by Scott Moon
“Did they suffer side effects?”
“Not as you have.”
Kin made a show of reading the rest of the message, then asked, “Their lives were extended?”
“Only my father’s genetics accepted the Reaper modifications. Our scientists predict I would be strong enough to earn the gift of extended lifespan. But the Reapers have never been able to capture me,” Trak said.
“But they captured your siblings or others with similar genes.”
“None that survived.”
Kin read the rest of the message.
If I had managed to capture Clavender, I would have been honor bound to execute her once she served her purpose. Perhaps you may avoid taking this action. But you must convince her to take my army to the Bleeding Grounds. She must yield control. Whoever reigns there will have an insurmountable advantage. The Slomn hope to use the power of Crashdown’s core to do what only she can do. They may succeed. If they do, all is lost.
Kin read the words again before continuing.
The Earth ships in the cavern have been to the Bleeding Grounds, but encountered no enemies and did no battle. Or if they did, there is no trace of who or what they defeated there. Control of these ships may be important. They may hold the secret of the Ror-Rea’s sacred place. Though I fear it will not be enough to succeed without Clavender.
“How many times are you going to read that?” Trak asked.
Kin raised his eyes but said nothing before continuing.
I lived a long time. It may be that collapsing the Slomn’s unholy device affected me more dramatically because of my extended life. I will die. The winged warriors will attack the Reapers to reclaim Clavender. They will then fight Empire with all their strength, which is greater than you know. The Reapers may war on us as well. And Earth Fleet rallies to return to Crashdown.
Bring them together. Defeat the Slomn. What you do beyond that will depend on your conscience and sense of duty. But I hope you will unite all those who have stood against the destructive forces in the universe and create peace. My people have been too long at war.
Kin handed the tablet back. “I don’t think he wants you to read that.”
Trak turned off the device and slipped it into his pocket.
“I’m scheduled for some tests,” Kin said.
“I will escort you to the infirmary.”
Kin waited for the Mazz doctor to calibrate diagnostic machines. Tension drained from his arms and legs first, then from his neck and shoulders. This was the last place he expected to relax. The doctor’s bedside manner consisted of two-word sentences.
“Sit down. Breathe deeply. Hold still.”
Kin ignored the man, acknowledging him as some type of robot or mouthpiece for the meters and dials but little more. His mind drifted to his friends. Sadness followed, yet he lacked the urge to rush from the room to search for them.
He thought of William in the cavern and the odd story of a man claiming to be the undying Emperor of the Mazz race. At the time, Kin dismissed William’s words as a dream. Now he wondered if the stranger suffered from the curse of Hellsbreach longevity.
Kin didn’t want to live for ten thousand years in an Iron Box sewer. The story couldn’t be true. Clavender’s people often seemed immortal, barring a fatal injury. Was the Emperor of William’s story one of them? Was there another force in the universe able to prolong life to the point of purgatory?
“Open your eyes,” the doctor said.
Kin looked at the man who stared at him but spoke to Captain Trak.
“He has the genetic contamination of Betaoin. The Reapers have modified him for a hundred years of torture.”
“Good thing you’re not a Reaper.”
The doctor almost suppressed a smile. “Am I boring you?”
“Let’s just say that I wouldn’t want to spend extended longevity in your care.”
The doctor turned his head toward Trak, then focused once again on Kin. “I am the Imperial Physician. Until the Emperor returns to us, I attend to the welfare of his general.”
“Then you shouldn’t have to deal with me for long.”
The words struck the man dumb. Trak exhaled and muttered something Kin couldn’t make out.
“Why do you say such a thing?” the doctor asked.
Kin wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed or how he found his way into it. “Just a feeling I have.”
The doctor disconnected wires from Kin’s skin with trembling hands. “Do not speak so lightly until you understand who we are and what we strive to achieve.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DROON has Clavender.
Pain cut through Dax’s chest and radiated to the tips of his battle-ready black wings. Someday, there would be reason to purge the darkness from his body, to embrace life and think not of death or vengeance. Someday, the Mazz would be but a memory and the High Lords of the Ror-Rea would see Clavender’s beauty and wisdom.
“None of this would be happening if she consented to the Council,” Hasic said. “Victory would have long since been ours, had you not interfered.”
Dax stared past Hasic, first among the High Lords. The man angered him. With so much at stake, Dax needed to be calm. The majority stood against him as always. But there were reasonable men, wise men, intelligent men among them. His voice low, he addressed the gathering as he walked. “When we last met, I showed anger against Lord Hasic. Were there a way to change that fateful encounter, I would gladly pay the price to make it so. I understand his grievance, and yours.”
A few of the lords shifted and glanced down.
Dax knew every High Lord and their families. He lived among them, fought in tournaments, and struggled across the Storm Lands to reach the coast during the exodus. None of them, not even Hasic, had wished him ill when he struck off on his own to seek Clavender. Perhaps they assumed he would bring her under control — exert his fatherly influence.
He liked to believe they respected his judgment. Evidence suggested he overestimated the loyalty of many High Lords. But not all. Here, now, there were many with the decency to be embarrassed at his treatment.
Lord Bannor seemed ready to say something in his support but held his words. His five indefatigable sons and daughters stood impassively. Dax knew they would back their father no matter his decision.
If only Clavender trusted and respected him as completely.
He smiled at the thought of her. His daughter could not be compared to other children of the Ror-Rea. She was strong, wise, and brave. Dax struggled to find words rich enough to show the High Lords her true nature. Since finding her after the battle of Crater Town, he had learned much.
The words would not come. He paused and continued with what he planned to say.
“Events in the past must remain there. Now, today, is a new chance for victory. Droon has taken my daughter. I went to rescue her with the help of my personal guard, but it was a foolish errand. Only together can we defeat these warlocks and demon wolves.”
“This is known,” Hasic said.
Without acknowledging the lord, Dax continued, speaking forcefully, gaining momentum, making eye contact with one High Lord after another. “Victory will not come without a decisive battle on the Bleeding Grounds. We cannot arrive first in that place unless Clavender wills it. We must rescue her from Droon and his horde of monsters.”
Dax paused, then surveyed the martial gathering. Men and women who had avoided his gaze now stared attentively.
“We cannot defeat Droon unless we stand united.” His words dominated scene. Many men and women leaned forward to hear his final decree.
Hasic stood in the center of the clearing, in the place of honor normally reserved for the king. Dax pretended not to notice. He took no action to rectify the breach of tradition. Even the staunchest allies of Hasic would admit Dax had the right to issue a challenge, but a duel could only damage his chances to sway the Council.
Pray for me, Clavender.
Dax closed
his eyes and bowed his head.
Come back to me, daughter.
AS dawn crested the mountains and cast golden fire on the Valley of Clingers, rows of winged warriors mounted the ridge. Some were new, having just arrived from the arduous journey across the Storm Lands from the Ror-Rea. These men and women were gaunt and hollow-eyed, wounded, starved, yet ready to stand and fight.
Dax’s warriors bore more wounds than those of the other High Lords. Previous attempts to break the Reaper horde without assistance had been costly. Misery loves company, and most of the recent arrivals gravitated to Dax’s band. The leader, a young but famous fighter, remained apart from politics and intrigue. So it was that Dax knew him and respected his prowess.
“Greetings, King Dax, father of Sibil Clavender, the princess of my heart.”
“Well met, Ceana. Are you ready to fight?”
“When have I not been ready?” Ceana smiled. His eyes were a rare hue of burning gold. “Do we have time to roust Lord Hasic first? The man needs to be put in his place.”
“Careful, friend. He is above your station. My quarrels with him have undone me.”
Ceana turned his head and spat. “Politics.”
Dax surveyed the valley, paying keen attention to escarpments and cave openings where Reapers might spring ambushes. He considered the weather, the lighting, and all things pertaining to flight.
“Tell me your thoughts, Ceana.”
The newly arrived warrior touched his right shoulder with his left hand, stepped to the ledge, and gazed at the scene. “I see few of the warlocks.”
“Many are hidden in the trees and caves,” Dax said.
“Of course. This seems an unlikely place to hold a prisoner. One moment’s inattention and the Clingers would feast.” He faced Dax. “I beg you to reconsider this attack. Clavender is not being held here.”
“My advisers believe this to be Droon’s strongest refuge. He fastens Clinger armor to his warriors. Even the Mazz fear this valley.”
“And yet there are signs of a recent battle. Reapers do not clear their dead from the field, although they drag enemies into their warrens. Look again.”
Dax exhaled and remembered this young warrior was a friend, not one of Hasic’s cronies. He waited until emotion drained away and considered the Valley of Clingers. Someone had cleared the area of bodies after the battle.
“I need proof. Take as many warriors as you require. Strong flyers, men and women who can launch from low ground and climb to sufficient altitude for flight. Find evidence to prove your theory.”
Dax waited. Ceana returned with descriptions of Reaper corpses piled together and burned.
“Thank you, warrior. Had I failed to engage the Reapers in battle and recover Clavender, I would have lost the tenuous support of the High Lords.”
Ceana flared his wings and dipped them, the deepest sign of respect. “I would search Long Canyon first. There are magnificent towers of rock, many of which are hollow. A king might hide a princess there.”
“And Droon styles himself the Reaper King.” Dax summoned his fastest flyers and sent them to reconnoiter Long Canyon. Other patrols soared over mountain passes and valleys near enough for Reapers to travel on foot.
“Lord Hasic approaches,” Ceana said.
Dax faced the High Lord and waited.
“What is the plan, Dax?”
“Call him ‘King,’” Ceana said, gripping his sword as he stepped forward.
“The Council has not confirmed his reinstatement.”
“Then call him Lord Dax,” Ceana said.
Hasic gave the briefest bow and repeated his question.
During the short argument, Dax formulated his response. As soon as Ceana suggested Long Canyon, Dax knew that was where he would find Droon and his daughter. He sent the scouts and patrols as a salute to good discipline and tactics. For now, the High Lords supported his decision to assault the Reapers and reclaim Clavender. The fragile support would not survive a misstep. He suspected Hasic hoped to cause such a mistake.
“Our main force will move within striking range of Long Canyon. We will wait for my scouts to return, then do battle.”
Hasic snorted, smiled wryly, and stalked away.
When Dax arrived at the staging area with the bulk of the Ror-Rea strength, he found Hasic had not only accepted his prediction Clavender would be held prisoner in the Long Canyon, but had taken it upon himself to strike the first blow.
“The damn fool,” Dax said. “First rank. Screening formation. Second rank, prepare to attack.”
Ceana came to his side. “Lord Hasic has lost this battle already. The element of surprise is gone.”
“I understand.” Dax watched Reapers emerge from natural rock formations scattered across the immense valley floor. Others descended from steep mountain slopes on the far edges of the terrain. Reapers jumped from trees and ledges near the pass. Many seemed to materialize out of the ground.
“Die with honor,” Ceana said.
“Honor, yes, but I think today is not a good day to die.” He watched the young hero join the second rank. Soon, there was a battle, and every warrior of the Ror-Rea fought Reapers, Clingers, wolves, and stranger things. Dax had no reserves to throw at weak points in the line. He had no fighters to flank the enemy.
Dax fought. He killed. He pushed thoughts of Clavender aside. In the moment before him, there was only life or death.
He learned all that he could of the Reapers after first encountering them. Sophia had told him much, but there were other sources — memories, interviews with Ror-Rea elders, and writings. The monsters of Hellsbreach healed quickly, although not so fast as a Ror-Rea. They lived long years, although not as long as a Ror-Rea. The unusual lifespan possible for one of the warlocks was rarely considered, or even suspected, by scholars because few survived a fraction of their potential age.
Winged warriors continued the trend, swooping down from the sky with swords and narrow shields. Dax lost count of the number he slew. He also lost count of the injuries he sustained.
After several hours, he landed near one of the greater rock formations with his best fighters. He led the attack, charging into the warrens and caverns under tons of rock. Clavender was nowhere to be seen. The next rock fortress, and the next after that, contained nothing but Reapers — old, young, or crippled — but vicious.
Ceana and his two favorite companions landed near Dax as he emerged from a cave. “We will find her.”
Dax accepted a skin of water and drank. “How many more rocks must we turn over?”
Ceana pointed.
Dax moved closer to the corner of a great spire, looked around it, and saw a massive cathedral of nature. “Should we penetrate that fortress, we will be able to fly between the walls and under the ceiling. That has to be Droon’s royal seat. Rest. Attend to your wounded. Then we make our assault.”
He turned toward the bloody path his warriors had carved across the length of Long Canyon. He recoiled, stepping back before he could stop himself. Thankfully, neither Hasic nor his allies were present to witness his weakness. Battle engaged them in other parts of the canyon valley.
“We have lost many,” Dax said.
Ceana touched his shoulder and lowered his eyes. “Yes.” He touched the king’s elbow. “All of my brothers and sisters will die here if needed.”
The truth in the hero’s words shocked Dax, who didn’t believe he could be shocked after all he had seen and done. “Let’s hope that will not be necessary.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“HASIC,” Dax roared. “To me!”
Reapers swarmed down mountain slopes into the main valley of Long Canyon. Adults, children, some wounded and some fresh to the fight, came full of bloodlust. Dax spotted groups riding Reaper mounts. Wolves ran before them. Clingers protected Droon’s warriors from swords. An Imperial reconnaissance force, apparently caught in the battle by mistake, formed a defensive square and slaughtered Reaper and Ror-Rea alike.
The High Lord who spent years arguing against Dax’s right to be king looked up wearily. His broken sword retained enough length to kill but was far from the noble weapon he carried into countless battles. Some of the black faded from his wings. For all Dax’s hatred of Hasic, he sympathized with the lord’s battle fatigue. When warriors of the Ror-Rea tired of killing, the black of their wings dulled. Some fled the fight after the gray came. Others covered their faces and waited for death.
“Bring your warriors! We must regroup on the high ground.” Dax led his warriors and others belonging to various High Lords toward the mountains. A single bullet pierced his wing.
“You’re hit,” Ceana said.
“Not for the first time. Blacken your wings, Ceana. Blacken your heart until the killing is done.” Dax leapt at a mounted Reaper and bore rider and steed to the ground. He dragged his blade across both throats in one motion and stood victorious. A Clinger in snake form sprang into the air, expanded, and attempted to wrap around Dax’s head.
Ceana flared a wing, batting the creature aside. Another warrior of the Ror-Rea skewered it.
Dax was too tired to jump high enough to soar. He ran, legs exhausted, body fatigued, and mind thinking only of the small space that would accept his next stride. He grunted and panted. Ceana and many others joined him. They charged up a mountain slope and looked down on bloody destruction in every direction.
“What would you have us do now, my King?” Ceana asked.
Dax considered all that was lost and all that he had hoped to gain. He looked to the final formation of rock that had defeated every attack. If Clavender was hidden inside, then she was beyond rescue.
“What is your command?” Ceana asked, this time grabbing Dax’s arm in a manner he would not have dared even moments ago.
Dax ignored the rudeness and stared at the natural fortress. “Attack. From this altitude, we can soar straight to the top of that place. But it must be all of us, every warrior of the Ror-Rea. Gather the High Lords.”
Ceana and the other warriors about him dispersed to each corner of the battle and summoned High Lords. They came covered with wounds and defeat in their eyes.
