The guards prodded him forward, and he stumbled ahead. Kate and Matthews did the same, and Cross realized the three of them must have been standing in place like primitives treated to their first sight of technology. He caught his balance and turned the stumble into a purposeful stride.
As he approached the bottom step, a brace of guards stepped in to block his path. He looked up, and the being on the throne stood to address.
“Trespasser. Defiler. Enemy of the Xroeshyn people. Finally, you’ve come to receive the reward for your transgressions.” The being paced as it spoke. “The gods have brought us to this day, to this moment. The ancestors of the Xroeshyn people will be delivered on to paradise when your blood, and that of your entire species, stains the stones. Your fleet is falling into defeat above, and your lives are forfeit here below. So may it be.”
Cross startled as the crowd around him chanted, “So may it be.”
“Variin, the royal executioner, shall attend to your sacrifice and deliver you to the afterlife.”
The ebon-robed figure began to descend. From an unnoticed corner, an attendant emerged holding the largest axe he’d ever seen. Its haft was easily two meters long, and the metal blade shone in the uneven lighting, catching the flickering illumination from the chandeliers above and reflecting them in specular shimmers around the room.
Cross gave Kate a look of apology, then shouted, “May I be allowed to speak?” The earpiece rendered a translation that emerged from hidden speakers somewhere in the space. Meanwhile, the gallery erupted with the birds’ version of laughter. The executioner paused and looked over its shoulder at the figure atop the dais.
The alien spread his arms wide in what was clearly intended as a patronizing gesture. “As you’ve reached the final moments of your existence, I suppose it’s appropriate to allow you a moment to grovel.” His audience loved it, and the aliens’ laughter continued.
Cross’s eyebrows narrowed, and his lips twisted into a sneer. He raised his cuffed hands and said, “It’s really easy to act brave up there, bird-face. How about we settle this one-on-one? I created the situation that destroyed your relic. Kill me, and let my people go.”
He locked his eyes on the figure above to avoid Kate’s gaze.
The alien made a performance of considering Cross’s words, tapping his chin with a long claw, then said, “Our gods don’t require the sacrifice of a single human, despite the pleasure I’d take in ending you myself. They demand the blood of all humans. I reject your proposal.”
Something, a half-recalled snippet of a conversation, banged its way to the front of his mind. “Okay, then. I’ve heard, repeatedly, stories of one of your commanders who offered ritual battle for possession of the worlds she attacked. She said this approach was sacred to your culture. You’ve named us as your enemy from prophecy and declared that your gods demand our lives. Fine. By your own rules, I challenge you to personal combat for the prize of humanity.”
Kate groaned at his side. The gallery was quiet, stunned, he imagined, before erupting into mocking laughter again. The figure sat on the throne and leaned over to confer with the official beside him. They appeared to argue, and the being gave a decisive nod and gestured for the alien who had yet to speak to step forward.
“Emperor and Hierarch Kraada Tak finds this request in keeping with the history of the Xroeshyn culture and the word of the gods. Many times in the past, our slave races joined us in this manner, with a chosen representative battling on behalf of the entire species. We ask the senior of the noncombatant humans to agree to stand by the results of this battle. If your champion loses, you swear to submit to the will of the Xroeshyn people, be it slavery or extinction.”
Kate turned to face the throne. “I am Commander Kathleen Margaret Flynn. I promise that this shall be so.” One of her hands was cupped in the other, and from his angle he saw that her fingers were crossed. He almost laughed at the gesture, despite knowing she’d never keep a commitment given under duress even had she been empowered to speak for humanity. Nor had he wanted her to. If he won, maybe something good would happen. If he lost, they were no worse off. And every second he bought them was one more second for Okoye or someone else in orbit to get them out of this mess.
The being at the top, who was undoubtedly the one the flunky had named Emperor Kraada Tak, stood and strode to the lip the platform. “Our religion and historical precedent allow one more thing, human. They permit me to select a champion to represent me. I choose my royal protector, Variin.”
The dark being that had lingered on the stairs during the interchange gave a small bow to the emperor, then continued its descent.
“You have a single eight to prepare, humans, then the battle will commence.”
The guards pushed the three off to the side and rearranged the audience. Soon, he saw the clear outlines of an octagon, set with shimmering stones at each point. Their escorts withdrew to a respectful distance after removing their manacles. Apparently playing upon the birds’ religious beliefs had earned them a modicum of respect.
“You’re an idiot, Cross,” Kate said with a frown on her face.
“You had a better idea?”
“Actually,” she began before Matthews interrupted.
“I like how you just assumed you’re so important you can make decisions for all of humanity, Captain. Kind of confirms what I’ve always thought about your view of yourself.” Cross looked at him, his jaw falling open, and the three of them broke into dark laughter again.
“Honestly,” Kate said, “I rarely know whether I want to kiss you or kill you, Anderson Cross.”
“It appears that someone else has dibs on the latter,” he replied with a pointed glance toward the alien figure engaged in a series of ritual stretches on the other side of the arena.
Kate looked distracted and failed to respond. He frowned at her, and she turned and scratched her neck below her left ear. He realized she was wearing a second earpiece, different than the one they’d received upon entering the palace. He gave her a questioning look, and she said, “It’s not always on your shoulders to solve everything, you know, despite your clear centrality to the workings of the universe.”
There was a crash at the side of the room, and a new figure entered accompanied by a number of power-armored individuals. Rifles pointed in every direction, and the palace guards wisely took their hands away from their weapons. The being walked to the bottom of the stairs, its scarlet leather a pleasant contrast against the gold and stared up at the alien on the dais.
“Uncle,” she called, “you’ve gone too far. Your gambit with the fortresses is not something the gods’ words allow. Nowhere in the Dhadas does it permit ending so many Xroeshyn lives by our own hands. It requires quite the opposite, to protect our people whenever possible, using sacrifice only to our overall tactical advantage. You’ve betrayed your office. Please, I beg of you, step down. Surrender the mantle of emperor. Let us help you heal from the madness that’s overcome you.”
The figure at the top of the stairs was apoplectic. The being beside Kraada Tak talked furiously at him until the ruler shoved him away.
“Former-Niece, Former-Fleet-Captain Indraat Vray, you dare?”
“I do, Former-Uncle,” the alien in red replied. The name and the color clicked, and Cross realized belatedly that this was the wench who’d come so close to killing him so many times. An involuntary growl escaped him, and upon hearing it, she looked over her shoulder to give him the haughty grin he was so well acquainted with.
She turned back to the emperor. “I’m sorry for what is to come, Former-Uncle. You have long been my favorite family member, my most respected mentor.” She turned and addressed her escorts, “Half of you clear the room. Leave two members of the trade caste to act as witnesses. Signal the others to secure the palace and then the Planetary Defense Center.” She turned and pointed at her uncle. “Under my authority as Fleet- and Ship-Captain, I formally take you into my custody, Former-Emperor Kraada Tak.”
> “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Fleet-Captain,” came the trembling voice of the being that had stood beside the emperor, and who had now descended halfway down the stairs. “Challenge has been made and accepted prior to your entry. I, and those assembled here, will have no option but to denounce your actions if you attempt to halt the contest for the subjugation of the trespassers.”
Indraat frowned, and her glare could’ve burned the armor off a ship. She turned to Kate. “Is this true, Flynn?” Cross was again surprised as she used Kate’s name.
“It is. You took too long.”
What he’d come to interpret as a small smile played across Indraat’s lips. “We were delayed by the emperor’s guard. It seems they didn’t want to permit us access to the palace while such a momentous occasion was at hand.” She turned to face him, snapping into a formal stance.
“Captain Cross, do you accept me as your champion in this battle?”
He stood, disbelieving, unable to form words. Matthews smacked him on the shoulder blade, and Cross coughed and jerked back to reality. “Yes, of course, Fleet-Captain.”
“Very good,” she said, her voice rising into a shout. “I will act as champion for the humans. Let us meet within the lines of eight, vile assassin, and settle this matter.”
The figure in black lowered the hood to reveal a broad grin on her scarred face. “Let us do so, traitor.”
Chapter Forty
Indraat watched her opponent strip off her flowing cloak. Underneath, she was clad in tight leather, black of course, with telltales that suggested additional armor in various locations. The assassin wore short swords at her waist and had a pair of daggers strapped to the outside of her thighs. She finished her limbering ritual and stepped within the lines.
Indraat gave a decisive nod and moved to stand beside one of her escorts. Her hands released the buckle of her wide gun belt, red leather to match the rest of her outfit. She handed it and the two holstered pistols it supported to her guard. She reached over her shoulder to touch the Insaanti set blades sheathed there, then tapped the dagger that rode on her left thigh. A flex and twist of each wrist confirmed the tight presence of the hidden sheaths under her top along the inside of each forearm. She stretched broadly, extending arms, legs, and wings to their full length, then slipped into a slow and forceful martial form that would warm her muscles in the shortest duration.
As she moved, she pushed her thoughts inward, seeking that perfect combination of awareness and tranquility which marked her best fighting mind.
Several minutes later, she’d found the zone, and opened her eyes to see her opponent awaiting her with a cocky grin on her damaged face. Indraat took a deep breath and stepped into the octagon. She was surprised when the energy beams didn’t materialize, and squinted up at her former uncle, who was again locked in conversation with his seneschal.
She dismissed them from her mind and focused solely on her enemy
“First blood?” Indraat asked with a sneer.
“Hardly,” rasped her opponent.
“Death to go beyond?”
“Of course,” the assassin replied. A member of the palace guard stepped forward, as did one of her own. Should either of them step, fall, or be propelled across the lines forming the octagon, they’d be shot and killed.
“At your pleasure,” she said, and gave a small bow, her arms wide and one foot back. Variin nodded in response and drew her short swords with a flourish. Indraat reached over her shoulder and pulled her longsword free. She stepped forward into a guard stance, both hands on the hilt, left knee bent before her, weight on her rear leg. Instead of charging, the assassin circled, forcing her to abandon her planned defense and maneuver away.
Variin made lazy figure eights with each blade. “You have no idea how I’ve longed for this, traitor,” she said with something that sounded like emotion.
“Oh, I think I have an idea,” Indraat responded. With a cry and a stomp, she feinted a charge, and the assassin moved to defend. The smirk at forcing a response was wiped from Indraat’s face as her foe turned her overreaction into a spinning attack, bringing both blades at her from wickedly different angles. She flicked out the tip of her blade to redirect one and dove into a side shoulder roll to avoid the other. She recovered her feet in time to intercept a stroke aimed at her head and to lean out of the way of the stab at her heart. The assassin landed a kick against her ribs that knocked her off balance for an instant and stole her breath. Indraat went with the force of the blow and staggered sideways to escape.
Variin pressed her advantage, driving forward and slashing both swords across her body from opposite directions, parallel to the floor. Indraat’s last stumble had been planned, however, and she dropped and spun, bringing her heel around to sweep the assassin’s feet. Unfortunately, she was no longer there, and Indraat was forced to dive blindly again, having lost sight of her opponent. Luck was with her, and she landed far enough away from the black-clad figure to catch her breath.
“Starship living has made you soft, Fleet-Captain,” Variin sneered.
“And too much exposure to the madness of my uncle has dulled your wits, fool,” she countered. She charged, leading with her longsword, in an attempt to get past her opponent’s defenses at a range beyond the short swords’ abilities to counter. Again, the woman vanished from before her like a leaf in the wind, leaping into a sideways flip. As soon as she landed, she was in the air again, and Indraat barely got her blade up in time to deflect the midair strike her opponent threw at her.
Variin tumbled through her somersault and returned to the ground with a double slash down at Indraat. She swept her sword up to catch it. For a moment, they faced each other across the blades, Indraat’s longer version trembling as she held off the pressure of the assassin’s short swords. This time it was Indraat that scored, a clean kick to the solar plexus that should have doubled her opponent over but hit protective plate instead.
She growled and disengaged, stepping quickly away to safety. With a nod of grudging respect for Variin’s skills, Indraat returned her longsword to its scabbard. Although Wisdom was her favorite weapon, it was too unwieldy, too slow, against such a quick and agile opponent. She drew the short sword, Peace, from her back, while her other hand freed her dagger, rotating it so the curved guards faced her enemy, the blade Change pointed down at an angle. She lifted the sword to high guard and stepped into the primary stance of a blade style which relied on speed.
The assassin moved into a defense from the same school, as if to mock her, and beckoned Indraat with the tip of her forward blade.
Indraat growled and charged, and the blades rang as they passed. Indraat blocked the first with her left-hand dagger, striking at the assassin’s legs with a sharp cut from the sword in her right. The assassin deflected it with her second blade, disengaged her sword from the trapping dagger, and spun to aim a reverse elbow at Indraat’s head. She sensed it coming and bent down to the side, placing her hands on the ground and launching a two-footed back kick. Variin dodged, but the strike caught her thigh, and as Indraat recovered, she could see her opponent had been slowed.
“Oh,” Indraat taunted. “I bet that didn’t feel good.”
The assassin snarled at her, an almost bestial growling sound. “Grown-up words for such a child,” she responded, and launched her own attack. Her move defied logic. One moment, she was out of range, and with a leaping sweep of her feet, suddenly her blades were licking at Indraat’s face. She frantically blocked one with her sword and the other with the reinforced bar that ran along her forearm, but the assassin rolled her arm around and stabbed for Indraat’s stomach with her right hand.
She barely got her blocking dagger in place in time, and Variin turned the stab into a slash that sliced through the leather under her ribs and spilled sapphire blood to the floor. Variin pressed, stepping past to aim a kick at her knee as the pain from the cut hit and distracted Indraat. Indraat twisted enough to take it on the back of the joint and dove f
orward into a roll to avoid the attack that would surely follow. She rolled to her feet again and scrambled to counter the assassin’s assault as she stabbed at her stomach again. Indraat blocked it with crossed blades, catching Variin’s second sword with a circle block an instant later, but the woman spun and landed a heel on the side of her skull. She staggered and teetered at the edge of the octagon, her vision blurred and her head ringing.
The assassin waited across the way, twirling her blades as she watched to see if she would fall and be slain. Indraat took a step forward, and then another, to get away from the positional danger zone. Her damned opponent wasn’t even winded.
Fire burned within her, the surety that it was her absolute duty to end her uncle’s reign, which meant going through Variin. Indraat feared the punishment the gods would deliver to her, and to the Xroeshyn people, as a result of the emperor-hierarch’s choices.
She steadied herself with an act of will. Losing was simply not an option. She summoned a lifetime of fighting against foes who’d underestimated her, of going far above and beyond the expected, of clawing her way through the ranks. Her scars were just as real as her opponent’s, if not as visible. Her confidence returned, and she took a deep breath to return to the best mental state for the battle.
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