by Unknown
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Hunger’s Harmattan
ISBN # 9781419907685
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Hunger’s Harmattan Copyright© 2007 Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Edited by Mary Moran.
Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.
Electronic book Publication: February 2007
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
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E – ROTIC
X – TREME
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The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous.
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Hunger’s Harmattan
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Chapter One
Lieutenant Colonel Shanee Iphito glanced sideways at her image in the full-length mirror and she liked what she saw.
Her uniform tunic and trousers fit her perfectly with not one wrinkle or smudge on the slate gray serge fabric. Her black boots were polished to a high gloss and the brass anchors pinned to the collar of her tunic gleamed. Her fourragère—the braided black cord with a hanging brass tip that hung at her left shoulder—drew her eye and as it always did, made her heart swell with pride. The cord was given only to those Guardians who had been seriously wounded in action for it symbolized a hangman’s rope and coffin nail. It was there to remind her that her life as a Primary Riezell Guardian could be forfeit at any moment.
Putting a hand to her sleek braided chignon to ensure no hair was out of place, she straightened her shoulders, ignoring the tug of pain that pulled at her arm.
“You pass muster, Iphito,” she said to the mirror, chin lifted. She liked the way her white hair shone in the light and though her eyebrows were that same color, the natural darkness of her Amazeen complexion and the deep gray of her eyes only heightened her appearance. She knew she was a beautiful woman.
Pivoting with military precision, she left her quarters for her appointment with the new head of Command Central General Maximillian Strom.
Miriam Quillan glanced up as Shanee entered the office and frowned. She looked back down at the file she was reading. General Strom’s secretary did not care for the Amazeen warrioress who had been given the coveted rank of Primary Riezell Guardian. Of all the Primes before her, Iphito alone rubbed Miriam the wrong way.
“I am here,” Shanee announced, knowing her declaration would annoy the mousy little secretary.
“Take a seat,” Miriam said through clenched teeth. “You’ll have to wait.”
Bristling at what she considered the secretary’s insufficient respect for her rank and position, Shanee remained standing, folding her arms over her chest. Her gray eyes bore into the top of Miriam’s head, and if the look the Amazeen directed Miriam’s way could have killed, the secretary would have burst into flame.
Ignoring the other woman, Miriam made a notation in the file, laid it aside and picked up another just as the door to General Strom’s office opened.
“What the hell’s keeping you? Get your ass in here, Iphito,” the general growled.
Shanee did not miss the humorous twitch of the secretary’s lips. She narrowed her eyes to dangerous slits, and when Miriam looked up at her with a smug smile, the Amazeen literally hissed at the other woman. She took a step toward Miriam only to have the general come out of his office and grab her arm in a hard grip.
“Stop that!” General Strom snapped. He pulled Shanee into his office and slammed the door behind her. “This animosity between the two of you women will stop. Today!” He released her arm.
Shanee snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, Sir!” she said, though her jaws were clenched tightly together—not merely from the anger she was feeling but because the man had aggravated the wound that had nearly cost her her life.
Strom cursed under his breath as he realized what he’d done. His blue eyes were stormy as he skirted his desk and sat down. “I did not mean to hurt you,” he apologized.
“You did not, Sir!” Shanee stated.
“Liar,” he countered then waved a hand toward one of four chairs sitting in front of his massive desk. “Sit down.”
“Aye, aye, Sir!” Shanee sat down primly in the chair with her back ramrod straight, her knees and ankles pressed together, hands folded properly in her lap.
“At ease, Colonel,” Strom said. “It’s too late in the day for such rigid posturing and it pisses me off.”
Shanee’s shoulders sagged only a little in response to his order. “Aye, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
The general leaned back in his form-fitting chair and put his fingertips up to his temples where a nagging headache had been plaguing him all morning. “And drop that lame-ass military protocol. I’m not Alphon Morrison so I don’t require having my ego stroked with all that bullshit.” He made tiny circles against his temples with his index and middle fingers. “We will be working together and not against one another. Is that understood?”
Shanee relaxed, sitting back in the chair. She’d heard nothing but good things so far about the man who had taken over the reins of the Riezell Guardians though—like nearly everyone else—she knew very little about him or from where he’d come to assume the head of Command Central.
“Your shoulder is healing?” Strom asked.
“It is,” she replied.
“Had that Gearmánach blade struck another few inches down, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he said.
“The Gearmánach wasn’t as skilled as he thought he was,” Shanee said.
“And paid for that mistake with his life,” Strom said.
Shanee shrugged. The mission upon which she had been meant to die had been assigned to her by the man who had been interim head of Command Central. Apparently in league with what was now known as the New Coalition, General Renaldo Sicar had sent the new Primary Riezell Guardian to an Ghermáin and into an ambush. Shanee had been sent to an Ghermáin to die.
“You do know Sicar was one of O’Shay’s henchmen and the assassin as well?”
“I figured as much,” she said with a sneer. “If that’s the best he has, no wonder he’s still running with his tail tucked between his legs.”
Despite the throbbing pain in his temples, Strom chuckled. “He can run but eventually Bakari will run him to ground. It is simply a matter of time.”
Shanee nodded. Ryden Bakari—the warrior who had temporarily resigned his position as Burgon of the Aduaidh A
lliance—was on the trail of the man who had ordered the destruction of the Burgon’s palace and who had caused the deaths of his family. Once his vengeance was completed, Bakari would return to his position as the supreme leader of the Alliance. Though another man held the title for the time being, out of respect for Bakari, he was still given the exalted designation by those who knew him.
“It’s a good thing Morrison took his own life. I have no doubt with his newly enhanced abilities, the Burgon would have come after him,” she said.
“Oh I know he would have,” Strom said. “And drained Morrison as dry as aged parchment.”
Shanee thought of Bakari and wondered what it must have been like to have a revenant worm placed inside him so he could become a Reaper—one of the most feared warriors in the megaverse.
“It is not pleasant,” Strom said as if he’d read her mind, and when she gave him a quizzical look, he waved aside his remark and sat forward, his fingers threaded together on his desk. “Are you up for a new assignment?”
Shanee thought of the nasty wound in her shoulder that had been inflicted by the poisoned Gearmánach blade aimed at her heart. Though the cut had been painful and her recovery slow—more from the poison than the wound—it was now healing nicely with only a minor twinge now and again to remind her it was there. Knowing Sicar had been executed for his part in her near-death went a long way in helping her to get over the entire incident.
“I am not in top physical shape,” she replied honestly, “but I am ready for reassignment.”
“It’s nothing dangerous,” Strom said. “Actually, it’s more along the lines of a vacation, if you will.”
One perfectly tweezed white eyebrow lifted. “A vacation to where?”
“A veritable paradise if what I hear is true,” the general replied.
A chime sounded and he looked up at the vid-com screen that was to the left of his desk. His secretary’s pleasant face appeared.
“Vice-Counselor Jost and his wife are here, Sir,” Miriam said.
“Would you ask them to wait just a moment, Miriam?” Strom asked.
“Certainly, Sir.” Miriam’s face faded from view.
“Do you know who Vice-Counselor Jost is?” the general asked Shanee.
“I believe he was the councilman whose life was saved from a Storian assassin by Major Neff,” Shanee replied.
“Aye, he was and now he has been elected to the Riezell Conclave in a very prominent position of power,” Strom said. “A position he has a tendency to abuse.” A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Add to that his recent Joining to the widow of Duke Keifer Harmattan and you have the beginnings of a real problem.”
Shanee was not familiar with the duke and said as much.
“Harmattan was a very rich and powerful man on Riezell,” Strom explained. “He came from a very influential family whose wealth—I’m told—is so vast it would rival that of the Supreme Legare.”
The Primary Riezell Guardian whistled beneath her breath. “That would be vast indeed.”
“Harmattan was also an admiral with Fleet Academy, a highly decorated warrior who died during a battle over Diabolusia about twenty years ago. The Abroholos, the ship that he and his eldest son Ailyn were on, went down with no apparent survivors.” He leaned back in his chair. “At least we didn’t think there were any survivors but now we’re not so sure.”
Once more the chime of the vid-com intruded but the general didn’t turn to look at the vid-com screen. “Aye, Miriam?”
“His excellency the vice-counselor wanted me to remind you he is waiting, Sir,” Miriam reported.
“Tell him I am aware that is the case and am finishing briefing the Guardian who has been assigned to his case.” He reached over and turned off the vid-com so there would be no further interruptions.
Shanee could not keep from smiling. She liked this new head of Central Command. He was a man after her own heart.
“Before I invite the impatient vice-counselor and his lady-wife to join us,” Strom said, his face hard as flint, “I want you to know that Elspeth Harmattan-Jost is the reason you have been given this mission. It is to appease her that the vice-counselor has asked us to get involved in what is basically a Fleet Command problem. As you can imagine, being the widow of a national figure such as Kiefer Harmattan, she is not without influence of her own.”
“I can imagine,” Shanee said.
“The woman lost five sons to the war. Her surviving child was an ensign aboard Lord Taegin Drae’s ship the Revenge. As you probably know, Lord Taegin resigned his commission and retired a few years back but during the situation concerning Rory Quinn, the Tiogar took over command of his old ship and when the state of affairs ended, it was Drae’s ship that took home to Theristes certain warriors who had aligned themselves with the Burgon.”
“You mean the Reapers?” Shanee asked.
Strom nodded. Absently, he put his fingertips to his left temple. “It was during the time those warriors were on board the Revenge that young Harmattan swears he saw his eldest brother Ailyn.”
“If that’s true, then Ailyn Harmattan more than likely had been incarcerated on Riezell-Nine,” Shanee said.
“And that means he is now a Reaper.”
“Did the younger Harmattan speak to the man he believed to be his brother?”
“He…”
There was a very determined knock on the general’s door and Strom’s eyes flashed blue fire as he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. He stalked around the desk, jerked open the door to face a small man bedecked in the formal robes of a vice-counselor.
“General Strom, we do not have all day to sit in your outer office,” the vice-counselor said. “As you know my lady-wife…”
“Come in,” the general interrupted him. “I haven’t finished my briefing but since you could not wait, you can fill Colonel Iphito in on the rest of what I would have given her!”
Not bothering to escort the vice-counselor and his wife into the office, Strom stomped back to his desk and took a seat. “Stay where you are, Iphito,” he commanded as Shanee made to rise out of deference for a high government official.
Vice-Counselor Jost held out his hand to his wife and when the woman joined him in the doorway, Shanee was hard-pressed not to stare.
Elspeth Harmattan-Jost was a weak, stooped woman whose flesh bore the unmistakable stamp of impending death. Her body quivered with palsy as she painfully made her way into the office and to the chair to which her husband led her. Sitting down gingerly, she cast Shanee a look that belied the older woman’s apparent frailty. There was fire and brimstone in that glance and the frosty brown eyes that delivered them were filled with acute hatred.
Taken aback by the strength of that glare, any degree of compassion Shanee might have otherwise felt for the woman evaporated. She turned her attention back to the general whose gaze fused with her own. When he cocked one dark brow—mentally challenging his Prime’s opinion—the Amazeen almost smiled.
“How much have you told her?” Vice-Counselor Jost demanded as he took a seat beside his wife.
“She had just asked if Ensign Harmattan got a chance to speak to the man he believed was his brother on the Revenge,” Strom replied. “I did not get the chance to answer her.”
“No, he did not,” the vice-counselor stated. “Felix attempted to follow his brother but Ailyn lost him on the ship, seemingly vanishing for all intents and purposes.”
“I’ve heard you can look right at a Reaper and not see him,” Shanee declared.
Elspeth Harmattan-Jost flinched. “Please, don’t speak of my son in that way,” she said, her voice soft but threaded with steel.
“How old is your younger son, Madame Jost?” Shanee asked.
“He is twenty-two,” the vice-counselor answered for his wife.
“That would have made him two years old when his brother went down with their father?”
“What does that have to do with…?”
Shanee interrupted th
e vice-counselor. “How old was Ailyn Harmattan?”
“I don’t…”
“He was just out of Fleet Academy,” the vice-counselor’s wife answered. “He was twenty-four.”
“How is it possible your younger son recognized a man who disappeared when he was but a toddler?” the Primary Riezell Guardian inquired.
“Felix has seen Ailyn’s portrait in the Grand Hall at Harmattan Manor all his life, Colonel,” the ailing woman replied. “He says the man he saw on the Revenge was his brother and I believe him.”
“Does he believe the man on the Revenge knew who he was?”
“He says he saw shocked recognition in the man’s eyes and Felix believes that is why Ailyn hid from him,” the vice-counselor snapped.
“But you don’t know for a fact that it was Ailyn Harmattan on that ship,” Strom stressed.
Elspeth Harmattan-Jost turned a vicious glower to the general. “We don’t know that it wasn’t either. Felix spoke with many of those warriors from Theristes and although they would not confirm the man my son had seen was indeed Ailyn, neither did they deny it.”
“What exactly is it you want me to do?” Shanee asked.
“We want you to go to Theristes and bring Ailyn home where he belongs,” the vice-counselor snapped. “He is the duke of Kentsington, the rightful heir to the Harmattan fortune. He has obligations.”
“Has it occurred to you that if the man on the Revenge is your son, he doesn’t want to be brought back?” Shanee queried. “It is my understanding that none of the men who had been interred on R-9 wanted to return to their former lives though they were given the chance. They took the Burgon up on his offer to take them to Theristes, which they have made their new home. It was only out of loyalty and appreciation of what the Burgon had done for them that they left Theristes to help avenge the attack on Aduaidh Prime.”
“It doesn’t matter whether Ailyn wishes to return or not,” Vice-Counselor Jost declared. “He has responsibilities. He…”