by Roxie Ray
Claimed By The Warrior
Prisoners Of Karcerikus: Book 2
Roxie Ray
Contents
1. Surge
2. Paige
3. Paige
4. Surge
5. Surge
6. Paige
7. Surge
8. Paige
9. Paige
10. Surge
11. Surge
12. Paige
13. Surge
14. Paige
15. Surge
16. Paige
17. Surge
18. Paige
19. Surge
20. Paige
21. Surge
22. Paige
23. Surge
24. Suzanne
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Claimed By The Warrior
1
Surge
The laser spear cut through the air with a keening wail, its flat, triangular head striking out at me like the head of a Macurian song-serpent.
I parried the attack easily with the shaft of my own weapon, feeling the spear's sonic vibrations travel up my arms and into my bones as I let my own momentum carry me around to my opponent's exposed left side. My staff twirled in my hands, and I eyed my assailant's vulnerable spot – confident that he'd take the bait, shifting his weight in preparation for a hit that would never come so that I could sweep his legs out from under him and win the fight conclusively.
But to my surprise, his feathered wings unfurled in a sudden burst, pushing me back and throwing me off balance. A single flap and he was airborne, his spear lancing down at me from above. I looked up, preparing my defense – but the sun was shining right behind my adversary, blinding me and reducing him to a vague silhouette.
His aim was true, and his sonic spear swept across my forehead, leaving a deep cut that poured blood into my eyes.
He wanted me blind? So be it. I didn't need my sight to win this battle.
I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the terrible humming in my skull from the sonic spear's wound so I could focus my other senses. My first instinct was to use my psychic abilities to push into his thoughts and anticipate his movements – but even as I tried, I knew it wouldn't work. He had the same powers I did, and had been trained to counter such unwelcome invasions, just as I had.
By the stars, how old was I when I’d been instructed how to defend myself from enemies' mental probes? Ten? Younger? I learned how to be a soldier long before I even became a man. No parents, no family, no childhood.
Just a lifetime of honing my body, mind, and spirit, so I could fight and win for the glory of the Valkred Empire.
My opponent was a canny and ferocious warrior – perhaps the best I'd ever known.
But I was a living weapon.
And I'd already won this fight before it ever started.
I allowed my ears to pick up the subtle sounds of his wings and limbs moving through the air between us – parting it like water. It was another discipline I'd absorbed as a small child at the Valkred Military Academy. I'd been the youngest cadet conscripted into service in the school's centuries-long history… which was quite an honorable distinction, but one that left me lonely during my formative years while the older warriors-in-training excluded me from their social activities.
As a result, I made new friends while wandering the campus alone: Valkredian tooth-bats.
There were hundreds of species of these fascinating creatures on Valkred, and I had spent countless hours watching them... memorizing their flight patterns, the ways they hunted and fed, their penchant for clinging to the darkness and striking without warning or mercy. I’d patterned myself after them as much as possible, using their lessons to consistently surpass all the other students in my combat classes.
Now, I would use the most valuable of those lessons – echolocation – to win the day.
I felt the air shift as my opponent's spear whipped toward my head. There was no trace of hesitation there, no holding back. If I didn't block the attack, the blade would bury itself in the side of my skull.
But he knew I would succeed. After all, I always did.
And these sessions were nothing but meaningless wastes of time if both of us weren't playing for keeps.
I wrapped my arm around the spear shaft, using my opponent’s grip on it to swing him toward the ground. He released his hold on it to keep from being dragged down. Now I had both weapons, and he had none. I reared back and threw the spear. Despite the fact that my eyes were still closed, it hit its mark, going through his left wing and forcing him to the ground.
I relished his grunt of pain and frustration as I stepped forward, using my own spear to pin his other wing to the ground. Then I flattened my hand and chopped it toward his neck, stopping just short of his throat.
“Do you yield?” I asked.
He chuckled bitterly. “For the moment.”
I nodded briskly, opening my eyes and wiping the blood from them. Dhimurs' pale skin was drenched in sweat from our workout, his eyes wide and awestruck.
“All that with your eyes closed,” he said breathlessly, yanking the spears from his wings and tossing them aside. We'd been sparring on the grounds of the Ruby Stronghold, where we lived and worked as military advisors to Akzun, Blood Ruler of Valkred. “By the Succubi, I wish I could learn to do that.”
“You have many admirable and useful skills on the field of battle, my friend,” I reassured him. “Stealth and subtlety, however, are not among them.”
“True enough.” He touched the holes in his wings, watching the drops of blood travel up his own fingers. “And you'll need those traits in abundance for your next mission.”
I smirked. “Yes. The 'mission.' I was waiting for you to get to that.”
Dhimurs raised an eyebrow. “Oh? How did you know?”
“Simple. Ordinarily, Akzun would summon me to the throne room so he could brief me himself. The fact that he sent you to deliver the news instead tells me that whatever this new assignment is, I won't like it. He believes I'll be more amenable to it if it comes from a trusted comrade in arms. Just like you believed that if you sparred with me first – and if I won, like I always do – it'd get my blood up and make me feel invincible, so I'll be more eager to embrace whatever challenge you both have in mind for me.”
Dhimurs laughed heartily. “You have a keen insight into peoples’ natures, Surge. You always have.”
I shrugged. “Studying people makes it a hell of a lot easier to kill them. So? What's the mission, then? Spying? Infiltration? Assassination?”
“Perhaps all three,” he said, “though the third will depend largely on the results of the first two. Have you heard of the Karcerikus Maximum Security Terraforming Facility?”
“It's a mobile prison station,” I replied with a frown. “Privately owned. Run by a renegade Lunian named Karaak, who uses the inmates as slave labor for terraforming and collects all the profits himself.”
“Well,” Dhimurs went on, “many of the Sives you've tracked down and captured over the past few moon cycles have been sent there for punishment. From what I understand, those mobsters have used what remains of their influence to become the most powerful gang in the prison. They deal in rax, weapons, contraband...”
“What of it?” I demanded impatiently. “I've already found, caught, and subdued these criminals. Now that they're behind bars, I'd think we'd be ready to turn our attention to other matters.”
Generally, I'd have sat and listened to a briefing about my next mission without interrupting. But it seemed like Dhimurs – who was usually extremely straightforward – was taking an uncharacteristically long time to get to the point. In the past, these
exchanges had rarely been more complicated than handing me a data pad with information about someone who needed to be caught or killed, and letting me do my job.
So why did this one feel so different? Why did it seem like Dhimurs was “handling” me this time, instead of just giving me my orders and wishing me luck?
“I would have thought so as well. Except that yesterday, we received a rather strange visitor... a Mana who had been working at Karcerikus as a jailer, and a human woman who was incarcerated there. They told Akzun that the prisoners are being subjected to unspeakable cruelty and abuse by the warden and administrators. The terra-pods they're forced to use are being deliberately sabotaged, and the loss of life has been senseless and staggering.”
“What difference should any of that make to us?” I asked. “It's a prison. Conditions are supposed to be harsh.”
“Many of the convicts are Valkredian,” Dhimurs explained. “We sent them there to be punished for their crimes... but not to be tortured and murdered. If that's what is going on there, it needs to be found out and exposed at once, so that no more Valkredian offenders are remanded to their care. And there's something else, as well: During his time there, Tetro – the Mana who came to us – said he saw evidence that Karaak the warden had some hidden agenda. One that involved the astrological signs of the dead prisoners.”
“Star signs?” I huffed derisively. “Like horoscopes? That's nothing but a bunch of silly superstitions.”
“I'd usually agree. But renegade moon-wizards can be dangerous. Especially when they're hatching secret schemes. Akzun wants to know what's going on in that wretched place as soon as possible, in case it's something that could potentially threaten our empire. Tell me, Surge... you recently apprehended a Valkredian Sive called Hakkas, is that not so?”
“Yes. A thief, smuggler, and hired killer. Why?”
Dhimurs smiled. “Because we want you to assume his identity, go into Karcerikus undercover, see for yourself whether these reports of abuse are true – and most importantly, find out what Karaak's up to.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You want me to go into a prison willingly? To investigate a Lunian? And all based on the allegations of some damn Mana? You must be insane. Even if I did, how would I be able to shield my thoughts from the warden? The moon-wizards’ psychic abilities are far more formidable than ours. Besides, I couldn't exactly walk around inside a prison with disguise tech – it wouldn't hold up to long-term scrutiny, and without it, the other Sives will recognize me immediately.”
“Our weaponeers have developed implants that will project normal baseline brain patterns while completely concealing your true thoughts.”
“I've seen the prototypes. They'll prevent me from using my own psychic powers as well.”
“I'm the leader of the Valkredian armed forces,” Dhimurs countered, “and you just beat me soundly with your eyes closed. Finding a way to prevail without your psychic senses shouldn't be a problem for you. In fact, that's why we feel you're the only man for the job.”
“Flattery won't make me any happier about this assignment,” I told him flatly. “And you still haven't answered the issue of my appearance.”
“That's the easy part. Khim can physically alter you to perfectly match Hakkas, right down to his genetic materials. You'll fool every scanner, not to mention the Sives themselves. Plus, given Hakkas' reputation, you should have no trouble taking over the Sives inside Karcerikus and using their resources as your own. And speaking of Khim... we should probably go see her now, before I lose much more blood from where you pierced my wings.”
“So now I'm going to insinuate myself as the new leader of the Sives while I'm there.” I shook my head, following him to the stronghold so we could go see the healer. “This just gets better and better.”
“You can complain all you wish,” Dhimurs said as we reached the doors of the castle, “but we both know you'll carry out your orders. You always do.”
I silently acknowledged his point. I was a servant of the Valkred Empire. I did as I was told, went wherever I was sent, and always returned victorious. It was my identity, my purpose.
Without that, who was I?
We strode into the entranceway of black and crimson marble, its walls hung with paintings and tapestries depicting the triumphs of our planet's past blood rulers. I'd been in this chamber hundreds of times, but each time, I tried to take a few moments to focus on some detail in the artwork that I hadn't fully noticed or appreciated before. It kept my powers of observation sharp. It also served as a reminder of what I was fighting for, and why it was so important for me to succeed in every mission, no matter what hazards or horrors I might face.
Not today, though. For some reason, I couldn't find a single new aspect to study. It all just looked the same to me.
The great battles that were recreated on the walls seemed so straightforward: The blood ruler of that era, snarling, wings unfurled, brandishing a ceremonial weapon, eyes blazing with passionate intensity as they led the armies of Valkred into war against their foes. Blood, fire, glory, honor, the clash of metal on metal.
But how many of those victories had actually been accomplished by men like me? Men who spied and schemed and struck from the shadows, their names lost to history?
I didn't know. The thought gave me a grim shudder, though, for reasons I couldn't quite pinpoint. I'd never sought recognition for my deeds in the past. I'd been content to bury my own identity in the righteousness of my cause: the protection of Valkred and its people.
During my more clandestine operations, I'd always known that in the event that I were ever caught or captured, I'd be completely denied by the Valkredian government – that my worth was wholly tied to my disposability as an agent, that no one would come to my rescue or even admit I'd been sent on a mission to begin with. I'd be tortured and executed by the enemy, then dumped in an unmarked grave or incinerated. I'd made my peace with that long ago.
Or at least, I thought I had.
The grand staircase in the stronghold was largely ornamental, meant for visiting dignitaries or guests. Valkredians, on the other hand, used the vast circular central shaft to fly up to any room in the castle. Dhimurs and I extended our wings, soaring up to the level that housed the chambers of the palace healer.
Khim stood in her robes with her eyebrows arched, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched us alight.
“You certainly took your time in briefing Surge on his mission, Dhimurs,” she scolded, eyeing the holes in his wings and the large dots of blood they were leaving on her floor. “I was expecting you both quite some time ago. And without puncture wounds, I might add.”
“Just a friendly contest, Khim,” Dhimurs said with a grin.
Khim sighed fussily, gesturing to one of her aides to patch up Dhimurs' wings. “Come, Surge,” she beckoned, leading me to an examining table. “Let's get you transformed, shall we?”
“This process will be reversible after the mission is completed, I trust?”
“Oh, certainly,” she replied with an impatient wave of her hand. “We wouldn't leave you looking like a felon for the rest of your life, now would we? I've managed to imbue this crystal with the genetic makeup of Hakkas…”
She held up a small pink shard with a sharpened tip, showing it to me. “Once implanted, it will insinuate itself into every cell of your body, until you are utterly indistinguishable from him. But first, you'll have these psychic blockers installed in your cerebral cortex. I assume Dhimurs already explained their primary purpose to you?”
I nodded. I still didn't enjoy the idea of going into a mission without the full benefit of my mental abilities. Unfortunately, as with all of my other missions, I didn't exactly have a say in the matter.
“These devices have a secondary purpose as well… and a clever one, too, if I do say so myself,” she went on. “When activated, they will record your cognitive pathways and reinforce them. Your body will be Hakkas', but your mind should remain yours in all the way
s that count.”
“'Should?'”
Khim chuckled. “Surge, I could tell you there are no risks involved in this procedure, but that would be a lie. We've never attempted anything quite like this before. Much of what we're doing here is wholly experimental. Now hold still.”
There was a brief sting as the microscopic machines were installed. I knew it was just my imagination playing tricks on me, but I could almost feel them swarming through my skull like insects, collecting and recording my brainwaves... and shutting down the psychic centers of my mind. My sixth sense – the one I was born with, the one that almost all Valkredians are born with – slowly went dark.
“So far, so good,” Khim said, picking up the pink crystal again. “I know that as a warrior, you have tremendous experience in terms of overcoming physical discomfort. Still, I feel I should warn you once more that this stage of the process will be...”
“Unpleasant. So you've said. Get on with it, please.”
“Very well.” She made a tiny incision in the back of my hand, then slid the crystal under my skin, dabbing the blood away.
The effect was immediate.
And agonizing.
My muscles writhed like snakes, my bones began to stretch, my fangs rearranged themselves in my mouth. My hair fell out, and was instantly replaced by new hair, which stung as it came through my scalp. I could feel my internal organs bulging and slithering to match the conditions of his. Even the blood in my veins felt different, as though the consistency was being altered.
But the worst part was my mind.
I could feel the clash between Hakkas' brain and the devices that had harvested my identity. His thoughts, his entire sense of self, were at war with mine.
