Collision: The Battle for Darracia - Book 2 (The Darracia Saga)

by Michael Phillip Cash

  Tulani looked on in wide-eyed shock as fires ripped through the Desa. Felise whimpered beside her, resting her paws on the balustrade.

  “You shouldn’t be out here.” V’sair rested his hand on the small of her back. She turned to face him, grimly.

  “Have you heard from Bobbien?”

  She shook her head, a silver tear tracking down her red cheeks.

  “I am sure she’s fine,” V’sair assured her. “I have sent my personal guard to find her.”

  “She is hiding from the flames. If I know her, she went inland, deep into the Desa. How many Quyroos have been killed?” she asked thickly.

  “We don’t have any numbers yet.” He paused. “If I had known they were going to bomb, we would have evacuated the population earlier.”

  “Nobody expected it. I shall go down to help.”

  “Afterward, Tulani. We will both go down to help.”

  Chapter 22

  Sirens erupted all over the ship. Lothen turned toward his communication officer with a question on his face. “What’s going on?”

  “The prisoners have escaped.” He held his device close to his ear, nodded, and added, “They are heading to the landing bay.”

  Staf grabbed his Fireblade from his side and responded, “I will kill the devil’s whelp, once and for all.” He stormed out of the room to finish his fight with Zayden.

  Zayden, Denita, and Naje stood in the corridor, waiting for an opportunity to reach the escape door. Naje turned to her sister and said, “This is where we part.” They embraced. She turned to Zayden. “Take care of her, warrior, or I will find you.”

  Zayden smiled, taking Denita’s hand, ready to sprint toward his ship. He spun, coming face to face with his uncle, Fireblade drawn.

  Zayden backed off, raising his pistol.

  “You would fight me like a coward?” Staf asked silkily.

  Zayden held the gun, Staf in his sights.

  “Pull the trigger, Zayden!” Denita screamed.

  Naje withdrew a volatile packet of graphen from under her shirt. She watched Zayden raise his weapon and yelled, “No!” throwing the small explosive to smash against the wall next to Zayden. Upon impact, it exploded, tossing Zayden like a rag doll to land in a heap on the floor. Staf shook his head, dazed from the explosion, saw Zayden prone on the ground, and stalked over to fillet him with his angry blade.

  “Why did you do that?” Staf turned on her. “I had him.”

  As he raised his sword for the kill, she stilled his arm. “Leave him.” She gestured to the dying man. “He is finished. Blinded, see…” She pointed to Zayden’s bloody face. “Let him suffer.”

  “I have to finish this!” Staf shook himself free.

  “Lothen will steal the throne. I know him. You must go to the deck, before he takes your birthright.” She placed his palm on her abdomen. “Your son’s birthright.”

  Staf looked down at her, his yellow eyes brightening. “You are sure?”

  Naje shook her head. “Yes.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Come with me.” Naje put her arm through his and began walking toward the deck. Discreetly, she made eye contact with Denita, hidden in the shadows. She mouthed, “He lives. Get to safety.” Rolling her eyes, she motioned to the escape route, Zayden’s ship just past the door.

  Denita watched in mute shock as her sister hustled out of the area, Staf Nuen’s arm around her. Getting on her knees, she surveyed the wreck of a man and pulled him unsteadily to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Somehow, Denita pushed and prodded Zayden into the backseat. Fingers fumbling, she belted him in. She took his face between her palms, surveying the damage. He was a bloody mess. She tried lifting his eyelid, but it was glued tight with blood. Zayden brushed her hands away with a deep moan. Sliding down the skin of the ship, she ran to a console with a board full of switches. She considered their color and chose what she thought would be the correct control, watching in awe as the rear cargo doors parted. A blast of cold, wet air hit her in the face, and she saw they were hovering over the choppy, gray sea. She hoisted herself into Zayden’s bucket seat, looked at all the switches, shrugged, then started flipping everything into the on position. The radio blasted, lights blinked, and the pretty little craft jumped up to do a little spin, making her dizzy. She heard sirens, and once again looked at the door in time to see a group of Plantans burst through, guns drawn and aimed at her.

  “Here goes nothing!” she told no one in particular as she punched the throttle and backed into them, spilling them like toy soldiers. There were screams, and a few shots; ducking instinctively, she twisted the knob in the other direction, projecting out of the Plantan ship like a shot. Soaring over the water, she felt the engines stall, and, cursing, she heard Zayden’s weak voice. “Use the red handle.” Looking back, she saw his bloody face—his good eye was closed, his breathing raspy.

  “What?”

  “The red is up, blue is down…get it?” He turned white; his head rolled to the side.

  She pushed the red throttle, smiling as the ship took off almost perpendicular to the raging sea. In the distance, she saw the walls of a beautiful city under bombardment, but still amazingly whole. She knew she couldn’t fly into the line of fire, so using the wheel, she turned sharply toward a giant volcano rising from a smoking red forest.

  Chapter 23

  The battle raged. By nightfall, many buildings were pitted by the attack, but standing as strong and as solid as they had in the morning. Using ships, the Darracians sent their whole first division to attempt to board the enemy in the Sea of Hixom. V’sair watched in horror as they were picked off to drown, their boats never even getting close to the alien vessels. Parts of the Desa burned; the beaches were littered with Seren’s soldiers, killed in the second attempt to repel the invasion.

  “This is getting nowhere.” V’sair turned to his staff. “They are destroying the Desa. I will go and talk to them.”

  “They will kill you, and where would we be!” Swart growled. “Syos is safe.”

  “But the Desa is not,” V’sair said miserably.

  “Look.” Vekin pointed to a screen showing a slender body picking her way through the carnage to reach the sea. V’sair looked at one of the many screens and realized his mother was on the beach.

  “Mother,” V’sair whispered despairingly, turning to follow her.

  “V’sair, wait.” Vekin stopped him. “Let her do this. Perhaps she can talk some sense into them. They are her species after all.”

  “She is unprotected.” V’sair shook his head. “Prepare Hother.”

  “You cannot leave, Sire!” Vekin held his arm.

  “This is madness. I should be there. I must be the one to negotiate with them.”

  “You can’t negotiate with the devil!” Swart yelled. “That fat bag of wind Brault hasn’t talked! We don’t know who the other traitors are!”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. All is lost. At least if I go to them, perhaps I can make things easier for Darracia and my people.”

  “You go to certain death,” Vekin told him.

  “In life nothing is certain except for death.” V’sair ran to the stables.

  Reminda slid down the embankment, her white hair a beacon to her brother, who watched with interest as she approached the sandy beach.

  Lothen sent a small craft for his sister, waiting for her in his quarters. It was quiet now. They didn’t know that he had used up most of his firepower. He was running low on ammunition. The damn city remained as upright and whole as when he started. He looked upward, calling out to Geva, his eyes hot pits of coal. “Geva,” he demanded. “Does the Element have more power than you! Make these bastards fall.” He pounded his chest. “My time has come! It is our covenant. Forsake not your most cherished follower.”

  The air around him churned, enveloping him in a gray mist, followed by a foul odor. “You dare question my power?” He heard Geva’s voice fill the room. Pressure grew, and Lothen fell to his
knees as if he was slammed to the floor. “I lust for blood. Bring me blood and I will bring you Darracia!”

  “Geva commanded.” Lothen bowed his head. “And I obey.” He rose to look at the bombarded city in the sky, the black skyline of the burning forest. “So, Geva says it won’t be long now. They have lost; we have conquered them.” He didn’t even think he needed his puppet Staf Nuen anymore. He had watched Staf preening over the slave, calling her his queen. It disgusted him, but what did he expect—the man was a graphen addict, and in the thrall of the Venturian slave. He would make a gift to Geva of that one.

  The door opened, and he saw his sister pushed in. He bowed with a sneer. “Ah, the mighty Reminda. Your son is not man enough to do his work.”

  Reminda walked in, furious. “He is ten times the man you are. He wouldn’t kill innocents!”

  Lothen grabbed her by her forearms, his face purple with rage. “There are no innocents!”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Oh, high and mighty Reminda, the good and generous queen. When did you think of anybody but your precious Drakko or Darracia? Did you ever think to do something for your homeland?”

  “I asked…we tried…”

  “Not hard enough.”

  “Father put a price on my head. What did you expect me to do?” Reminda spit. “What did you expect me to do?”

  “I know what I am going to do.” He pressed his intercom, and threw her toward two guards who entered. “My sister wants a new career. Put her in a pod. She goes to Bina to work in the mines.”

  Lothen stalked past her white face, turning to sneer before he left, “Now I go to finish your son.”

  V’sair rode Hother to the banks of the great ocean, his army below, his cavalry behind him. Dressed all in blue, with the flag of Darracia held by Swart’s grandson, his standard bearer, he approached the ships bobbing on the water. The sea had turned an odd shade of purple, swirling foam covering the choppy waves. He realized with a start, his two uncles stood united on the enemy ship, looking to overtake his home.

  “Lothen?” he called out, his voice ringing through the fog.

  “Here.” A tall man with a war knot of ivory hair moved in front. “Greetings, nephew.” He bowed, a mocking glint in his blue eyes. “I bring you tidings from your home planet.”

  “Darracia is my home planet.” V’sair nodded in acknowledgement. “Where is my mother?”

  “She is safe.”

  “I didn’t ask you that! Where is she?”

  “It is of no consequence. We have won. Your Elements have changed sides. Geva is the new religion here.”

  “What do you want from us?” V’sair called out.

  Lothen laughed, smiling as a stallius cantered toward the king. “Took you long enough.” He spoke to the Quyroo riding toward the king, his voice carrying over the distance.

  “I was detained; forgive me, Sire.” Seren jumped off his stallius to kneel toward the ship. He pointed a gun at V’sair’s heart. “You are invited to join your uncles on the ship, V’sair,” he sneered.

  Fireblades were drawn as two Darracian soldiers jumped from their mounts.

  “Do anything and your king dies.” Seren turned to V’sair. “They have your mother. King Lothen has told me to tell you that if you do anything, she will die, and die painfully.”

  “Seren! Why? We gave you a command of your own.”

  Seren walked over to V’sair. “You poached on the Quyroo preserve. Tulani will never be yours.”

  V’sair slid off Hother and gave the reins to his standard bearer. “Take her.” He followed Seren to the launch to take him to the Plantan ship.

  Chapter 24

  The small craft careened over the smoking forest, bumping into trees. With each thump, she heard Zayden groan painfully.

  Denita scanned for a patch of meadow or grass to attempt a landing. It was all just one jumble of red; she could barely distinguish anything in the gloom. The ship lurched, the wing clipped by an outcropping of rocks, sending it into a spin. Bile rose to the back of Denita’s throat when they rotated upside down to hang suspended for a minute, before the engines died and they began to spiral down. Locking her arms rigidly, she wrestled with the wheel, trying to right the craft, but it wouldn’t budge. The monochromatic wall of trees sped past her, tears gathering in her eyes at their helplessness. Something grabbed the ship, halting it in a springlike motion, and it bounced nauseatingly in a trap, rocking as if in a cradle.

  The motion slowed, the ship still bouncing, her stomach rushing up to meet her gullet. Zayden was ominously quiet. The rocking slowed, and Denita unbuckled herself to check on Zayden. Fumbling with his latch, she tried to lift it, but it was stuck fast. On her knees, she pounded with her fists, but it was immovable.

  She felt a hot hand touch her shoulder and she screamed, turning to see a wizened creature curiously looking at her. Naked from the waist up, she was wrinkled and red, with star-shaped eyes examining her.

  “Bobbien help?” she asked in a musical voice.

  Denita opened her mouth, but no sounds came out.

  The odd creature looked in the backseat and spied the injured Darracian. “Oh my, Zayden. What have you done to yourself?” Bobbien climbed onto the craft, making it feel even more unstable. She considered Denita’s white face. “Don’t look down, dearie. It’s a long trip.”

  Denita turned to gaze at the drop, swallowing compulsively.

  “I told you not to look down,” Bobbien admonished. “Help me.”

  Her long, red fingers were able to loosen the glass hatch, and she watched slack jawed as the old woman pulled Zayden from the wreckage with unbelievable strength.

  “Come!” She held out a hand to the younger girl. “Follow me. I fix him, no?”

  Denita reached out and let this alien creature guide her to safety.

  Chapter 25

  Seren hustled V’sair into the knee-deep water to board the skiff sent out to them. They climbed in, and V’sair turned to the Quyroo. “Not two days ago, you saved my life.”

  “I had to. I was being watched. Bobbien was right behind me.”

  “I don’t understand…” V’sair said quietly.

  “There is nothing to understand. As long as you are king, the most I can hope is to serve you, rise to some inconsequential post in the army. Lothen made me a better offer.”

  “But he is Plantan…”

  “So are you,” Seren responded, then looked to the red stone city floating in the clouds above them.

  Seren pushed V’sair none too gently as they boarded the painted Plantan vessel. It bobbed in the unsteady water, and V’sair reached out to hold a rail. Seren shoved him hard in the shoulder, directing him to Lothen’s quarters. Inside, Staf stood next to Lothen, a dark-eyed woman next to him. The room was icy cold; V’sair shivered in spite of himself. Lothen drank from a clear goblet—a small red fish swam inside. V’sair heard faint mewing, but could not find its source.

  “So, now you have both my mother and me. What do you want, ransom? Crystals?” V’sair asked.

  Staf stepped forward. “Your reign is finally over. You and that Planta whore can orbit the planet for the rest of your miserable lives. Now Darracia will have justice.”

  “You will never rule Darracia. Ozre will stop you,” V’sair replied defiantly.

  Lothen eased his lanky frame from his chair, taking his goblet with him. He walked close to V’sair, towering over him. He raised his glass with a salute, and V’sair watched in horror as he downed a small humanoid creature.

  “Delicious…would you like some?” Lothen asked with his basilisk stare. “You are Plantan—you might like it.”

  “Half-Plantan,” V’sair said distastefully. “I prefer Darracian customs.”

  “You are a rare mixture, a regular ambassador for all species.” Lothen walked around the room. “Your mother is Plantan, your father Darracian, you love a Quyroo.” He stopped and grabbed V’sair by his chin. “I know everything about you, nephe
w; you sip from every flower taking only what you want. Do you have gills, V’sair?”

  “No,” V’sair answered curtly. “This is no business of yours.”

  Lothen grabbed his hand. “No gills, no webs between your fingers, yet you are shaped like us.” He pulled the sleeve up his arm roughly to examine the bluish skin.

  V’sair pulled away. “I am Darracian in body and anima. If this is your idea of what makes a Planta, I am happy to say the only thing I have in common with you is my mother. Where is she?” he demanded.

  “She is no longer your concern.”

  “If you have harmed her, I will kill you.”

  Lothen laughed. Staf shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. “Kill him and get it over with.”

  Lothen ignored him, walking over to consider V’sair again.

  “I just want to know if you are more Plantan than Darracian.” His uncle circled him, watching the younger man. He touched the white braid, and V’sair defiantly pulled away. “You are not in a position to be arrogant. Try it,” Lothen commanded as he brought another goblet with a fish swimming frantically around in a circle. V’sair realized the mewing sound was coming from its frightened mouth.

  His uncle held the glass to his lips, forcing V’sair to drink. “Try it, V’sair. You might like it and us. Try it and we can talk about a proposition,” his oily voice wheedled. V’sair looked away, his eyes scanning the portholes at his ruined forests.

  “What!” Staf interrupted. “You didn’t say anything about this!”

  “I don’t remember that I have to report to you. Meanwhile, I see two kings here, not three.”

  Staf stalked over to him, his face very close to Lothen. “This was not our deal.”

  Lothen touched the older man’s neck and replied, “Don’t let me call on Geva.” He turned to Seren. “Take them out of here and lock them up.”

  Seren paused, looking at both men. Lothen laughed, reaching out to touch the Quyroo on the shoulder. “Oh, don’t worry, Seren, both the Desa and Tulani are yours.”