The Galactic Sentinel: Ultimate Edition: 4 Books with 2000+ Pages of Highly Entertaining Sci-Fi Space Adventure

by Killian Carter

  "No one has ever defeated Aglat. Notice how large he has become. Only Kragak who avoid death and rebirth can grow so big and strong. Aglat is a warrior undefeated. The crowds do not like when he fights, but as an Elder he holds the respect of a great many."

  Giant screens around the arena zoomed in, providing thousands of spectators a better view of the fight. Another cheer caused the ground to tremble as the gold-clad Krag broke free, knocking the darker one to the ground with a resounding crunch. He raised his arms, eliciting another cheer, before fetching a halberd from the ground. The smaller Krag tried to climb back on his feet, but his twisted arm gave way and his face struck the rock. He rolled onto his back as the pole axe came down, slicing through his neck. His giant head rolled away and his body fell limp.

  The crowd went wild, screaming and stomping at the sight of blood.

  The ground shook so much Grimshaw thought it might give way.

  "They fight to the death here?" Grimshaw said, trying to conceal his horror.

  Kaliff nodded. "In the Foundry arena, Kragak always fight to the death. Without death, there can be no honor. The gods willing, Imrorr will be granted a rebirth. Once, all Kragak received another life after death. But ever since the war with your people…the gods have been angry."

  Grimshaw fell silent. If the Elders believed their gods were the reason their rebirth chambers no longer worked as they once did, he was happy to let them.

  Kaliff looked down on him with something approaching a smile. "Aglat won, as I said he would. The fight is over. Let us go."

  Kaliff pushed past the metal rails onto the field.

  Grimshaw froze where he was for a second before deciding it was best to follow without hesitation. He didn’t expect to approach the Elders from the field, but he couldn’t show weakness, especially before the Kragak leaders.

  Grimshaw gave the steaming corpse a cursory glance as they passed. If the battle damage on Imrorr’s armor was anything to go by, the Kragak were as formidable as he remembered, if not more so. They would indeed make powerful allies in the fight against the Chimera and the Aphnai.

  Aglat presented Imrorr’s head to the Elders before climbing onto the platform and mounting it on the rail for the crowd to see.

  "May the gods grant Imrorr life. Failing that, may the arms of the universe receive him kindly in final death." The Elder seated in the middle of the platform announced to a roaring crowd. “What is this!"

  The arena screens panned from the severed head to Grimshaw and the audience suddenly fell silent.

  "I present the Great Hadarr," Kaliff said, hidden speakers echoing his words throughout the arena.

  Silence descended as every beady eye fell upon Grimshaw. The Elders regarded him indifferently, their faces not betraying their thoughts.

  The golden warrior chuckled. "You name this pathetic Terran Hadarr? The prophecy tells us that the Hadarr would be a warrior of great renown."

  “The prophecy does not say the Hadarr would be Kragak," Haraus growled.

  "It could only be Kragak," the giant next to Aglat argued. Grimshaw figured that was Gindorrg. "The Kragak are the best warriors in the galaxy."

  "And yet the Terrans won the war," Zavallar pointed out.

  "They won without honor," Aglat hissed.

  "They fought honorably," Haraus protested.

  "As a species they did," Skah said before pointing at Grimshaw. "But this one fled in the end."

  "Not before killing more than we could ever hope to number," Haraus growled. "Aglat has more knots on his belt than the rest of us. Yet he has only slain thousands.”

  Grimshaw’s hand balled into a fist as he recalled the fields of human bodies stacked meters high. He wondered how many of those had perished at Aglat’s hands.

  "You dare compare me to that creature," Aglat snorted as he squared up to Haraus. "Every knot I wear was won honorably and without turning my back on those who challenged me. When I chased this man on Gorthore he fled like a coward.”

  Grimshaw’s heart almost stopped. The sound of the black dragon’s shrieks and its rider’s battle cries had haunted him ever since he escaped Gorthore. He’d only caught a glimpse of the beast and rider before being extracted. The Krag had worn black armor, but now that he recalled, it was spiked at the joints just like Aglat’s. The Krag had also been among the largest Grimshaw had encountered. Aglat had grown considerably since.

  Though a foot shorter, Haraus pressed his forehead to Aglat’s. "Are you challenging me, Aglat? Twice Imrorr almost had you and I am not half as weak as he."

  "Step down," Zavallar said. "Both of you. We will hear what Captain Jason Grimshaw has to say before deciding his fate."

  It looked like Haraus and Aglat would come to blows, but they reluctantly obeyed.

  The golden-clad Elder returned to his position, spitting curses. "This disgrace and his puny people may have won the last war. But so long as I live they will not win the next."

  They quietened and their eyes fell on Grimshaw as they expected a response. He didn’t know what to say to that. As things stood, a war with the Kragak would prove fatal to the entire Galaxy let alone the Confederation.

  "What’s wrong, Hadarr?" Aglat muttered the title mockingly and gave a twisted smile.

  Grimshaw’s palms were sweaty. It seemed he didn’t have as much support among the Kragak as he had hoped. If only he could get the High-Shaman to intervene somehow. He drew a deep breath. "I was led to believe that High-Shaman Garjak would be present."

  "Garjak and his word whisperers are not welcome here," Gindorrg spat. "The arena is a place for honor. Not tradition."

  Grimshaw noticed how he didn’t use the high-Shaman’s title like the others.

  "High-Shaman Garjak deals with other matters," Zavallar added. "Speak your words, Grimshaw."

  He looked around at the noisy crowds. "I thought it was going to be a private discussion."

  "Elder meetings are public," Zavallar boomed, growing impatient. "Warriors have nothing to hide from warriors. We do not snivel and lie and stab in the back. We are Kragak!"

  A cheer rolled through the arena.

  Aglat chuckled. "The Terran fears appearing before our great might!"

  Chortling tore through the audience.

  "No!" Grimshaw called, his voice booming louder than he thought possible as though some primal power had taken hold of him. "I wish to save Aglat the shame of being dishonored before so many of his kin.”

  Laughter died away and silence fell over the arena again. The atmosphere grew more palpable as Aglat’s anger washed over him.

  Grimshaw stared at the golden warrior, his nostrils flaring, his eyes wide with equal measures of defiance and dread. He didn’t know where the words had come from. His voice spoke them, yet they felt so foreign on his tongue. He vaguely remembered the Nahvoy in his vision. The entity had told him to remember, yet as hard as Grimshaw tried, he could not.

  "You speak boldly for a Terran, I will give you that," Aglat growled.

  "Delay no further," Zavallar warned. "Why have you come, Terran?"

  It seemed that he was going down in the leader’s estimation by the second. Grimshaw wanted to curse them all and their honor. They knew why he had come. "We have come for the cure promised to the Omnion."

  "High-Shaman Garjak and the Omnion delegation are making the necessary arrangements,” Zavallar growled. "But why have you come, Grimshaw?"

  He wanted to tell them. Instead, he pushed back his shoulders and puffed out his chest. "I have come to be rightfully recognized as Hadarr."

  Aglat and Gindorrg burst into laughter and the audience followed suit.

  "Those who recognize the Terran as Hadarr must bow."

  Haraus was the only one to move. His giant chair scraped on the platform as he stood. He bowed deeply.

  The others did not.

  "It has been decided," Zavallar called. "The Terran is not worthy."

  "Kaliff, dispatch the vermin,"Aglat boomed.

  Th
e crowd cheered and started chanting a word Grimshaw figured was the Kragak term for kill.

  Kaliff looked down on Grimshaw with uncertainty.

  "What are you waiting for, Kaliff, or have you forgotten that this Terran killed every one of your brothers and sisters? What about your wife? Your sons and daughters?

  "But he is the Hadarr," the Krag didn’t seem so sure of himself anymore. "His feats are legendary."

  "He is no great warrior," Aglat grunted. “Watch him quiver. He does not belong here. Kill him lest you lose honor."

  A horrible dread filled Grimshaw. Not because of the Kragak or their immediate threat. Or because of the thousands in the crowd calling for his death. But because of the crimes that he had committed against these people. Yet, had he not, they would have visited the same upon his. Aglat was right. However, Grimshaw quivered not with fear, but with rage; a rage so strong the locks on his fury implant threatened to snap.

  He glanced at Imrorr’s bloodied head. Even in death, the Krag warrior looked fiercer than Grimshaw ever could, but recognizing the face in his vision, he remembered what needed to be said and adjusted his TEK’s voice amplifiers.

  "I challenge Aglat to a fight for honor!" Grimshaw’s voice reached the speaker system and echoed throughout the arena.

  The audience stopped chanting.

  "Nonsense," Aglat called. "You are in no position to—"

  "Aglat fears the final death," Grimshaw’s voice boomed on a level with any Krag and he turned in a circle, addressing the crowds. "Aglat claims that I lack honor because I fled. Yet he refuses to accept my challenge. Could it be that he fears that I may dishonor him? Could it be that he fears that I am the Hadarr? If I am not, what reason does he have for refusing?"

  "Hah," Aglat snorted. "I simply refuse to sully my hands with—"

  "Hear how he flees in fear!" Grimshaw cried, words not his own reverberating. "He flees like a coward. Where is Aglat’s honor?"

  The crowd cried out and started to chant a new word. He vaguely recognized it as meaning dishonor.

  The gold-clad warrior looked to the chanting crowd. He turned to the other Elders for support, but none came forth, not even from Gindorrg.

  Aglat stepped to the edge of the Elder platform and stopped next to a bewildered Haraus. "Fine. I accept the vermin’s challenge."

  The crowds went wild.

  Grimshaw stopped himself from gulping as he looked to a relieved Kaliff and back to Aglat. He had stopped the impromptu execution, but deep down knew he had only delayed the inevitable, yet under the defining chants of Aglat’s name, he swore he heard some call Hadarr.

  27

  Answers

  Taza awoke inside a silken cocoon. Light poured through a narrow crack, illuminating the sack’s interior just enough for him to see. Though stiff, he could now move his body. He pushed out against the web and it stretched like a balloon. He punched and thrashed against the wall, fighting the silken casket. Bit by bit, patches of web fell away and the crack widened. He thrust his arms through and pulled the sack open and burst forth. He tumbled through the air and soft silk broke his fall. A line of light cut through the darkness, blinding him. A sweet smell tickled his nose. Guttural clicking voices whispered all around him. Spiders! He had to hurry. As his vision cleared, he found the web wasn’t sticky.

  He fought his way through the strands of white, knowing that it would likely attract the spiders in the shadows. The chamber doorway lay ahead. He could make it if he hurried.

  As he pulled free of the last web, hunger pangs tore at his abdomen. The sweet scent was stronger down here on the chamber floor, and it grew stronger the closer he got to the exit.

  Overwhelmed by the sweet promise, his nose dragged him towards a row of dangling sacks. He pulled at the web, his stomach growling, saliva dripping from his mouth, the smell growing more putrid yet also more delicious.

  A section of the sack fell away, causing him to reel. The sunken, parched face inside the white sack belonged to him. His own empty sockets stared back.

  He woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding in his head, his body shivering violently.

  Taza rubbed the crusted blur out of his eyes.

  He half-expected to wake up in a web full of giant spiders. He instead found himself lying on a low, but comfortable, bed in a small room. A single overhead lamp cast a faint yellow light onto the walls where several pictures and shelves hung. He was thankful for the dimness. A rising pain pounded at his temples, like someone desperately trying to escape a torture room.

  Several tubes jutted from his left wrist. He was hooked up to an old-fashioned drip on one side and several sensors that ran to a medical monitoring device on the other. A glass of water and round bowl rested on a table next to the bed.

  He propped himself up on one elbow, doing his best not to moan with the headache. He sipped the water before returning it to the table.

  He pulled back the sheets and was surprised to find himself clothed in a simple gray gown.

  The nightmares had been so vivid…so real. For some reason, he’d been naked in most of them.

  They were nightmares, right?

  He tried to recall the dark dreams as a distraction from the pain.

  He remembered glimpses of deep caverns and black tunnels. He’d spoken with Ria in some and Zora in others, though he couldn’t recall their fleeting words. There had also been a redheaded man he didn’t know, though his face was familiar. The more Taza thought about him, the more blurred the image in his mind became. The dream about the spiders had seemed the most real. Again, the details were vague, but thinking about it sent a shiver down his spine.

  He held his head as a wave of nausea washed over him.

  He blindly grabbed at the bowl by the bed and got it under his head just in time. Bile burned the back of his throat and nose as it poured out of his mouth. He wretched several times, almost filling the receptacle.

  He spat out the chunks that didn’t make it.

  His head hung above the acid stench for an age as the nausea slowly passed. He struggled to remember the last time he’d suffered such a bad hangover. Out of habit, his hand reached for the flask at his hip.

  He muttered a curse and set the bowl aside.

  His stomach growled wildly. Despite the horrible nightmare, he would have killed for a cheeseburger and bottle of beer.

  He sat upright, a dull burn coming from his left leg. He pulled back the sheets and found a long purple scar.

  There had been some truth to the nightmares, but he couldn’t recall what was real and what wasn’t. The room, how stale the air tasted, how visceral the pain felt, told him that he was indeed awake.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Before he could say anything, the door swung open, and a man dressed in a battle-grade TEK stepped inside.

  It was the human male in his dreams. He was tall and gangly with brushed back red hair and a short beard. He wore glasses. A scar crossed his face from one eyebrow to below the opposite ear. He had a neuroptical implant in the eye that had been damaged. Taza felt like he’d known the man for a long time, yet he had never met the guy.

  "Feeling better?" he said, crossing the room to examine the contents of the bowl.

  "I’ve felt worse," Taza lied. His tongue felt like a razor blade flopping around inside his mouth, and he had trouble remembering a time when he was so helpless and confused, even during his worst year in the Underways.

  He scanned Taza with a cumbersome medical-grade SIG with one hand while reading a compad with the other.

  He arched an eyebrow. "Your vitals are looking well. It’s a good thing the Queen agreed to help or we’d be having a very different conversation."

  "The Queen?"

  The doctor drew a syringe from his belt and pumped the contents into the bag hanging over the bed. "That’ll help with the pain. Drink this."

  He handed him the rest of the water.

  Taza drained what was left and set the glass aside before w
iping his beard. "You’re a doctor?"

  "Not really. But I guess I’m the closest thing to a doctor down here. Call me Leeroy."

  "Down here?"

  "You’re in the catacombs under Priodome One."

  Taza looked about the room, recalling some of the events that led to him entering the catacombs. "Ria?"

  "She’ll stop by soon. She wanted to know when you were awake."

  The only way another human could have ended up on Ushtar was if he came through the gate the Omnion suspected. "So, you work for Chimera?"

  Leeroy frowned. "Ria will answer your questions when she arrives. I don’t have time."

  Taza swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was sick of waiting in the dark. "I want answers now!"

  "I wouldn’t try to stand if I were—"

  Taza pushed himself off the bed. His legs buckled instantly and he folded like a concertina onto the cool, hard floor.

  He felt himself being hoisted off the ground as the doctor placed him back on the bed with ease.

  "What the hell have you done to me?" he growled.

  "We had to put you out. Most of the venom has drained out of your system. It’ll take your body at least another day to get rid of what remains. By then, your motor control should return to normal."

  "The spiders…That wasn’t just a nightmare?"

  "You spent a week in the Queen’s nest. If her hatchlings hadn’t taken care of that wound, you’d be dead." He gestured to the room. "We don’t exactly have the finest medical facilities around here."

  "I can hardly tell what’s real and what’s just in my head."

  "The Aknar can heal serious wounds, but the venom they use as a base is potent, especially to a human. It can cause vivid hallucinations and lucid dreams. When detoxing, it can also cause nausea." He lifted the bowl full of vomit from the table. "I suggest you rest and let your body recover. You should be on your feet tomorrow. I’ll have someone bring food and water, and I’ll check in on you again this evening. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got several sick Chan waiting to be seen to."

  "Before you leave…The spiders…Are they Aphnai?"