Kelia nestled back against the trunk of the tree. Her dark brown eyes scanned the barren wasteland that lay spread out before her, searching for anything out of the ordinary. She felt a faint tingle of excitement as she wondered what Arantha had brought her there to behold.
Chapter Three
E lzor watched the riders approach at a full gallop: five men, dressed in fine, high-quality armor. The merychs they rode were well-bred and strong, with long, flowing manes; suitable mounts for those who commanded the Agrusian army.
He cast a quick glance to his right. As always, Elzaria stood at his side. Like him, his twin sister was tall, with black hair and dark eyes that blazed with as much determination as his own. She, unlike Elzor or the six hundred soldiers that followed him, wore no armor. She wore a tight, emerald-green tunic, cinched at the waist by a thick leather belt, which hugged her slim frame. She was never shy about showing cleavage: it turned the heads of men who would invariably underestimate her.
Elzor heard the crackle of energy pass through her body as her power began to manifest, making the face beneath his short, dark beard itch, and a cold smile formed on his face. She'd come so far from the submissive, broken girl she once was.
Were he one of the many gullible fools who worshipped Arantha, he might have reasoned that finding the Stone was their destiny. Without it, he and his sister would have just been two more faceless orphans to work themselves to death in the mines of Barju.
On occasion, Elzor cursed the fates for choosing to bestow so much raw power upon his sister and not himself. Her capricious personality, coupled with her deep-seated rage, made her abilities difficult to keep secret. She spent years learning how to focus her mind, until such time as Elzor could gather enough followers to seize power for themselves.
He'd been patient, cunning and industrious. His masterplan was about to come to fruition. The power Elzaria channeled made her the most powerful weapon on Elystra.
It was now time to unleash that weapon.
As the riders drew nearer, Elzor scanned his surroundings. The road upon which they traveled, the main thoroughfare between Agrus and their former homeland of Barju, was wide and flat and accommodated most of his army, whom he'd dubbed the Elzorath. Six hundred men stood in impassive silence as the riders approached. Every man had his hand on the hilt of his sword.
This particular stretch of road curved through a thick forest of deciduous nipa trees. Most of the buildings in Agrus were made from this sturdy wood, the largest exception being the Castle Tynal. The centuries-old castle was the seat of power for Agrus's rulers, and by day's end, it would belong to him.
With a chorus of merychs' whinnies and the clip-clop of their hooves, the riders slowed to a halt. Elzor waited for them to dismount, but they did not.
He stared up at their leader, whose high-quality machinite armor bore the Agrusian emblem of two crossed swords. The commander's long, fair hair spilled down from his head, his jaw as square as his shoulders were broad. Elzor waited for the man to speak, but received only a contemptuous glower.
Another useless tactic. One would think that marching an invading army, in broad daylight, straight to his country's borders, would convince him that I'm immune to intimidation. What an arrogant braga.
“Shall I destroy them?” Elzaria whispered.
“Not yet, dear sister. Patience.”
She did not object. She merely cracked her knuckles in anticipation.
Finally, the commander spoke in a deep, booming voice. “When my scouts informed me earlier this morning that an army bearing no country's standard approached our borders, I was certain it was a mistake. Now that I have laid eyes upon this gross violation of our boundaries, I can see I was correct: this godless rabble has no business calling itself an army.”
Elzaria's lips curled into a snarl, the quietest of hisses escaping her lips. Elzor put a steadying hand on her arm as his eyes turned back to the Agrusian commander. “Bold words indeed,” he said, “for a man whose death is but one gesture away.” He raised his hand, and the front line of soldiers edged their swords several inches out of their scabbards.
The man's face hardened at the threat. “I am Nebri, High Commander of the Agrusian army. I have fought, and defeated, far more worthy foes than you, Elzor of Barju.”
Elzor's face broke into a humorless grin. “I see my reputation precedes me.”
Nebri gave him a dismissive smirk. “And what a reputation it is: a deserter, a coward, a captain who slaughtered his commanding officers and fled Barju like a whipped tigla.”
Right behind and to his left, Elzor heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. He turned to see a bald, bearded, barrel-chested man glaring at Nebri while taking several lumbering steps forward. Elzor held his hand up, halting the man's forward progress. “Stay your hand, Langon,” he said firmly.
Langon stopped at the order and stood at Elzor's side. “Yes, my liege.”
The big man's words elicited a peal of mocking laughter from the commander. “'My liege'? Great Arantha, you are an arrogant fool, aren't you?”
Elzor's eyebrows knitted together. “Taunt me at your peril, Agrusian,” he shot back.
“You are a fool, Elzor. No other description fits the folly of your presence here.”
“And what folly might that be?”
Nebri gestured back in the direction from which he'd come. “At the end of this road, the entire Agrusian army is assembled. We are better trained, better armed, and outnumber your filthy gang of heathens five to one.”
He raised his voice, addressing the Elzorath. “You men! If you turn back now, King Morix gives his word that you will not be pursued. But if you dare engage us in battle, I can assure you, no quarter will be given. You will die in ignominy, your lives cast asunder by the whim of a fool.”
A few of the assembled soldiers looked at each other while others shuffled their feet in momentary indecision. But none spoke, and none made a move to depart.
“As you can see,” Elzor said with a smug grin, “my men are loyal to me. No quarter would be asked for.”
Nebri scoffed. “Then they are as foolish as you. What self-respecting soldier would follow a leader who would bring a woman,” he turned his glance toward Elzaria, “into battle with him? Who is she, Elzor? Your own personal whore?”
The surge of power that resonated from within Elzaria increased as her seething, silent anger turned into white-hot hatred. A blue corona of energy appeared around her body, crackling and sparking as the power of the Stone coursed through her.
The Agrusians saw it too. They sat in slack-jawed silence for a few moments before pulling back on the reins of their whinnying merychs.
Before the riders could retreat, Elzor and Elzaria locked eyes. Elzor returned his sister's pleading look with a whispered, “Leave two of them alive.”
She nodded and smiled, strutting forward. She raised her arms, holding her palms outward. Addressing Nebri, she spat, “I am Elzaria, and I am your death!”
Intense blue energy shot from her hands. It diverged and formed branches like a bolt of lightning, striking Nebri and two other riders in the chest. Frozen in place, their bodies shuddered and twitched as their blood boiled from within. The three men let out a collective unholy scream that Elzor hoped could be heard by the rest of the Agrusian army. Wisps of smoke curled upward from their leather armor as their skin charred and split.
The other two riders, unable to help their comrades, turned their merychs away and spurred them back the way they came, riding like the wind.
After one final blast of energy, Elzaria pulled her hands back and studied her palms. She watched as the blue light flared and vanished, leaving not even the slightest mark or burn upon the skin of her hands. Her work done, she stepped back and returned to her brother's side.
In unison, the three riders toppled from their mounts and crashed to the ground. The merychs, though terrified, had not been touched, and would probably have bolted if three Elzorath hadn't come f
orward to grab their reins.
Elzor nodded, admiring his sister's precision. He glanced up, his eyes locked on the two surviving riders, who were already a hundred yards away and would soon disappear around the bend in the road.
Langon spoke up. “The archers you had me deploy behind the tree-line are in position, my liege. Shall I give the order to fire?”
Elzor shook his head. “No, Langon. Let them go.”
The big man looked incredulous, but Elzor ignored him. He stepped forward and took the reins from one soldier before placing his foot in the stirrup of Nebri's merych and hauling his body into the saddle. Elzaria and Langon climbed onto the other two.
Elzor turned to face Elzaria. “I have a task for you. Have you the stamina?”
“Of course.”
“Then ride with all speed to the road that runs parallel to the Saber River. When those two fools report what happened here, Morix will send messengers to his allies in the east, calling for aid. You must intercept them before they reach the northern forest.”
“Consider it done, my liege,” she said.
“When you have completed your task, join us on the plains northeast of Talcris. Kill any who stand in your way.”
Elzaria bowed her head, and immediately kicked her merych into action. The legion of soldiers parted as she rode through their ranks.
Elzor watched her go. Two miles away, this road intersected another that bore due west. Elzaria would then follow the tree line until she reached the Saber River. He had no doubt she would succeed in her task, and even less doubt that the Agrusian army knew what lay in store for them.
On his other side, Langon gave a deep, throaty chuckle as he shifted his massive bulk on top of his equally thick-muscled steed. “I've always wanted to ride a merych into battle.”
Elzor chuckled as well. “Today is the day, my friend.”
Langon raised his meaty arm, and a hush grew over the assembled army as they awaited the order. A faint smile played on his lips as he bellowed, “Elzorath, move out!”
As one, Elzor's army began their inexorable march across the Agrusian border, on the heels of their leaders who urged their merychs into a slow canter.
Elzor smiled again. His men were capable fighters, and were more than adequately prepared for battle.
Victory was theirs for the taking … after Elzaria had her fun.
Today, two legends would be born.
Chapter Four
“S hite!” Maeve waved her soldering gun at the control panel. After five hours, the Talon still refused to budge. As she looked out the viewport, her eyes locked onto a bluish-green orb that hung, tantalizingly close, only seven light-minutes away: Castelan VI.
We can't fail now. Not when we're so close.
She took a few deep breaths and wiped the sweat from her brow. She was about to make another attempt when she heard a voice behind her.
“Mom?”
Maeve turned around to see Davin, his curly vermillion hair matted and unkempt, poking his head through the cockpit door.
“What is it, Dav?” she asked, shoving her frustration aside for the moment.
He crossed the threshold, cradling a small bowl in his hands. “I brought you some soup. You haven't eaten in over eight hours.”
She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, let out a sigh, and put down the soldering gun before taking the bowl from her son. “What kind of soup?”
A bemused smirk appeared on his face as she lifted the spoon to her mouth. “The label just said 'soup mix', but I'm guessing tomato. I gotta warn you, though –”
Maeve took a slurp of the watery liquid and gagged. In an effort to keep the soup in her stomach where it belonged, she threw her head back and bellowed, “Saints alive!”
“… it tastes like shite,” Davin finished.
“Where'd you get this from, the reclamation tank?”
He grinned. “No, you're thinking of breakfast.”
Maeve made a face, abandoned the spoon, and took another hearty gulp directly from the bowl. “Yikes, that's bad.”
Davin pulled a canteen from his belt and handed it to her. “Here, you may want to wash it down with this.”
She grinned. “Whiskey?”
He rolled his eyes. “Water.”
“Pass. Haven't had a chance to fix the purifiers yet. The water tastes worse than this soup.”
“Not any more. I fixed 'em.” He shook the canteen in his hand, quirking an eyebrow.
She looked at her son with pride as she took the canteen and unscrewed the cap. “How'd you find the parts?”
“Um …” A guilty look crossed his face, as if he'd just been caught sneaking back in to the house after curfew.
“You know what? Forget I asked. I'm sure I don't wanna know.” She took a swig from the canteen, letting the surprisingly refreshing water slide down her parched throat. “Whoa. That's the cleanest water I've tasted in months. Great job, Dav.”
“Thanks.” He took the empty bowl from her and placed it on the copilot's chair. “How's your arm?”
Maeve looked down at the field dressing on the upper part of her left arm, which Davin had applied a few minutes after confirming they'd successfully escaped from the Terran system. They hadn't been followed, so she deduced the Jegg must believe them destroyed. With the quantigraphic rift drive non-operational, they were completely vulnerable.
“It's okay. Just a minor burn. I can feel the salve working. It actually itches more than it hurts.” She scratched at the surface of the bandage. “I hope my peregrine is still intact.”
Davin smirked. “I wouldn't worry. That falcon's as tough an old bird as you are.”
“Hey now,” she said with a scowl. “That's the pride of my flock you're talking about. It's the first tattoo I ever got, right after I joined the Space Corps. It means a lot to me. And I seriously doubt there's a tat artist on this planet who can give me a touch-up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” her son said as he gazed out the viewport at the nearby planet. “I … covered Gaspar up,” he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling.
Maeve cursed under her breath. Her dangerous plan to escape the Jegg was a success, and by the skin of their teeth, they'd fled to the outer reaches of the Milky Way Galaxy. The final explosion hadn't caused a hull breach, but the ship was thrown sideways so violently that Gaspar lost his balance and cracked his skull against the bulkhead. By the time they found him, there wasn't anything they could do.
Another friend gone, she thought. Another life I couldn't save.
Fighting to quell a rising tide of emotion, she endeavored to keep her voice as comforting as possible. “We'll bury him as soon as we land. Promise.”
“Okay,” he said as he continued to stare blankly out the viewport.
Maeve gazed at her son, cursing whatever higher power had forced them into this predicament. He shouldn't be here. He should be at home, starting University and chasing girls and sneaking his first beer. Not here.
Farking Jegg.
“Is that where we're going?” Davin said, gesturing at the planet.
Maeve took another sip of water. “Yep. Castelan VI.”
He sat down in the pilot's chair, stretched his arms out, and interlocked his fingers behind his head. “Looks kinda like Earth.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I mean, there's only the one really big continent, but other than that …”
Maeve stood up and took the copilot's seat. “Castelan VI,” she said, reciting a report she committed to memory months ago. “Slightly smaller than Earth, with a comparable atmosphere and gravity. Rotates on its axis once every twenty-two-point-five hours, takes three hundred and eighty-nine Earth days to make one revolution around its sun. Total population is approximately two hundred sixty-three thousand humanoids, ninety-nine percent of whom are clustered on or near the coastal regions of the northern half of the main continent. There are some undeveloped areas farther inland that can support life, but most of the central
land mass is inhospitable terrain: deserts, mountains, et cetera. There are a few other small islands, but they're far from the main continent and look to be uninhabited.”
He nodded. “Of all the places Banikar suggested, why'd Dad choose this planet to come to?”
“Several reasons. We had to choose a planet with a breathable atmosphere and far enough away from the Terran Confederation that the Jegg would ignore it. Ideally, we would have chosen a world with no humanoid life, but … well, let's just say our options were limited. Ironically, the final two choices were this world and Denebius IV. Believe me, I was not in a hurry to go back there.”
“I bet. You're sure the information is reliable?”
She gave him a grim smile. “I've asked myself that question at least a thousand times. Honestly, I have no idea. What it comes down to, unfortunately, is that we really have no choice. When a trans-dimensional being tells you that your best chance to defeat the Jegg is by finding some mysterious energy source, you shut up and listen.”
He scoffed. “If the Eth are so flippin' powerful, why couldn't they just get rid of the Jegg themselves?”
She turned to face him. “You may find this hard to believe, Dav, but they wouldn't answer that question.”
“Great. How exactly is this energy source going to help us beat the Jegg?”
“Fark if I know. I'm just supposed to fly the ship and see to the mission's safety. It was your father and his brain trust that were going to figure that part out.”
Davin sat up straight again, covering his mouth just in time to sneeze into his hands. Maeve reached under the console, grabbed a clean rag, and threw it to him. “Blow your nose, kiddo.”
He snatched the rag out of midair and blew into it. Sniffling, he leaned back in the chair again. “So, what's the plan?”
“Well,” she cast a dirty glance at the offending control panel, “once we get a little closer, I'm going to initiate another planetary scan. I'm not sure our sensors are calibrated to locate this energy source, but I'm hoping we can find a healthy quantity of it in one of the unpopulated areas. With a butt-load of luck, we can carry out this mission without having to deal with the locals.”
Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1) Page 2
