by Scott Moon
“Droon,” she said.
He left Garjiin by the cavern entrance and stalked toward her. The ceiling towered above. Morning light thrust through cracks. This place was inside a hollow rock, not underground like the stinking lair of the Slomn-maz-re, the Sal-a-man-da.
Don’t think of them. Maybe they’ll go away. Droon hopped up and down, slapping his face in frustration.
Cla-ven-da, his prisoner, lounged on her rock bench and considered him thoughtfully.
Droon growled, showed his teeth, and loomed over her.
She rose like a human princess, standing not as high as Droon. Her graceful wings spread and relaxed. She touched his shoulder, then the side of his mouth.
Her eyes met his without fear or judgment.
Still water. Droon saw the scene in his mind, unsure whether it was real or something in the past or future. He exhaled and squatted near the winged woman. Was this why he had returned to her?
No, but yes.
He began to heal.
“Droon Zeabl, will you release me?”
Sadness radiated from the center of Droon’s body. She knew his true name, although he had not told her. Armed with such knowledge, she was immune to his nightmares. He could not terrorize her. No creature escaped his dream hunting.
Where was his anger?
He should kill her.
“No.”
Unsurprised, she nodded. “Take your people away from the Mazz. They are slavers. Murderers. Servants of war.”
“Kill them,” Droon said.
“Yes, you will kill many,” she said. “But there will always be more.”
“Take Droon to your dream place. Take Droon beyond. Droon will kill them to infinity.” He hissed through his teeth. “Make me the master of the Bleeding Grounds.”
She turned away, wings flaring straight to each side. After several steps, she lowered her wings and breathed deeply. Without facing him, she spoke.
Droon leaned forward to hear her words.
“Not for you, Reaper. Not for Kin. Not even for my father and my people.”
A beam of light seeped through the ceiling and turned her hair many colors. Diamond radiance sparkled at the tips of feathers. Muscles flexed under her smooth skin as she walked farther from him. She knelt at the pool of water near the wall and ran her fingers across the surface.
“What is done in the Bleeding Grounds cannot be undone. Your nightmares are nothing compared to my own. I see my father die, vanish, cease to exist in this world or the next.”
Something exploded in the distance outside. Droon cocked his head, listened, and snarled. The peace of Cla-ven-da’s touch slid from his mind.
Another explosion, closer this time. He rushed to the entrance of the cavern and gazed across valley floor. Three columns of Mazz troopers approached. The center column was made of armored vehicles. His Reaper scouts fled before them.
The Mazz force stopped and began to drive the tanks close together, working with tools until a dozen formed one giant machine with wheels that towered above the troopers. Heavy weapons became heavier weapons. The first salvo from the new machines blasted the top of his rock fortress to fragments.
Droon hurried inside. Cla-ven-da remained near the pool as dust drifted onto her hair and wings. She drew patterns in the water. A tear fell from one eye.
“If you will not take me to the battlefield beyond dreams, then take us away. Take my people to free Kin-rol-an-da.”
“So you can kill him?”
“Yes! We kill all humans. How else could it be?”
Cla-ven-da shrugged and returned to her water drawing. A boulder crashed into the pool, churning the water. She stood calmly and moved away, ignoring fragments of rock that sprinkled from above.
“You crave death. I crave life,” she said. “We are different in every way, but I don’t hate you.”
“Help Droon.” He jumped forward, unhinging his mandibles to show his teeth. Snapping them shut, he grabbed her arm. “You die. They die. We all die.”
She laughed and seemed more like a human than a Ror-Rea. “Today, it seems.” Her laughter faded. “I will not open the wormhole.”
Droon snarled, threw her over his shoulder, and ran. Explosions rocked the entrance of the cavern. He squinted, protecting his eyes as he fled. Atonal melodies scratched from his throat as he commanded the Reaper kindred.
“Run! Now! With Droon!”
Bounding across the Valley with his kindred around him distorted his hard-won sense of past, present, and future. All were the same. He felt as he had on Hellsbreach, lost in beautiful chaos. “Garjiin!”
The creature hurried to his side and stopped long enough for him to mount. With Cla-ven-da still across his shoulder, he raced away, outdistancing his kindred. Rockets and bullets cut through their ranks. Blood arched into the Crashdown sky. Reapers howled. Some turned to fight and were crushed under the huge wheels of the Mazz terror machines.
“Run now! Fight later!” commanded Droon.
Garjiin leapt over a stream, flying through the air for long moments before crashing into bushes on the far bank. The forelegs struck. The hind legs reached ahead to grab the ground and Droon’s steed bolted forward.
Cla-ven-da spread her strong wings. Droon held her tight as Garjiin took longer strides.
A Mazz air machine swept low and fired weapons. Rocks sprayed into the air around them as the flying machine accelerated forward and turned back.
Death would come soon. He would be blown to bits like so many of his kindred. But the machine circled, shooting the ground near him without striking Droon, his mount, or his prisoner.
The Mazz would not take Cla-ven-da from him. Droon would kill them all first. He drove Garjiin into the mountains and sought the Valley of Clingers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
DROON’s army waited on ridges and mountainsides. A few were covered with Clingers, eyes peeking between scales and fangs. Others had a single parasite attached and seemed frustrated by their lack of armor and status. The valley floor writhed with the struggle of Reapers who had lost the battle to subdue Clingers. Weak-minded kindred had attempted to wear the living armor and been devoured.
Droon hissed. He told them how to master the monsters, but they didn’t listen — or they lacked strength.
He shrieked a challenge. Clan leaders and other dominant males shoved rivals aside and strode forward but stopped to gaze up at Droon and Garjiin. The Reaper King wasn’t the largest. He hadn’t won an unusual number of battles.
Why do they follow me?
Because Droon hunted on many worlds.
Droon found Kin-rol-an-da. Droon took his blood, learned the secrets of the man who had been last on Betaoin.
Kin-rol-an-da calls my home Hellsbreach. He is friend to Cla-ven-da.
Is he friend to Droon?
Every warrior who had dared the Long Hunt held power and respect in the hierarchy of the kindred. Each member of the quest knew the loneliness and confusion Droon felt during years of seeking.
But they would feed on Droon’s fear. Droon must not show fear.
He wasn’t the most massive of his kind, but astride Garjiin, he appeared as a lord of death. Although some rode into battle, none commanded obedience and loyalty of a mount as Droon did. And no other Reaper had found Kin-rol-an-da and taken spirit voices from his blood.
Droon must challenge them. Droon must not fear.
When none answered Droon’s roar, he glared at their ranks. The Mazz would descend soon. His kindred gathered to him. He drove them back.
“Not close together. Easy targets for Mazz troopers!” He paused to check Cla-ven-da where she sprawled unconscious in front of his mounted position. Then he called for his best clan leaders.
“Jaik, Toozak, Hust. We must leave the Valley of Clingers. Drive your warriors to Mazz base, not fortress city. Kill everyone.”
Cla-ven-da awoke and stared up at him. He met her eyes. “You do not help. So we kill.”
A moment passed. “It is
your way.”
“Yes.” Droon shook his head, focused his gaze on her, and leaned forward. “Killing. Feeding. Mating. Dying. Our way.”
“Has it always been so?”
Droon grabbed her throat. “You couldn’t ask another Reaper this question.”
She waited.
“I won’t answer.”
“Then I won’t help you.”
Droon relaxed his grip but moved close. His teeth brushed her lips. When she squirmed, he drew back, but not far. He wanted her to speak, not tremble in fear. “You will take us to the Bleeding Ground and make us the masters. You will watch us destroy our enemies.”
She stared into his eyes, which always bothered him because no creature had ever dared to face what it meant to be seen by a Reaper. “It is your way to kill and eat fear, but not your way to destroy. Who would you hunt with your enemies gone?”
“New enemies.”
“Why must you destroy the Mazz? How are they different?”
Droon sat straighter, giving her more room as he considered the question, realizing he didn’t know. He felt the need but could not explain why. A long time passed as he struggled to form his mind along a path that made sense to him.
“Because they took Kin-rol-an-da.”
She smiled. “Is Kin a friend of Droon?”
“No,” Droon snarled. “No. But he is not for the Mazz.”
She waited.
“He is for Cla-ven-da.”
“He is my friend. I would see him safe.”
Droon turned to Jaik, Toozak, and Hust. “Take the base camp. Bring me worldbreaker.”
Reapers swarmed from ledges and mountainsides, racing through the valley into the pass leading toward the Mazz camp. Clingers scurried out of the way, then pursued.
Droon leaned from his mount and scooped up the largest Clinger he could find, squeezing it until it convulsed. He forced his mind into its hive consciousness.
Mazz. You take the Mazz.
He hurled the creature toward Mazz troopers advancing through the mountains. The eastern pass soon swarmed with Clingers that fell from cliffs on soldiers and their war machines. Gunfire cut them to pieces, but the Clingers were tired of being eaten or enslaved. They crawled over the men in armor and attacked.
Droon raced after his Kindred warriors, passing them on his fierce mount. He would lead the attack on the base camp. It was time to kill and forget about future things.
He had liberated many of the Mazz Reapers, although they acted strange and liked to fight in groups. They used weapons and caution. Droon snarled as they slunk toward the Mazz flank rather than charge the walls. His true kindred didn’t hesitate.
He left Cla-ven-da with Garjiin, commanding the animal to protect her.
“Do not run from Droon.”
“You would enjoy the hunt,” she said.
“Yes. Droon would enjoy hunting Cla-ven-da again, but there is no time for games.”
He dodged rockets and bounded toward the wall. When he reached the first line of fortifications, he sprang up the side and killed two troopers at the top. One he slashed across the throat, opening his armor at the weakest place. He smashed his head into the other, causing the man to fall to his death.
Others came. Droon ignored bullets striking his flesh, wishing he had enslaved a new batch of Clingers to protect him, but Garjiin feared them and was hard to control with the parasites chittering and screeching. Men feared the living armor almost as much as they feared Droon.
Droon grabbed the next Mazz and hurled him from the wall. A rocket exploded at his feet as he jumped. Rockets were slow. He saw them arching toward him and avoided each fiery plume curving through the battle to kill him.
Toozak was slower. He vanished as rockets struck him from the right and left, pounding him into a ball of fire and sending his arms into the air.
Mazz troopers died and in great numbers, but three Reapers fell for each enemy torn from armor and devoured. Droon fought long after his Kindred began to retreat.
He thought he would soon die. In his mind, he saw Cla-ven-da’s face.
Why do I see her? The question upset him and he attacked his enemies with fresh enthusiasm. Although he killed and killed, fear receded from the Mazz soldiers. They think they have beaten me.
Droon opened his maw and howled at the wounded wormhole above.
They know they have beaten me.
Droon hesitated. Mazz troopers surrounded him. In the distance, Cla-ven-da stood near Garjiin, hair floating in the wind, sadness in her eyes. She hated him, but she would heal him. Droon understood she was powerless. He didn’t understand why she healed when it caused her pain.
If he didn’t break free of the Mazz army, she would watch him die no matter what was in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CAPTAIN Trak taught Kin a lesson he never thought to learn. There was someone in the universe as strong and ruthless as Orlan. He wondered where the murderous bastard was now.
A little help would be nice.
Trak removed his gauntlets and straddled Kin, holding him down with the weight of armor. He punched Kin in the face, smashing his head against the rocky soil. Again. And again. And again.
Kin slipped his right arm free from beneath Trak’s knee, feeling as though skin was being scraped from his elbow to his wrist, and blocked the next blow. His arm lacked strength. He barely had the will to fight.
“What’d I do to you?” Kin grunted.
Trak froze with his fist raised high, ready to fall like a hammer. “You’re Earth Fleet.”
Kin flinched as the fist pounded his bloody nose. He started to laugh. “I guess you didn’t get the memo. I was sentenced to death. I’m not exactly a member in good standing.”
Trak hesitated.
Such an idiot. Kin wondered how the man became a captain. “Just hit me again. I’m tired of staring at that stupid look on your face.”
Trak, unsure if Kin was manipulating him, dragged him to his feet and pushed him. “Traitor.”
“That’s unfair. I can’t be a traitor to my side and your side.”
“A traitor’s a traitor. You’re lucky Nander won’t let me kill you.”
“Yeah, I’m full of luck today.” He spat on Captain Trak’s boots.
The beating recommenced, but Kin’s second wind gave him enough strength to cover his head from the worst of the strikes. He tried to hit back, but it was a foolish tactic against a man in armor. One of his front kicks to the inner portion of Trak’s knee bought him a moment of relief as the Mazz Imperial staggered, but earned him the dubious privilege of being lifted in the air and brought rather quickly to the hard ground.
Kin endured the punishment until it stopped. He lay on the ground, ears ringing, thoughts wandering. When he stood, several Mazz soldiers watched him without comment.
THE journey to the forward base was miserable, long, and uneventful. Nander refused to elaborate on what happened to Captain Raien, Orlan, and Tass.
“They escaped. Stop asking or I’ll go back and make sure they’re dead.” Nander walked with his helmet open so he could rub his eyes. He staggered, which for a man wearing power-assisted armor, meant he was in bad shape.
Kin knew what he saw. Tass had soared over his Mazz captors, prompting Kin to break free and run. Fighting erupted around his position, but he never located Tass and the others. There had been a surprising number of Reapers — angry Reapers that reminded him of the worst battles on Hellsbreach.
He didn’t get far. Captain Trak and his troopers ran him down with nocturnal optics and radio communication. He’d made a fool of the captain. Unfortunately, Mazz captains didn’t die of embarrassment.
After traveling through the night, Nander ordered a halt and sent out scouts. When they returned, he sent others to confirm what they found.
Kin watched Nander sit and remove his helmet. Red streaks marred the whites of the Imperial’s eyes and he seemed ready to pass out. Captain Trak and the other Imperials stu
died the general with apprehension.
“What happened? You deployed two sets of scouts,” Kin asked.
Nander shook his head without looking up. “The base may have been destroyed by Reapers.”
Kin shook his head, less than certain he should mock the Imperial officer. “Welcome to Crashdown.”
“Primitive.”
“What?” Kin asked.
“You are little better than a caveman. Edain is the name of this planet. Edain-Arn the name of the star system. I can’t believe we have not wiped out humans long before this.”
Kin forced a laugh. “The only reason you’re alive is your superior numbers. From what I’ve seen, one Earth Fleet trooper is worth three Mazz cowards despite your oversized war machines and fancy armor.”
Nander looked up. “What do you hope to gain with insults?”
“A warm feeling in my belly. Speaking of which, I’m hungry. Do you feed prisoners or carry them when they collapse from malnutrition?”
Nander turned away, hesitated when he saw Trak and another trooper muttering in low tones, and glared at them. Fists on hips, he addressed his second-in-command.
“Captain Trak, give me a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree security check out two klicks.”
Nander seemed nervous as they waited. None of the other troopers looked away from their assignments. Despite the tension in the group, each man and woman guarded a sector as though it were the most important assignment in the war.
Trak’s cronies were the problem. Kin didn’t understand why Nander didn’t break them apart.
“Trak and his companions perform well under stress,” Nander said.
Kin waited for more.
“And I believe he is ready to die.”
War could do that to combat veterans. At a certain point, the suffering and emotional fatigue were too much. Kin had been on the line many times. The sensation wasn’t bravery, but looked the same. He caught Nander’s attention.
“He’ll do something foolish. My advice, send him to the rear until he’s over his death wish.”
“There is no rear.” Nander squatted next to Kin and handed him a damp towel to wipe his brow.
Kin worked grime and dried blood from near his eyes. Then he concentrated on the rest of his face and his hands. A bath would feel better than sex.
