by Ben Hale
Worg grumbled his admiration for the weapons. “Is it bad that I want someone to assault the planet, just so I can see them fire?”
“Yes.” Reklin allowed a smile at the prospect, silently agreeing with him.
They dropped lower and threaded between two of the giant weapons. The weapons array resembled a bulbous boulder, with the enormous lance extending into space. With reinforced seracrete and energy shielding, each grogan could sustain several direct hits. In addition to the primary defenses, smaller lances surrounded the grogan like spikes on a dakorian’s shoulder. Designed to eliminate smaller fighters, the needle class of lances were the same used on most large starships.
Rasina tipped them on their side to pass between two needles, and Reklin resisted the urge to lean. Rasina spun the small ball at the center of the control panel, and their ship swiveled to the side, whirling on a center axis and dropping them through a shield.
The shields crackled as they came in contact, and Rasina’s military codes allowed them to pass unharmed. Then they dropped into the canyon, their ship a mote of dust in the massive crevasse.
Cracked in half, the canyon separated the two sides of the moon, with four enormous bridges holding the two halves of the moon together. The gap allowed quick access for ships entering combat, the entire moon becoming a barrier to an attack on the ships secreted inside.
Hangars extended into the stone on either side of the canyon, enough for a thousand ships. Smaller fighters, transport vessels, midsize warships, and three capital vessels all had berths within the sides of the canyon.
Hundreds of krey directed thousands of slaves, their tiny forms crawling over a capital vessel having its primary lances replaced with a newer model. Without the shielding, the inward bulkheads were like the protruding bones of a great beast.
Reklin watched the laborers through the open hangar doors. He’d always appreciated krey engineering and occasionally envied the humans that got to work on the ships as assistants.
Dakorians strode among the slaves, ensuring obedience, but they did not work on the ships. Engineers and pilots were always krey, a fact that drew some contention from the dakorian Bone Council. Reklin, like most of his kind, assumed the krey kept control of their ships because they feared giving the dakorians too much power. A wise tactic, for dakorians and krey had not always been allies. The accord between the races was clear. The krey owned the fleet. The dakorians owned the army. Only the elite Shards were trained on krey technology—a necessity, given the nature of Shard missions.
Rasina curved into one of the empty hangars. Their small ship passed through another shield as repulsors fired, the bursts of gravity aligning them with the moon’s natural gravity and lowering them into a stable hover. Landing pads extended from the belly of the Fell Shadow, and the ship settled onto the floor of the hangar.
“Open the doors.” Reklin gestured to Rasina. “See to the ship. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying, so order a quick restock and recharge the drive.”
“The drive is at eighty-seven percent,” Rasina said.
“I’d rather it be a hundred,” Reklin said.
The krey woman nodded and powered down the ship. Reklin ducked through the opening and threaded down the center of the ship. Passing the blackout boots, he entered the main chamber. He picked up his blade from where it hung against the wall. Sheathing it on his back, he motioned to Teridon.
“Bring the captive,” Reklin said.
“I have a name,” Belgin said.
“Not one I care to remember,” Teridon said as he hoisted Belgin off the bed and forced him to walk down the hatch to the hangar.
Reklin took the lead and descended to the hangar, where Voice Malikin and his Bloodwall strode out to greet them. Reklin touched the bone on his chest and passed the hand outward, a traditional greeting for dakorians. Malikin’s Bloodwall repeated the gesture.
It was obvious why the dakorian had become a Bloodwall. Eleven feet tall, his skin like faint bronze, he had the size and look of a powerful soldier. But his eyes were a hard gray from a legacy of blood. Reklin had never seen him smile.
“Voice Malikin. Bloodwall Quel.” Reklin greeted them and then swept a hand to the hangar. “I’m surprised you requested to meet here.”
“My apologies for the change in destination.” Malikin’s eyes flicked to Belgin. “But House Bright’Lor is not without its allies. I thought it prudent to keep Belgin’s return quiet.”
Belgin sniffed in disgust. “You have no reason to fear. My father wouldn’t take me back even if his House regained its former glory.”
“Probably.” Malikin’s smile turned nasty. “But he might try to kill you, and for now, I need you alive.”
Reklin didn’t like Malikin’s excuse for their meeting location or the lack of Reckoning officers in the room. It was also possible that Dragorn might try to eliminate Belgin, but not likely.
“Why do you hate my House so much?” Belgin asked.
Malikin advanced until he stood a finger’s length from Belgin. “You have no idea the reason for your destruction.”
Belgin glanced to Reklin, but it was a look of confusion. Did he already know that Belgin had been in the building when the Dark was released? Or was this something else?
“Orion destroyed us,” Belgin said.
Malikin’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “Come. We have much to discuss.”
Malikin motioned Belgin to follow, and the outcast member of House Bright’Lor reluctantly fell into step at his side, his shackles jangling. Reklin made to follow, but Quel motioned him to stay, allowing the two krey to depart into a neighboring room.
“Captain Reklin, you are to accompany me,” Quel said.
Reklin glanced to Alina, who shrugged in confusion, but Quel was already departing. Reklin hurried to catch up and then followed Quel into the subterranean installation.
The base extended into miles of underground tunnels, chambers, and compartments, all built to support the shipyard and the four grogan lances. The hum of gravity drives was an omnipresent sound, threading into the floor and walls.
Carved out of the moon’s naturally black rock, the corridors had been reinforced with seracrete supports and paneling. Crystalline power conduits brightened the walls, and small mechs occasionally cleaned the walls and floor, their spiderlike bodies clacking as they shifted seamlessly between surfaces. Quel and Reklin passed a hangar in which slaves and krey rebuilt the star drive to a Bor-class fighter, where the scent of burned seracrete filled the air.
The farther they went from the hangars, the more the chambers became focused on individuals’ needs—meal compartments for krey and personal quarters for the base operators.
Reklin passed many in the halls, their eyes marking their House of origin. Young krey served the Empire in their youth, rotating through military and civil positions. The duration depended on how quickly they mastered their education, but usually lasted several thousand years.
Dressed in the dull black and gray of the military uniform, the fleet officers cast uncertain eyes at the two towering dakorians. Occasionally Reklin spotted a member of the Imperial line, their black eyes setting them apart.
Reklin’s curiosity mounted as they pressed deeper into the station, until they finally reached a door larger than those around it, and Reklin realized they were in a section of the base reserved for dakorians. Quel approached the door, and it slid upward, allowing them to enter a large chamber.
All black, the walls extended to a peak straight above the center. Red and white light came from conduits embedded in the wall, the power funneled into an interior shield that crackled faintly. Reklin felt a chill as he entered the space, recognizing it as a testing room.
“Reklin of clan Hammerdin, your record is exemplary.” Quel walked around the edge of the room as he spoke. “You’ve received decades of medals and accomplishments even before you were raised to captain and given command of a Shard unit. Of all the elite captains currently se
rving, only a handful are not Bloodwalls. Of those, you are the oldest.”
“I like surprising my superiors,” Reklin said.
“Your exploits have drawn the attention of the Bone Council.” Quel remained close to the door, which he shut behind them. “Although you are older than most candidates chosen to become a Bloodwall, it has been decided to test your ability.”
It was the moment Reklin had wanted his entire life. Becoming a Bloodwall represented one of the highest ranks a dakorian could achieve, outside of becoming a member of the council itself. Excitement filled his veins, and he was forced to squash the emotion, or risk losing his focus. Being tested did not mean he’d been approved.
“I am honored.” Reklin drew his blade and faced Quel.
Quel pulled the hammer lance from his back. “Dakorians must be ready for combat at any moment, and so you will be tested as you are.”
Reklin glanced at his burn. Although he’d used a cellular regenerator to heal the bulk of the damage, the mech could only do so much. The burn still covered much of his left side, his skin red and painful to touch. In addition, he possessed only his blade as a weapon.
Quel stood taller and stronger, his body perfected by a genesis machine. He’d trained for three thousand years, young by Bloodwall standards, but he was far more experienced than Reklin himself. He also had an enhanced hammer lance, a weapon stronger than standard dakorian hammers. In the confines of the testing chamber, Quel would be unbeatable. But Reklin supposed that was the point, for Reklin to prove that he could survive against a far superior opponent.
“The contest ends when you yield or die—but yield too early, and you fail,” Quel said.
Reklin inclined his head. “I stand ready.”
“We shall see.” Quel spun his hammer and glided forward.
Chapter Fifteen
Quel closed the gap in three steps, his charge so quick that Reklin barely managed to raise his blade. The impact rang in the confines of the chamber. The Bloodwall rolled to the side and leapt, then pointed the hammer at Reklin’s chest to unleash an ion bolt. Reklin twisted and ducked, evading the blast that scattered across the wall, the shield shimmering as it absorbed the energy. Quel landed and darted in with a swing at Reklin’s legs.
Reklin leapt into a roll that carried him over the swinging hammer and then came to his feet, where he transferred his momentum into his blade. The blade accelerated, whipping around to strike Quel’s shoulder. The Bloodwall deflected the blow with his bone spikes, but the blade severed one and chipped a second. The spike of bone clattered to the floor and Quel grunted.
“Your talent with a blade is exceptional,” the Bloodwall said.
“I’ve spent my whole life practicing with a sunderblade.” Reklin retreated a step, readying himself for Quel’s next attack, but the dakorian seemed content to circle.
“If you become Bloodwall, you will be required to master all weapons.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Reklin said.
Quel exploded into motion, his hammer swinging high and then low, attacks that required every ounce of Reklin’s skill to survive. Reklin bent and twisted, desperately seeking to avoid the swinging hammer, but Quel drove him to the wall. Reklin’s back smashed into the shield, and Quel twirled his hammer, firing the lance point blank. Reklin jerked his head to the side, the blast striking the shield and filling his vision with sparks.
The hammer struck the hilt of his sunderblade and knocked it from his grip. Dismayed, Reklin jumped blindly to the side and in the direction of the blade, but Quel had caught the hilt of his blade in his free hand.
Empty-handed, Reklin retreated to the center of the room, not wanting to be trapped against the wall again. But Quel tossed his hammer into the air and struck it with the blade, sending it spinning end over end. Reklin caught the hammer.
“The blade only answers to me,” Reklin said, using the hammer to point at the blade.
“As I knew it would.” Quel raised his arm, showing the crystal fastened to the bone spike on his wrist. “One always prepares for combat.”
Reklin was impressed. Quel had planned ahead and obviously studied Reklin’s mission reports enough to know his favored fighting style, and how he’d ensured an enemy could not wield his weapon.
Quel charged again, and Reklin raised the hammer lance. It had enough charge to fire twice, and Reklin unloaded both. Quel dodged right and then twisted, allowing the other blast to pass his stomach. Then he was inside Reklin’s reach.
The sunderblade came for Reklin’s throat, and he used Quel’s hammer to block, but the force of the blow sent Reklin skidding backward. Quel unleashed an assault with the blade that Reklin had never seen. Every swing nicked Reklin’s bones, chipping his armor on his sides, shoulders, and knee. He growled as the blade sliced deep into his burned flesh, the wound forcing him to twist to the side.
Quel frowned. “I expected better.”
Anger flared in Reklin’s chest, and he shifted his grip on the hammer, choking the hammer head. He flicked the rod up and out before rotating the hammer in his grip, allowing him to fire several ion bolts with the energy from the latest impacts. The first grazed Quel’s side, but he used the blade to deflect the second and third. The onslaught kept Quel on the defensive, and Reklin smashed the hammer against the blade, powering the weapon to twenty percent. He bashed and whirled, dancing just out of reach, blocking the blade’s swings with his hammer. He struck again and again, each impact filling the hammer lance with power.
He aimed up and over the blade, unleashing another strike before spinning and attacking the opposite flank. Several of the ion bolts scored hits, but without the full power of the weapon, they merely burned Quel’s chest and arms. The most grievous wound caught him full in the knee, blackening his bone and striking the meat. Blood dripped down his leg.
“An old tactic,” Quel said.
The Bloodwall abruptly went on the offensive, using the blade to deflect every burst of light. Reklin fought to aim high and low, reaching out to strike from afar, but Quel was just too fast, deflecting each bolt into the walls, where they scattered across the shield barrier.
Reklin growled as he recognized that Quel had allowed himself to endure some damage in order to determine Reklin’s skill. It had been years since Reklin had fought someone so superior, and it left him seething.
Reklin abruptly retreated. “Stop toying with me!”
Quel came to a halt and cocked his head to the side. “I’m here to test you.”
“Then do so.” Reklin threw the hammer at him, and he caught it with ease. “You want to see my best? Then give me yours.”
Holding both weapons, Quel regarded him with a measure of respect. “Few are so bold to challenge a Bloodwall.”
“Perhaps that is why there are so few of you,” Reklin said.
“Perhaps.”
Quel tossed him his sunderblade, and Reklin caught the hilt. Quel inclined his head. His dark eyes burned with anticipation as he began to stalk forward, his hammer spinning so fast it emitted a dull whine.
“I accept your challenge,” Quel said.
Reklin raised his blade, but Quel leapt into a soaring flip, his hammer swinging for Reklin’s head. Reklin sidestepped and whirled to strike his opponent. For several furious seconds they traded blows, the speed of the duel driving Reklin backward. Then Quel darted in, his hammer coming at Reklin’s knee, its sheer speed making it impossible to evade. Reklin plunged his blade into the floor, and the hammer struck the side of the weapon.
Reklin’s sunderblade broke, and pieces skidded across the floor. With half a blade, Reklin was forced to retreat. The Bloodwall’s sheer power overcame Reklin’s defenses in seconds, again driving him backward. As Reklin neared the wall, the hammer came too quickly and smashed into the side of his face.
His vision darkened as he tumbled across the floor. He fought to breathe, to think, but Quel followed and knelt on his back. He placed the glowing hammer head under Reklin’s thro
at. He grabbed Reklin’s horn and wrenched his head upward until it cut off his breath.
“You think to challenge the full might of a Bloodwall?” Quel snarled into his ear. “I could kill you here and now, and all would know that you had been deemed unworthy.”
Reklin reached to his forearm and wrapped his hand around one of the spikes growing from his own flesh. With a savage yank, he ripped it free and spun the shard of bone in his palm, holding it like a knife. Then he swung backward, plunging the bone into Quel’s stomach.
Quel gasped, as much in surprise as pain, and the pressure on Reklin’s throat lessened. He sucked in a grateful breath and reached up to the hammer, pressing the rune to fire.
The lance brightened, and the center of the hammer head burst with energy. The beam streaked across the room, the recoil pushing the weapon to the side and giving Reklin the chance to slip free of the hammer lance. He rolled away and picked up the broken blade, rotating back with a swing that would slice across Quel’s body. Quel raised the hammer to accept the blow—but Reklin leaned back. The shortened blade passed in front of the hammer shaft. Reklin drove inward, and the broken blade sliced a line from one side of Quel’s chest to the other, a bloody furrow through flesh and bone.
Quel snarled in anger. In two steps he closed the gap. Batting his broken sunderblade to the side, he closed his hand around Reklin’s throat and lifted him off the floor. In a burst of speed, Quel drove Reklin to the wall and smashed him against the shield.
Reklin reached up with his free hand and grabbed Quel’s thumb on his throat. Exerting all his might, he bent the hand open. Before he could slip free, however, Quel released his grip and brought up his knee, driving the hardened bone into Reklin’s face. In a burst of blinding pain, Reklin’s consciousness failed him, and his body tumbled to the floor.
Reklin awoke with a groan. He reached to his skull, and his fingers came away bloody. It had partially dried, suggesting he’d been unconscious for a few hours. He tried to move, but the rest of his body protested, pain flaring in a host of cuts. He managed to sit, but dizziness washed over him, and he almost lost consciousness anew.