T'nari Blood Claim Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  T'nari Renegades—Pleiadian Cycle Chronology

  Dedication

  T'nari Blood Claim

  Author's Note

  Reviews and Testimonials, Mailing List, Connect with the Author Online

  Other Publications by This Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Erin MacMichael

  T’nari Blood Claim is a short work of fiction. Names, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination.

  Published by Reality Raiders Press. http://realityraiders.com/

  All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  By Erin MacMichael

  Reality Raiders Press

  T’NARI RENEGADES—PLEIADIAN CYCLE

  To Steal a Moon (Prequel Novella)

  Descent of the Maw (Prequel Novel)

  Flare Shifter (Prequel Novella)

  T’nari Blood Claim (Short Story)

  Blood of the Prime (Book I)

  For the Terran T’nari

  You know who you are

  T’NARI BLOOD CLAIM

  By Erin MacMichael

  The shrieking sounds from the arena echoed down the dank tunnel. Azhiedal T’mirurok sat with his back to the cold, stone wall of his filthy cell, staring at the iron bars in front of him. The peculiar, acrid smell of reptilian skin permeated the air, mixed with the cloying odors of blood, feces, and urine. It took all his years of strict discipline to keep his body under control and maintain his outward composure. Personal pride was all he had left.

  Azhiedal closed his eyes and blew out a silent breath. Even in this dark, stinking hole, he could still see the searing flash of explosions as he watched his fleet crumble under the onslaught of invading Drahkian warships. For eight long months he had led the combined fleet of the Denáran system against the superior forces of the Drahkian Empire, a curse which was spreading outward from the Draco Expanse like a nightmarish plague.

  He still didn’t understand why the reptiles had set their sights on Denár. Aydin and the other three inhabited planets of the solitary star system in the outer reaches of the Capellan Belt were not particularly wealthy and carried a long history of spiritual introspection and mystical training that stretched back countless millennia to the original progenitors.

  The admiral’s mouth twisted in disgust. Conquest for the sake of conquest—there was simply nothing else he could conclude. The sadistic reptilian hordes fed off of the terror of other races. They were vicious, blind, and thick, with no values, conscience, or any shred of empathy. There was no reasoning with them—he had tried, but had hit a stone wall of arrogance and contempt from Dura, the commander of the warband that had assaulted Denár.

  A blood curdling scream tore down the tunnel, jarring Azhiedal’s thoughts with yet another chilling reminder that he had been brought here to die. After forcing Denáran capitulation over Aydin three days prior, Dura had sent the admiral as a war prize to Overlord Bálok on Bahár in the Perseun Cluster where the vanquished leader had been unceremoniously ushered into the bowels of the capital city’s great Colosseum to await his fate.

  Azhiedal’s head rocked back against the wall as a wave of despair washed over him. He was here in this black pit, waiting for a brutal death, while Dura’s soldiers and ravenous saurs swarmed over the conquered Denáran worlds. He never dreamed he would leave this life alone and defeated on some far-off, alien world as nothing more than a momentary spectacle for bloodthirsty beasts who called themselves men. Ah, Yalina, my love, I should be with you!

  A roaring swell of voices reverberated down the tunnel, followed by the rasping hoots of a victorious fighter. At the sound of approaching boots, Azhiedal cracked open his eyes just as three armed, crested, lizard-like reptilians in sleeveless, dark green garb stopped in front of his cell and peered down at him between the bars.

  “This is the one,” the Drahk at the front grated in Mothertongue.

  The two guards behind him exchanged a few words in their harsh, guttural language, bringing a low laugh from the officer in charge. “He’s an admiral from somewhere. On your feet,” the man ordered with a loud kick to the iron door. “You’re up next. Last fight of the day.”

  With a silent sigh, Azhiedal slowly pushed himself up from the floor and stood facing the taller reptilians with a blank look.

  “He’s big enough, for a human. Good muscle tone. But he’d better know how to fight or there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “No shit.” The officer’s amber eyes narrowed in the dim light as he studied the brawny human with shoulder-length, white-blond hair. “For some reason, you’ve been selected to face Overlord Bálok himself.” When Azhiedal’s countenance remained stony, the man sneered and raised his voice. “It’s a great privilege, human. Do you understand what this means?”

  “What do you want me to say,” the admiral responded flatly, “that I’m impressed?”

  The Drahk lunged at the iron door with a loud snarl and grabbed the bars in anger. “Lord Bálok is the best fighter in the Empire! It’s our duty to provide him with a worthy opponent or at least a satisfying kill, so you’d better look alive when you get out there, small man! The Emperor himself is here and will be watching your match.”

  With a disgusted huff, the officer let go of the bars and spoke to the guard on his left. “Go tell them he’ll be out in a few minutes. Kor, get the blades—the new ones made for Lord Bálok’s fight.”

  “Yes, Captain Perón.”

  As the guards hurried off to do his bidding, the Drahk turned away and placed his hands on his hips, addressing Azhiedal without looking at him. “Strip down and make yourself ready.”

  The admiral slipped out of his jacket and folded it reverently, carefully setting it down on the floor beside him. Unbuttoning his shirt, he methodically divested himself of his remaining garments, using the familiar ritual to clear his mind and let go of his rank, his identity, the last vestiges of regret for not being able to save Denár from a horrific future.

  As he laid his shoes on top of the neat pile of clothing, Azhiedal’s glance fell to the faint sigils on the backs of his hands. Touching a fingertip to the light tracery of tattoos from his long years under Master Zhenchin’s tutelage, he skimmed over the delicate lines covering his forearm, sending a soft tingling into the near-invisible network running all over his body.

  Little use here, he thought bleakly. He’d simply be shot, or worse, if he dared to use his abilities to bring down a Drahkian opponent, especially the lauded overlord, and it would only prolong the inevitable. At this point, his best option was to marshal enough of his early sparring skills to force the reptile into killing him swiftly.

  Azhiedal dropped his hands and rose as the captain turned a key in the heavy lock and swung the bars open. The amber eyes burned into him through narrowed lids, the Drahk’s disgust and ire radiating palpably as Azhiedal stepped forward into the poorly lit stone tunnel.

  “The floor is clear. Send him out!” came a shout from the direction of the arena just as the second guard returned carrying two shiny daggers which he held out toward Azhiedal.

  “You’ll need these,” he scoffed with what could have passed for a smirk across his rough features.

  The admiral took the blades, shifting one into each hand and tested them for weight. The weapons were surprisingly graceful and well balanced, the razor-sharp edges tapering into elegantly curved tips.

  Captain Perón shoved past him without a glance and started down the hall toward the noise of the arena. “Let’s go.”

  With the guard falling in behind h
im, Azhiedal held the blades loosely as he walked past the rows of empty cells. He had yet to see any of the captives return from their treks into the arena and could only assume that their mangled carcasses were hauled off and disposed of elsewhere.

  The chaotic rumble of voices rose in pitch as Perón appeared at the tunnel entrance and stepped to the side, motioning the Denáran forward into the bright sunlight. For several heartbeats, Azhiedal’s vision wavered under the onslaught of too much light, but he managed to keep the momentary discomfort from showing as he blindly walked past the Drahk and felt the cool stone beneath his feet give way to hot, packed dirt.

  “He’s going to spread you all over that field,” the captain sneered in a low voice before it was drowned out by a sudden swell of cacophonous chatter.

  Azhiedal blinked several times to clear his sight and a jolt ran through his flesh the moment he lifted his gaze into the heights of the enormous Colosseum. Tens of thousands of cold reptilian eyes bore down on him while the thunder of venomous jeering slammed into his senses like a runaway avalanche.

  Taking firm hold of his will, the admiral quashed the flash of panic that gripped his solar plexus, quickly dispelling the fear before it could take hold. I will not feed them, he iterated several times as he walked slowly across the floor, using every step to pull himself inward to a place of calm, detached focus. He came to a halt at the center of one end of the huge oval floor and let out a slow breath, releasing the last vestiges of tension in his limbs and grounding his energy into the solid earth beneath his feet. He was ready. He could carry out what he needed to do and be at peace within himself, grateful, at the very least, that Yalina wasn’t here to watch him die.

  Abruptly shifting their attention away from the lone human below, the crowds began to howl, shouting in hungry anticipation of their lord’s appearance out of the wide tunnel at the far end of the floor. Azhiedal watched the entrance dispassionately until a sleek figure emerged from the darkened depths and ambled out into the sunlight.

  The clamor escalated to fever pitch as the Overlord of the Perseun Cluster sauntered lazily to the center of the opposite end where he stopped and tipped his head back, drinking in the frenzied bloodlust of the masses of spectators. He’s really getting off on this, Azhiedal reflected as he took in his enormous opponent, unexpectedly taken aback by the overlord’s size. Bálok was the biggest bloody reptile he had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. Clad in nothing but ornate gold bands on his thick upper arms, the overlord’s greenish-gray, finely pebbled skin covered a heavily muscled frame which loomed a good nine feet—at least two, if not three, heads taller than he was.

  The Drahk’s canary yellow eyes opened and came to rest on Azhiedal’s form, studying him casually before he smiled, revealing rows of shiny, sharp teeth. Taking his time, Bálok walked forward, sizing up his opponent with a wry, calculating grin.

  “Your name,” the overlord demanded in Mothertongue as he came to a stop about ten feet away, close enough to be heard above the noise of the throngs.

  “Azhiedal T’mirurok.”

  “Starship Admiral from Denár,” Bálok acknowledged.

  Azhiedal tipped his head with the barest of nods, holding the reptile’s gaze with steady calm.

  “Your fleet fought well,” the reptile continued in a deep, rasping voice. “My commander lost twelve ships in the months it took to bring you down. A pity you lost so many more.”

  The admiral stared back into the round, glassy eyes, refusing to rise to the obvious taunt.

  The Drahk watched him for several long moments with silent consideration. “Where are you, Azhiedal T’mirurok?” he muttered softly, barely audible above the din surrounding them on all sides. “Are you already dead? What are you willing to fight for? I can grant you your heart’s desire.”

  Without moving a muscle, the admiral stood his ground. What could the bastard possibly be scheming?

  Bálok cocked his head to the side and regarded the smaller man through narrowed slits. “If you draw blood from me three times, human, I’ll grant you and the Denáran worlds freedom for one Baháran year. All troops withdrawn.”

  A ripple of shock ran up Azhiedal’s spine. The shrewd reptile was trying to bribe him using the only thing he valued—a surcease of Drahkian horror for the millions of people back home. A feather could have knocked him to the ground.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  The ruckus from the stands grew louder and more insistent, calling for the fight to commence. Unconcerned with the demands of his audience, Bálok measured his opponent with a sidelong look, weighing his words before he spoke.

  “Your system is already mine,” he observed. “Your people have already tasted fear under my rule. By releasing your worlds for a short time, their fear of me will grow by the day, so when I return to take you again, their terror will be that much deeper. And it will give my commander the renewed challenge of conquering Denár all over again. I have to keep him occupied.”

  Azhiedal’s mouth twisted into a slight frown. Fucking prick! We’re just one more conquest in his bored little world! But in spite of his outrage, he reluctantly recognized that it was a chance—the only chance he had in the cunning overlord’s game. The reptile had him neatly pinned in a corner he couldn’t escape.

  “If I strike you three times, you would truly deny … them … the kill they’re screaming for?” he asked skeptically, flicking one of the daggers in the direction of the raging throng.

  “Ohhoho, I fully intend to kill you,” Bálok preened, “in the bloodiest way possible.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “You’ll have to be damned good and determined to get anywhere close to me.”

  The admiral narrowed his eyes as he considered the Drahk’s proposition. I can do this. He has no idea what he’s up against. But will he honor his word or is he just fucking with me to get what he wants?

  As if reading his thoughts, Bálok chuckled softly, gloating over his opponent’s quandary. “If you succeed, you’ll get your reward. I play for myself, human. You give me a good fight and I assure you I’ll let you go in order to hunt you again in Denár. I’ll even come after you myself to finish off our game.” With a wave of his hand, the overlord casually indicated the screeching masses in the stands. “I’ve already gotten what I want from this crowd. There will be no excitement for me in killing you now unless you fight like you believe you have a chance to win the bargain. Then when I rip out your heart, you’ll know that you’ve lost not only your own life, but a year’s respite for your people from me.”

  The admiral glanced up at the thousands of Drahks clamoring for his death before turning his attention back to their jaded leader. “And if I kill you?”

  Bálok’s eyes rolled back in his head and a deep shudder convulsed his huge body. “Yeesss!! Fight to take my life and I’ll reward your strikes with two years of freedom. If you kill me ... oh god, no one has threatened me in so long ... Azhiedal T’mirurok, if you take my life, I’ll call in a blood debt to ensure your safety. Mashúl!”

  The overlord motioned wildly for one of his subordinates to approach them on the field, all the while watching the human across from him with bright, luminous intensity. “I want you to relay a message to Emperor Izar in his private chambers. Tell him that if I fall on this field, I want Denár assured complete and absolute freedom. Remind him that he owes me from Tashek’s tournament. And Mashúl, keep your distance from the Emperor when you speak. Go!”

  Azhiedal watched the Drahk scurry from the field and returned his gaze to Bálok. Apparently the reptile fully intended to make good on his promise, or at least was making a great show of it to lure him into the fight. The admiral had no choice but to grab the opportunity laid out for him and do everything in his power to bring about the outcome he so desperately craved.

  Reading Azhiedal’s acquiescence, laughter rumbled low in Bálok’s throat and he began a slow circle around the smaller man, measuring his weight and muscle st
ructure. The yells of the frenzied crowd spiked once more when they saw their lord move at long last into the initial stages of the fight. Azhiedal stood stock still, loosely cradling the daggers in his hands while the Drahk made his assessment, vigilant and ready to move in the event of an unexpected attack.

  As the overlord completed his circle, a shift in the sounds of the crowd brought Azhiedal’s attention up to a high balcony overlooking the field where Emperor Izar’s tall form stepped out of the shadows, nodded once, and disappeared again into the private chamber behind the balcony.

  “Good,” Bálok murmured, his eyes narrowing on his adversary. “Is that enough for you, human?”

  Without bothering to reply, Azhiedal closed his eyes and lifted his hands, gripping the daggers with his thumbs while touching his fingertips together to activate his subtle field. I’ll give him what he thinks he wants, but it’ll be far more than he bargained for.

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he sounded the chord in his mind which he would use to shift the frequency of his cells and in a low voice, intoned the spoken syllables required to set the energetic pattern into motion.

  “Chaa — ko — rei — SHIN!” With two fingers, he brushed the spiral on the back of his left hand and sent a current shooting up his arm, bringing the sigils along its path to life. Within seconds, the faint network of tattoos covering his body emitted a soft, barely perceptible, bluish glow. Grasping the daggers firmly in both hands, the admiral opened his eyes and moved into a ready fighting stance.

  In the next instant, Bálok flew across the space between them with his left leg extended for a hard strike.

  For Denár—dji TUNG!

  The enormous flying reptile seemed to shift into slow motion in mid-air as Azhiedal thrust his body into a higher vibrational level, dancing around and away from the assault with ease before staking out a new position and gearing himself back down to his normal state. With arms and daggers stretched out in front of him, he watched Bálok finish his lightning quick kick across the space he had just occupied and lightly touch down in a graceful landing.