Assassins' Dawn by Stephen Leigh

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