by Ben Hale
Reklin thought of the valley he’d called home. “I did.”
“You know, there are over fifty thousand families in our clan.” Blackhorn took another bite. “What was yours like?”
“Close,” Reklin sighed.
“How many Bloodwalls?”
Reklin held his gaze. “We haven’t had one for a while. I thought my father would be, but he was never chosen.”
“I understand the Bone Council makes their choices on merit, as well as politics.”
Reklin had always guessed as much. Soldiers in the military gave half their wages to their families, the glint providing for family needs. But Bloodwalls brought each family prestige and enough glint for everything else, making them essential. Families that didn’t have Bloodwalls didn’t survive.
Blackhorn swallowed his latest bite. “If you had to choose between the Empire and your family, which would you choose?”
Reklin didn’t hesitate. “Family.”
“And yet you have given most of your life to the Empire.”
“And you didn’t?” Reklin countered.
“I did until I knew I would have a child,” Blackhorn said. “That’s when I knew I was done.”
“Dakorian’s can’t terminate their own contracts.”
Blackhorn laughed and carved another slice of meat. “That’s what the Bone Council said.”
“You just walked out?”
Blackhorn used the tongs to point down the hall to where his daughter was in the training chamber. “I fight for her now. And every day I get to see her. That’s what matters to me. Not hunting criminals for an Empire that doesn’t care about my entire race.”
Reklin thought of his family, his mother, sister, and younger siblings. They were the reason he wanted to become a Bloodwall. But even if he did attain the rank, would he ever see them? If he had children of his own, would they grow to adulthood and spend much of their life in the same Empire?
Blackhorn nodded as if he understood. “When I saw you in the darkroom, I knew you were here on a mission. I don’t expect you to admit it. But I’m guessing you came here because you began to doubt your orders.”
“Why would you think that?”
Blackhorn gave a faint smile. “Because you have the same look now that I did when I found out I would be a father. So I’ll tell you the truth. Stop fighting for the Empire. And start fighting for your family.”
Reklin regarded the fighter across the table. Another Shard team captain, yet worlds apart. Or so Reklin had thought. Now he recognized a kinship between the two of them. Blackhorn sounded like Reklin’s own father.
“You are not what I expected,” Reklin said.
His simple observation brought a smile to Blackhorn’s face, and he used the tongs to point at him. “Hundreds of dakorians have knocked on my door. They come to me hoping for training or weapons, with dreams of Crucible glory in their eyes. But you came because you’ve caught a glimpse of the truth, and so you’re the first I permitted to enter. I think you might actually be able to see the Krey Empire for the cancerous poison it is.”
“It’s not all poison.”
Blackhorn ignored him. “If we stood in a Crucible contest, I would kill you without thought or remorse, but here, in my home, we can speak the truth, as friends.”
“But why?”
The question was more than just the acceptance into Blackhorn’s home. It was everything—the house, the defiance of custom, his obviously supremely gifted daughter, his strange hospitality. All of it.
Blackhorn leaned back in his seat, chewing thoughtfully. “You may not realize it, but you fight differently than others of our race.” He waved in dismissal. “You are smart and gifted in combat, of course, but it’s more than that. You care.”
“I care about the mission.”
“You care about the soldiers in your command.”
“Does not every captain?”
Blackhorn’s laugh was bitter. “No. Perhaps it is because we are raised to the lance and never know family. Or maybe it’s because you were raised to believe in family.”
A muffled ting came from the training room, that of a blade striking metal.
Reklin pointed to the closed door. “So this is all about her?”
“I don’t want her growing up the way I did. I want her to have more.”
“More of what?”
“Hope. Life. Love. Purpose. Everything the Empire takes from dakorian clans.”
Reklin shook his head. “I admit I am inspired by your vision of dakorian families. But the Empire is too big to change.”
Blackthorn shrugged and then pointed to him. “You came with a question. What is it?”
Still confused, Reklin recalled his purpose in visiting Blackhorn. “I face a difficult choice. Between duty and morality.”
“And you come to me?” Blackhorn seemed amused.
“In this case, my superiors are not in a position to answer.”
Blackhorn chuckled, obviously not surprised that he was still an officer in the military. “A choice indeed.”
Reklin had come to speak with Blackhorn intending to ask which was better: to trust the Empire’s word—even when he didn’t—or to defy the Empire and trust a krey belonging to a House. When he knocked on Blackhorn’s door, he’d felt trapped, but oddly, in the brief conversation with Blackhorn, Reklin had seen a glimpse of life outside the Empire, even outside his clans. It was disturbing that he found it appealing.
“You can see the choice I made,” Blackhorn said.
Overwhelmed with what he’d seen and heard, Reklin suddenly wanted to leave. Blackhorn had opened a door to a different perspective of the Krey Empire, one that could be viewed as treason. Yet Reklin saw in Blackhorn’s lifestyle much of what he wanted in his own life. Reklin had been raised by a father, one he loved and respected. It had shaped his training and life in a way that seemed to contrast with others of his race.
Reklin stood and inclined his head. “Thank you for your hospitality, and the conversation.”
Blackhorn did not seem surprised by Reklin’s abrupt desire to leave. “I would welcome you for another visit, but I suspect I might not see you again.”
“May your horns remain sharp.”
Reklin spoke the traditional farewell of their clan, and Blackhorn repeated it, but it sounded almost mocking from him. Without a word, Reklin turned and left, passing through the exit door as Blackhorn’s slave opened it.
He threaded his way back the way he’d come, certain of three things. First, Blackhorn would kill him if they fought in a contest. Second, he would not get the chance, because Reklin would accept Skorn’s invitation. And third, Reklin wanted what he’d seen. He wanted a home. He wanted a family.
Worg met him outside their quarters, a smile on his face. “Looks like Skorn Bright’Lor has made an offer on our contracts.”
Reklin activated his own holoview, and text appeared above his wrist, showing the offer. It wasn’t much, but the amount was never the consideration. As he read the offer, he sensed a change in his identity.
“Pack your things,” he said. “We’re joining House Bright’Lor.”
The others grinned and laughed that their time in the Crucible was at an end, obviously relieved. But Reklin could not shake the new question. By taking Skorn’s offer, he was technically continuing his assignment, but only he and Skorn knew the truth. He was taking a step outside the Empire—a small one, perhaps, but by not reporting to the Empire of Skorn’s knowledge, he was breaching his contract with the Krey Empire. But would he change his loyalty? Would he destroy Bright’Lor and hope to become an Empire Bloodwall? Or would he support Skorn’s plans and become his personal Bloodwall? For now, the question had no answer.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
While Brand and the new slave slept, Ero flew the Nova back to Dedliss. Upon arrival, he sent a message to Skorn, which was not returned. Annoyed, he sent a message to Telik, which was not returned. Muttering under his breath, he set the s
hip into a deep orbit and left the bridge.
He felt restless, so he went to the primary gravity drive chamber. The domed compartment at the back of the ship was still empty, and power conduits dangled from the ceiling, some of the power converters still attached to the end. Drawing his energy blade, he began to train.
When he’d entered the krey fleet as a youth, he’d trained in the basics of lance combat but always found such training tedious. But with so much on his mind, he wanted to stay moving. Shortly after he began, Brand appeared. Without a word, she drew her energy blade and joined him, and attacked with surprising ferocity.
“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded, dodging her attacks
“Nothing.”
“Does this have to do with your friend?”
“He’s dumber than I remember,” she said.
Ero grinned as he deflected an attack. “He did seem rather shocked when you showed up branded as a ferox, killed two dakorians, and freed him from his House.”
“You make it sound like I did something wrong.”
“On the contrary,” he said, “I think all female slaves should rescue their male counterparts.”
She grunted, the sound a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Are all your alliances this quick to turn against you?”
“Pretty much.”
He flicked his blade up, batting hers aside so he could drive for her stomach. Even distracted, she managed to evade. He caught a hanging conduit and swung out of reach when she attacked his exposed flank.
“What am I supposed to do?” she growled, coming to a halt.
“You’re asking me?” Ero came to a stop as well. “I know less about friendships than you do, and I care more about my boots than Kendel.”
“His name is Kensen.”
He shrugged. “If you like him, keep him. If you want to be rid of him, I’ll sell him.”
“That’s not really helpful,” she said.
“If I’m honest, I don’t really care about him. But if you kill him, just make sure and clean up the mess.”
“I’m not going to kill him,” she said, exasperated.
“You never know,” he said. “But don’t expect me to deal with the body.”
“I won’t,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Ero’s holoview beeped, the sound followed by a hum of machinery as the onboard Gate was activated. Skorn would be returning, probably with a few dakorians in tow—soldiers that would not take kindly to a slave practicing with a blade. He extinguished his blade and motioned to the girl.
“My brother’s coming early. You should get out of sight before they see you.”
“Why?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Because he’s bringing dakorians, and I don’t think you want them catching you with a weapon.”
“Probably not.”
Brand darted out the door and disappeared on the riser, taking it to the lower deck. Ero followed and hurried to the bridge. He claimed the pilot’s chair just as he heard the door open to the Gate chamber, followed by the heavy footfalls of dakorians. The dakorians murmured a response to Skorn, their footsteps fading as they headed to the cargo bay, the only space large enough for a group of dakorians on the small vessel.
Skorn appeared in the doorway and dropped into the copilot’s seat. “Brother,” he said. “Did you enjoy your reprieve?”
“It was rather boring.” Ero jerked a thumb toward the stern. “How many contracts did you buy?”
“Four.”
Ero raised an eyebrow. “How did you afford that? Please don’t tell me you got any hornless.”
“Just one. The other three are disgraced.”
“You contracted insufferables?”
The name included hornless, disgraced, exiled, and the soldiers addicted to drey or glow. They were the worst of dakorians and would be sullen, angry, and probably disloyal. It was what House Bright’Lor could afford, but knowing Skorn, Ero had hoped for better.
“Do you really think I would hire insufferables?” Skorn’s voice was annoyed. “I got four elites. Former Shards.”
Ero spun in his seat. “How? That would have cost a fortune.”
“House Torn’Ent thought them glintmongers, so their contracts were cheap.”
“We still didn’t have enough.”
Skorn’s lips lifted in amusement. “Plus, I made a small wager.”
Ero began to laugh. “You told me you wanted to go in my place—because you didn’t want me to make a wager. Then you bet anyway?”
“One wager. You would not have been able to stop.”
“How much did you make?”
“Enough to buy their contracts and thirty million to spare.”
“Thirty million!”
It didn’t compare to the trillions they’d had before their fall, but against their depleted resources, it seemed like a stroke of wealth. Ero was already thinking of possibilities when Skorn motioned to the rear of their ship.
“Don’t get excited. I already spent most of it on a new gravity drive, plus a few other essential repairs.”
“Why?”
“Because our hidden drive is down to four percent, and if it dies, we lose the Nova.”
“Four percent is more than enough,” Ero said in dismissal. “We both know a drive has more in the sphere than what’s on the display.”
Skorn tapped the display and frowned when instead of four percent, it showed less than three. He swiveled in the chair to eye Ero, the irritation evident in his voice when he spoke. “Where did you go?”
“I just went to visit a friend.” Ero did not think it prudent to mention he had let Brand do the flying, or how much strain she’d put on the backup drive.
His eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you did not visit Olana.”
“And if I did?”
Ero’s grin confirmed where he’d gone, and Skorn settled back in his seat, clearly annoyed. “That woman is dangerous, and I cannot understand your infatuation.”
“I came back with a free slave.”
“She doesn’t give anything for free.”
Ero could not refute the statement, so he settled on the truth. “I took Brand with me because there was a slave she wanted to find.”
“And how exactly did you end up with a free slave from such a woman?”
Ero relished his brother’s clipped speech. It was not often he could disconcert Skorn, his tactical mind making that a challenge. This time Skorn was almost furious.
“Olana told a dakorian to kill the slave, but Brand killed the dakorian.”
Skorn stared at him in disbelief. “How? She’s just sixteen years old—and not a fighter.”
“She killed two, actually.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“The girl.”
“Yes.”
“Killed two soldiers.”
Ero’s smirked, pleased by his brother’s disbelief. “I told you she was valuable.”
Skorn passed a hand over his face as if suddenly weary. “And I told you that girl would be trouble. I can’t believe you didn’t stop her.”
“Are you mad? I got to see a slave girl fight—and win—against two seasoned dakorians. It was better than the fights in the Crucible.”
“You actually thought she’d win?”
“No,” Ero admitted. “I thought she’d be crushed into a bloody pulp. Then she killed them both, and I took her and the other slave. You should have seen the fury on Olana’s features.” He sighed, recalling the moment with fondness.
“I take it she dismissed the deaths as another sparring contest with you,” Skorn said.
“She hasn’t reported us, so I think that’s an accurate assessment.”
Skorn regarded him with a strange expression, until Ero raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“For all my machinations, you acquire just as much as me, with luck.”
“It’s not lucky,” he scoffed. “I have an ins
tinct for victory.”
“Is that what you’re going to call it?”
Ero chuckled at his brother’s sarcastic tone. “You use your intelligence. I’ll use my instincts.”
Skorn noticed the warning light that indicated the gravity drive energy levels. He frowned, and Ero suddenly became interested in checking the power levels from the converters.
“Did you fly manually?” Skorn asked.
“Just for a bit of fun.”
Skorn groaned. “Our secret gravity drive is failing, and you push it?”
Ero thought of what Brand had done with their ship when she’d been learning to pilot. He hadn’t considered the drive at all, but the maneuvers had put a strain on their decrepit engine.
“I’m glad you’re getting a new drive,” he said brightly.
Ero considered his reluctance in telling his brother about Brand piloting the ship. He shared what had happened with Kensen because Skorn would obviously figure out there was another slave on the ship. Was Ero now keeping secrets for the girl? He found that amusing.
“Let’s hope our ship doesn’t die before we arrive,” Skorn said.
He then powered the ship and set it on course for a nearby station—not one owned by House Kel’Ray. The station, a retrofitting and repair station owned by House Thorn’Vall, would be able to install the new drive and make the other repairs. As Skorn handled the details, Ero went to meet the new dakorians.
Ero stepped into the cargo bay to find Brand and Kensen packing their things into crates. They’d already gathered up the other supplies while the dakorians stood at the large window, talking in low tones. Ero motioned the two slaves out, and they gathered their things. Brand cast Ero an uncertain gaze as she left and lowered her tone to speak as she passed him in the door.
“What are the dakorians for?”
“We need dakorians to seed a slave world,” Ero said.
Surprise crossed her features, and it seemed she would ask more. But the boy grabbed her elbow and pulled her from the room. Ero advanced and surveyed the four dakorians, all of which stood to greet Ero.
The captain was immediately obvious by his bearing, even if his horns had been severed. He carried a broken blade on his back, an odd weapon choice, but intriguing. The other three stood slightly behind their captain, their positions subtly indicating both his command and a preparedness for conflict.