Empire of Ashes: An Epic Space Opera Series (The Augmented Book 1)

by Ben Hale

  Worg nudged Reklin and pointed up to the Burning Sky arena. “I’d rather be down here than up there.”

  One ship with sputtering shields was hit from the side and spun into the volcano, hurtling through another lava waterfall. The superheated liquid sliced the weakened ship in half. The bladelike hull flipped end over end to explode against a rocky protrusion. Both Reklin and Worg winced.

  “I will always take a blade over a ship,” Reklin agreed.

  Vid crystals, housed in clear spheres, dropped into the Firepit and hovered on tiny gravity repulsors. They spread out throughout the arena, one coming to float in front of Reklin and Worg. It spun a slow circle around their heads. Reklin imagined their faces appearing in tens of thousands of homes across many worlds, with krey, dakorians, and even humans placing wagers on who would survive.

  Across the arena, two more dakorians appeared through a Gate. One had a broken horn, the stub now jagged and sharp, while the second dakorian had a steel dagger embedded into the bone on his chest, as if daring an enemy to push it into his heart. Reklin mentally labeled the two combatants Broken Horn and Dagger.

  Knowing he was being recorded, Reklin managed to keep the scorn from his features. Both dakorians were armed with hammer lances, the heads modified to make them more brutal. Broken Horn’s weapon was particularly gruesome and had a dakorian skull mounted to the shaft.

  A timer descended from the sky, the square object showing the five-minute clock allowed for the Firepit. It began to blink, and their opponents leaned in, licking their lips in eagerness.

  “I’ll draw Broken Horn right,” Reklin said. “You take Dagger left. Don’t forget our purpose.”

  “You named them already?” Worg spun his hammer. “I thought I’d get to do that.”

  “Not this time,” Reklin said, playing the role.

  “A thousand glint says I can use the Dagger’s dagger to kill him.”

  “Make it two thousand,” Reklin said.

  Arrogance before a contest was expected, and even if Reklin and Worg intended on losing, they needed to appear as regular fighters. The Bone Crucible was entertainment first, and combat second. Then a disembodied voice entered the arena.

  “Three minutes until the fire begins to spread. Five minutes until you burn.”

  The timer blinked to life, and the shield around the start area disengaged. Reklin darted right, making for a tunnel, while Worg leapt for a tower in the center of the arena.

  Reklin reminded himself to keep his pace slow, his features sullen. A blast from Broken Horn’s lance streaked over his shoulder, and the dakorian bellowed a disturbing laugh.

  “When I kill you, I get to keep the blade!” Broken Horn yelled.

  Reklin dived into a tunnel, using it as cover as more ion bolts struck the stones in his wake. He raced to the middle of the tunnel and darted down a side tunnel, emerging in the middle of the arena near the central hole. He jumped over a stream of lava, the heat washing across his bone armor.

  Must lose, he thought. Must survive.

  He replayed the mantra. It went against everything he’d done his entire life, but this was his sole method of enduring. A cackling laugh entered the tunnels, the haunting sound of a deranged killer. Or one who wanted the viewers to think of them as such. Reklin had spotted Broken Horn in the dakorian cells, and he’d behaved as normal. It was all an act, one to draw more bets, more glint, more fear. Reklin wanted to turn and kill him, but instead he fled. Like a coward.

  “I can see why you’re hornless.”

  Broken Horn’s cackling voice reverberated in the tunnels, captured by all the floating crystal vids. One of the vid orbs followed Reklin, a faint hum over his shoulder, the sound tinged with disapproval. At least to him. Dakorians did not flee.

  Broken Horn caught up to him, bursting from a darkened tunnel with his hammer swinging for Reklin’s chest. The mounted skull of a fallen dakorian stared at him with blank eyes. Reklin allowed the hammer to land a glancing blow across his shoulder, and he growled in pain. He drew his blade and fought in the dim tunnel.

  Reklin’s opponent was decent with a hammer, and Reklin had to feign weakness. He stumbled twice and avoided several opportunities to land a lethal strike. Broken Horn cackled as Reklin was driven backward.

  “Just a weak hornless,” he snarled, his hammer grazing Reklin’s side, the spikes on the weapon drawing blood.

  Instead of turning on the dakorian, Reklin jumped and caught a ridge where the walls met the roof. He pulled himself through a hole in the ceiling and onto a platform close to the center of the arena.

  “Reklin!” Worg shouted. “He’s too good for me!”

  The voice was tinged with fear and pain, and just a trace of sarcasm. Reklin leapt after him, dodging and twisting as Broken Horn ascended a curving arch and fired his lance. Another ion bolt grazed his side. Reklin grimaced.

  Must lose. Must survive.

  He ducked under an arch and raced up the steps of a tower, noting the odd texture to the rock, as if the stone was dripping down the walls. He glanced out a window in the tower and marked the timer. Three minutes left.

  Reklin reached the top of the curving steps and found Worg in a desperate battle with Dagger. Both hammers spun each other and the floor. Ion bolts tore into walls, exploding stone and filling the sulfuric air with debris.

  “Reklin!” Worg called, his voice panicked—and still sarcastic.

  Reklin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but instead of charging Dagger, he feigned desperation and swung his broken blade, clipping Dagger’s arm. Uninjured, Dagger swiveled in surprise.

  “You hit like a child—a human child,” Dagger said.

  “At least he doesn’t look like one,” Worg said.

  Reklin glared at Worg, who shrugged sheepishly. Reklin darted around Dagger and caught Worg’s arm, yanking him to his feet. The two jumped out the window as ion bolts filled the aperture. They landed heavily, both grunting from the impact. Just as they did, the timer at the center hit two minutes, and a groan of machinery came from the lava curtain surrounding the arena.

  The superheated liquid began to advance, splattering on the stone. The top of the waterfall pushed over the pit and gradually swallowed a nearby tower, filling the interior and flowing down the steps. The lava poured into the tunnel Reklin had previously used, venting noxious fumes through the upper holes. The streams in the arena overflowed their banks, swelling to cover alleys and paths, stairs and ramps. At the center of the arena, a Gate rose from the central pit. Reklin stabbed a hand toward it.

  “Go for the Gate.”

  A coward’s exit, only used by the desperate and dying. In every arena, an exit Gate appeared as the timer approached its end, but those who chose the exit were considered inferior. Slaves and krey opted for such an ending, but rarely did a dakorian escape a conflict without fighting to the last second. Reklin was grateful Worg did not roll his eyes. The two limped their way to the Gate, but Dagger and Broken Horn came at their flanks, their taunts ringing in Reklin’s ears.

  “You attempt to flee?”

  “You must be slaves inside those bones!”

  Worg’s hand tightened on his hammer, and Reklin all but shoved him toward the Gate. The curtain of lava continued to advance, already halfway across the arena. Fires ignited on the walls of several structures. On Reklin’s flank, Dagger leapt a stream, moving with agility and speed. Reklin fixed his eyes on the Gate and helped the limping Worg.

  “It hurts so much,” Worg called, grimacing.

  “Don’t overplay it,” Reklin hissed.

  “Do you see this wound?” Worg pointed to where an ion bolt had burned across his knee, the flesh bright red and bleeding. Moaning in mock pain, Worg leaned on Reklin like his leg had failed.

  Reklin spotted an arched path running close to the Gate and made for it. Ion bolts came from both their opponents, and Reklin risked using his blade to deflect one blast, making it look desperate and accidental. As the lava swallowed more of
the arena and approached the Gate, Reklin shoved Worg into the portal and jumped himself. He grimaced as Dagger’s final attack burned a line across his back.

  He landed in the battle ready area, where dozens of Gates lined the two sides of the long hall. Several dakorians prepared for their own contests, most watching the large vid screens on the walls above the respective Gates. Reklin rolled when he exited and then came to his feet, unsurprised to find Worg standing with his arms folded.

  “Worst. Assignment. Ever.”

  The other dakorians looked on them with scorn and one spit on the floor. Then Dagger and Broken Horn came through the Gate, both laughing at their easy victory.

  Dagger caught sight of Reklin and advanced to poke him in the chest. “You really are the coward they said you were.”

  Broken Horn smirked. “Easiest glint we ever made.”

  Dagger looked Reklin up and down. “You might be big, but you’re just old and stupid. But I guess that’s to expect from your clan, a clan of cowards and hornless—”

  Reklin caught him about the throat and slammed him to the floor. Dagger’s eyes widened in shock as Reklin squeezed. The dakorian swung his hammer, but Reklin caught it with his free hand and wrenched it from his grip. With a twist, he sent it clattering through the suddenly attentive fighters. Reklin then put his hand against the Dagger’s namesake, pushing it into the bone.

  “Hey!” Broken Horn recovered and stepped toward Reklin, leveling his hammer, but Worg stepped in and caught the shaft of the hammer. He twisted it into a spin that broke his grip. Then he struck Broken Horn in the head, leveling him to the floor. Dazed, the dakorian lay next to Dagger.

  Reklin leaned down and hissed into Dagger’s ear. “Do you know why you should fear the easy prey?”

  Reklin’s voice was so guttural that Dagger winced. Reklin held one hand on the dakorian’s throat, his other on the knife protruding from the chest bone. He used his right knee and left boot to hold the dakorian’s hands. Pinned, the fighter was helpless, and fear entered his gaze.

  “The easy prey makes you think you are strong,” Reklin hissed, “and just when you gloat in your victory, they pierce your heart.”

  Reklin withdrew, leaving Dagger gasping and coughing.

  Worg joined him and chuckled. “We were supposed to be reserved.”

  “Out there,” Reklin said as he pointed to the Gate. “Not here.” He pointed to his feet. “And did you have to be so sarcastic?”

  “What do you mean?” Worg asked as they walked through the parting dakorians. “I was flawless.”

  “Help!” Reklin mimicked his sarcastic tone. “It hurts so much! I could be dying because I scraped my knee! My toe hurts! Save me, Reklin, save me from the little bitty cut.”

  Worg’s laughter drowned him out, and Reklin skewered him with a warning look. “Don’t forget our purpose.”

  Worg jerked a thumb back into the battle ready room, where most of the dakorians were still watching Reklin. Dagger and Broken Horn were on their feet, both sullen.

  “I don’t think I was the one that forgot our purpose,” Worg said.

  Reklin grimaced. Punishing Dagger and Broken Horn was needed, but the other dakorians would spread the word. Reklin and Worg were not who they seemed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  From the bridge of Nova, Ero watched the stars streak by, his thoughts on Brand. In just three days, the girl had thrown herself into training, spending every waking minute in the holo chamber.

  He glanced to the bridge door, but Skorn was talking to Dragorn again, so he activated a vid crystal in the holochamber, allowing him to secretly watch what the girl was doing.

  The girl wielded a blade against a single opponent, repeating swings, blocks, and strikes. She clearly had a gift, and her rate of improvement would have been astonishing even among the krey. Ero recalled his own slow progress when he’d begun training and experienced a touch of jealousy.

  He leaned back in the pilot’s seat, watching her. When Skorn was around, she did all the right things, dropping her gaze and keeping her voice demure. But in the holochamber, a fire blazed in her eyes.

  Ero wondered as to the source of her courage. She’d spent her life beaten and degraded, but unlike most slaves, she’d not been broken. Instead, she had thrived. Why?

  The door whisked open, and Ero hastily extinguished the vid. Skorn ducked inside and claimed the second seat. He reached for the controls and activated the star map, a hologram materializing above the panel.

  “Dragorn agrees with our plan,” Skorn said. “It might take a few extra days, but taking the deep space route will avoid exposure. I’m still uncertain if Hellina spoke the truth, but it’s better to be cautious than dead.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He thinks we need to get our dakorians now.”

  “Why?” Ero asked. “We don’t even know where we’re getting a population of slaves.”

  “True, but we need to ensure the newly hired soldiers aren’t going to betray us at the first opportunity. So hiring them now gives us a chance to ensure their loyalty.”

  “And where are we supposed to find loyal dakorians for cheap?”

  “Where else?” Skorn pointed to the star map. “The Bone Crucible.”

  “Do you think we take life for granted?”

  Skorn frowned and swiveled to face him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Just wondering.” He shrugged. “We’ve lived for tens of thousands of years, but at what point does life lose its meaning?”

  “What’s brought this on?” he asked. “Does this have to do with the slave girl training with an energy blade in our holochamber?”

  Ero shrugged in chagrin. “When did you figure that out?”

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t know?” Skorn grunted in irritation. “You should know me better than that.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Why would I be angry? You’ve always had your pointless interests.”

  “It’s not pointless.” Heat crept into Ero’s voice. “She’s going to help me practice with a blade in case a Bloodblade comes after us.”

  Skorn’s look of pity made Ero flush. “You think a slave can help you with that? A Bloodblade is an assassin capable of killing Bloodwalls. A blade in your hands isn’t going to stop him.”

  “I’m not going to sit back and let them come for me.”

  “Do you remember the last time you trained with a blade? It lasted a few years, and then you got tired of the hobby, just like all your other pursuits.”

  “I learned enough to keep myself alive.”

  “Against krey.” Skorn stabbed a finger at Ero. “You are a fraction of a dakorian’s weight or strength, and in a real fight you’d be dead in seconds.”

  “You won’t say that when I save your life.”

  Skorn’s laugh was light. “Just remember what I said—and keep the slave in her place. There’s a reason it’s illegal to teach slaves how to fight. It’s their owners they end up killing.”

  “She’s not going to kill me.”

  “That’s what they all say.” Skorn gave him a pointed look before rotating in his seat and assuming control of the ship. “One day until we arrive at the rendezvous coordinates. Then your slave is going with the rest.”

  “I was considering keeping her onboard.”

  “Telik said he needed twelve for the last experiment, and we only have eleven.” Skorn’s expression turned apologetic. “He needs them all.”

  “After Telik alters her genetic code, we’ll take her with us.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  Skorn rotated in his seat. “Do you understand that this girl could be dead in a week? The experiment could kill her outright, or she could go mad, and—since she’ll know how to use a blade—she could come after us. In that case, we’d have to put her down.”

  “Or nothing could happen.”

  Skorn reached for the control panel, and his fingers flew on
the symbols, replacing the star map with a report. Ero frowned as he examined the lines of text, recognizing them as a detailed record of Telik’s experiments.

  “He gave up his data?” Ero said.

  “I convinced him he had to cooperate if we were going to help. He gave me a little access, and I used a hacking protocol to access his system.”

  “I thought you didn’t want augmented slaves.”

  “Of course I don’t,” Skorn said. “But I do need to know if he’s a threat.”

  “You’ve always had a gift for manipulation.” Ero didn’t add that it was a gift he’d gotten from Dragorn.

  Ero scanned the data, which detailed several thousand years of small group experiments. All ended in failure and death, with only a handful surviving to demonstrate any changes. Telik had killed countless humans in his pursuit of augmented slaves, and Ero found a measure of distaste on his tongue.

  The newer experiments had a higher success rate, with half of the last two groups living beyond the initial testing period. None had shown any sort of augments, and Telik had terminated the experiments.

  Ero leaned back in his seat, disliking the prospect of Brand dying at the hands of such a butcher. But perhaps Skorn was right. The girl was just a slave. He shrugged and decided he could always find a different slave to be his training partner. Shaking the twinge of guilt, he stood and stepped to the door.

  “If we’re going to dump her tomorrow, I’m going to learn what I can while she’s here,” he said to Skorn.

  “Ero.”

  He paused in the doorway and looked back to find Skorn regarding him with cold eyes. “I’ve told you before. Don’t get attached. Slaves always die.”

  “So do krey,” Ero said.

  Skorn smiled faintly, unable to deny Ero’s statement. Then Ero slipped out the door and made his way to the secret gravity compartment. He paused as he passed the hologram chamber, his hand close to activating the door, but then he grimaced and passed it by.

  Alone, he made his way to the secret room and retrieved the container with his energy blade. He activated it and swung the weapon through the air, moving through several techniques. But every motion seemed hollow. With a final savage swing, he lowered the energy blade and stared at the wall. Then he grunted in irritation and deactivated the blade.