The Iron Altar Series Box Set One: Books 1 to 3

by Casey Lea

  This time everyone swiveled to stare at her.

  “The Beserk?” Raptor demanded.

  “Yes, the Beserk. He can shield us again.”

  “We’d be in his debt,” Raptor pointed out with a glower. “Plus we’d be inviting him in close while we’re weakened.”

  “I didn’t say it was a good option,” Amber said, “just our only not-running-like-tweets option.”

  Admiral Sweep lifted a finger in agreement. “Com Senior, get me-”

  Another missile rocked the ship, which seemed to lift and dart forward. There was an explosive thump followed by the shriek of ruptured fullerene and in one of the damage holograms the Harrier’s rear compartments vanished. Air shrieked through the nest as their atmosphere vented and the distant sun spread a cold glare beyond the torn hull. The curve of a planet filled the rip overhead and then tilted when the flagship tipped and began to fall toward it. They were breached and going down. It looked like their crash would be for real after all.

  2

  Ambushed

  Falkyn stood on the ragged lip of a makeshift balcony to enjoy the view from his host’s palace on Mermaridia. Sadly, what lay at his feet was ugly beyond belief. Ruined buildings that jutted from earth scoured bare were bad enough, but rebuilding on Mermaridia was almost non-existent. The city below was still a shanty town, filled with flotsam and jetsam randomly cobbled together. A few bonfires burned among the sad huts, but despite the evening chill, they were the only sign of energy below.

  Light blazed behind Falkyn and washed past him to spread his shadow over the hovels beneath. It seemed Luck Belthezeon had plenty of power to warm the crashed hulks that had been welded together to form his new palace. It was a fullerene monstrosity stacked on the marble remains of the Lucks’ Assembly like a parasite erupting from creamy skin.

  A larger shadow eclipsed Falkyn’s when his host moved up behind him.

  “I fear the view is quite dull today, Arck Falkyn. There’s been less random violence of late. Won’t you come inside for a drink?”

  Luck Belthezeon gestured back through the arched doors and Falkyn inclined his head, but moved backward, his gaze still locked on the shanties. He only turned away when he reached the audience chamber. He glanced down and saw his hand had formed a fist, the golden skin stretched so tight it glittered over his knuckles. It took an effort to make it relax, but he managed and even willed a smile to his face before he re-entered the chamber.

  Falkyn’s boots struck sparks from the bare metal floor, but the room was no longer empty. Two Mutt knelt on all fours beside a small table, their broad backs draped in strips of cloth.

  Falkyn stopped short, but his host gestured at the nearest crouched form. “Please be seated, Magnificence.”

  Fal looked up sharply. “You want me to sit on someone?”

  “I must admit I do. I’m sure you noted that we’ve had to recycle most of our furniture and the palace is not what it was, but fortunately slaves remain plentiful.”

  “Not so fortunate for the slaves.”

  “Hold no concern for them, Sire. They’re happy to serve. Truly so. Duty as furniture calls for extra rations, as no one wishes to sit on a bony slave. I can also assure you they won’t notice your weight in the slightest. Kres are rather puny people after all, though I intend no offense.”

  “It’s not your opinion of my people’s stature that offends me. I would prefer to stand. Will the other Lucks arrive to negotiate soon?”

  Belthezeon tapped his spatulate fingers together and smiled. “Soon enough, Lord. Would you care to peruse my art collection? The recent trials have been burdensome indeed, but they have allowed me to add markedly to my gallery. Would you believe the mobs were burning great works of art to keep warm? Shocking, I know, but I can assure you I saved them from that.”

  “The people or the paintings?”

  Belthezeon paused, but then his smile returned. “Most amusing, Sire.”

  “The other Lucks?” Falkyn persisted and Belthezeon’s grin became strained, but the insufferable mermaridian did look down at his wrist to consult his com. Falkyn seized the chance to glance at his own wrist. Amber’s spy flecks had all deployed without detection and two were tracking major energy signatures. He should have the location of the shield generator shortly. He could hardly wait. This place made his flesh crawl and being polite to his host was a major challenge. It was worse than Supplication week in the kres Court. His Court.

  Goosebumps crawled up Falkyn’s neck, but he was distracted from thoughts of home by a pulse against his wrist. One of the flecks had found the generator. He relaxed and glanced out the window, waiting for the flash of an overloaded shield, but nothing happened. He took a deep breath and waited some more, but there was still no response. This was very bad.

  Falkyn gave a curt nod when a slim slave appeared to hand him a steaming goblet, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He silently queried his com and its telepathic answer was chilling.

  Infiltration failure. The device is housed behind a level-ten energy field with frequency modulation. Access for sabotage is nil.

  The cup in Falkyn’s hand seemed to be searing his fingers. How could the Lucks have found enough energy to constantly power a revolving level-ten shield? Their supplies were supposedly depleted by the plague and everything he’d seen confirmed that. He gulped the spicy liquid and something more than heat made his throat burn. Pure grathol by the taste of it, which could only help in the present circumstances.

  Falkyn nodded to his host, as if listening to Belthezeon’s litany of all he’d done to restore Mermaridia’s glory since the ice attack. However, he silently concentrated on sending his com very precise instructions. His wristband held a private store of exotic matter. Just a spec of the volatile substance, but that was still incredibly dangerous and a risk most people wouldn’t take with their coms. If he made a single mistake that tiny flake would tear his arm off.

  So don’t make a mistake, Fal told himself and ordered his com to open a passage – a thin wormhole linking its interior to the generator inside that impenetrable shield. Pain flashed up his arm and he struggled to turn his grimace into a smile. He locked his expression in place, but could feel sweat on his brow and fought hard not to tremble when something seized his wrist and shook it. Fal had a horrible feeling that his hidden struggle was about to become obvious.

  “My schedule is hectic, Lord Belthezeon, and I’m afraid my visit here needs to be brief. Where are the other Lucks?”

  His host looked up from the information floating over his wrist and his smile was chilling. “Relax, Falkyn. My Harvester friends have arrived in orbit and I fear you’re about to lose your ride.”

  Falkyn tried to look concerned, but his face tightened with anger instead. Well, that would still work. “Don’t be a fool. My empire survived the ice intact. You can’t possibly defeat a kres fleet.”

  “I don’t have to, you ignorant arrogant fool.” The Luck clicked his fingers and guards stepped from hidden alcoves around the room. They appeared from apparently solid stone, each a foot followed by a leg and then bright spears in armored hands. Their weapons snapped down to surround Falkyn with a circle of gleaming points. Belthezeon drew himself up to his full height, which was a head taller than Falkyn, and stared down his pale nose.

  “Your fleet would have to exit the passage to this system one ship at a time and I’ve a deal with the Harvesters to destroy them if they try to come through. They won’t dare though. Not while I hold you. Remove his com.”

  A sword swung toward Falkyn’s wrist, but he snatched his hand back so that it sliced harmlessly past. Suddenly it was much easier to look concerned. “No need for violence. You can have my com. Asking was sufficient.”

  He flexed his wrist and the gold band around it sprang open. He let his arm drop and the com fell, trailing sparks. It chimed sharply when it hit the floor and Falkyn sagged to follow it. He leaned forward to cover the hole appearing in the metal around the com. It disappear
ed into darkness, leaving a ragged circle in the floor, but he groaned and no one seemed to notice.

  Falkyn sank to one knee, with his chin on his chest and closed his eyes, trying to look exhausted by com loss. In reality his body surged with energy from hidden flecks under his skin. The release of his com had activated them and sent them into full battle-mode. He trembled with adrenaline, but at least the shaking would look natural to his enemies.

  “Come,” Belthezeon ordered and a guard’s hand in each armpit jerked Falkyn to his feet. He made no effort to support himself and was dragged out to the balcony. His captor settled on the back of a Mutt, well away from the edge and pointed at the sky. “Enjoy the fireworks.”

  Falkyn tipped his head back and swayed between the guards. He squinted, as if struggling to see the spots of color blossoming well above the still-glowing horizon. The explosions grew brighter as he watched, fiery blooms of red and gold that were eerily silent.

  “My ship,” he whispered and the Luck hummed happily. A fresh bouquet spilled between the stars and Falkyn tasted real fear. What was taking that wormhole so long? His com needed to open a passage for his spy fleck and then the tiny piece of tek could use the Lucks’ energy source to blow their generator as high as the battle above.

  The distant fight seemed to fade while Falkyn considered that. Where was the Council of Lucks anyway? It was obvious that all of their wealth and power had been concentrated here, but they were absent. Which made no sense, unless… Falkyn flinched and silently cursed, because the answer was obvious.

  Belthezeon had staged a coup, hiding it in the chaos that followed the ice. Falkyn’s invitation from the Council had been faked and he’d been grabbed by a single tyrant. A tyrant who’d stolen and consolidated every asset his fellow rulers once owned. No wonder taking Mermaridia was proving far harder than Falkyn had expected.

  He was jerked back to his surroundings when fresh light filled the sky, whiter and brighter than before. The glowing trail of a shooting star swept overhead and toward the horizon. Except it wasn’t a star, he realized with a chill. It was a ship, burning through the atmosphere at a deadly angle. His people were crashing and he only had seconds to save them.

  A spark snapped between Falkyn’s thumb and index finger, signaling success from the last spy fleck. It had accessed the planetary shield. Thank the gods. He clicked his fingers and noise answered. There was no light this time, but the sound of an explosion rumbled under their feet. The balcony rose as if trying to fly free, but then smashed down again, to jut broken-backed from the building. Belthezeon was tipped from the Mutt, who moaned in terror and buried his head in his hands.

  The bowl of the sky flashed white and a brief arc of sheet lightning covered the city, then vanished.

  “My shield,” Belthezeon wailed from where he lay beached on the ruptured deck. He stared up at Falkyn, who was the only person still standing. The Luck’s darting gaze paused and his eyes narrowed. “You. You did this. How?”

  Falkyn didn’t bother to answer. His mind was busy talking to his brother anyway. Guards clambered upright around him and one almost fell over the balcony’s lip. “Luck Belthezeon,” the soldier cried. “The mob.”

  Falkyn slid closer to the edge and looked down at the hovels below. People boiled from them, emerging from doors, windows and the many gaps in their homes. Cries sounded as news of the shield’s collapse spread and the pale discs of distant faces began to show, staring up at the palace. Falkyn spared them an encouraging smile, before turning back to the Luck.

  Belthezeon was on all fours, crawling toward the safety of the building. He kept going, but looked back over his shoulder. “Bring the kres and bring him ungently.”

  3

  The Cavalry

  Misty slapped the last clasp on her boots into place and stamped her feet. Adrenaline was messing with her gut, but she could handle that. At least she no longer needed a plan to avoid passing out after too much Trinity time. She didn’t faint anymore and the weakness was getting better. Every gestalt made it easier to recover afterward. She slipped into mental sync with Ace and Zak whenever she had to, their minds meshing easily and more deeply with each meld. Which would have scared her if anything did, so it was lucky nothing did.

  Beside Misty, Ace raised a hand and his brow furrowed. He was probably in contact with his brother. He finally nodded and his eyes focused on her again. “That was Fal. It’s a trap alright.”

  “Ye, I know.”

  Ace gave her a smile that messed with her gut much more enjoyably than adrenaline. “Your cynicism is rewarded. You good to go, Zak?”

  “Course,” the third member of their group said from the door. Zak already had two sabers drawn, which was ominous. He believed overkill showed a lack of skill, but he was packing for razorback. “Where to?”

  Ace tapped his temple. “Falkyn gave me an image map, which we’ll all have once the three of us… you know.”

  “Become more intimate than a whore in confession?” Zak suggested and Misty sighed.

  “Predictable is boring,” she said as she joined him. “And you are predictably lewd.”

  “Yet so charming,” he pointed out, making her choke and wish she could jump right away.

  The thought made Misty’s wings unclasp from the front of her chest and their peaks snap upright behind her head. She wriggled her shoulder blades so her wings’ green leather curves unfolded slightly, but kept them tucked close. The team was dropping into hostile territory and she wouldn’t fly until she was about to scrape the ground. She grinned at the thought and felt another flash of impatience.

  The hatch of their camouflaged shuttle spun open in front of them, so it was finally party time. Something inside Misty gave a little skip, but on the outside she stayed professional. A high-altitude gale ripped through the door, lifting her heavy braid until it whipped around her like a white ribbon. She fell forward into the wind, embracing the drop.

  Zak jumped beside her, while her fronds watched Ace leap from the invisible ship straight afterward. Mermaridia was a mud pit below and no one on that ruined world was going to see them coming. The best tek on the most advanced planets would have had trouble picking up their shielded forms as they dropped to the ground. Misty twisted to face Jace as he fell and he grinned back, his red hair flickering around his head like flames. Hmmmm… there was still time to play.

  Misty spread her limbs like a starfish, which slowed her enough to let them collide, then wrapped herself around him. A glimpse of his startled expression before she kissed him was the perfect reward. She loved to surprise him and from his response he enjoyed it too.

  She sensed resigned disgust from Zak but ignored it. For one more moment there was just her and Ace and the wind.

  Zak’s wings spread and one scraped past Misty, before ‘chuting him into the sky, far above their careless fall. She sighed, her breath mingling with her love’s, but didn’t hesitate. Time to be professional. Ace opened his wings too and was ripped away from her as she flipped onto her front. A ruined tower almost scraped her belly, but she only semi-spread her wings, to keep rocketing forward. After all, someone had to take point. The Luck’s palace loomed out of the night like a mountain and she sped to meet it.

  The boys realized Misty’s ruse too late. She sensed them accelerating, to dive recklessly after her, but she had her first target – no, make that targets - and everyone else was forgotten. A handful of guards were scrabbling up a tilted balcony that hung from the palace’s main tower and she aimed straight for them. She thumped into a much larger body than hers, but momentum gave her the advantage and the mermaridian went down. An armored elbow to his temple made sure he stayed that way.

  Misty’s fronds sensed two of the guards turning back to face her and a dull red blade swung for her head. The blow was sadly slow and she had ample time to tuck forward and roll under the cut. She surged upright, leading with her fist and there was another satisfying crunch when it connected with the swordsman’s jaw. He drop
ped like a stone statue, but she hurdled him before he hit the ground. The other guard was backing away and she heard herself laugh. He backed faster.

  Another figure huddled at Misty’s feet and all she could see was a tempting pool of vulnerable targets, pulsing red and orange inside a yellow cage of bones, but she paused. The dark shape was wrapped in upon itself and seemed to be whimpering.

  “It’s a Mutt,” Ace called as he landed behind her, with Zak on his flank, and she stopped hesitating. She sprang forward again, stepping up onto the slave’s broad back to catapult herself into the room beyond. The boys were at her heels and they jostled in the door, each attempting to get ahead of the other. Some males never learned. They should just let her lead and accept it. Competing for second place was a waste of effort.

  Misty pulled her mind back to more important matters, to scan the room ahead with every sense she had, plus full com power. The round chamber was silent and still. Her companions had stopped behind her, still jammed together in the doorway, where they ran their own scans. A hologram rose above each wrist and all three were negative. They showed an empty room and nothing beyond it. Simply a void. That was a problem. The walls must be shielded, which meant a hundred troops could be hidden in the halls beyond. Only one way to find out.

  “Hold our exit. I’ll play bait.”

  Misty felt Ace’s protest, but jetted forward, riding a blast from her wings that drove Ace and Zak backward.

  Keep battle gaps. Stay back while I spring any traps, her mind ordered the boys, but pain ripped through her instead of an answer. She arched back, instinctively twisting away from the spear that sliced her shoulder. She ducked to a crouch, catching her sword as it fell from her com and searched for an enemy. The room was empty, while the bloody weapon that had stabbed her was disappearing back into the wall.

  Bunny holes. The last resort of the soft and fluffy - or the cowardly. “They’re in the walls,” she coughed, as Ace skidded in on his knees.