka to make his way.

“Hoorka! I see you!” The shout came as the lassari thrust aside those nearest the Thane and entered the clear space about the Hoorka. The Thane continued walking, ignoring the man—he had a brief impression of frantic, dark eyes and a thin, wiry body clothed in dingy wraps—but the shout was repeated, imperious and commanding.

“Hoorka!”

The Thane halted and turned slowly. From the corner of his eyes he saw the crowd in the square moving to a safe distance from the confrontation, forming a rough circle about the two. The man was armed: the Thane could see the wavering orange fleck of a vibro tip in the man’s right hand, and the Hoorka swept his nightcloak over his shoulder, out of the way of his arms.

“A problem, sirrah?” The honorific was a mockery in his voice. Lassari were not due the respect of those with kin, and his intonation made it clear that he was mocking the man. It was, however, a truism that an angered lassari made a dangerous enemy—they didn’t have the worry of the safety of their fellow guild members. The Thane kept his eyes on the vibro arm, wary.

The lassari was breathing heavily, as if nervous or excited, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other in a constant motion. The watching crowd moved a step farther back.

“Hoorka!” the man shouted a third time. “You’ve destroyed me. I might as well mumble chants with the Dead. No one talks to me, no one deals with me. Lassari, they say, and spit. Your fault.” The words were slurred, and from the distance of two meters, the Thane could smell the spicy odor of lujisa. The man was an addict, then, and a thief, for only a rich man or a thief could afford the offworld drug. On Neweden, there were no rich lassari. It also meant that he was beyond reason, lost in the false logic of an interior world with few touchstones to the reality around him. Lujisa addicts had been known to attack strangers because of a sudden whim or fancy. Was this such an accidental encounter? The Thane wondered. Then: could Vingi have arranged this so quickly after our meeting?

The Thane stalled, saying anything that came to mind as he studied the man. “I don’t know you. Hoorka-kin doesn’t know you. You’ve mistaken me for another, perhaps? I have nothing to do with you, and I don’t see you, lassari.” He spoke tentatively, watching for any reactions his words had on the man.

“You DO!” The last word was a scream that echoed from the spires of the church. Birds took quick flight from the rooftops and settled down again slowly. The lassari spat on the pavement and shook his head as if annoyed by some insect. “The Hoorka wouldn’t accept me as apprentice. You made me lassari.” He scuffed at the ground. “You did it. You know me.”