Alliance of Serpents (17 page)

He did scream then, a forceful cry that sent
birds flapping from the trees and squirrels scrambling away. Before
he knew it, his sword was in his hand, and his feet were carrying
him toward the Mayahol Desert as fast as his legs would move.
Revenge was not something Eaisan would've approved of, but this was
much bigger than vengeance. Truce and the Kyrosen had ravaged
Asteria from the moment they set foot on the planet, and it was
time that the threat was eliminated. Each and every Kyrosen would
be squashed like the insects that they were, and if they managed to
fell Vultrel before he killed them all, then at least those he
defeated would never harm another innocent soul again.

A dull whine began to seep through the trees
as he raced along, leaping over fallen logs and plowing through
foliage with little regard for the trail of broken branches and
trampled flowers he left in his wake. The sound grew louder the
closer he came to the desert, and by the time the first bits of
wind-tossed sand appeared near the edge of the woods, it had
developed into a deafening roar that was all too familiar. Slowly,
Vultrel's eyes adjusted to the brilliant sunlight reflecting off
the golden-white sand, and his heart sank to the soles of his
boots. Three enormous grey starships sat side by side in the open
desert, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of men in black pants and
matching vests. Standing taller than any structure Vultrel had ever
laid eyes upon, their flat peaks reached nearly twice as high as
the tallest tower of Castle Asteria. Each ship was identical in
shape and size, their massive hulls obviously constructed for
carrying large numbers of passengers. They resembled pelican beaks,
Vultrel thought, with engines on either side near the upper-rear of
each craft. On the ground, the Kyrosen were scurrying about like
ants building an anthill, carrying wooden crates and escorting
women and children up long ramps that led into the ships.

Are they . . . leaving?
The idea was
almost too good to be true. They sure looked as though they were
packing every person they could into those ships, though there was
no telling how many more remained underground. The more that left
the better, but where had they gotten those ships? Did Truce manage
to barter passage off of Terranias? Or did Damien have a hand in
this? An uneasy feeling, solid as a stone, sat lodged in the center
of his chest. If the Kyrosen left, he'd never be able to right the
wrongs they'd committed. And it was reasonable to assume that
they'd carve a path of destruction wherever they went.
What
would my father do?
His feelings pushed him toward
intervention. As much as he would have loved to see them leave,
they had committed too many crimes against humanity to simply be
allowed to walk away. They had to be destroyed because it was their
due punishment. To keep them from wreaking havoc on any other
societies.
I'll see that Truce and the Kyrosen are punished for
what they've done to us, destroyed so that no one will share my
father's fate.

Sneaking out to the transports was out of the
question. His black clothing would stand out against the desert
sand a mile away and more.
What would the Royal Guard do?
The thought nearly made him spit in disgust. The soldiers of
Cathymel would likely wave goodbye rather than try to apprehend the
Mages. Arus would've called it a "show of mercy" or something
preposterous like that, when in reality it amounted to
irresponsible cowardice in Vultrel's eyes. No, he was on his own
this time, and weighing his options, few as they were, and came up
with only one real idea. The large red rocks and boulders scattered
across the sand were too few and far between to be able to
effectively use as cover for his approach. And no matter how low he
crouched or how slow he moved, his clothing would be clearly
visible if he tried to slink across the sand on his belly. His only
real chance, as mad it sounded, would be to surrender to the
Kyrosen and be taken prisoner, then figure out what to do once he
was onboard one of their ships. It would be a bold plan, one that
he would have never even considered a few weeks ago, but he was no
longer under his father's wing. Truce's people had to be destroyed
to protect other planets like Terranias that were too helpless to
defend themselves. Imprisonment, trials, and other such nonsense
were useless against such men. Their ways were more like that of
conquerors, and such societies had to be purged from the universe
if peace were ever to truly reign.

He returned his sword to its scabbard and
stepped into the open sands, walking slowly as to not give the
impression of an ambush. The last thing he wanted was to bring a
shower of fire and lightning down upon himself. It took little time
for the Mages to spot him, but once they had, a group of men
carrying large swords and laser pistols dashed toward him. He
raised his hands and dropped to his knees as they approached, and
they quickly yanked his sword from his back. "I am Vultrel Lurei,
son of Eaisan Lurei, and I surrender to the might of the Kyrosen.
Do with me what you will."

The statement visibly confused the soldiers.
They exchanged nervous glances before binding his hands together
with a steel clip. "Why have you thrown yourself at our mercy?" one
of them asked him. "I see no logical reason for you seek us out
simply to surrender."

"I may be mistaken, but it looks as though
you're leaving Terranias," Vultrel responded levelly. "Your boss
and I have business left unfinished, and I doubt he'd pass up the
opportunity to take the son of his greatest enemy with him."

That initiated another exchange of glances
between them. A well-proportioned man with stringy black hair
lifted a communicator from his belt. "Boss, this is Ellas. I
apologize for the disturbance, but we have someone here who'd like
to see you."

*******

Damien rubbed his chin with his thumb and
forefinger, a habit stemming back to his days with a beard. He
always did it unconsciously when he was nervous, and as of late,
he'd managed to tie himself into a bundle of nerves on a routine
basis. Things were getting more and more unstable as days went by,
and it seemed like only a matter of time before more blood was
shed. That was something he hated, honestly and truthfully, unlike
some of those who would call themselves his brethren. It was not an
accurate reflection of the Zo'rhan people as a whole, thankfully,
but too many had submitted themselves to the Kindel Thorus way of
thinking. How many more would align themselves at the man's heels
before the universe fought back? How many more would die by his
hand before he was stopped?

Watching the three green blips on the radar,
things only seemed to get worse.

"Vezulian transports are entering the lower
stratosphere now, Sir."

Damien nodded and returned his attention to
the main viewport. It was more like a wall of glass than a
viewport, stretching from one side of the room to the other and
extending upward along the slant of the hull to give a broad view
of space both above and ahead. The ships carrying the Kyrosen were
not visible to the naked eye as of yet, though the crew was
tracking them closer than the eye ever could. Across the bridge of
the
Refuge
, the clacking of fingers across control panels
mixed with occasional verbal reports from each station. The air was
tense, despite the fact that Damien had no intentions of
interfering with the Vezulian Armada's work. On the contrary, he
wanted the Kyrosen's transfer from Terranias to space to move ahead
without interruption. He had made a promise to Arus, after all, and
the time could not have been more right. "Is there a fighter
escort?"

Lieutenant Harold Meni looked back from his
post as the sensor terminal. He had a youthful face for his age,
though he was not old by any stretch of the imagination. A human
from Tarbosa, his dark eyes and hooked nose were framed by pale
round cheeks that looked smoother than whipped cream. Did the man
ever even have to shave? "Not as of yet," he reported. "I'm
guessing it's Thorus' way of sending the message to the Kyrosen
that they aren't all that important to him."

Damien nodded absentmindedly. "Keep a close
watch for any changes in starfighter formation amidst the Armada.
If they notice our interest in the transfer, we may have to speed
up the plan."

Most of the stations were set only a few
paces back from the main viewport, separated by thin spaces between
each console that were barely large enough to walk through.
Navigation and flight control sat in the center, while the tactical
station, manned by a round Svodesian simply named Tump, and the
communication array, operated by Lieutenant Merille Tears, were
located on either side of them. To his far right, Kitreena sat
slumped in one in a chair near the diagnostic terminal, mindlessly
biting her nails and sparing an occasional glace toward the
viewport. She never kept hidden the fact that these types of
assignments bored her, and understandably so. Most girls her age
were enjoying the last few years of youth they had left, but she'd
thrust herself into an adult world well before she had even learned
simple math. This was her life, and though Damien knew she embraced
it and took her responsibilities seriously, nothing tamed the
instincts of youth.

Then again, most girls her age weren't faced
with most of the changes her body was going through.

She was a native of Lavinia, and that
identified her as a Morpher. She had the innate ability to merge
her form with an aspect of nature, though hers was different from
any other Morpher in the universe. Most could change their shapes
into beasts of the wild or camouflage their bodies as trees or
bushes or other such life forms. The latter were considered to be
inferior to those that could transform into animals, and it was
reflected in their society similar to the way that humans had a
clear distinction between nobles and commoners. But Kitreena was
different from all of them. She had the power to merge with the
four elements of nature: Land, Air, Fire, and Water. According to
the history of Lavinia, only two or three others had ever been
gifted with the abilities she had, and they had developed into the
most powerful Morphers of their time. But they were long dead, and
that left Kitreena alone to learn how to harness her abilities.
Damien could guide her as best as he knew how, but the bulk of the
learning would fall on Kitreena's shoulders. He knew she was up to
the challenge, but that did nothing to ease his fears.

"Transports entering lower ionosphere."

Damien glanced at Kiris, a member of the
fish-like race known as Pelwigs seated at the navigation terminal.
"Have our destination coordinates been plotted?"

She gave her flowing blue hair an irritated
flick over her shoulder before replying. "Yes, Sir. Ready to head
for Aeden Outpost Twelve on your command."

Damien nodded with a sigh.
Well, I
promised Arus I would take him to safer territory, and that's what
I'm going to do.
The original plan would've had the
Refuge
gone from the system during the night, but after a
talk with tactical team it was decided that leaving during the
Kyrosen transfer would make it more difficult for Kindel and the
Armada to impede their withdrawal. It didn't sit right with him,
leaving when two such dangerous societies were forming a
partnership, but emotions were things better kept away from the
battlefield, replaced by logic and reason wherever possible.
Emotions had led many a man to make rash decisions, and the
battlefield was no place for that way of thinking.

"You look troubled, Dame," Kitreena said
without bothering to look up from her nails. "What's got you so
wound up?"

He'd been avoiding the subject because the
truth was that there was little he could do about it, but that
didn't stop the worries from eating away at him. "I want to know
who it was that the Kyrosen captured a few hours ago. I know that
we agreed earlier that it was probably one of their own men
returned from a hunting outing or something, but why was he circled
by seven men and escorted back to the transports?"

Kitreena shrugged and looked back toward the
planet. "All we saw were blips of light on the radar, Dame. They
could've been anything. It could've been that the hunter was met by
his friends and their formation in returning to the ships just
looked
like an escort to us. Or it could've been another
animal—a rabbit, perhaps—that had run out into the sands and was
quickly captured by the Kyrosen and taken back for food. There are
numerous possibilities."

Damien nodded slowly. "I know. But I just
can't shake this paranoia. What if it was a human? A native
civilian?"

Kitreena frowned, finally looking at him
momentarily before nibbling away at the nail on her index finger.
"If it was a human, there's no more we can do for him than we can
do to rescue the Belvids that were kidnapped. We're neither
equipped nor manned to mount a rescue right now, if there's even
anything that needs rescuing in the first place."

Damien pursed his lips, scratching his chin
again. "That doesn't ease my fears."

Finally, she pushed herself up. "Look,
whoever it was, the Kyrosen obviously thought them important enough
to keep alive; otherwise they would've blown his brains out right
there and left him for the vultures. And if they did kidnap someone
important, then they'll have demands they want met, which means
we'll hear about it soon enough, whether it be from the spy network
or from Olock's own beak."

Lieutenant Meni once again turned back to
face Damien. "The transports are exiting Terranias' atmosphere now,
Sir. They'll reach the rest of the Vezulian Armada within fifteen
minutes."

The halfway point of their flight. Whatever
they did now, Kindel would either have to order the ships back to
the ground—a move he was unlikely to make with them so far from the
surface—or wait for the ships to dock with one of his starcruisers.
Either way, it was now or never. "All right then," he looked at
helmsman Jindar Tradek, the short-haired Zo'rhan male that operated
flight controls for the
Refuge
. "Let's get out of here."