“No—he and your boys are just taking a little nap while we have a talk. They won’t notice a thing when they wake up.” Cocking his head to the side, Izar studied him closely. “Mmm, loyalty to a subordinate—you just keep getting more and more interesting.”
Bálok narrowed his eyes warily as Izar pushed away from the tiled wall. “Oh, I know many things about you, Bálok,” he said, stripping out of his black shirt and dropping it to the floor. “Come, have a bath with me.”
Stepping out from under the eaves, the light from the massive moon destroyer directly overhead caught in Izar’s feathery crest and glinted off his gold armbands as he lifted his face up toward the bright disc. “So beautiful and yet so deadly,” he declared, “like you.” Turning his head back toward Bálok, he regarded him keenly, the invitation unmistakable in his luminous green eyes.
Bálok remained where he was, as still as stone. Izar nodded subtly, bowing to his reticence. “Come, we’ll just talk,” he said quietly and peeled off the rest of his clothing. “Come.”
With a silent exhale, Bálok watched the Rastabanian walk out to the far end of the bathing pool and step down into the still water. Cautiously Bálok crossed the pavement to the edge of the shallow pool and stood, contemplating the enigmatic man who had invaded his personal space.
Izar lowered his long body into the warm water and slid under the surface, completely submerging himself before sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face as the water ran off his skin in rivers. “Ah, this feels so good after two days of fighting,” he groaned. Leaning back against the end of the pool, he spread his arms out on both sides and let out a long sigh of pleasure. Looking up at Bálok, he waved a hand toward the pool, nodding in satisfaction when Bálok finally relented and slipped down into the water.
“What are you doing here?” Bálok rumbled, leaning his shoulders back against his end of the pool.
The Rastabanian leader leveled him a look of complete candor. “I want you to join me, Bálok.”
“And do what?”
Izar simply gazed at him and waited.
“Are you serious?”
The Rastabanian nodded slowly. “Dead serious. We need a change and I’m ready to make it happen.”
Bálok stared. He should have seen this coming. Quite obviously Tashek had which was why the sadistic bastard was so obsessed with taking Izar out of the picture. The idea of embarking on a war to bring down the vicious Goran Emperor and his vile cronies was both unsettling and intensely exhilarating, especially in light of what he’d experienced since he arrived on Darban. His thoughts flew with the possibilities, jumping from his own resources, fleet, and current warship supplies in Eltanin, to a run-through of potential allies and enemies, tallying up fighting power, assets, handicaps, liabilities—
A slow smile crept over Izar’s face as he read the nuances of Bálok’s reaction and the direction of his thoughts with disturbing clarity.
“We have a bit of a mess here to clean up before we can do anything else,” Bálok growled irritably.
Izar’s smile became radiant. “I know, Bálok, we do. It’s all part of the plan.”
They sat for quite a while in amiable silence. Bálok scrutinized the man he had been ordered to kill. There were none like him—audacious, incomparably talented, compelling. Bálok was strangely reassured by Izar’s presence and enticed by his bold proposition, which did nothing to still the twisting in his belly; in fact, it made his damnable predicament all that much more enraging.
“You were incredible out there today,” Izar began after a time. “I applaud you for killing Majah.”
“I was sick of his shit,” Bálok replied caustically. “Zan shouldn’t be dead.”
“And Daga might be if it weren’t for you.”
“That jackass was so pissed after you sliced him down—he wasn’t going to stop until he killed someone.”
“The other Gorans are just as virulent and obnoxious as he was.”
“No shit. They’ve been lining up like howling hyenas for a piece of your hide,” Bálok said with a shake of his head.
“I know! They’re hysterical! How much is it up to now?”
“What, the price on your head?”
“Yeah.”
“Five hundred thousand gold weights.”
“Really? Coooool!” Izar threw back his head and laughed. “No wonder they’ve been so entertaining. Just what are we going to do with ourselves when they aren’t around any more?”
“Oh, I can think of a few things,” Bálok snarled.
“So can I, Bálok, so can I,” Izar agreed soberly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Tell me, why the hell are we subservient to those fools? There are a whole lot more of us than there are of them.”
Bálok looked at him with chagrin. “The destroyers.”
“That’s the only reason. They’ve been hanging them over our heads to stay in power for eons. The Empire’s a fucking mess! It used to be huge, but now we’re nothing more than a bunch of raving, overgrown houses in Draco that feed on each other. Tashek’s been ruling more than three thousand Darbanian years and look what he’s done—weak central authority, no direction, widespread fighting amongst the houses—it’s chaos. He called in all the destroyers from the outlying territories which he let go to rot, just to keep us all at each other’s throats. I mean, come on, Bálok, is that shit for brains or what?”
“He’s not an intelligent man.”
“No, he’s not,” Izar declared harshly. “He stirs our violence, but doesn’t control it. He has no vision—he can’t see past the next blood fix and it’s no different with the rest of the Goran gentry. If the Ka noble houses don’t pull their heads out of each other’s asses, we’ll all wipe each other out in one or two generations.”
“Is that why you held yourself back in the ring?”
Izar nodded. “I could easily have killed anyone they sent against me,” he stated flatly. “It would have been exhilarating and actually might have been expedient to take out a few Goran nobles while I had the chance, but I wanted to set an example for the Ka leaders in the games—I need them alive if we’re going to fight a war.”
“And they followed your lead,” Bálok remarked, recognizing the strength of the Rastabanian lord’s influence.
“Everyone but you, Bálok. You were with me yesterday, but today you went a bit rogue,” he said, his eyes narrowing in speculation. “Something got under your skin and wouldn’t let go.”
Bálok tilted his head to the side, unwilling to discuss his rancor over Eo with anyone. “How long have you been ruling Rastaban from Karkir?”
Izar pursed his mouth at Bálok’s evasion, blinking several times before letting it slide. “Seven hundred thirty-four Karkiran years—one thousand four Sakkaran years.”
The rapid computation was startling, giving Bálok yet another reason to pause over the Rastabanian’s virtuosic abilities. “What happened to your father?”
“Same thing as yours—blown out of the sky fighting. Ulgeb took him out at Tashek’s orders.”
“Were you the only heir?”
“Um-hmm—a good number of bastard brothers, but none who cross me. You?”
“I had two older brothers who were just as hot-headed as my father, only a couple bastard brothers. Sons?”
“Kamál is my only legitimate son so far. Saryn has miscarried seven times over the years since we were mated.”
“Bastards?”
“Yeah, quite a few. You?”
“A few.”
“No wife?”
“She’s dead.”
“You could have remarried—an aunt, a bastard sister or cousin, even a daughter.”
Bálok returned Izar’s prying remark with an icy stare.
“Mmm, I see,” Izar murmured quietly. “You’re not easy to read. I’ve been watching you, trying to figure out how you think.” He peered at Bálok searchingly. “If we’re going to turn this Empire around, I need someone at my side
who will do whatever it takes to keep this war-mongering race in line, no matter what the personal cost might be. When you killed Majah today, you risked your only son to Tashek’s wrath in order to do what needed to be done.”
Bálok’s stomach flipped over several times at the reminder of the danger he’d brought to Shim, but he remained silent.
Izar’s eyes widened. “Shim’s still at risk. That bastard threatened you, didn’t he? That’s why you have imperial troops outside your door.”
Bálok dropped his gaze, unable to meet the penetrating green orbs that saw far more than he wanted to reveal. “You risked your wife and son by walking in here,” he replied, grabbing a firm hold on his mask before looking up again. Izar was still gaping at him with shrewd calculation.
“Drahks value their sons, but not their wives—or any other female,” the Rastabanian muttered, more to himself than to Bálok. “Saryn was right about you. But then, she’s right about most things.”
As the image of Izar’s luscious mate rose in Bálok’s mind, so did his flesh beneath the surface of the water. He clenched his jaw while he struggled to bring his unruly cock back under control. “What’s she like?” he managed to spit out as he stifled a shiver of arousal.
Izar let out a deep, throaty laugh and smiled knowingly, acutely aware of another male’s sexual interest. He shifted his weight, sliding back down into the pool, leaning his head back on the edge as he pulled his arms leisurely through the water in front of him. “I never talk about Saryn—no one ever asks or sees her as anything other than something to fuck.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Bálok said hoarsely, breathing deeply which did little to help bring down his flaming erection.
“Oh, she is quite delicious,” Izar confirmed with a sultry grin. “But she’s—” He broke off his sentence and squinted, as if searching for the right words.
“Extraordinary,” Bálok finished with a heavy exhale.
Izar smiled lazily at Bálok’s discomfort. “I’m amazed you can see that there’s more to her than sex. I had no idea myself until we were mated. Like any other Drahk, our father kept his females sequestered and used them as he pleased, but for some unfathomable reason, he never touched Saryn, so she came to me undamaged. Outside of the obvious physical pleasures, she’s one of the sharpest people I know, Bálok. We talk for hours, sometimes way into the night. She tells me all kinds of useful things about people and their motives. Her insights are uncanny.”
“Does that have something to do with the cult of Baal? You both wear the symbol.”
“You noticed that, did you?” Izar said, raising one of his arms up above the water to glance at the intricately-worked gold band. “Saryn considers herself a priestess of Baal and says she gets her vision directly from him.”
Bálok raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“To answer your doubts, no, I don’t have any use for anything smacking of religion, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore the mark of expanded intelligence in the information she’s given me. Whether it comes from Saryn or some entity who calls itself Baal, I don’t care—I weigh it by what it shows me. She’s been invaluable in helping me pinpoint the strongest players on the board.”
“Is that why you brought her with you?”
Izar flashed him a devilish grin. “Yeah, and I knew it would royally piss off Tashek. He’s such a woman-hater.” His broad smile shifted into a look of curious contemplation. “I know Saryn’s been watching you since we got here,” he said softly, nodding when he picked up on Bálok’s quick intake of breath. “She’s the one who tipped me off about you in the first place.”
“What did she say?”
Izar narrowed his eyes and considered him for several moments. “She says you’re not who you think you are—that you’re more than you understand.”
Perplexed, Bálok furrowed his brow. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Izar admitted candidly. “There are things she holds back from me. I’m not sure if she’ll ever tell me everything. I believe my Saryn finds you fascinating,” he said with quiet awe. “So do I.”
Uncomfortable under the intensity of Izar’s gaze, Bálok sat forward away from the pool wall and splashed water up over his head and chest, running his hands over his face and flinging the excess water away with a flick of his head.
Izar followed suit and sat up in the pool, casually leaning his forearms on his pulled-up knees. “Of course, after Saryn told me you had such potential, I did my own checking,” he said in a more conversational tone. “You have quite a dangerous reputation throughout Draco, and not just for brutality in the arena. My sources tell me your fleets are equipped with high-caliber technology, more powerful than the arms and ships you manufacture.”
“It’s always wise to keep the upper hand.”
“I agree. I was also told that your troops are well trained and highly effective when you strike. From a cursory glance over your officers on the floor and in the stands, I read sharpness and discipline which speak loudly of their leader’s demands.”
“I expect my men to be as skilled as I am and have little tolerance for anyone out of line.”
“They were ready to start a small war in the arena today at your nod, every one of them.”
“And they’d all be dead if I hadn’t called them off,” Bálok said with a frustrated sigh.
“An astute leader knows when it’s prudent not to fight. They obeyed, Bálok. You have good men.”
Bálok nodded in agreement. “I demand nothing less than absolute loyalty.”
“You command absolute loyalty. There’s a difference. Your officers respect you and would walk through the fires of hell for you.”
“You seem to have that same talent, Izar,” Bálok replied with a thoughtful expression. “From what I’ve seen the last two days, you command the respect of more than just your men.”
The Rastabanian leader returned his look with a level stare. “I’m glad you recognize that, Bálok,” he said softly before a wicked grin crossed his face. “But I’m sure I have more enemies than you do.”
Bálok shook his head, his mouth curling with a hint of amusement. “You do have a gift for bringing a rise out of, let’s see—just about everyone. I have my share of enemies from disgruntled business partners or families of fighters I’ve beaten or killed in the ring, enough to cost me time and money.”
“Which you cut down with blistering effectiveness. I bet you’re as talented in the field as you are on the floor.”
“Damned straight.”
“Good—so am I,” Izar stated frankly. “The curious thing about you, Bálok, is that you haven’t gone looking for a fight like most Drahkian rulers.”
“Not yet.”
Izar’s eyebrows rose and he regarded him with a weighing look. “What would you do with an imperial destroyer if you win the games, Bálok?”
“Bloody hell,” Bálok groaned peevishly. “Tashek asked me the same question the first night we got here.”
“And?”
“I’m not telling you either!” he retorted with a small smile, bringing a burst of laughter from the Rastabanian leader.
“Alright, Bálok. Then tell me this—what do you want?”
Bálok leaned forward on his hands while he pondered what kind of reply to give this man. When he looked at it point blank, he knew exactly what was it that made his blood race—taking on a lethal opponent, the powerful stimulation of pushing his own abilities past their limits, and the rush of bringing an adversary down under his control. It was why he fought in the ring, but in the face of Izar’s electrifying proposition, the bar had been substantially raised and it became glaringly clear that he craved bigger prey.
“I want something to sink my teeth into.”
“A Drahkian answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Izar commented wryly. “I thought I saw a gleam in your eyes when I asked you to join me. Is that mind of yours hungry, Bálok? Tired of swatting away enemies in Eltanin or skirmishin
g with other houses?”
Bálok nodded solemnly. “I’m ready for a challenge.”
“Will making war on Tashek and the Gorans give you enough meat to chew on?”
“It would be a good start.”
“I like the way you think, Bálok,” Izar declared with a satisfied nod. “How are your supplies in Eltanin?”
“Warship production on Sakkara is ahead of schedule and I have enough raw materials and parts stockpiled to step up output if I need to for the next six months. My weapons plants on Tantera are currently at maximum performance, but if I cancel some of the backorders, it would free up some production for my own arsenal. As your spies have already ferreted out, my ships all carry the highest-grade disruptors which are produced on one of my secondary worlds—away from prying eyes,” he added with emphasis.
Izar smiled. “Armies?”
“Warships, battalions and transports on all seven populated worlds and bases on the outworlds with emergency facilities and supplies large enough to house most of my troops if necessary.”
“You like to be prepared. Primary populations?”
“We’re bursting at the seams on all worlds. Infrastructure maintenance, housing, and food production for the lower races take a huge portion of my resources away from manufacturing and military.”
“So new sources of income and wealth would interest you?”
“Always. What about your house?”
Izar looked at him with calm self-assurance. “Beyond the ten overpopulated worlds in Rastaban, I have seventeen star systems under my control, some in Draco, some solitary systems out beyond the fringes of the Expanse.”
Bálok’s eyes widened in surprise. “My god, Izar. Tashek would shit a brick!”
“Yeah, that’s one reason he hates me. He suspects I’ve expanded my holdings, but doesn’t really know how far or where.”
“Does anyone?”
“Just you.”
Bálok shook his head and splashed water in front of him with his hands while his mind raced with what Izar was telling him.
“My house had become enormously overgrown,” the Rastabanian lord continued. “I had to do something with all the contentious relatives I’ve got. Instead of letting them kill each other like Tashek does, I put them to work, gave them power and territory according to their abilities and loyalty. It works, Bálok.”
To Steal a Moon Page 9
