When she realized what they were up to, she was glad the veil covering her face hid her grin from their opponent. Still, something was off. This contest was supposed to set two teams of warriors against each other. Had Bophe taken one look at the Tharan twins and decided to pit only one combatant against them? From what she’d seen of the arena master, fairness and compassion weren’t qualities he possessed.
“Is this the best Tharon has to offer?” The Melizan turned in a circle, his sword in the air, quieting the crowd. He addressed them in the ancient, guttural language spoken only on Tanis Major. “Two weak old men, here to save their…what? Their half-human daughter? Perhaps their favorite slave. Surely not their lover!” He dropped the shield, grabbed his crotch. “The female Earther is lucky I’m here! At least she’ll get fucked by a real cock before she dies!”
The crowd roared in approval as he scornfully turned away and tossed his shield into the dirt. In the arena of Tanis Major, turning one’s back on one’s opponent was the ultimate insult. He grabbed the shaft of his spear, holding it like a bow staff, and came toward the Tharans.
The twins separated, and Aartan lifted his sword in his good arm. The Melizan twirled his spear as he advanced, tossing it from hand to hand, playing to the crowd. Then, with a lightning-swift thrust, he jabbed at Aartan. The Tharan blocked his jab then slashed out.
Aliya was close enough to see the flash of surprise in the alien’s eyes. He went into a warrior’s stance, both feet planted firmly on the ground, and drew his own sword from the sheath at his hip. Azar came at him from the side, striking a blow just above the creature’s waist. She heard a thud as Azar’s sword hit the thick scales, barely penetrating the surface.
The Melizan whirled around with his spear held low, aiming to sweep Azar’s artificial legs out from under him. He grunted in surprise when the Tharan leaped over his head, came down behind him, and slashed at his back.
The audience erupted. They were finally getting the show they’d been promised. Swords clanged as the Melizan took on both Tharan warriors at once. Aartan slashed at him again, and the alien crumpled into a ball on the ground. The crowd let loose with a chorus of boos.
Though she was near enough to see it happen, Aliya couldn’t believe her eyes when the ball split in half and two Melizan warriors rose up out of the dust where only one had been. Mirror images of each other, complete with gleaming metal death masks, swords, and spears.
Aartan and Azar went on the attack, and the battle began in earnest, Aartan fighting with one arm hanging at his side. Azar whirled around his opponent, his prosthetic legs no longer a hindrance but his biggest asset.
When both twins struck a blow at the same time, the two Melizans crumpled to the ground, curling into a fetal position. Azar lifted his sword into the air in a salute, acknowledging the cheers of the spectators.
Aliya screamed out his name, praying he could hear her over the roar of the crowd. Then she watched in horror as each of the Melizans split in two, and four armor-plated aliens arose.
Aartan
Too soon to take a bow, Brother.
He moved swiftly, putting his back to his twin. Taking up the stance they’d used in battle years ago.
The four Melizans surrounded them. They all attacked at once, slashing out with their swords, thrusting their spears. The twins fought hard, but none of their blows seemed to have any effect.
How did he do it? Azar grumbled. I’ve heard of aliens who can reproduce by dividing, but none of them come out fully dressed for battle.
It’s some kind of trick. An illusion, Aartan replied. It must be. What we’re seeing isn’t real.
Azar grunted as one of the creatures grazed his shoulder with a spear, drawing blood. Well, these illusions are kicking our asses.
Aartan was too busy analyzing the situation to reply. He slashed out at one of the Melizans. His attack didn’t seem to have any effect. He stifled a cry when the other one in front of him landed a blow deep enough to nick a rib. Blood poured from the wound.
All four drew closer, as though the scent was a magnet. Their attacks intensified, and, soon, both brothers were breathing hard, drenched in sweat.
I’ve hit this one dead on, but it doesn’t even seem to slow him down, Aartan said. I think what we’re seeing is some kind of defensive mechanism the Melizans have evolved. Only one of them is real. The others are mirror images he’s projecting somehow to keep us busy fighting them while he attacks.
If they’re not real, we can’t kill them, Azar shot back.
We can kill the real one, Aartan declared. When we do, the others should disappear the same way they appeared.
Azar grunted as he parried a blow. Great, he muttered. And which one would that be?
Aartan moved slowly in a circle, back to back with his brother, studying the Melizan warriors one by one. They moved as a single unit, raising their swords, slashing out, then thrusting their spears, so that he and his twin were in motion constantly, parrying their thrusts, blocking their blows. He and Azar couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Their opponents were driving them to exhaustion. Sooner or later, one of them would be just a millisecond too slow to react. The real Melizan would land a crippling blow, leaving only one brother to fight four enemies, three of them invincible.
The suns were merciless, baking the sands of the arena even this late in the day. Aartan turned in a slow circle, trying to anticipate where the next attack would come from as he swiped a forearm across his eyes to wipe away the sweat dripping from his brow. The alien in front of him was sweating, too, rivulets running down his neck from under the gleaming death mask he wore.
Thank the gods we’re not wearing one of those metal helmets, Aartan said. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. Sweat! That’s it! Are the aliens in front of you sweating?
Sweating? Who cares? You’ve lost your fucking mind, Azar shot back.
The one on my left is sweating. The one on my right isn’t. Illusions don’t sweat.
By the gods, you’re right, Azar replied. I’m sweating like a jambora, but neither one of these two in front of me are.
It’s the one on my left, Aartan declared. Ignore the others. Attack him.
Chapter Thirteen
Aliya
Heart pounding, Aliya watched her lovers circle their opponents, back to back. She could see they were tiring. Even warriors half their age would have been exhausted by now. Chained to the pole, she felt helpless. Frightened. There was nothing she could do for them.
No. She couldn’t, wouldn’t accept that. She was only helpless if she gave up. Aliya forced herself to breathe deep, found an island of peace deep in her soul. Banished the negative thoughts and opened her mind to the Universe.
Sweating? Who cares? You’ve lost your fucking mind.
Azar’s voice in her head. Clear as a bell.
She knew instantly what it was. The Bond. Somehow, she’d tapped into the Bond. Her friends had described it, explained how once they accepted their twins, mated with them both at once, the Bond they shared allowed them to pick up on the wordless conversations Tharan brothers engaged in. They even achieved the ability to communicate with their mates the same way.
Aartan responded to his twin, and her spirits soared as she realized he had the key. He’d figured out how to tell the real Melizan from his holographic projections. The twins charged at their true opponent, hacking away, but his armor plating made him impervious to their blows.
No one is invincible. The moment she picked them up, she knew Aartan’s words were designed to remind himself and his brother of that fact.
She’d spent a lifetime opening her mind to receive the thoughts and feelings of others, being scrupulously careful never to influence theirs. Aliya drew on her years of training as an empath, every bit of knowledge she possessed, and called up the earliest lessons from her father. Skills he taught her long ago when she was a little child, lessons designed to keep her from accidentally imposing her will on another. No one is invincibl
e. No one is invincible. They will find your weakness. It’s only a matter of time. She sent the message out, a subtle subconscious refrain designed to seep into the mind of her enemy, where it would take root and grow.
She caught a flicker of anxiety in the alien’s dark eyes and knew her message had reached its mark. Still she continued, carefully weaving the refrain through the synapses of his alien brain. Working her way blindly through the dark maze.
An image popped into her mind, fully formed. A soft spot in the underbelly of his armored scales, one underneath each arm. Exposed when the scales separated as he raised the arm high above his head to strike at an opponent.
Aartan. Azar. She didn’t bother with words. Simply telegraphed the image she’d seen to them.
The twins had fought as one for so many years, they didn’t need to argue over a plan. I’ll draw the blow, Aartan declared. Azar gave a tiny nod.
With a roar, Aartan rushed at the real Melizan, ignoring the others. His opponent acted instinctively, lifting his sword and bringing it down in a deadly arc. Aartan raised his crippled arm in front of his head, as if to defend himself. The Melizan’s eyes opened wide when his sword embedded itself into the withered limb instead of slashing through it.
Aartan met his eyes, smiled, and began raising his arm. The Melizan struggled but he couldn’t match the strength of the mechanical device. Inch by inch Aartan forced his attacker’s sword higher, bringing the Melizan’s arm up with it, their gaze locked together as tightly as their arms.
The alien never looked behind him. Never saw Azar leap into the air. Never caught the flash of sunlight glinting off his blade just before he came down beside his twin. Azar gave a mighty thrust. Buried his sword to the hilt in the sliver of space between two armor plates under his opponent’s arm, skewering the Melizan’s heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Aliya
He dropped like a stone.
The crowd went wild, their cheers doubling when the other three armored foes simply disappeared. One moment they’d been rushing at the twins, swords raised. The next moment, they were gone.
The audience was still roaring their approval when the gates leading to the bowels of the arena opened and a double row of centurions marched out. They lifted their shields, raised their swords, and formed a circle three deep around Aartan and Azar, trapping them in the center of the ring.
Bophe strode into the ring from the opposite entrance. Alone. Unarmed except for a silver dagger glinting in the suns. He wore a deep purple robe with a wide metal belt circling his girth.
He stopped in front of Aliya. “These Tharans are always full of surprises, aren’t they? Who’d have thought those battle-scarred old warriors could defeat a Melizan splitter in his prime?” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I had such high hopes for that one. Now, I’ll have to find a new moneymaker. Fortunately, the Universe is boundless in its gifts.”
Though she hadn’t though him capable of swift movement, he darted forward and wrapped one arm around her neck. His other hand pressed the tip of the dagger into her neck, drawing a tiny trickle of blood.
“You. With the legs,” he called. “Don’t even think about vaulting over the guards to attack me. I’ll slice her from ear to ear before you land.”
“Guards! Chain them together and take them to my private box in the stands. They won their contest. They’ve earned the right to prime seating for the rest of the show.”
Go, my darlings. If you don’t, they’ll kill you right where you stand. Stay alive. With life, there’s always hope.
Aliya sent out the silent message, along with a desperate prayer to the Goddess. While the centurions wrapped her lovers in chains, Bophe busied himself plucking random ribbons of fabric off the golden chain at her waist. He waved them to the crowd before letting each one flutter away. Every inch of skin he bared drew another cheer from the spectators.
Once the twins arrived in his box, the arena master took his dagger away from her neck long enough to slit the narrow ties of her glittering red top. The crowd roared as he ran the tip of the blade around one bare nipple.
He sauntered to the edge of the ring and tossed the red top up to his prisoners. It fell at their feet. “A trinket to remember her by,” he called out. Bophe waved his arm and, as if by magic, he rose into the air, until he could step onto the high stone wall surrounding the ring.
Aliya snorted. Wearing a levitation belt was a cheap trick, but it seemed to please the masses.
Bophe stood in silence, accepting the adulation of the crowd. When he finally spoke, his voice boomed out, echoing off the sunbaked stones. “Send in the dragons!”
Creaking and groaning, a pair of ancient iron gates slid open in the wall across from where Bophe stood. Aliya heard them before she saw them, the terrifying roars sending a chill down her spine despite the crippling heat. Three enormous dragons charged into the arena, their dark scales glinting in the sun.
The stuff of nightmares, they advanced slowly toward the wooden pole where she was staked out. Huge snouts tipped up as they caught scent of the bloody goatskin flapping in the breeze. Their heads were as big as her whole body and when they opened their mouths, they displayed triple rows of razor-sharp teeth designed to shred the flesh from the bones of their prey. Wicked curved talons sprouted from their feet. and their forked tails slashed back and forth as they came at her.
Aliya closed her eyes, praying for death to come swiftly. But instead of the hot breath of a beast, she felt a cool hand stroke her brow. A soft voice whispered, “It’s all right. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flew open to see a slender, white-robed figure, barely more than a child, walking barefoot toward the dragons with her arms outstretched. Her high clear voice rang out, echoing in the sudden silence. It was Ceres, heading straight for the monsters.
She crooned an ancient tune, a soothing lullaby of sound far too old to have words. The entire arena sat spellbound as the dragons lowered their snouts and stretched out their necks toward her, like household pets begging for attention. Ceres laughed and petted all three of them, singing all the while.
Aliya heard a sound behind her and whirled around. Kyra grinned and held up a rusty ring of keys. “Let’s find the ones that fit these shackles,” she said. “I don’t know how long her song goes on!”
She opened the restraints, put an arm around Aliya to steady her, and headed for the nearest exit, only to stop short when Bophe materialized in front of them, blocking their way.
“Not you again!” he snarled at Kyra. “I should have killed you right after you won your first match, even if it cost me a fortune in lost wagers.”
“And I should have killed you when we were escaping,” she replied coldly. “But it didn’t seem sporting, considering that little slave girl had already knocked you out cold,” she added, waving toward Ceres.
Already bored with the spectacle of a slip of a girl singlehandedly taming three ferocious dragons, the crowd turned their attention to the other side of the ring where the infamous arena master faced down two human females, each half his size.
“Spread out,” Kyra ordered, drawing Bophe’s attention as she darted to the right.
Aliya obeyed, shifting to the left. Bophe laughed. “You think two puny unarmed humans can outwit me? I’ve bathed in the blood of my enemies. Mixed it into the mortar patching these stones.” He made a fist and raised it high in the air, then brought it down in a chopping motion. Over and over. Rhythmic and slow.
His patrons recognized the gesture and responded.
“Ghul. Ghul. Ghul.” They’d taken up a chant. Shouting out the single word over and over, stomping their feet in time with the chant.
Aliya tried not to panic as thunderous waves of sound swept over her. Threatened to drown her. She didn’t need the Tellex chip behind her ear to translate.
How ironic. Beings who couldn’t agree on a way to divide up the vast expanses of the galaxy and live in peace had no problem learning a common language and uniting fo
r a common goal here in the Arena of Tanis Major. Their harsh, guttural language had evolved in this place. One spoken nowhere else in the known Universe. A language where the cry of victory was a call for death.
“Kill. Kill. Kill.”
Kyra dashed toward Bophe. He slashed out at her with the dagger, but she vaulted over him at the last second. Her feet hit the wall behind his head, and she somersaulted, landing back in front of him.
Bophe gave her his trademark cold smile then went after Aliya with his dagger uplifted. He urged the crowd on, pounding his fist down faster and faster. Whipping them into a frenzy. They obeyed, stomping harder, chanting louder, until the very stones beneath their feet trembled.
One moment he was charging toward her, so close she could see her own dried blood on the tip of the dagger. The next, he’d disappeared in an ear-shattering, earth-shaking roar. Followed by a torrential storm of dust that blinded her, choked her nose and mouth, filled her lungs. Threatened to strangle her as the air became too thick to breathe.
Chapter Fifteen
Aliya
She’d fallen to her knees, covered her head with her arms. Stunned and deafened, she began crawling blindly as enormous chunks of rock and timber crashed to the ground all around her. A hand reached out, clasped hers.
“Aliya! Are you all right?”
She blinked. Kyra appeared in front of her, so covered in gray dust only the whites of her eyes stood out.
“We need to find Ceres and go. Now.”
Screams and groans and pitiful cries rent the air, coming from every direction.
Aliya shook her head. “Aartan. Azar,” she croaked, her throat so dry she could barely get out a sound.
“They’re safe. Jax and Jynn took the guards by surprise and freed them while Ceres was facing down the dragons. They all made it out before the arena collapsed.”
Defending their Mate: a Sci-Fi alien romance (Tharan Warrior Menage Book 6) Page 8