A screen flashed to Bálok’s right as Izar’s face appeared, seated at his enormous console on his command ship Shimati. Bálok signaled for his first officer to handle the Igigi’s maneuvers while he switched his headset to pick up Izar’s audio on a private channel.
“Bálok, how are you coming with Kish?”
“We’ve razed the city’s three landing fields and ten of the twelve military bases above ground. A handful of warships scattered and fled, but we blew everything else we encountered to pieces. The Goran estates are nearly all in shambles.”
“Good. Except for the palace, I’ve got the entire imperial district burning.”
“Hell, I can see that,” Bálok replied, glancing at one of his screens which showed buildings in the distance ablaze with light and smoke.
“We decimated the garrisons and the few ships left on the ground at the imperial airfield. I blew the arena to bits myself—felt so damned good.”
“What, no sentimental attachment to the place where I killed you?”
Izar broke into a burst of laughter. “You’re fucking hilarious when you want to be.”
“Don’t let that get out.”
“Ok, our secret. We’re just about to land. I’ll be sending out ground troops in just a few minutes. Most of the Ka leaders are heading in while their fleets secure the other metro areas on the surface. Break yourself away and come down—I want you there when we nail Tashek.”
“You’re sure he didn’t flee to the interior?”
“I have Ka operatives in the palace who tell me he never left and that they’ve sabotaged all the hidden escape routes. I—hold on, don’t go away.” Izar kept the visual link with Bálok open, but switched his audio to another call. He spoke and nodded a few times before coming back to Bálok. “I’ve got Mardukan on another channel. Bloody hell, he wants to cut a deal. Didn’t you tell me he showed you some unusual gold technology when you were in Rigel?”
“Yeah, some sophisticated portal devices he never shared with Tashek, but he wouldn’t sell, remember?”
“Uh-huh. I think he just wanted you to see he had them—now I know why. Alright, I’ve got to deal with this. Get yourself over here and make your way to the throne room. I’ll be there soon.”
Bálok squinted at the blank screen, wondering what the shrewd Orion leader was up to. Izar’s prediction that the Gorans would fight to the last man had come to pass, with the exception of Mardukan, the one surprise on the whole chessboard. Bálok’s visit to Rigel right after the tournament had been interesting, but decidedly odd, and he’d come away with the feeling that the old Goran ruler was quite aware of which way the wind was blowing in the Empire. As soon as the war had broken out, he’d held up all gold exports to both sides and stayed out of the fighting in Draco, focusing instead on fending off Eo’s vicious attacks on his own holdings.
Turning his attention back to his console, Bálok rapped out orders to his fleet commanders over his headset. “Zirik, take the reins on the fleet and finish the attacks on the targeted sites. I’ll be joining Izar at the imperial palace.”
“Brak,” he called to the navigational officer at a console below his. “Take the Igigi over to the imperial airfield and set us down anywhere you can find clear space.”
Within minutes, Bálok’s screens were filled with close-up images of the destruction to imperial buildings from Izar’s warships. The arena next to the airfield was indeed nothing more than a mountain of smoking rubble. Not far away, the looming black shape of the massive Shimati dominated the collection of warships with Rastaban’s insignia already on the ground while swarms of troops and vehicles poured out of them, spreading across the pavement toward the palace. Warships bearing the markings of Aldhiba, Altais, Grumium, Kuma, and several other houses were just touching down behind the lines of Rastabanian ships.
As soon as the Igigi was securely on the ground, Bálok buzzed the captain of his personal guard. “Jimat, bring your men down to accompany me into the palace.” As he got up from his console and headed for the lift running down through the center of the ship, he glanced aside at his first officer. “Akád, you’ve got the bridge. Have a couple of transport vehicles offloaded immediately.”
By the time Bálok stepped out of the lift at the bottom of the warship, two open vehicles were being driven down the wide offramp to the pavement below. He sauntered down the ramp at an easy pace, glad to have a few moments to stretch his long legs, pausing partway down to survey the teeming activity all over the field.
The air close to the ground was hot and acrid, filled with ash from the burning garrisons at the perimeter of the pavement. Images of his previous arrival flashed through Bálok’s mind and his chest constricted with remembered anxiety from the whole tournament ordeal. He had come to Darban angry and victimized, but because of one frustrating, amazing man, he’d left in one piece, stronger and more anchored within himself, with the sky wide open.
Bálok looked up at the Shimati, towering high above everything else within view—sleek, brazen, larger than life, like the man who had built it. He nodded to himself as Jimat and his officers came down the ramp behind him. There was no doubt in his mind that he had made the right choice by throwing his lot in with the Lord of Rastaban.
Climbing into the waiting vehicles, the party took off across the pavement. The masses of black-clad troops wearing Izar’s badge parted for the two vehicles and the moment the Lord of Eltanin was recognized, arms went into the air and widespread cheering arose as he passed.
The fortified gates to the palace grounds had been blown apart and the road was flooded with troops moving in toward the sprawling palace complex. As Bálok’s party drove down the primary artery toward the central building, the grounds on both sides of the road teemed with shouting, jubilant groups of Ka’s and other reptilians scattered amongst the troops. Bálok saw several piles of purple clothing burning while more coats and tunics were thrown on as imperial soldiers and servants ran up and stripped out of them. It had been the same on other worlds they had taken—Ka Drahks throwing off the yoke of brutal Goran rule, laying down arms or even taking part in the demise of their former masters.
The Eltanin party came to a halt alongside other empty vehicles lining the wide circular drive in front of the elaborate palace entrance. The sound of explosions could be heard coming from inside the palace as Bálok climbed the sweeping steps, his tall form cutting the way easily for his group through the throngs swarming in and out of the ornate open doors at the top.
The smell of explosives hit Bálok’s nostrils before he saw the damage just ahead through the high doors leading into the throne room. A wide hole had been blasted through Tashek’s maze and groups of soldiers were busy clearing the last of the debris out of the way for an unobstructed path to the large chamber beyond.
“Quite an improvement, wouldn’t you say, Jimat?”
“Indeed, Lord,” the stoic captain replied, following close behind his right shoulder.
As Bálok and his men walked past the crumbling walls into the throne room, his eyes scanned over the parties already present. It was a vastly different set of faces that met his gaze than the last grim time he’d been here. Shahr and several of his sons stood in a large cluster to his left with Ushak, Tivas, and a dozen other leaders from the Altain Collective. Nakkár chatted with his officers across the way, while Súlanan waited at the front of his men, proud and aloof, but at least present. Scores of Rastabanian noblemen and their officers made up the vast majority of the men crowding into the wide open space, and at the very front of the chamber loomed Tirgal’s unmistakable figure with Daga at his side, surrounded by a good number of his clan leaders and officers.
The Aldhiban ruler stood with his arms crossed, watching Bálok like a hawk, and as soon as the Eltanin lord stepped forward into the room, Tirgal raised his hands and began to clap, a slow, commanding sound until it spread throughout the room while Bálok made his way to the front, followed by his band of officers.
&nb
sp; “The man who made this possible,” Tirgal’s deep voice boomed as he reached a hand out to grip Bálok’s shoulder. “I’ve waited years to tell you this—we’re grateful for what you’ve done, Lord Bálok.” Beside him, Daga nodded, his gray eyes glistening with the same pride and admiration his grandfather expressed.
Bálok tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Have they found Tashek?”
“Oh, yes,” Tirgal replied with a satisfied smile, dropping his hand to his side. “Apparently there was some kind of palace-wide effort before we ever got here to keep the Goran royalty from escaping. Most of them are already dead.”
A commotion of raised voices broke out from the ruined maze area and spilled into the chamber, heralding Izar’s approach. Bálok stepped back from Tirgal with his men to create a path to the dais as heads turned toward the entrance. Izar’s black-clad form sauntered through the rubble with a rifle slung across his back, his right hand held to his flashing headset as he issued orders while he walked.
The throne room exploded with whistles and applause as the Lord of Rastaban passed through with his fist raised in the air. He stopped when he came to Bálok, addressing him as if there were no other people in the room.
“I just made a deal with Mardukan—he agreed to turn the rest of his territory over to Eo, including the keys to the hidden center of navigational production, and sell us the portal technology he showed you, if I leave Rigel alone.”
“Damn,” Bálok exclaimed, “that equipment could be pivotal in our expansion campaigns.”
“I know,” Izar agreed. “That’s what I thought when you told me about it after your visit. It’s a damned good thing you won his respect at the tournament or we might never have found out it existed.”
“That sly old fox really knew how to play his hand.”
“No shit,” Izar replied with a nod of admiration. “And to top things off, when I contacted Eo to call off of his attacks in Rigel, he told me the primary portal over Mardukan’s homeworld suddenly closed down tighter than a drum and that the planet’s surface readings shifted to appear uninhabited.”
“What the hell? He disappeared?”
“Oh, he’s still there. He’s sending us a message about what he’s got. I think we have some interesting surprises out ahead of us,” he said with a cat-like grin.
Flipping around to face the packed throne room, Izar called out in a loud voice which rang above the buzz, “Alright, let’s get this done!” While the cheering started up again, he turned toward the steps of the dais and began a gradual ascent as he pulled the rifle down from his shoulder, raised it casually, and shot a single discharge into the ornate gold throne, bursting it to pieces which flew backward against the wall. When he reached the top step, he reslung the rifle across his back and touched his headset to speak a few words to one of his officers.
A door opened at the back of the dais and a few seconds later, the gaunt figure of the Emperor was ushered out at gunpoint ahead of several Rastabanian soldiers. Tashek’s eyes burned with hatred as he walked haltingly toward Izar and stopped several feet away, scowling up at the large man towering over him by at least a foot and a half.
“Well, Rastaban, you’ve finally gotten what you wanted,” he rasped bitterly, “to steal my throne with the help of all these mongrels. I should have hunted you down and squashed you years ago, just like I did your father.”
Izar made no reply and stood watching him with a closed expression.
“Does it feel good, Izar, to wipe out your betters? My family has ruled Draco for thousands of years! You’re nothing—nothing in the face of Goran superiority! We built this empire—you’re no more than a squirming usurper.”
The Goran ruler sent his gaze sweeping out over the sea of Ka nobility, “You’re all dogs, running after this … this pretentious popinjay!” he yelled, waving toward Izar in outrage. “You owe your allegiance to me! My house! I’m your rightful ruler. And yooouuu—!” he shouted as his eyes landed on Bálok at the bottom of the stairs.
“Traitor!” he shrieked, taking a step forward and shaking his fist at Bálok, his eyes becoming wild while his voice climbed into a high pitched screech. “You conniving, thieving traitor! Cheating me after I rewarded you! You should be strung up and bled—”
The Emperor’s words were cut off when Izar grabbed him by the throat. “You can rail at me, but you will not insult that man,” he hissed, trembling with anger. “I’ve had enough of you and so has everyone else.”
Tashek’s face twisted with fear when Izar claws and fingers dug into his neck, squeezing his windpipe and choking off his air. Blood streamed down Izar’s arm as he lifted the aging Goran ruler off the ground and held him above his head.
“Are you afraid, Tashek? Afraid of ending your long and pointless life?” Izar snarled into the Goran’s face, his eyes narrowing in eminent satisfaction as he drew in Tashek’s terror while the Goran grabbed at his hand and struggled futilely. Izar gripped him in an iron hold, squeezing and shaking, until Tashek’s body went limp and his eyes were dull and lifeless.
With a sharp exhale, Izar held the dead Emperor at the end of his arm out toward the room. Shouts of approval and exaltation erupted all over the wide chamber as Izar slowly descended the steps, pausing halfway where he threw Tashek’s body down to the floor at the base in a crumpled heap.
It was over, the end of a long history of Goran despots. While the throne room burst with the adulation of the gathered Ka nobility, Bálok gazed at the man who would lead the empire into a new era—a formidable, brilliant man worthy of his loyalty and the allegiance of the billions of reptilians in the Draco Expanse. Izar’s vision would take them to places the rest of them could barely imagine and Bálok knew with unshakable conviction that he would follow Izar’s lead until the day one of them stopped breathing.
When the Lord of Aldhiba stepped forward, bent his knee, and lowered his head, Bálok joined the other Ka leaders and officers in kneeling before Izar, pledging their fealty in a show of respect for the chosen ruler of the new empire.
The sound of Izar’s boots descending the last of the dais steps rang over the hush in the crowded room. Bálok waited with his head lowered, puzzled when Izar walked across the floor at the bottom of the dais and stopped directly in front of him.
Izar slipped his hand under Bálok’s right arm and gripped it firmly, pulling forcefully until Bálok obeyed and slowly came to his feet.
“Look at me,” he whispered.
When Bálok lifted his head, Izar’s shimmering green eyes bored into his. “Never, ever bow to me,” he said with unyielding vehemence, staring unwaveringly while he waited for Bálok to acquiesce.
The moment Bálok nodded his assent, Izar relaxed his grip and began to smile. Without releasing Bálok from his gaze, he raised his fist into the air once more and let out a loud, raucous cry of victory.
“Get up! All of you, get up!” he yelled, laughing deeply in his chest until Bálok broke down and began to laugh with him.
As the Drahkian nobles came to their feet, Izar cried out again and again, his uninhibited zeal catching like wildfire, inciting Bálok and everyone else in the room to raise their voices, shaking the Darbanian throne room to the rafters and making themselves heard far beyond the bounds of Draco.
Author’s Note
To Steal a Moon is the backstory of events leading to Bálok and Izar’s overthrow of the Tashekan Empire in Draco. Both characters appear as antagonists in the epic science fantasy series beginning with Blood of the Prime, T’nari Renegades—Pleiadian Cycle, Book I (see the excerpt “Attack on Prion” included below).
Izar’s name is pronounced “ee-zar,” not “eye-zar.” Using an “e” or “ee” to spell his name just looked stupid.
Please note that fight descriptions were purposefully kept brief in the interest of story flow.
“T’nari” refers to a family of consciousness who shares a common purpose.
Lastly, if anyone cares, I had two incredible pieces of
music pounding through my library and my head during much of the time I wrote this work: “The Menagerie” from the Halo 3 ODST Soundtrack and Dream Theater’s “Lost Not Forgotten” from A Dramatic Turn of Events. Hats off to the masters who wrote them—you rock and inspire.
—Erin
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Other Publications by This Author
T’NARI RENEGADES—PLEIADIAN CYCLE
To Steal a Moon (Novella)
Descent of the Maw (Novel)
Flare Shifter (Novella)
Blood of the Prime (Book I)
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Excerpt from
Blood of the Prime
T’nari Renegades—Pleiadian Cycle, Book I
Excerpt from Chapter 15
“Attack on Prion”
The Shraal thrummed. All aboard the Drahkian flagship had shed their heavy heatsuits and were dressed in sleeveless dark green shirts and trousers, tense and ready—ready for a fight, ready for a feast, ready to be warm after frigid weeks on Maia’s tiny outworld of Galah. The small, innermost world of Prion with its luscious tropical heat and abundant food supply was the next prime parcel on the campaign agenda.
To Steal a Moon Page 13
