Soros: Alien Warlord's Conquest (Scifi Alien - Human Military Romance)

by Vi Voxley

  I guess it's better to have them with us than against, Kat thought, but that wasn't the real issue.

  But the real problem was that she knew the name. Everyone knew that name. Long, long years ago, before the new Corgan chieftain took a hold of his clan lords and dragged them to join the Union, Soros had already been famous. It was hard to go unnoticed when you were the guy who trained all those lords, including the chieftain Nadar Brenger, one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy.

  "I don't know the situation," Kat said, opting for honesty. "But if a man like that doesn't want to be found, I would not poke him."

  Zoey smiled.

  "Well put," she agreed, "but I'm afraid that's not a possibility. The chieftain wants him found and that is final."

  "I know you're married to one of the clan lords," Kat said seriously, waiting for a reaction, but Zoey simply nodded. "Maybe you're more used to their ways, but I can assure you, no one wants to mess with Soros outside of the Corgan territories."

  "And I can assure you no one in our realm wants that either," Zoey replied and her tone had gotten just a bit edgier, the look she was giving Kat being steely at best and damn near ice-cold at worst. "If you want to refuse, you're welcome to. I am simply saying that it needs to be done. And we will pay the person who does it well. You are high on our list."

  "I didn't say no," Kat said, leaning back in her seat. "I just want to understand. Give me a straight answer. Why not send a Corgan after him?"

  "You said you know Soros," Zoey asked.

  "By reputation. Haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet."

  "Then you might have heard he has a very strict code of honor. It is doubtful he would hurt you if you pose him no threat," Zoey said, shrugging.

  She didn’t sound too convincing.

  "That is not very comforting, is it?" Kat asked.

  Zoey Swann was clearly about to respond with something snappy, but she caught the smile on Kat's face and answered with one of her own.

  "It's not," she admitted. "But the chieftain assures me you would be in no danger."

  "Of course I would be, there are no guarantees with a man that trains killers for a living that I wouldn’t end up as meat for the grinder. That is not the point. What did he do?"

  It seemed that question was a bit more difficult for Zoey. It didn't surprise Kat, considering she'd heard that the Corgan politics were complicated to say the least. Not all of them wanted to belong to the Union and the whole merger was still very tender.

  "Nothing yet. Your task..." Zoey began, "is to talk to him, if possible. If not, to simply let us know where he is. We would like you to find out whether he will be a threat to the chieftain."

  "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe Nadar Brenger is able to defend himself."

  "Perhaps," Zoey said. "Soros trained him, so who knows. The point is, at a time like this, there can be no assassination attempts and there are plenty who would give Soros anything he wants if he just killed the chieftain. Or threaten him with anything, but that would be very foolish, as you may well know. So far, he doesn't seem to care for either, but even the greatest fighter can't sleep with his eyes open, so he's left the Dolon Hall academy. For now."

  Okay, that explains things.

  Kat thought it over. The task itself didn't scare her, even if the target deserved all the terror she could muster. She had heard stories about Soros and agreed with Zoey. The man likely wouldn't hurt her unless she provoked him.

  Likely.

  Her task seemed pretty straight-forward too, one that she was on board with. Frankly, a little break from the killing and the lugging of smugglers, terrorists and thieves across the galaxy would be a welcome change. And perhaps, this time, she might be able to help someone, to contribute to keeping a large part of the Union at peace like she’d always wanted to.

  That prospect alone was worth a little risk.

  "Alright," she said, seeing the Union's ambassador smile with relief. "I will do it."

  "Excellent. He was last seen on Hetton, near his academy. We believe he is still there in all likelihood. Good luck to you. And Miss Edwards... be careful. If we do not cross paths again, it was a pleasure."

  The words were spoken with silent concern. Kat nodded, knowing what she meant. Soros might have been a warrior with a set of rules, but he was still a killer.

  Not only that, either. The commander of killers, teacher of warriors. The man who taught all the bloodthirsty clan lords everything they knew.

  And I guess it’s my job now to reason with him. Fun.

  Chapter Three

  Soros

  They called him a prodigy, but Soros disagreed with that assessment.

  He was only twelve years old when he first set foot in Dolon Hall on the planet Hetton, the youngest warrior and student they had ever accepted. As much as he could tell, there had been objections, but Ustra, the commander of the warriors, had not cared.

  The first time Soros stared into the deep, dark blue eyes of Ustra, he knew why. The old warrior, with the tell-tale blue shine of his eyes almost gone, didn't fear him. He might have been the only one Soros had so far or would ever meet.

  Dolon Hall had trained the elite of Corgan warriors for as long as anyone could remember. As the only Corgan planet left without a formal ruler, Hetton’s only purpose was to train all Corgan warriors worthy of the honor of being there as equals, brothers in blood regardless of which clan they belonged to.

  Once they left the sacred grounds of Hetton, many who had considered one another friends in the halls of Dolon Hall would come to slay one another during clan wars, yet that was the grim cost of being a Corgan warrior. Friendship only lasted until blades met on the battlegrounds for the first time.

  Soros’ first memory of Dolon Hall was meeting the old warrior in the dark night in front of the academy's gates, staring up at the building that was going to be his home for long years. Of course, in that moment Soros hadn't had the faintest idea it would turn out like that. For all of his skill and power and speed, he was still just a boy who was trying to not avert his gaze from the most intimidating man he'd ever met.

  The meeting was symbolic. The commander of the warriors met him before the gates to show that Soros still needed his full approval to enter.

  He was ready, but no rumor had prepared him for Ustra. It had been decades since the commander had last taken a sip of the concoctions that the warriors drank to make their eyes glow in the dark and boost their senses. Soros knew that, which was why he had expected to see an old man. And old he was, perhaps, but nothing of his age showed.

  The man before towered over Soros' own already considerable bulk, the commander's shoulders as wide as his and not hunched in any way. He wasn't worn down by his years, he wore them like a badge of honor. Soros had heard rumors that his entire body was covered in the sacred tattoos.

  And then Ustra had said something to instantly make him hate the old warrior.

  "So you are the prodigy."

  The words echoed in the cold winter air as Soros stood before him, refusing to shiver. There were many signs of weakness he simply didn't show by the force of his will. Like looking away from the darkly simmering eyes that seemed to look right into his soul.

  Most of all, he wondered what the warrior saw there that made him not fear him like all the others.

  "Don't call me that," Soros had said, at the same time wondering whether the academy meant so little to him that he would throw it away to be spiteful.

  But if life and the ways of the Corgan warriors had taught him anything, it was that he couldn't back down from any challenge, even if it were to cost him his life.

  Ustra definitely wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense. He had killed boys right where Soros was standing, right there in the snow before they ever saw him move. To approach him was to ask for his time and consideration. Disappoint him and the commander cut you down for the insult of considering yourself worthy.

  "Why not?" the old warrior aske
d, his long shadow reaching Soros' bare toes. "I will speak to a young pup like yourself in any way I wish to."

  Soros chose his next words a bit more carefully.

  "Yes, commander," he said, watching the old man raise a questioning eyebrow, his face mostly hidden in shade. "I would listen to everything you say, but then I ask that you speak the truth to me."

  There was a flash in the commander's eyes then as he regarded Soros seriously. Dressed in nothing but a long shirt and trousers, the biting winter was almost too much to bare for him, but he would have rather died than let it show.

  "You are calling me a liar," Ustra said and drew one of his long twin swords so fast Soros winced.

  He had never seen such smoothness in movement, such grace with a weapon that didn't weigh nothing like Ustra made it seem. He wanted that, more than he'd ever desired anything in his life. The power called to him even as Soros' eyes trailed the blade's path to his bare throat.

  "Kneel," Ustra said. "And apologize."

  Soros knew that his entire future balanced on the edge of the blade at his jugular right then, about to tumble to either way if he said one wrong word. Then again, doubting himself didn't come naturally to him. It was why he was there, at the age of twelve, far before any of his contemporaries would be.

  "No," Soros said.

  As a dark flame leaped to life in Ustra's deep eyes, the rest of the words spilled out of his mouth without pause.

  "You are testing me. No kneeler ever set foot in Dolon Hall. I asked you not to call me a prodigy, because you don't think I am and neither do I."

  The sword stayed in place, but it didn't cut his throat as Soros knew it could of. Merely scratched the surface of his skin, sending a red line of blood down his neck. Soros knew the old warrior was doing it on purpose, because his hand didn't shake.

  "Why not?" Ustra asked and there was a curious hint of amusement in his voice. "Here you are. The youngest boy who was ever allowed to come here and try your luck. Does this not make you special?"

  "It has nothing to do with luck," Soros replied quickly. "That's why I'm not a prodigy. The ones who call me that either fear me or are simply jealous."

  Ustra's laughter rang out in the night as he came closer, still holding the blade at his neck.

  "Explain, boy. They might very well be your last words, so make them good."

  Soros took as deep of a breath as the blade allowed, because he would be damned if he took a step back. Then Ustra would kill him for sure.

  "Prodigy implies I have some sort of a supernatural gift. That I was born with a talent for killing, that I was special to begin with. I trained every day of my life ever since I was four. I live by the ice ocean. I have run the paths that have killed many men. Everything I am, I accomplished myself and they dare to say I was destined to have it easy!"

  Ustra was listening patiently. Soros had no idea if that was a good sign or not. Perhaps the old commander was making a lesson out of his pride. That wasn't unheard of either. The warriors already admitted watching from the walls of the academy above them, seeing a hopeful candidate fail. There was much to learn from that.

  "So?" Ustra asked, his voice impassive. "What do you have to show for that? Any titles to your name? Famous enemies killed? The respect of your peers?"

  "I have scars," Soros said, looking him right in the eyes. "Only I know what they are worth."

  A long minute of silence passed in the slow, steady snowfall. Then Ustra removed his sword and the gates rumbled open behind him.

  Soros hesitated before following him, prompting the commander to turn back.

  "Come along," he said roughly. "The cold will take you soon, otherwise."

  He stayed in place, unsure of whether he had actually passed or not. Ustra could have tricked him. It was such a temptation to run into the warmth, eat for the first time in days, drink something other than melted snow. The path to Dolon Hall had been a long one and the strength he was accustomed to feeling in his young form was almost depleted from the travels and the waiting. Yet he stood his ground.

  Looking at him, the old warrior grinned.

  "You are a stubborn one," he said. "Come. You're one of us now. No point in losing your feet because you don’t yet know better."

  As the gates slid close behind them, Ustra had given Soros another long look.

  "We get most of our applicants in the summer, you know that?"

  Chapter Four

  Soros

  Six years later, Soros stood in front of two more boys who had chosen winter.

  Both of their eyes were already sparkling with the Corgan warrior blue. He knew their names, too. Dolon Hall wasn't meant for children and rarely opened its mighty doors to anyone who wasn't already an accomplished warrior. They didn't learn to kill there, or the proper way to hold a blade. They already knew.

  Dolon Hall was for the best to become even better.

  The two that stood in front of him that night had been out there for almost a week. It was cruel of him to leave them there in mid-winter, but Soros had his reasons.

  Or, well, one – and that was that they were the easiest candidates to accept in years. They had come knowing the Hall would open for them.

  So he took his sweet time before ordering the gigantic doors to part just wide enough to let him through.

  The boys raised their eyes to him, although they weren't really children. In fact, neither of them would have been older than he was.

  Soros had chosen his outfit with care. There was a huge cloak draped over his wide shoulders, comfortable boots to cover his feet while the boys were barefoot like he had been years ago. The moment was so similar it took his mind to the roads of nostalgia, but there was nothing there he wanted to remember. Ustra was gone and digging up memories of him wouldn’t do him any good.

  Time had changed him and Soros could see the young warriors observing him with unguarded interest. There were long lines of dark ink on his skin now, partly covered by his dark hair falling in strands before his face.

  The priests – the Corgan healers and scientist – studied at the Hall too and they had worked hard on him. Like any other Corgan warrior, he was now equipped with a set of hearts and other organs that were too precious to rely on only one.

  "It is true then," one of the boys said. "The commander of Dolon Hall is young enough to stand here with us. What happened to Old Ustra?"

  Soros gave the young warrior a look that made him take an involuntary step back. His mind flashed back to Ustra.

  The man was gone now, but his legend still lingered. While Ustra had never looked upon Soros as a prodigy, the rest of the galaxy certainly seemed to. When Ustra had passed, Soros saw his chance and seized it swiftly and without hesitation. Dolon Hall had gotten a new commander within days of Ustra’s death and there wasn’t a single sword that dared challenge Soros after the initial bloodshed.

  What Soros lacked in years, he had more than made up for in skill that came to him as naturally as breathing. That which others struggled for seemed to flow through Soros and though he had not imagined this path for him when he had first come to Dolon Hall, Ustra had shown him that his true goal would be to teach others what he already knew.

  His own commander would have sent the heir to a clan lord away without another question, but times had changed. And besides -

  "Your father had him killed," Soros said without turning his piercing gaze away.

  His deep voice carried easily over the silence around them. The young heir looked taken aback, but the other warrior didn't seem surprised at all. He hadn't said a word, nor moved yet.

  "I don't believe you," the heir said. "But if he did, it was because Ustra was protesting his claim on Hetton..."

  "Hetton belongs to no one, Turian," Soros cut in, his voice as sharp as a blade. "That has always been so. No clan lord will rule over the academy, nor this world."

  "Every other world has a ruler," Turian said defiantly. "Why not this one? It's one of the most prosperous and
it has Dolon Hall. It needs a lord."

  "That is exactly why it does not," Soros replied calmly.

  Before Turian could say another word, he took another step closer, standing almost in front of the boys.

  "If you enter," he said. "I don't want to hear another word about it. In fact, you will not speak again until I command it. Is that clear?"

  Turian nodded, but his reluctance was obvious. Soros kept that in mind, since he'd expected nothing less. After the death of his master, it had been hard for him to accept the idea he had to admit the son of Ustra's killer, but Turian had deserved his chance. Perhaps, with years and hard work, he could make something better of the heir than his father was.

  The other boy bowed his head slightly, submitting to his order. Soros had expected exactly that as well.

  With a nod, he backed away a few steps to give himself room to pull his twin swords free. Then he threw one of them to the young warriors. Turian caught it with a savage glee in his eyes, but the other boy, Nadar, grew wary, his deep blue eyes filled with suspicion.

  "You want to get in?" Soros asked, bringing his sword up and ready. "Deal a wound and you're accepted."

  Turian dashed from his place at once, his bare feet slipping on the cold ground. He had the advantage of easier movement over him, dressed in a heavy cloak, but Soros had seen him fight before. The young warrior was good, very good, but he had absolutely no faith in himself. Only the belief that he should be the best because of some right he thought he had.

  He lowered his own sword, settling for dodging Turian's blows with enough ease to utterly infuriate the boy. Turian's rage grew with every blow Soros blocked with his body or that he simply stepped away from.

  Turian was fast, but Soros was even faster, never needing to really defend himself. When he finally raised his hand, it was to backhand Turian across the face instead of cutting him. Turian went down hard, sliding in the snow and his eyes were furious as he scrambled back up.