Warlords Saga

by Brian K. Larson

  “Laboolaron!” Dumakas commanded, “Stand before me!”

  Laboolaron obeyed his Emperor and turned to kneel before him, “By your command, my Lord and Emperor Dumakas.”

  “You say you will service me in any capacity under the Star of Antares?”

  “Yes, my Lord, anything you request I shall fulfill.”

  “Then so it shall be! If you are truly loyal to me and my reign, Laboolaron, you shall defeat this creature that awaits battle in the arena.”

  “My Lord, am I to face a Boreshog creature in full rage alone?”

  “As I have said and you have agreed, anything I request.”

  “My Lord, a single Antarian is not strong enough for a creature of this size.”

  “Laboolaron, do you refuse this challenge I set before you?”

  “No, my Lord, I shall do battle with this creature as you have commanded.”

  “If you win this battle, you shall remain my loyal First. If you should fail this task, Ma’har will take your place by my side as my First.”

  Ma’har snorted at the thought of Laboolaron, small for an Antarian at best, defeating this creature.

  “You shall silence yourself, Ma’har, or you will take Laboolaron’s place in his stead!”

  Ma’har drew a concerned look across his crooked teeth, kneeling before his Emperor he looked up to his eyes with reverence, “My apologies, my Lord. I shall hold my tongue hence forth.”

  “See that you do, Ma’har.” Dumakas turned back to Laboolaron, “I shall afford you the comfort of your own sword and power shield for this match. There will be no time limit, no rules; only the death of the beast, or you, will end it.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Laboolaron obediently answered.

  “What armor shall you desire this day?”

  Laboolaron stood before his Emperor. Dumakas still towered over this short Antarian. He removed his cloak and arm bands, letting them fall to the floor, metal clanking noised as they struck the hard floor of the balcony. He proceeded to remove his breast plate and leggings in like manner, and then stood as tall as he could to his Emperor, “I choose my sword and shield only, my Lord.”

  “You do realize that this creature is in full heat and the flames it shall spew at you will burn like a magnesium stone, do you not?”

  “Yes, my Lord. I am aware of my peril.”

  “Do you still wish to choose this path, Laboolaron?”

  “Yes, my Lord, though the wind blows a strong cold and the snow falls, I shall not be cooked in my metal armor by the heat of this creature.”

  “Then I hope, for your sake, you are making a wise move, my old friend.”

  “I shall prevail, my Lord.”

  “Very well, my faithful servant and First, are you prepared?”

  “Yes, my Lord, I am ready,” Laboolaron drew his sword, the sound of metal pulling across the scabbard echoed in everyone’s ears, and then he unbuckled his belt and dropped the sheath with the rest of his gear. He held his sword straight up and near his face as he gazed one last time into his Emperor’s eyes before turning to face the pit.

  “Lower the rope!”

  Two guards quickly tossed the rope ladder over the side into the arena. Then they turned to Laboolaron with their weapons drawn, in case he had a change of heart and decided to face off with Dumakas.

  Laboolaron silently threw himself over the edge, grabbing the ladder as he fell. He made his way to the end of his rope, then dropped the remaining distance to the arena floor. The rope ladder was pulled to the Emperor’s balcony.

  He found the quickest path to the Boreshog creature and began making his way across the icy, snow covered rocks.

  The chained beast huffed through her nostrils, flaring them as she breathed, watching the lowly Antarian warrior approach.

  Laboolaron made eye contact with the creature as he neared the last hurdle before reaching the high ground, “Easy now,” he spoke to the creature in a vain attempt to calm the beast. “Easy girl,” he said again, aimed at calming his own nerves rather than those of this angry creature.

  Peering over a ledge at the enormous beast, he whispered to himself, “You, sir, are crazier than the Empress...”

  The dragon beast snapped its head toward Laboolaron, barely visible to the creature, yet with instinctual prowess, the Boreshog began drawing in a large breath and with its exhale, ignited a fiery blast furnace.

  Laboolaron made the ledge just before the flames reached him. Holding the metal rod, he squeezed the device creating the blue-colored shielding. The Boreshog flames shot at the warrior, the shield keeping him from being consumed by the fire. Flames lapped around the edge of the shield, heating the metal handle in his hand.

  Running out of air, the beast raised its head high into the air and screeched her dissatisfaction. This pause allowed Laboolaron to leap up to his feet, holding the shield in front and his sword at the ready, he waited for the creature to ignite more of its breath.

  “Easy...that’s right,” he calmly spoke to the creature as if it could understand his every word, “If Empress Danielle can tame you, so shall I...”

  The creature ceased its cry and began to draw more breath in, and then paused at his words.

  “What’s the matter, she beast?” Laboolaron continued to speak as he slowly and methodically made his way closer to the creature. “Did I get your attention?”

  The female Boreshog once more ignited its breath, aiming at the small warrior. Laboolaron braced himself against the blazing heat once again as the Antarian dragon blew her essence at him.

  The heat blasted at the shield, which kept the intense fire from him. But the heat continued to build to where he could barely hold the shield rod. As suddenly as they had begun, the flames subsided once more as the creature drew in another breath.

  Counting off in his head, he calculated he had about twenty seconds before the next blast fell upon him. He swung his sword at the creature, causing it to back away against the chains. Then he raised the sword with one hand over his head and with a downward arc, slashed the chain holding its right talon sending metal fragments of the broken links into the air.

  The angry beast roared, now seeing one of its limbs freed by the warrior. With the next blast of fire from the beast, Laboolaron’s shield began to fail. He tossed the now useless rod from his hand as he dove to the ground with a roll to his left and with another swipe of his blade, cutting through the next chain.

  The animal swiped at the moving warrior, missing him by inches, he knew this was his last chance to get close enough.

  Dumakas rose from his seat and came to his balcony edge, “What is he doing?”

  “My Lord, he’s freeing the creature!”

  Dumakas cupped his hands over his mouth to project his voice, “Laboolaron, it is not permitted to free the creature!”

  Laboolaron paid little attention to the Emperor, but quickly answered, “You said, ‘no rules,’ my Lord!”

  Laboolaron, again mentally counting down until the next blast that now would surly kill him, he leaped as high into the air and stabbed the creature on the cheek just under her left eye. Blood ran down his sword and he withdrew it as, he too, made for his retreat.

  Jumping over the high ground ledge, he held on to the rock face as the flames lapped just above his head. He held the blood stained sword and drew his tongue along the side of the blade, consuming what he could.

  Instantly, his pupils dilated and the energy began to flow through his veins. At the same time, the Boreshog’s lizard eyes widened in unison.

  The creature snuffed puffs of smoke and cinders from its nostrils, contemplating this familiar feeling the creature had once come to understand.

  Dumakas snarled at Laboolaron, “This is not tolerable! Fetch him from the arena and bring him before me!”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Ma’har obediently turned and headed to the large iron door to do his leader’s bidding.

  Laboolaron crawled back to his feet on the ledge and stared at th
e creature, now towering high above him, “There now,” he gently whispered, “That’s better now, isn’t it?”

  Dumakas roared his displeasure, “He has consumed the beast’s blood! It will not strike at him now!”

  Laboolaron turned to his Emperor peering down upon the arena, “Lord Dumakas! I shall not give you the satisfaction of killing this magnificent creature. You shall have to do this yourself!”

  With another arch of his sword, he cut through the larger right chain that held the breast’s muscular leg. Then he noticed Ma’har entering the arena with several warriors. He grabbed the broken chain and swiped at the last but missed.

  “Go now!” he commanded the creature, “Fly!”

  The creature extended its wings and began flapping. Once, then twice more and the creature rose from the high plateau but came the end of the final chain. The creature pulled and tugged as the warriors stormed the high ground. With each pull of the creature, the fastening grew weaker until it gave way sending the beast high into the air.

  Laboolaron wrapped the loose chain around his arm and held on tight. His arm jerked from being pulled into the air, causing him to drop his sword, the clattering noise sounded against the rocks below the high ground until it splashed into the water below.

  The Boreshog flapped its wings and flew over the coliseum crowd, blowing another rage of fire down upon the spectators, killing several that were in the creature’s path.

  Dumakas shook his angry fist in the air as he watched the Antarian dragon with Laboolaron in tow, fly from the arena toward the Valley of Trenches, “You have just signed your own death warrant, Laboolaron! You shall pay for this treason!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ________________________

  Earth Orbit

  The Excalibur

  ________________________

  Admiral Gilmore sat in a grey metal chair, behind a grey metal desk, his hands cuffed to the table in front of him. His head was down, as if he was inspecting the floor of the small room he had been brought to twenty minutes earlier.

  The hatch to the room clanked as the security chief opened it and stepped aside. Race Jennings stepped over the hatch coaming and instructed the officer to close the door behind, which he obliged making the room echo from the slamming door.

  The two could each feel the others distaste of one another as Race stood with his arms resting behind his back. The room fell silent after the door clanking echoes ceased, only the buzz of the fluorescent light fixtures could be heard. After several painful moments Admiral Gilmore fixed his gaze on Colonel Jennings, “So nice of you to drop in on me, eh, Colonel Jennings?”

  “Patrick Gilmore!” Race exclaimed, rubbing his chin, “Thought I’d never be on this side of the table, staring at your sorry ass.”

  “You’re pretty proud of yourself for that, aren’t you, Colonel? Oh, and remembering ranks, if memory serves, Colonel, you should address me as Admiral Gilmore.”

  Race slowly pulled the second chair out from behind the table, turned it around and planted the chair firmly on the floor with the chair’s back facing Gilmore. He settled down, straddling the seat. Race leaned his face close enough to Gilmore’s that he could feel his breath, “Not anymore you’re not!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Colonel?”

  Race reached up to Gilmore’s left shoulder and plucked the two stars from his lapel and then repeated the exercise on his right side, “You’re no longer an Admiral, Patrick Gilmore. You’ve been stripped of your ranks and are facing court-martial! How does that sound, Patty?”

  “I’m not amused, you coke-sniffing, bang any prostitute, sorry excuse to wear any uniform, puke!”

  “Patrick,” Race said, leaning back slightly and placing one hand on his heart, “You flatter me, that was over ten years ago. ‘Sides, I already said I’d gladly piss into a cup to prove that I’m clean as a whistle.”

  “You’re enjoying this all too much, Race! When I get outta here, I’m goin’ ta ensure your rank is stripped and you spend a nice long life behind prison bars. We’ll see how squeaky clean you are then, won’t we?”

  “Na, that bar of soap on the showers’ floor gonna have your name written all over it. Patty.”

  Patrick Gilmore squirmed in his seat slightly, knowing all too well that he was, indeed, on the wrong side of the table, “Whattya want, Race? Can I call you Race?”

  “Sure, Pat, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “You’re here for something, so how’s about spillin’ it so I can get back to more important things?”

  “Like scrubbing toilets?”

  “Very funny, Race.”

  “No seriously, Patrick, I’ll even buy you a brand new toothbrush if that’ll help at all.”

  “Nice,” Gilmore smirked, “Real nice...now can we get to the reason for your visit?”

  “Oh that! Yes, as a matter of fact, we shall.” Race stood once again and paced in front of the hand-cuffed Gilmore, putting on his best poker face, “It’s about your ship’s logs.”

  “What about them?” Gilmore leaned forward at Race’s words.

  “Oh, I think you already know what I’m referring to.”

  “Humor me then, Race.”

  Race slammed his palms on the table, scooting it a bit closer to Gilmore, and then he leaned in close, until the two men’s faces were just a few millimeters apart, “I’m not playing here! Either you tell me what I want to know, or...”

  “Or what, Colonel?” Gilmore sneered in Race’s face, “You gonna hit me too?”

  “Pat, the logs of the Agamemnon, before it was stolen out from under your very own nose, while you conducted unauthorized torture of enemy prisoners, those log entries that verified every enemy ship was destroyed that reached our system; ring any bells now, Admiral?”

  “HA!” Gilmore shot in return, “So you do still consider me an Admiral, eh?”

  “Not funny, Gilmore! Now listen up! You come clean regarding those enemy warships all being destroyed and I’ll see to it the JG goes as lenient as possible at your court-martial.”

  Gilmore turned his face away from Race’s in silence.

  Race grabbed Gilmore’s jaw and spun him back around, “Listen, Pat, you and I. Well, I know we’ve never gotten along, and I know you hate my guts. But you have to know that no matter how much you hate me and my ugly mug being in your face right now, we both, deep down, want the same thing...”

  “...I doubt that, Colonel...”

  “...the destruction of our enemy.”

  Gilmore remained quiet after his unsuccessful attempt at interrupting. The buzz from the overhead lights was once again all that they heard.

  “Yes, Colonel,” Gilmore again broke silence, “That’s exactly what I was doing and it landed me here, Colonel; I was saving humanity!”

  “By killing our own men?”

  “It is what we both want, Colonel.”

  “You sure have a scary way of showing it.”

  “I have my own protocols, you have yours, but I do want to eliminate this enemy threat.”

  “If that’s true, Pat, then tell me about the one that got away? How about it, hmmm?” Race finished, staring Gilmore in his eyes.

  ~

  Race rushed into the CSC of the Excalibur, “Captain Rollins, good to see you again, my man, and if you don’t mind giving my posse a lift?”

  “Any time, Colonel,” Captain Rollins answered with a wave of his hand, “My ship is, after all, your ship, Sir.”

  Race returned a smile, “Very well, Captain, but she’s all yours now.”

  “Thank you, Sir, and I’ll take great care of her, Sir.”

  “I know you will, Captain,” Race turned to the helm and navigation stations, “Helm, prepare to leave orbit. I’ll be relaying coordinates to you in a moment,” Race continued heading to his place at the pit and secured himself to the auto-restraint system, “Fulton, send word to Admiral Fitz that I got what we needed and we are heading out.”

  �
�Aye, Sir,” Lieutenant Fulton confirmed, “Message to the Rock is sent, Sir. They ask if you require their assistance.”

  “Tell them I’d be happy to have them tag along,” Race input the coordinates that the former Admiral provided, “Helm, you should have your coordinates now.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Lieutenant Russell acknowledged, “We’re going to the asteroid belt, Sir?”

  “That’s right helmsman,” was his only answer.

  “Sir, the Rock is requesting the jump coordinates.”

  “Lieutenant Fulton, transmit our coordinates to the Rock. Lieutenant Bradley; prepare for possible hostiles at this location, bring the ship on full alert status and start the jump clock.”

  “Sir, the Rock has formed up on us and is ready to commence their jump sequence,” Lieutenant Fulton reported.

  “Lieutenant Russell, sync their jump clock to ours and stand by.”

  “Aye, Sir,” the ship’s tactical officer nodded, “jump drive computers are synced and ready, Sir. Alert status is set to condition two, and standing by, Sir.”

  “Captain,” Race smiled over to Rollins, “You give the command when ready.”

  “Thank you, Sir,” Captain Rollins feeling a sense of pride and ownership as he held his hand in the air, and then with a wave gave the command, “Jump the ship!”

  Both Rocinante and the Excalibur slipped silently across the fabric of space and settled into their programmed coordinates.

  “Perimeter alert!” Lieutenant Russell exclaimed.

  “Hostiles report!” Captain Rollins shouted.

  “So far, we’re negative on hostiles, Sir, but we have several flying rocks coming at us within this asteroid field.”

  “Open a channel to the Rock!”

  “This is Admiral Fitz,” the radio crackled, “make sure you compensate your inertial dampeners and keep your shields at maximum in case we do have a stray rock hit us.”