Of course, it was possible he was just late to the call. Still, Rachel couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Gada’s recent offer had caught Taga’s fancy.
“Let us not tarry in discussing the matter at hand,” Krogoth said once they’d waded through the awkward greetings.
As the only Zar present, Krogoth probably had the technical right to govern the meeting, but Rachel had a feeling he would have taken the leads either way.
“Kul’Gada has called us forth,” Krogoth continued, “and some of you are likely considering the wisdom of suing for peace with the rakul. No doubt, the humans are wondering which of us they might trust to hold fast against the harvesters.”
Rachel could’ve swore she saw a vein throb in Nelken’s temple at Krogoth’s casual assumptions, both of authority over the meeting and of the Resistance’s motives and concerns, but the commander didn’t say anything. Probably for the best.
Much as it irked her to admit it, at the end of the day, this was pretty much raknoth business, and most of their kind didn’t exactly have an overabundance of respect for humans. Better to let their own Zar whip them into shape.
Assuming Krogoth still fell on the anti-rakul side of the line himself, of course.
“You do not consider this, brother?” Koshna asked. “I have no love for the Kul, but too many of us have seen what becomes of those who would oppose the Masters. Is it not possible this conflict might be resolved without fighting?”
Krogoth gave a growl of a chuckle and spat to the side. “The rakul have not lived for tens of millennia ruling with light hands. I have seen raknoth slain without question for crimes far milder than our own. Desertion, they will not forgive.”
“It was not peace Kul’Gada sought when he laid siege to our temple scarcely more than one cycle past,” Brandt added from his place at Krogoth’s shoulder. “It was only after he met failure and defeat at the hands of our combined clans that the Kul thought to seek our allegiance. Kul’Gada is a coward, and we will not yield to him or his ilk.”
Combined clans, huh? That was rich coming from the guy who’d waited until the fight was all but won to come out and play.
Whatever. At least he was arguing for killing that giant spiky bastard.
“Truly, brother?” Ashida asked. “You wish us to believe that you turned back the advance of one of the rakul?”
Rachel’s growing agitation must’ve been palpable. Haldin rested a gentle hand on her shoulder and helped ground her before she lost the fight to refrain from spitting out that they had stopped Gada and that Ashida could shove a richly varnished chair leg up his ass if he doubted it.
“Believe what you will, young Nan,” Brandt said. “I care not.”
The disdain in his voice, at least, made Rachel feel a hair better.
“Al’Brandt speaks truth,” Alton said. “I was there myself, along with Zar’Krogoth’s second, Al’Drogan. With the help of our human allies”—he waved pointedly to Haldin and Rachel with the stub of the hand he’d lost to Gada—“we managed to drive Kul’Gada away.”
Ashida sneered but said nothing.
Nelken pounced on the silence that ensued. “I take it, then, that we’re all still on the same side in this conflict?”
Krogoth looked mildly irritated at Nelken’s gall in speaking, but he gave a decisive nod. “I will stand against Kul’Gada, regardless of what any here have to say. And when the rest of the harvesters come, I will stand against them too. To do otherwise is to invite certain death upon myself and my people.”
“My clan will follow Zar’Krogoth in this,” Brandt said.
Al’Koshna was nodding slowly. “I am proud to count myself kin to such bravery. We too will stand against the rakul.”
Ashida gave an exasperated sigh, looking like he’d rather be anywhere in the galaxy right now. “If you are all bound to this madness then I will not think to escape it. You will have my army, brothers.”
Al’Tor and Al’Grog echoed the oaths of their kin faithfully, if somewhat less enthusiastically.
When all the raknoth had spoken, Krogoth bared his fangs in a frighteningly predatory smile. “And so we have all given our words, but now heed these last ones from me. If any of you is fool enough to betray us and side with the rakul in the coming war, I will personally see to it that your heads are removed well before Kul’Gada and his kin have the chance to forgo their empty promises and see to it themselves.”
With that, Krogoth disconnected from the call.
Talk about a pep talk.
Still, Rachel couldn’t say she minded. If anything, Krogoth’s militant warning almost made her feel a touch better about their chances at not getting stabbed in the back by one of these a-holes.
Not that she trusted Krogoth, exactly. But something told her she could trust his desire to destroy the rakul, and that was probably the best she was going to get.
The remaining clan speakers disconnected in a disorganized fashion after that, with only Al’Koshna giving any farewell at all.
Soon enough, the gathering was back down to just those in the council chamber, discussing the meeting amongst themselves in quiet voices.
“Well,” Nelken said, powering down the projector and turning to lean heavily against the table and address the room, “that was… almost reassuring.”
Alton chuckled. “Yes. But only if you’re willing to make the mistake of assuming we can trust all of them.”
Coming from the raknoth she’d distrusted enough to throw at Gada’s waiting blades, it was just about the most unsettling thing Rachel could have heard right then.
18
Seven thousand miles away, Nan’Ashida leaned back in his newly-restored hardwood chair and sighed.
That had been trying. And frustrating, and humiliating, and half a dozen other things. But, most of all, it had been unnerving.
He leaned forward in his luxurious chair, rested his elbows on his equally luxurious table, and steepled his fingers. Resting his dark lips lightly against the tips of his index fingers, he tried to think.
Had Al’Brandt and that renegade Al’Braka—the one who now called himself Alton Parker—been telling the truth? Was it possible his brothers had actually stood against the Kul and triumphed?
Preposterous.
But then what did they have to gain by lying about such claims?
A series of small tremors in the table and the floor reminded him that it didn’t matter now. He’d already made his decision—not that he’d had any real choice in the matter.
The tremors grew stronger, the thump of heavy footsteps steadily approaching.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Kul’Gada’s enormous bulk dipped through the dark doorway. The rakul’s side brushed against the frame and tore away a large chunk of the adobe wall.
Ashida winced but didn’t dare say anything.
Once he was through the opening, Gada stood back to his full height, nearly scraping the decorative dark wood joists of the spacious room, and fixed a heavy gaze on Ashida.
Ashida, for his part, averted his gaze and did his best not to shudder. “I told them I will stand against you with Zar’Krogoth and the humans. Just as you instructed, Master.”
He waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he risked a glance.
Kul’Gada was watching him with a fathomless expression, and—
Wait. Had Gada’s eye been like that before? A feebly glowing lump? How had he missed that? Probably because he’d been beyond too terrified to look the Kul in the face. But the sight only unsettled him further.
Was that a favor from this fight Al’Brandt spoke of? Had they truly managed to injure one of the Masters?
Ashida pushed the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact the Kul was here at all. If he were still alive at the end of this conversation, he’d consider himself tremendously lucky.
What he needed to do was establish his value.
“My army is yours to
command, Master,” he said.
Gada stared.
Ashida pulled his hands from the table and folded them in his lap, doing his best not to squirm. “They will serve you well. As will I.”
Cursed void, why was the Kul just staring on like that?
Ashida was about to offer him something for refreshment when the rakul perked up like a hound catching a scent and held up an enormous hand for silence.
Ashida was only too happily obliged.
Gada’s snout twitched, and he bared his fangs in a wide smile. For a second, the glow of his lame eye sputtered. The eye itself gave an odd wriggle, and then the crimson glow blazed back to existence, every bit as intense as its counterpart.
Ashida tried to keep his expression neutral. Not that Gada would have noticed.
The Kul’s attention remained focused somewhere far away. Ashida reached out with his senses and realized Gada was communicating with someone via messengers. It was focused, tight—not like the broadcast the Kul had sent earlier that day.
Gada finished whatever conversation he was having and fixed Ashida with another stare.
Finally, he spoke in that slithering voice of his. “This will be a pleasant surprise when the time comes to confront these insolent rebels.”
“Apologies, Master,” Ashida said, “but what will be a pleasant surprise?”
Kul’Gada’s smile made Ashida cringe inwardly.
“My brother draws near.”
Ashida failed to cover his surprise, but Gada cared little about what he thought.
The Kul drew closer and closer until Ashida lost the battle to control his own shaking hands, and then he leaned down and thrust his face dangerously close to Ashida’s.
“I want you to tell me about the humans who conjure fire from air.”
19
Rachel hadn’t come back. Not the day she’d rushed out of Jarek’s room to check on Michael after Gada’s creepy messenger broadcast, and not in the two days since.
Jarek couldn’t quite say which part miffed him more—that she was actively trying to ignore him or that he actually cared as much as he did.
But ignore wasn’t exactly the right word, was it?
Avoid. She was avoiding him.
Because, by all counts, the comm messages they’d swapped over the past couple days, not to mention the ones they’d relayed through Al, much to his prim and proper chagrin, had been perfectly engaging—playful, even. She just seemed to be reticent to engage him in any medium that limited her ability to turn tail should he decide to press her on The Issue.
Jarek was convinced now that Rachel had willingly thrown Alton to the dogs—or to Gada, rather—during their Himalayan scrap. It wasn’t the only possible explanation for her behavior, but it was the best one.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it, either.
Not happy. That was a fair start. But he understood, too. It had been twisted and misguided, sure, but she’d been through some serious shit at the hands of the raknoth, and the battlefield wasn’t a place where people were often afforded the time to take hold of their emotions and make level-headed decisions. Especially not when they were tangling with intergalactic-grade super monsters.
Mostly, he just wished Rachel would come talk to him.
Maybe he should just message her that before he up and died of pure, unadulterated boredom and its insidious cousin, worthlessness.
In the past three days, Jarek had had visits from Pryce, Alaric, Lea, and assorted Enochians. Michael, being mostly laid up himself, though he seemed to be looking a bit better since their run-in with Gada, stopped in fairly often to commiserate as well.
And, of course, he had Al’s sassy robot butt with him via comm at all hours as well.
None of it really made being an invalid any more bearable, but at least he didn’t have to resort to talking to himself.
The one other constant in his days, aside from the doctor who’d mostly written him off since he’d hopped on the Vitamin R, was Drogan, who, aside from stepping out for a few hours here and there, continued hanging around to lay low from Krogoth and provide said miracle spit.
As disturbing as the idea had initially been, Drogan’s spit therapy turned out to be well worth the cringes. After day one, Jarek had gone from nearly amputated to capable of light shifting without the fear of an arm falling off. The pain was bad, but he cared a lot more about the progress.
And progress he made. Now, just days after Gada had torn into him, he was able to gingerly move the arm under its own power through a painful but passable range of motion.
Without the treatments, he quite possibly would have ended up losing the arm. Keeping it at all was a mild miracle. But at the rate he was going, he might even be ready to fight in days or weeks instead of the months or years it might have otherwise taken.
The only downside was the appetite. No matter how much he shoveled in, he couldn’t seem to satisfy his body’s rampant requirements. Not that scarfing unlimited food was so bad, aside from the fact that his excessive consumption wasn’t winning him any extra love from the Resistance folks.
Still, to say he was sold on raknoth spit would be an understatement—provided he remained scale free and didn’t start sprouting claws and glowing red eyes, at least. When Drogan returned from wherever he’d stepped out to that afternoon, Jarek was excited enough that he couldn’t help but wonder if the ol’ Vitamin R wasn’t packing some manner of addictive hook.
Would it even matter if it did? Probably not. It wasn’t like this was recreational. He needed to be ready to fight.
“Stumpy! My favorite drug pusher. Scaliest, too.”
Drogan gave a noncommittal grunt, grabbed his customary paper cup, and set a syringe and a hypodermic needle down on the table.
“And the comparison grows more adept,” Jarek said. “Am I about to get secondhand hepatitis, or did you convince the good doctor to cough up the goods?”
“She retrieved the needles from hiding when I admitted the injections would at this point do more harm than good without proper delivery.”
“Ah. Well go team, huh?”
Drogan didn’t answer as he came to Jarek’s bedside to get his drool on. First, though, he peeled Jarek’s bandage aside and sniffed at the wound. “Much better.”
Jarek glanced down and had to agree. The long dark gash on his shoulder appeared to have mostly closed up between the line of staples. He probably barely needed the bandage anymore. Or the staples, even.
All hail the spit.
“You’re a miracle worker,” Jarek said. “I’ll be swinging a sword again in no time. You know, once I find one that’s not cut in two.”
“Haste would be ideal,” Drogan said. “I do not trust this silence. Whatever it is Kul’Gada waits for, best we be ready to meet it with the full might of our finest warriors when the time comes.”
“Shucks, buddy. You saying I’m a fine warrior?”
“You may not be a raknoth, but you have proven yourself more than once, most notably against Zar’Golga.”
Jarek tipped his head. “Not to mention against you and Krogoth.”
Drogan gave a low growl. “The point is that you have survived opponents few would have. Even Krogoth acknowledges as much. Now would you like your treatment or not?”
Jarek bit back a grin. He shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds—or the mouth that spits, as it were—but ruffling Drogan’s feathers could be just a little too fun sometimes.
“That would be lovely, Drogan. Thank you.”
Drogan recoiled a bit at the sound of his name.
“Yeah.” Jarek frowned. “Feels weird, right? We’ll stick with Stumpy.”
Drogan muttered something about giving Jarek a stump to talk about, but Jarek couldn’t help but notice he didn’t explicitly say no.
“So how are preparations over at casa de Krogoth?” Jarek asked when Drogan paused from spitting to wet his whistle.
“They go as planned,” Drogan said. “We will be
able to hold against a sizable army should Gada work one into a furor. If he were to wait for the rest of the twelve, though… that would be another matter.”
It was a horrifying thought, twelve Gada’s rampaging around on the battlefield. Though apparently the rakul came in all shapes and sizes, from what Drogan and Alton had explained to them, each occupying the form of whatever species they’d been invading when they’d been granted ascension to the rank of Kul.
More terrifying was the fact that Gada was the youngest. If the remaining eleven were older and more powerful than the monster they’d barely survived together in the Himalayas… Well, hopefully the rakul had the good manners to keep coming one at a time.
“Where do you put the odds on the other rakul showing up before we deal with Gada?” Jarek asked.
“Impossible to say without knowing when we will confront Gada, but I do not dare hope we will see many days pass without the appearance of at least one or two more Kuls. Lietha shares my feeling in this, as do Krogoth and many others.”
“Lovely,” Jarek muttered. Then, “And what is it with you and Lietha, anyway?”
“I do not understand what you ask.”
“I don’t know. He seemed like kind of a minty green pain in the ass when Kole dished him off on us. Hell, you were the one who knocked the guy’s face off. But now you guys are like super best friends. What gives?”
Instead of answering, Drogan turned and busied himself with filling the syringe from the saliva cup. Jarek was about to ask again when the raknoth spoke.
“Lietha’s disposition is quite understandable, given the circumstances in which she has found herself.”
“Well yeah, I get that—Wait. She? Did you say she?”
Drogan gave a small shrug. “It is not a perfectly accurate word, but it seems the best choice in this language.”
“Lietha’s a… But he’s—she’s…” Jarek’s mouth worked, seeking to ask a dozen questions at once and at first producing none. “You hit a girl?”
The Complete Harvesters Series Page 72