House of Assassins Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  House of Assassins

  Larry Correia

  LARRY CORREIA'S BEST-SELLING EPIC FANTASY SERIES, SAGA OF THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR, CONTINUES.

  Ashok Vadal was once a member of the highest caste in all of Lok. As a Protector, he devoted his life to upholding the Law, rooting out those who still practiced the old ways and delivering swift justice with his ancestor blade Angruvadal. None was more merciless than he in stamping out the lingering belief in gods and demons among the casteless. His brutality was legendary and celebrated.

  But soon Ashok learned that his life to that point had been a lie. He himself, senior member of the Protector Order, was casteless. He had been nothing more than an unwitting pawn in a political game. His world turned upside down and finding himself on the wrong side of the Law, he began a campaign of rebellion, war, and destruction unlike any Lok had ever seen.

  Thera had been first daughter of Vane. A member of the Warrior Order, she had spent her life training for combat. Until a strange sight in the heavens appeared one day. Thera was struck by lighting and from that day forward she heard the Voice. A reluctant prophet with the power to see into the future, she fought alongside Ashok Vadal and his company of men known as the Sons of the Black Sword until a shapeshifting wizard with designs on her powers of precognition spirited her away. He holds her prisoner in the House of Assassins.

  Ashok Vadal and the Sons of the Black Sword march to rescue Thera. With his sword Angruvadal, Ashok was unstoppable. But Angruvadal is gone, shattered to pieces on the demon possessed husk of a warrior. Now, Ashok must fight without the aid of the magic blade for the first time. Thera’s life depends on it.

  But there is much more at risk in the continent of Lok. Strange forces are working behind the scenes. Ashok Vadal and the Sons of the Black Sword are caught up in a game they do not fully understand, with powerful forces allied against them.

  Ashok no longer knows what to believe. He is beginning to think perhaps the gods really do exist.

  If so, he’s warned them to stay out of his way.

  They would do well to listen.

  BAEN BOOKS by LARRY CORREIA

  SAGA OF THE FORGOTTEN WARRIOR SERIES

  Son of the Black Sword

  House of Assassins

  THE MONSTER HUNTER INTERNATIONAL SERIES

  Monster Hunter International

  Monster Hunter Vendetta

  Monster Hunter Alpha

  The Monster Hunters (compilation)

  Monster Hunter Legion

  Monster Hunter Nemesis

  Monster Hunter Siege

  The Monster Hunter Files (collection edited with Bryan Thomas Schmidt)

  THE MONSTER HUNTER MEMOIRS SERIES (with John Ringo)

  Grunge

  Sinners

  Saints

  THE GRIMNOIR CHRONICLES

  Hard Magic

  Spellbound

  Warbound

  THE DEAD SIX SERIES (with Mike Kupari)

  Dead Six

  Swords of Exodus

  Alliance of Shadows

  Target Rich Environment (short story collection)

  House of Assassins

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Larry Correia

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4814-8376-6

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-701-8

  Cover art by Kurt Miller

  Map by Isaac Stewart

  First Baen printing, February 2019

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Correia, Larry, author.

  Title: House of assassins / Larry Correia.

  Description: Riverdale, NY : Baen, [2019] | Series: Saga of the forgotten

  warrior ; 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018047721 | ISBN 9781481483766 (hardback)

  Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Epic. | FICTION / Fantasy /

  Historical. | FICTION / Fantasy / General. | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3603.O7723 H68 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018047721

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)

  Printed in the United States of America

  Electronic Version by Baen Books

  www.baen.com

  To Jody

  Click on map to view image in larger size.

  Chapter 1

  Twenty-five years ago

  The children hurled rocks at each other until they got close enough to beat the other team with sticks. Whenever one of them got sufficiently hurt to start crying, the others would mock him, because they were children of the warrior caste and they had no time for babies.

  “Savage bunch,” said the first caste man. He was dressed in white and gold, which the warrior children knew was foolish, because how in the world could you hide in the trees to ambush your enemies while dressed in white and gold? The important visitor was standing on the observation platform next to the familiar figure of their leader, the phontho of the Vane garrison, Andaman Vane.

  “What are they, six years old?”

  “Six to eight. The older and bigger ones play at dirt war in a different field; keeps them from breaking the little ones.”

  “Play?”

  “Yes. This isn’t training. Training is serious business. Dirt war is just a chance for them to show their mettle. It is our way. Start them early. As soon as they can walk they can start developing a proper fighting spirit.”

  There was a clonk and a scream as a boy was struck in the side of his leather helmet by a rock. Dizzy, he tumbled down the muddy hill. His friends immediately set upon him to finish him off, which meant putting bruises on him until he begged for mercy.

  “Aren’t you worried they’ll die?”

  “Ha!” Their phontho laughed at the absurdity of the i
dea. The first caste were so soft. “Once in a while accidents happen, but don’t worry, Arbiter. You might not be able to tell from up here, but we’ve rules in place for their safety.”

  The rules were simple. When you picked your stick, it had to be pliable, nothing stiff enough to break skin on a thrust, and it couldn’t be thicker around than their thumb. So it was more of a painful switch than anything. On the thrown rocks, they were supposed to stick with pebbles and never aim for the eyes…But in the heat of battle, everyone tended to go for bigger rocks, because all the children knew those flew better.

  “Bruises make character. We have them fight like this now to weed out the snivelers. Those will do fine in support companies, obligated to the worker caste to raise funds, or married off to other houses, but the Vane barracks is allowed only five hundred active raiders, so I make certain that they’re the best of the best. Five hundred elite warriors is what I promise your Thakoor, and what I always provide…If he changed the treaty and allowed me to form a second company, I could provide a thousand such men.”

  “I could make this suggestion, Phontho, but there are many within Great House Makao who feel that House Vane may already be too ambitious for a vassal.”

  “We are merely eager to serve. When your inspection is over, you can report back to your Thakoor that Vane remains ever loyal and ready to provide as many soldiers as he desires for his just and mighty cause.”

  “Don’t worry. I have been most impressed by the tour. If the rest of our vassals had such discipline and spirit, we could conquer the whole of the west…Are any of these children yours, Phontho?”

  “The girl.” And the way her father said it filled Thera with pride.

  “Really? You let your daughter out in that?”

  Andaman Vane laughed. “You are new here. Welcome to Vane. Who do you think defends our lands while your Thakoor has sent me and my men off across the border? Our women don’t march to war, but that doesn’t mean war won’t sometimes come to them. In the warrior caste, even our daughters are trained, not to the same level or intensity of course, but more than enough to defend themselves. Plus, when they’re grown, they will have a better understanding of what their husbands and sons must do in order to better support us in our duties.”

  Since Thera could hear that her father and the important man from the Makao had their eyes on her now, she moved out from behind cover, braved the falling rocks, and screamed their battle cry, “Behold, Vane is here!” Her bold charge got her halfway up the hill before a larger boy on the other team intercepted her. Thera may have cheated by using a stick much larger around than her thumb, but she had the skinniest hands so it seemed fair to her. He was standing above her, she aimed her out-of-regulation stick for his legs. It was hard to defend yourself bending over. His toes were sticking out the end of his sandals, they made a great target. He yelped when she smacked them. As soon as he was hopping on one foot, it was easy to shove him down the slope.

  Once Thera had taken the summit, all six mighty feet of it, the other team rallied to knock her off, but she had pockets full of rocks ready and an excellent arm. She began throwing rocks, aiming for their bellies, so even if she was off a bit, she’d still hit something that really hurt. “Vane is here!”

  “Yes, but why is your daughter the only girl participating in this…dirt war?”

  Her father laughed again. “She’s the reigning champion. How else would she defend her title?”

  Then Thera could no longer listen to her father’s conversation with the important man, because she had to concentrate on holding her ground against the fierce counterattack.

  An hour later, Thera’s father came looking for her in the tall grass around the dirt war field. “Where are you, child? It’s time for supper.”

  Her arms and legs were covered in welts, and it hurt too much to move, but that wasn’t why she was hiding. She was in the tall grass because she didn’t want anyone to see her weep. So she wiped her eyes and tried to look like she hadn’t been crying. “I’m over here.”

  Phontho Andaman Vane dar Makao knelt down next to her. Even though he was the greatest commander their people had ever known, who’d led successful raids deep into the territory of three different great houses, his voice was always gentle when it came to his girl.

  “What’s wrong, Thera?”

  “I lost.” She sniffed. “I don’t like losing.”

  “Anyone who enjoys losing isn’t fit for our caste. But the good ones learn from their defeats so they can do better next time.”

  “But you never lose, Baba.”

  “I spent the whole day with my lips planted upon the buttocks of a soft-palmed bureaucrat who knows more about poetry than warfare, all in the off chance he’ll make a nice report about us to the Thakoor. A few generations ago our house dominated the west, and now I have to beg for permission to field a fraction of the army we used to, in service of a house we used to boss around. No, Thera, there are different kinds of defeat, and I too know its bitter taste.”

  “It’s worse because I got shamed in front of the high-status man.”

  His grin brightened her dark day. “He’s a firster. They have no mind for tactics. He probably didn’t even know the rules enough to realize your side lost—by the way, it was because the children who held your left flank, their arms grew tired. You should have rotated them out sooner—but all he’ll remember is that you are the bravest little girl he’s ever seen.”

  “I’m not little. I’m brave and big.”

  “True, and fearsome as a tiger. Now come on.” He took her by the hands, hoisted her up, and swung her around, grass tickling her bare feet. “If we’re late for supper your mother will be angry.”

  Thera giggled as her father put her on his back to carry her home, her stinging wounds and bitter defeat quickly forgotten.

  Because of her father’s rank, they had the finest home in the warrior district, but it was a long walk from where they conducted dirt war. They had to pass many other warriors’ homes, and Thera would be embarrassed to be seen by her peers being carried.

  “Put me down!”

  “You’re no burden. I’ve got helmets that weigh more than you.”

  “I can’t look weak!”

  “Clever girl,” he agreed. “Even when you aren’t feeling strong, you must never ever show weakness. Victims want pity. Warriors demand respect. Down you go.”

  It was a beautiful day. The sun shined. Butterflies danced between the leaves. Men came out of their homes to greet her father, always with great respect and devotion. She knew his warriors loved Andaman Vane nearly as much as she did. Many of the senior men asked her father how the arbiter’s visit had gone. While they spoke, Thera wandered off the path, looking for a good stick to swing at the butterflies.

  She looked up and saw something strange.

  There was a black mark on the sky.

  “Baba?”

  Her father and the other warriors heard the alarm in her voice, stopped their conversation, and then followed her pointing finger with their eyes.

  The mark quickly grew into a great black cloud, trailing fire. It was huge, but sped across the sky like an arrow. Dogs began to bark. Birds were flushed from the trees. Then it was over them, blocking out the sun, turning day to night, as the roar of thunder struck their ears. It was like nothing anyone had ever seen. It was a nightmare beyond understanding.

  Some of the bravest warriors in the world quailed in fear. “It’s the gods!”

  “Silence with that foolishness,” her father snapped. “There’s no such thing as gods.”

  “What is it, Phontho?”

  “Flaming rocks occasionally fall from the sky.” Bold and somehow calm, he stared up at the terrifying thing that could squish them all. “That’s just a really big one. Get up and show some dignity. It’s not going to land on us. It’s heading west toward the sea.”

  Thera watched in awe as the black thing trailed fire across the whole of the sky. Father was right.
It was going to fall in the ocean and crush the demons instead. They were safe.

  Then a bolt from heaven pierced her skull.

  “Thera!”

  She was lying in the grass again, only everything had turned red. Her father was kneeling next to her, but she couldn’t understand what he was shouting. Then it went black.

  There was bouncing. She was very confused. Thera was being carried in someone’s arms as they ran across the warriors’ district. The thing in the sky was smaller, further away, but people were still watching the smoke line that traced its path. Some of them gasped or shouted in surprise when they saw her. Why did they look so scared? Her vision came and went.

  When she was awake again, she was being put on a table. Thera knew this place. There was one worker who lived in the warrior district who was loved and treated as one of their own, and that was the surgeon, because he put them back together when things went wrong. She’d been here before—for stitches in her arm—after a hard day of dirt war.

  The surgeon leaned over her, but his normally kind face was distraught. Why was his apron covered in blood? She tried to tell him that everything would be okay, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Why was he sticking a metal tool inside her head? He shouldn’t be able to do that. The surgeon looked up at someone she couldn’t see and shook his head sadly.

  Asleep…