“Cool it, Daddy’s girl. They’re in the other wing ‘discussing things.’”
“Just because our dads are protectors doesn’t mean we have to agree with them.”
Aleena took the seat by Rayland. “What do you mean purebloods? Are you saying the Earthborn are alive?”
Rayland shrugged. “Yes and no. There were around fifty Earthborn who survived in the fortress. They mostly paired up and had kids, but some of them decided to spread out and help Humans. They were so primitive back then that the Urlowens didn’t bother even attacking them.”
“I remember,” Aleena said.
“Yeah well, that’s when the intermixing began. However, the Elves who didn’t, you know, chica chica with the Humans”—Meghan was handing out sandwiches, and Aleena noticed her roll her eyes at that—“they divided power amongst the remaining twelve families, the Royals. Since then, a social hierarchy resulted. The Royals make the laws and everyone, including the half-breeds, live quietly under their rule. They feared the Urlowens would return if word got out that some Earthborn survived.”
“So I’m not alone,” Aleena said, mostly to herself.
Rayland shrugged again. “I don’t think the Royals are the same Earthborn you remember. They’re fearful and bent solely on self-preservation. I mean, look around. We’re hiding in the middle of the woods letting the Humans be enslaved. Not exactly heroic.”
“Why don’t you do something, then?” Allison asked. Her voice was sharp, and Aleena sensed bitterness.
Conner put his hand on Allison’s shoulder. “The protectors, like my dad and his dad, enforce the law. They’re half-breed police, so to speak. They’re the only non-purebloods allowed to use magic.”
Rayland nodded. “And the Royals are afraid of another genocide if the Urlowens find out we’re here.”
“We might have solved that little issue for you already,” Ethan said.
Meghan swallowed a bite of her sandwich. “What do you mean?”
“They know about me,” Aleena replied matter-of-factly. “They captured me a few months ago, and I exposed my identity when I escaped. Then Valaan and I took down a few regiments to save the Resistance in Madison City.”
Conner’s sandwich fell from his hands and smacked the table, bouncing onto the floor. “A few regiments?”
Ethan elbowed Conner. “I told you she was awesome.”
Aleena stood. “I want to meet these Royals.”
“I don’t see how we’re going to do that,” Conner said. “They’ve all taken refuge in the fortress in old Europe. There’s an ocean between us.”
Meghan sighed. “Even if we managed to get there, entrance into the fortress is invitation only. Only purebloods can pass the barrier unless they grant you access from the inside. And I don’t think Daddy is going to help.”
“What exactly is this fortress?” Aleena asked.
“It’s an ancient Earthborn outpost. I’ve only seen it once. There are rumors that it’s also a weapons cache filled with all sorts of exosuits, plasma weapons, armor, you name it. But only the Royals would know if that’s true.”
Aleena’s eyes brightened. “If the fortress is what you say, then I can get us in.”
Rayland looked Aleena up and down. “Do you know how to fly?”
Aleena’s grin grew. “It’s standard training.”
Conner stood and took his empty plate to the dishwasher, then turned to face the group. “I’ve got an idea, but it’ll have to wait a couple of days. I overheard my dad say something big was about to happen with the Urlowens. I don’t know what it is, but it involves increased security and stuff. Probably best to let that pass before… well, you’ll see.”
CHAPTER 6
Kalma looked out the window as the transport flew low over the construction site of an enormous palace, two-thirds complete. It stood fifty stories high and sprawled across the countryside.
The ship slid through the air, descending to a landing pad at the far northwest side of the building. Council Sentinels, the palace’s sentries, lined the brightly lit path from the pad to the grand entry.
Kalma preferred to use hidden entrances, but his new public position precluded him from his age-old practices. He shifted uneasily in his seat. Ages of working in the shadows had done little to prepare him for moving in the open. It made him uncomfortable to say the least.
When the transport settled with a slight jolt, he stood to look at his friends. Another unexpected consequence of his current assignment.
They looked uneasy. Friendship was never something he put much effort into. After living so many lifetimes, it didn’t seem worth the effort. They would die, and he would live on; it seemed a fruitless endeavor. Which only added to his own surprise when he felt grieved, albeit slightly, when Alex died. Maybe millennia of solitude were finally starting to weigh on him. The years had certainly changed Malikyne.
A long time ago, almost too long to remember, he would’ve called Malikyne a friend_a mentor. But the years had taken their toll. Why? Because Malikyne was weak. Everyone was weak.
Kalma pulled his thoughts back to the present. His friends collected their gear, except for Traven whose shoulder was nearly unusable. He stood with all his weight on his uninjured leg while Wren tossed both sets of gear onto his own shoulder.
Kalma pulled up the schematic of the palace on his multiband and sent it to each of them. “We’re in section 5, wing 1. We’ll be here a while, so make yourselves at home.”
Zavier looked away from his window, standing to his full height. “Pretty fancy. Might be a nice change from the usual digs.”
“You’ll even have a bed.” Kalma smiled. “But don’t get spoiled. You’ll be back to your old field mat soon enough.”
Wren put his arm around Traven, and they began to move toward the front of the vehicle.
“One more thing,” Kalma said. “Stay out of sections 1, 2, and 4. They’re reserved solely for the High Councilman. Also, I need you to stay back a minute, Traven. We’ll catch up to the rest of you.”
Kalma caught a quick look between Wren and Traven, but then Wren nodded and left the transport, still carrying Traven’s gear. Zavier followed quickly behind.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Traven asked.
“Drop the sir,” Kalma ordered. “I think we’re past that now, don’t you?”
Traven stood silent, clearly reluctant to dispose of formality.
Kalma couldn’t believe he was about to do this. It flew in the face of everything he was taught. He didn’t even know why he felt so compelled to pursue it.
“Look, I know you’re upset that I didn’t tell you about my… abilities.”
Traven’s eyes narrowed.
He’s certainly shrewd. Kalma guessed that’s why he liked him. Always sizing up the opponent. Always searching for truth. It was an admirable, though dangerous trait.
“You have to understand, power is a dangerous thing to display,” Kalma continued. “In these matters, as in nearly all others, timing is everything.”
There was a moment of silence.
“I understand,” Traven replied.
“I want you to trust me,” Kalma added.
Traven nodded.
“Things may soon start to change, and we need to stick together. No more secrets.”
Traven nodded again.
“Now sit down.” Kalma rested on one knee beside Traven. “Stretch out your leg.”
Not even the slightest bit of unease crossed Traven’s face as he extended his injured leg.
“A Guard through and through.” Kalma smiled. Closing his eyes, his forehead crinkled in concentration.
“Healing magic is possibly the most difficult to master,” Kalma offered as sweat began to bead on his brow. “It takes a hefty toll on the wielder, weakening them as their own power is severely drained to heal the mildest symptoms. The greater the wound, the larger the payment.”
Bright silvery light began to pool in his hand. The energy looked near
ly liquid. Slowly Kalma placed his hand on the wound left by the seeker.
The liquid began to snake into Traven’s leg, causing him to groan with pain.
“It’s not the most pleasant feeling either,” Kalma whispered.
After the liquid completely seeped into the leg, Kalma fell from his knee to the floor. “That’s all I can do for now. Your shoulder will have to wait.”
“That’s incredible.”
The magic had pulled just about as much power as he expected. Kalma tried to lift his eyelids but couldn’t; instead, he lay completely vulnerable on the floor of the transport. It took all his effort to squeeze out the words “Stay with me” from nearly unmoving lips.
“Of course,” he heard Traven say before everything went black.
The cabin lights mounted in the ceiling blurred as Kalma slowly opened his eyes. Traven sat to his left, apparently staring at something projected by his multiband, though it was impossible to know exactly what since the band projected images directly into the user’s mind.
Sitting up slowly, Kalma rolled his neck out. As expected, every muscle in his body was stiff. Healing magic’s the worst. He tried to move his legs, but they wouldn’t budge on first attempt.
“Hozz da zefg?” His words came out slurred and hardly understandable. Forcing his jaw to move in a slow, comical over annunciation he asked again. “How’s da l-leg?”
Traven stood and jumped a few times on his previously injured leg. “Feels like new. Thanks.”
“No prob-lem.” The words came a bit easier that time. He tried his legs again; that time they moved. Slowly he pulled them to his chest, feeling the prick of a thousand needles boring into his muscles.
“Why?” Traven asked.
Kalma’s jaw finally behaved normally. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends.”
“Well… thanks. That injury would’ve taken me down for weeks.”
“Don’t worry about it. Besides, I can’t have my best people sidelined at a time like this. I’ll take care of your shoulder later, once I’ve recovered a bit.”
Gently, Kalma brought himself to his knees. Ordinarily, weakness was quickly remedied by reinforcing his stamina with magic, but the cost of healing magic couldn’t be remedied with more magic. It was another one of the perks of using it.
“Are you all right?” Traven asked cautiously.
“I’ll be fine.” Kalma pushed himself to his feet using Traven’s seat for support. “How long was I out?”
“About an hour.”
Kalma nodded. “Go ahead and get settled. I’ll catch up to everyone in a bit.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Kalma shuffled out of Traven’s way and watched him leave. Cautiously, he released the seat. He swayed a couple times but managed to stay on his feet. It’d been years since he’d healed anyone, and now he remembered why.
Suddenly a small blue light pulsed in the far corner of his multiband. Not now.
“This better be good.” His thoughts were projected through the multiband to Eric via a small bean-sized communication device on the receiving end.
Eric, the dimwitted twerp he’d found working for the Western Resistance in Madison City, was always annoying, even when he was useful. The imbecile had led him and Traven to the Resistance’s hospital, which they subsequently destroyed. After, he’d conscripted the moron into spying on the Resistance and now the Alliance on pain of death. Eric’s information was occasionally helpful, but the guy was just so annoying.
“I, um… I have news,” Eric’s sheepish voice responded.
Kalma stepped forward but his right leg gave out, sending him crashing to the floor cursing.
“You know what?” Kalma mentally spat through the band. “I don’t care.” With a thought, he activated the explosive built into the small device that Eric was holding between his thumb and index finger.
“Wait, No! I—” The transmission cut out.
Good riddance. Kalma slowly lifted himself back to his feet, his ankle throbbing from twisting it during his fall. He tried taking a step forward once again; that time his strength held.
Wobbling off the transport, he paused and looked at the gleaming palace. It was a sight to behold, the pillars rising around the completed portions of the exterior adorned in rare jewels that glimmered in the sunlight. The walkway leading to the entrance glinted, emanating a silvery glare.
Walking slowly to maintain balance, he moved toward the grand northwest entrance. The stairs leading up to the porch were grueling, but he was too drained to attempt stabilizing himself with magic. It would take some time to recover fully.
He wound his way through the glamorous hallways, ignoring the salutes given by numerous sentries along the path. Finally, he came to Councilwoman Denetaa’s wing. The entrance to her office wasn’t nearly as grand as the palace in Madison City, just a low archway adorning a heavy double door lined in silver.
Kalma laid a single hand on the door. His name and rank scrolled across the surface, and the door swung open of its own accord.
“Guard Commander Dryenaugh,” Anetta, the councilwoman’s secretary, said, jumping to her feet. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”
He waved her off, walking past the secretary’s massive desk to the door just to the woman’s right. He waited impatiently as Anetta scrambled at her desk to buzz him in.
After far too long, in his opinion, a quiet click indicated the locks were open. He stepped into Denetaa’s posh, large office.
If you asked him, Malikyne let her reach far above her status. Yet another result of his growing weakness. The ugly stern-faced woman sat on a veritable throne on a raised dais at the back of the room.
“Ah, Kalma, my most esteemed servant.”
Kalma’s fingers twitched. He didn’t need magic to dispose of the wretched woman; his armor was full of all sorts of fun toys that would easily do the trick.
I still need her.
“What do you have for me?” the councilwoman asked, readjusting on her throne. Her dress pulled a bit up her pale, old, stretched legs.
He had to restrain himself from visibly heaving at the sight.
“It’s time to ramp up our propaganda,” he told her.
A sick smile grew across Denetaa’s face, which had clearly been through multiple cosmetic alterations. The woman was far too old for such smooth skin. Not that it looked good—more like a stretched-out, pale rubber band. If the anchors holding the skin to the lady’s face came loose, he was certain it would shoot across the room.
Transmitting a video file from his multiband to her console, he looked at the hologram projected just above his arm. Of course, there was no need for him to look at the band controls, given it was all mentally controlled, but it was better than looking at her icy, creepy face.
“Might I add, you look wonderful today, Denetaa.” He nearly threw up in his mouth as the words came out.
“Thank you, Kalma, sweetie.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman—if you could even call her that—pull the bottom of her surplice neckline down, revealing a bit more of her wrinkled cleavage. Apparently, the surgeons only focused on the face. All in all, probably the best decision, Kalma thought, holding back the bile growing at the back of his throat.
Still, she was his key into the revolution. The other councilors were reluctant to reveal the extent of their participation in this coup of theirs, and he needed to know where each of them stood.
“Maybe you should have dinner with me tonight,” the councilwoman said, looking him up and down hungrily.
The file transfer finished, and he had to look up, taking the full brunt of her visual assault.
“Go ahead,” he said.
The woman pressed a few buttons on her console and a two-dimensional video appeared before her throne. “I love surprises,” Denetaa added.
In the images, the battle from earlier that morning played out before her. “How did you get so many angles?” the woman asked
as the camera view switched, always providing a tremendous visual of the ensuing battle.
“I installed recording units last week,” he said flatly. This level of subterfuge was child’s play.
“Brilliant,” Denetaa replied. “This is it, then.”
“This is the first. Your revolution has begun.”
There was a sparkle in Denetaa’s eyes. “I’ll have this video hand-delivered to our man back home on Urlow. Once the public sees this, more will flock to our cause.”
“Once the public sees this, Malikyne will know,” Kalma warned. “You’re not ready yet.”
The woman paused the playback. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’ll get more footage.”
“Hmm.” Denetaa rewound the images and re-watched the Guard slaughtering the town’s inhabitants. The doors to the gymnasium burst open, and Kalma entered the room with Wren and Zavier, helmets hiding their identities. The Guard turned and opened fire on the newcomers.
Denetaa watched the video to completion. “And the rebellion is victorious,” the councilwoman said as the final image froze. “So Malikyne has reverted to the ancient viciousness of our first High Councilman, who annihilated the Earthborn.” The woman stood from her seat. “You are magnificent. The people won’t stand for genocide. Not anymore. We are not the bloodthirsty race we once were. We’ve evolved. Besides, slavery is so much more useful.”
Kalma shrugged. Death was inevitable for most. Now or later, it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of the universe. “Absolutely,” he lied. The real issue was Malikyne’s weakness. People will allow anything if the leader is strong enough—convincing enough.
“Very well, Commander. I’ll have an envoy take this clip to Urlow, but it won’t be broadcast yet.”
He bowed his head. “Thank you.”
“Now about dinner,” the councilwoman said. “Seven sharp. In my quarters.” A sickening grin spread across her artificially full lips.
Standing still, he watched the awful woman’s eyes roam up and down his body.
“You may go,” Denetaa commanded.
Kalma felt the tingle of magic in his fingers. He hated being told what to do by this fleeting speck of space dust.
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