"Peace isn't something the Kyrosen have ever traditionally cared about," Damien told him. "Why do you?"
"Because I don't want to see my baby girl subjected to the harshness of war. I don't want her to be placed amidst meaningless bloodshed. I want to protect her and my darling Keilan."
Damien mulled over that for a moment, glancing at both Arus and Kitreena. "Just one more question," he said at last. "We could use your help, but there's a good chance that we may find ourselves battling against Kyrosen in the future. How do you feel about fighting your own people?"
Muert pursed his lips and shook his head. "Without my wife and child, I am nothing. I will go through whoever I must to rescue them."
"What if she takes up arms against us?"
That actually made the bulky man smile. "She won't. Not against me. She is just as concerned for Sienna's future as I am. If I tell her that I have decided to abandon the Kyrosen and seek a new life elsewhere, she will follow joyfully."
Damien rose from his chair and bowed again, this time more elegantly. "In that case, I would like to formally request your aid against both Sartan Truce and Kindel Thorus. We will do what we can to safely recover your loved ones, but you must understand that we make no guarantees."
"I understand," Muert said, bowing so deeply his head nearly touched the floor. "Your grace in forgiving my crimes is more than I deserve. I am greatly indebted to you. Thank you."
Damien finally smiled openly. "Thank you for your help. If not for your assistance during the fight with Thorus, the outcome of that battle may have been much different."
Clearing her throat, Kitreena turned to more pressing matters. "So, what of Kindel? Any further word on his intentions?"
The smile vanished once again, and Damien's face grew grim as he updated the situation. "As of our latest reports, he had arrived at a planed called Arynias. It is a solitary world a few hours from here, heavily populated by various types of wildlife, and home to the Ayaans, an odd race of humanoids with translucent skin and no vocal chords. The planet is covered mostly by mountains and trees, though there is an occasional lake or stream here and there. Why Kindel has gone there is beyond me, but if—"
"Sir?" Lieutenant Harold Meni called from the sensor array. "The scanners are reading very unusual atmospheric changes occurring on Arynias. Heavy storm clouds are forming and dissipating at an unnatural rate. Thirty-seven tornadoes have touched down within the last twenty minutes—no, make that forty-five—and that number is still rising. Some kind of force on the planet's surface seems to be affecting the atmosphere. I would suggest it was Thorus, but he doesn't have that kind of power." He looked back at Damien with hesitant eyes. "Does he?"
Damien was already heading to join him at the terminal. "Over forty tornadoes in twenty minutes? Not likely. The kind of energy needed to form and sustain a tornado through magic is immense, and while I might be able to envision him creating one or maybe two, there's no way he could control that many in such a short period of time."
"Perhaps the unstable conditions are what drew Kindel to the planet in the first place?" Kitreena theorized.
Harold shook his head as his fingers darted across the control panel. "Our routine scans of the surrounding systems show that the planet was stable until shortly after the Armada arrived."
Arus let out a long breath. "So whatever it is, Kindel is likely behind it."
Damien's head whipped around toward the helmsman's terminal. "Jindar, change heading. We're going to Arynias."
Chapter 2
More than an hour had passed since Vultrel had arrived on the planet's surface—what had Kalibur called it? Arnysis or something?—more than an hour passed, and Vultrel still didn't know why he was here. He'd planned to stowaway aboard a supply transport bound for the Falcon Mist, but instead he'd found himself being teleported without warning along with Scimitar and Kalibur. The two of them told him of the planet and warned him to be wary of attacks by the locals. Clear the forest of resistance; that was what he was supposed to do. Was there a war going on that the Armada had been called upon to stop? Or had the creatures of this world somehow endangered the rest of the galaxy? What under the heavens was going on?
Spiraling streaks of clouds in shades of grey and black and green swirled slowly overhead, separated by vivid splotches of blue where the sky broke through. Each colossal spiral's center was filled with a darkness blacker than a starless night, a darkness that seemed to radiate like a star with its murky cold shadow. What is happening to this planet? Leaves crunched underfoot as Vultrel made his way through the woods, stopping occasionally to gaze up at the natural beauty of the world. It was autumn here, or something that would've been called autumn back home. The forest's trees were spaced much further apart than Keroko's, their bark colored with a light shade of grey. The onset of cooler weather was just beginning. Most trees still held the majority of their leaves, though their change in color was already well underway. Along with oranges and browns and yellows, lush blues and exquisite violets also swathed the leaves, some of which were long and narrow, packed into each branch like oversized pine needles. The ground was a colorful mess of fallen leaves, yet not a branch or log lay anywhere in sight. If not for the brewing storms overhead, the tranquil forest would've been like something out of a storybook.
This is a nice place, Kindel, but why are we here?
Passing between two trees, Vultrel came to a worn path of stone that cut a narrow valley through the woods. Not a soul could be seen in either direction, though the layer of leaves atop the path suggested it had not been traveled in quite some time. The silence surrounding him was almost deafening; despite the clouds, not a breath of wind brushed the land. Other than Scimitar and Kalibur—where had they run off to, anyway?—not a single living thing had made itself known since his arrival. It filled Vultrel with a strange paranoia that made him want to reach for his sword to defend himself, though from what, he couldn't say. Hopes and plans for the Falcon Mist and Sartan Truce kept pushing their way into his thoughts, though there was little he could do about the Kyrosen from where he stood. Don't think yourself too safe, Truce. As soon as I get back to the Black Eagle, I'm coming after you.
Thunder rolled in the distance, a slow rolling rumble that grew and faded within moments. Behind, a muffled crackling of leaves sent Vultrel whirling around, sword drawn and ready for combat. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as he stood with his weapon still, hovering over a strange human-like creature. The . . . thing cowered back—it was the only word Vultrel could think of to describe it—with boney arms of sinew raised in a useless effort to defend its head. By Vultrel's best estimation, it was an elderly male, but the lack of certain features he'd grown used to seeing on most other forms of life made it difficult to know for sure. The little creature's most striking characteristic was its skin, which was a translucent type of flesh that made his muscles and inner organs at least partially visible. It was leathery and wrinkled, as human flesh tended to become as it aged, though there didn't seem to be any veins or blood pulsing through his body. The only clothing he wore was a dirty shirt that may have once been white, and tattered brown pants that stopped just above his knees. No shoes, no gloves, and most strikingly, no weapons. I thought these things were supposed to be dangerous. Are these the locals that Kalibur had mentioned?
Vultrel lowered his weapon, which prompted the little man-thing to lower his arms. His face nearly made Vultrel choke. In the place of eyes, hollow recesses ran around his bald head to form a ring. It looked like a crown of holes around his skull. Where Vultrel would've expected a nose, there was a cone-shaped point about an inch long that glowed on and off in a sequence of seemingly random colors. The point shifted from side to side, up and down, as a rabbit moved its snout when sniffing through unfamiliar territory. Below that, a hole no bigger than a marble seemed to be permanently open; it never closed or shifted once. A scraggly beard of brown and white hung sloppily to the creature's waist, and two antennae extended fro
m his forehead, the tips of which glowed with different colors like the point in the middle of his face. If it could be called a face.
It was unlikely they spoke the language of the universe, but Vultrel could think of no other way to communicate. He returned his weapon to its scabbard and spread his hands to show he was unarmed. "Greetings," he said slowly. "I am Vultrel. Who are you?"
The lights of the creature's nose and antennae shifted to a red color, and his whole body froze. After a moment, an odd crackling sound came from its marble-mouth. It sounded like distorted whispering, though Vultrel couldn't make out any semblance of words. A bony hand pointed at the hilt of the sword over his shoulder.
"I don't want to hurt you," Vultrel said, shaking his head. "I just want to communicate with you. Do you understand?" He spread his hands again, trying to figure out how to convey peace without words. For whatever reason, he found himself placing his hands palm-down on the stone path. "Peace. No pain," he said, not that he expected the words to make a difference.
It cocked its head to the other side, the glowing lights shifting from red to purple to blue to purple before stopping. More crackling whispers followed, though the thing didn't seem to be clenching its fists so tightly anymore. Blue lights glowed again, and it stroked its beard in an all-too-human manner. Vultrel couldn't help but grin. "Friends," he told it. "Peace." He patted the ground with his hands again.
Another moment and whether or not he was making any progress suddenly didn't matter. The little thing's antennae perked as it tilted its head, the three lights becoming solid red before a quick flash of steel smoothly cleaved the creature in two. It did not bleed, nor did it scream, but the glowing colors faded to nothingness in a matter of seconds. The being's lifeless carcass fell forward on the concrete, torso separated from the rest of its little body. Vultrel looked up to see Scimitar staring down at him, thin eyes full of anger.
"Lord Thorus ordered the creatures of this world to be exterminated!" the dark ninja hissed at him. "You walk on the edge of treason by disobeying his commands!"
Snarling, Vultrel jumped to his feet. "Why must these life forms be destroyed? That thing showed no malicious intentions toward me! I was trying to communicate with it!"
"Lord Thorus has his reasons," Scimitar said, stepping so close to Vultrel that their foreheads almost touched. The black cloth covering his face did little to conceal the angry sneer underneath. "In the end, the purging of this land will serve to benefit the universe. You must trust in Master Thorus' decisions! He knows what is best!"
A sharp crack of thunder was accompanied by a web of blinding lightning across the sky. Vultrel stared in awe as the rotating clouds accelerated, twisted, and merged with each other with unnatural speed and precision; in one section of the sky, three small spirals became a single large rotation in a matter of seconds. More lightning scattered, paired with a series of thunderclaps so powerful they left his ears ringing. "What in blazes is going on with this planet? Is it even safe for us here anymore?"
When he looked down, Scimitar was gone. Kindel's personal assistants had a way of silently coming and going when least expected, but Vultrel still hadn't gotten used to it. With a regretful look down at the dead . . . whatever it was, he started along the path in an aimless walk.
The air went from still to violent in a single instant. Powerful winds tore thick branches from trees and hurtled them into the sky. The leaves that covered the path and littered the ground throughout the forest were sucked up in a torrent of air, creating a blanket of color that fluttered into the sky like a dense flock of sparrows. Vultrel followed one particularly large branch as it sailed into the sky over his head and flew higher behind him, rising until it was a mere spec to his vision. His breath caught when it disappeared into a billowing black funnel cloud that was descending to the path nearly a hundred paces away. Had it been possible, his eyes would've popped from their sockets and rolled down the path. His own feet seemed lighter against the ground. If I don't get out of here fast, I'm going to be blown away.
It was a tornado of darkness, made not of air or dust but of the purest black that not even a raven could match. Crimson streaks of lightning wriggled around the giant mass, occasionally darting to the ground below with a series of hissing pops. The twisting column of ink shifted forward slowly, gaining speed with each rotation. Vultrel didn't remember turning to run, but suddenly he was amidst the trees, his feet thumping across the ground in desperate flight. Wind pushed and pulled at him, growing ever stronger, its deafening roar filling his ears and stealing his breath. On and on he ran, never looking back, never daring to blink. He could hear trees being torn from their roots, branches he'd just passed being snapped in two. The forest darkened as the spinning tower of destruction blocked out the sun. On and on he ran.
Where in the bloody universe are we? Long after the roaring howl had died down, he continued on. What is going on with this ridiculous planet? Long after the winds had all but ceased, he pressed harder. Why are we here? He ran until his legs ached with a searing burn that enveloped ever fiber of ever muscle. He ran until his lungs were so thirsty for air that they felt as though they were sucking in against themselves. The forest never seemed to end. The nightmare never seemed to end. Am I dreaming?
He had no recollection of falling to the ground. But he was face down in the leaves when he opened his eyes, alone in the silent forest beneath a golden-topped oak tree. Every muscle in his legs screamed at him, and his chest heaved with each precious breath he managed to suck down. He couldn't see the sky anymore; the yellow leaves of the oak obscured his vision for the moment, but he wasn't eager to push himself up, either. His eyelids sank, and the world turned to black once again.
Despite drifting in and out of consciousness, the passage of time seemed to drag like a plow through mud. When he finally pushed himself to his knees and rubbed his eyes, he expected to find himself in his room onboard the Black Eagle. But the blanket of leaves that had served as his bed jolted him back into reality, and he stood with a loud groan. There were at least three dozen things he could think of that he would've rather been doing, all of which related to his plan for the Kyrosen. Why did you have to pull me into this, Kindel? Surely whatever goals you have here could've been achieved by you, Scimitar, and Kalibur. And if you couldn't finish off the locals, this crazy weather would likely do the job.
As he rubbed his aching legs, his eyes caught sight of a long line of dirt and rocks at the edge of a clearing in the woods ahead. It almost looked as though it had been constructed to conceal military soldiers or mark off a boarder. The rubble was stacked too high to see anything beyond it, but either way, it certainly looked to be manmade. The border of a settlement, maybe. Or perhaps the remains of a battlefield.
Forcing his legs to cooperate—they were slow to recuperate—he climbed up the side of the pile and peered over. The scene on the other side made his head spin. "By the Maker!" he muttered, pulling himself onto the peak of the debris.
It was not manmade, nor was it the remains of a city or anything else. The line of dirt and rubble stretched in either direction nearly as far as the eye could see, paired with another that ran parallel several hundred paces away. Between them, a wide valley of dark brown cut through the land as though an enormous finger had dipped down from the heavens and drawn a line across the planet's surface. It was clear the tornado had been through the area, and it had left a swath of mangled destruction in its wake. Dust still hung in the air above the mess, suggesting that the damage was fresh. How could I have gotten back here? I ran as far away from that thing as I could have. Unless . . . A thought occurred to him as his eyes scanned the debris. There was no sign of the concrete path anywhere, and the lay of the land looked different than he'd remembered. On top of that, there were mountains visible in the distance, something Vultrel hadn't remembered seeing before. Either that twister had done some major reconstruction to the area, or . . . there had been more than one.
A flash of light caught
his eye, an arc of purple and red that stretched out from a mountain on the horizon and exploded into the trees at its base. Another streak shot up from the woods, this time from the lower portion of the mountain, and came down a good distance to the left. More followed, one by one, each originating from one section of the forest and obliterating another. Whatever was going on out there, it didn't seem like an exchange of pleasantries. And if Kindel had brought them to combat some sort of danger presented by the locals of the planet, it was a good bet that those blasts of energy had something to do with it.
Taking one last look behind him, Vultrel scampered down into the dirt valley and raced toward the horizon. That little creature he'd encountered hadn't seemed at all hostile, but if there was one thing he'd learned since having left Terranias, it was that the seemingly impossible was usually quite the opposite. Either way, the sooner his mission here was completed, the sooner he could return to his plans for the Kyrosen.
And that, in the end, was all that really mattered.
*******
After a turbulent flight through the atmosphere of Arynias, Arus was all too pleased to place his feet on solid ground again. Heavy winds and spectacular streaks of lightning had rocked the Aeden transport for most of the flight. The planet's weather was more peculiar than anything Arus had experienced back home, but then again, this was an entirely different world. That very thought was difficult for him to wrap his mind around; he was standing on a planet that was not Terranias. Any number of things that weren't possible there could happen here, as was evident by the swirling clouds that obscured most of the cerulean sky. Oily black centers where the clouds came together seemed to ooze with darkness, something Damien said had never before been observed on this world. However, given that all observations of the planet had previously been conducted using distant scans, there was likely to be a good deal of information that hadn't been properly recorded.
Eye of the Tornado Page 3