To Steal a Moon Page 5

  The announcer went on calling out names, pausing after each to allow for the crowd’s response. Ukúr, Daga, and Nakkár had come through their matches unscathed, bringing rowdy cheering from their supporters, and as Zan, Tivas, and Ushak’s names were announced, Shahr and the large Altain section stood and shouted boisterously.

  When it was his turn, Bálok stepped out in front of his guards to arena-wide yells and applause as well as wild hoots from Zirik and the entire Eltanin section. And of course, the moment Izar’s name rang out, a tumultuous roar went up throughout the arena as he leapt forward with both fists in the air, grinning like a demon and turning full circle to yell up at the raving masses in all corners of the stadium.

  While Izar flounced and flaunted, Bálok lifted his gaze across the arena to the Emperor’s box. Tashek was not a happy man. Izar was winning and, so far, only two fighters had been killed, both at Goran hands. Watching the Rastabanian with a sour look of loathing, Tashek leaned over the arm of his chair toward Ulgeb to mutter a few words before motioning to a uniformed servant and issuing curt orders.

  After the noise died down, the announcer called forward the ten fighters who had each won four matches and the floor was readied for a sixth playoff round to fill the last five positions open for tomorrow’s games. The somber Lord of Tyl was among the contestants and made surprisingly quick, decisive work of his opponent, clinching a place for himself in the semi-finals.

  “Damn, I thought we might actually be rid of him,” Bálok muttered, exchanging a look with Jimat as Majah strutted back to the sidelines with an arrogant smirk on his face.

  “No such luck, Lord,” Jimat murmured with a shake of his head.

  The final horn sounded, signaling the end of a very long day. As bands of fighters and armed soldiers flooded across the floor toward the tunnel exit to the palace quarters, Bálok held up his hand to his party. “We’ll wait,” he said quietly.

  Shifting his eyes over the throngs of spectators headed for the exists, he saw that the hostages had already been ushered out of sight and that his Eltanin officers under Zirik’s supervision were quietly clearing their section, making their way up the aisles and heading out to their accommodations for the night. To his right, Izar stood speaking with Tirgal who was leaning forward on the rail while Saryn waited patiently next to her husband in the middle of Izar’s alert bodyguard. She had been watching him again, but dropped her eyes to the floor the instant he looked in her direction.

  With a silent exhale, Bálok walked forward a couple of paces, searching out the party in maroon clustered at the far end of the arena. Eo must have jumped down to the floor to join his brother as there appeared to be two white-tipped crests nodding in conversation in the center of the group. For a moment, Bálok’s chest tightened at being in such close proximity to his one-time abuser, but his thoughts were waylaid by the sudden soft whine of a hand weapon off to his left and a burst of shocked, hostile shouts.

  Instinctively Bálok dropped back behind his Eltanin guardsmen who flipped out their weapons, stepping quickly to surround him as he scanned the throng near the tunnel for any indication of what was happening.

  The crowd pulled away from a group of tense guards in khaki defending a bleeding fighter on the ground, their weapons drawn and pointed outward, frantically searching the faces around them while one of them crouched over the downed man.

  “Lord Shahr!!” the officer screeched repeatedly until an answering bellow came from the large nobleman in the middle of a host of spectators still up in the stands.

  Bálok realized instantly that the man on the ground was Zan and his eyes flew toward the flood of men retreating down the tunnel where he glimpsed the unmistakable odd jerk of a very familiar Goran head.

  “That bastard,” he swore angrily as the Lord of Altais stormed past in a whirlwind of rage to get to his son. Bálok swung his head back around and caught Izar’s penetrating green eyes for an instant before the Rastabanian ordered his weapon-ready party to move toward the airfield exit of the arena in the direction of their shuttles. Eo and his brother were nowhere in sight.

  “Alright, get us back to our quarters, Jimat,” Bálok commanded stiffly.

  Taking the lead, the captain walked cautiously toward the tunnel, choosing a course which would put plenty of space between their party and the nervous soldiers around Zan. As they came closer to the Altain group, Bálok could see that Shahr was kneeling next to the body of his lifeless son and had placed his hand over the bloody wound in Zan’s back, his head bent low.

  Bálok stopped and signaled a halt. “Hold,” he ordered softly as he stepped between two of his guards and faced the wary party.

  “Lord Shahr,” he called in a muted tone.

  The Altain leader lifted his head slightly at the sound of Bálok’s voice but did not look up.

  “It was Majah,” Bálok declared with loathing, even though everyone in the Altain party most certainly had already assumed as much.

  Shahr nodded and began to tremble. When he finally looked up, his amber eyes were full of fury.

  Bálok tipped his head in acknowledgment and directed his group to move on.

  The hallway and tunnel vibrated with noise from sparse groupings of Ka’s who watched them with a mixture of respect and unease as they passed. When they reached the corridor of the wing where they were quartered, a purple-coated Ka stood waiting with his head lowered outside the door of their suite. Jimat punched in the access code and Bálok motioned for the imperial messenger to follow them into the front room. After the door was closed, he turned to permit the man to approach.

  “Lord Bálok,” the messenger began with a formal bow. “The Emperor wishes to convey to all of the distinguished competitors in his games that he is now offering five hundred thousand weights in gold for any fighter who—” The man stopped and swallowed before finishing the Emperor’s edict. “—who takes down the Lord of Rastaban in the arena.”

  “Anything else?” Bálok inquired flatly.

  The Ka gulped and shook his head rapidly, apparently quite uncomfortable with the content of his orders.

  “Dismissed.”

  The moment the door closed behind the fleeing messenger, Bálok pivoted and let out a loud growl of irritation in a rare display of emotion. “Holy fuck—does everyone have a stinking agenda? Be ready to hunt in three hours after the sun goes down. We need to feed and I have an agenda of my own. Full gear—we hunt a man.”

  With an annoyed exhale, he stalked off to his private rooms and slammed the door.

  The Eltanin party passed through heavy iron gates leading to the edge of the Emperor’s forested lands bordering the palace grounds, each decked out in black, unmarked clothing, high-powered, lightweight night visors with headsets and sensors, long-range disruptor rifles, pistols, and blades.

  Throughout the long day of games, Bálok had had plenty of time to ponder the most likely place he’d find Eo during the night. The Emperor was providing a wide array of entertainment for his voracious guests within the palace as well as those housed in the high-rise complexes outside the arena—extensive rooms for carnal pleasures, feasting, bleedings, bizarre rituals, gambling, non-reptilian fights, and hunting. It was a gamble, but his instincts and all-too-intimate experience with his adversary told him he’d find the murderous bastard where the peaks of adrenaline and gore would be the highest—in the depths of the Emperor’s Forest.

  The massive moon destroyer hung in its orbit high overhead, strategically positioned to be large and full over Kish during the nights the off-world nobility was in residence. It was bright out in the open, but in amongst the thick, gnarled trunks of the ancient trees, only a scant amount of light would filter down through the broad canopy, making movement difficult for prey and demanding for hunters.

  To one side of the gate in the shadow of the twenty-five foot outer wall was a row of pens holding all kinds of prey, and on the other side stood cages for the enormous trained saur beasts used for tracking and trauma
tizing. Imperial soldiers and a number of liveried Ka Drahks waited outside a lighted guardhouse beside the gate issuing orders as needed to several dozen Torgs, the short, stocky reptilian men bred to handle the vicious saurs.

  Jimat waved to one of the Ka supervisors on duty who hurried over to see to their needs. “How may we serve you, Lords?” the man asked with a deep bow.

  “Tell me what you have,” Bálok ordered, pointing down the row of saur cages.

  “We have many fine specimens, Lord—large and small upright raptors, armored or horned ground runners, silent or loud, sleek or heavy—all extremely quick.”

  “Standard commands?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Bring two of your best ground runners out for me to see.”

  “Right away, Lord.” With a quick signal, the Ka sent two Torgs off down the row of cages to retrieve requested the beasts. “Do you wish for a handler to accompany your party?”

  “No. If the saurs are well trained, we’ll handle the one we take. Prey?”

  “Many varieties—reptilian, human, canine, feline, bird, clothed or unclothed, both genders, all ages. The recommended lead time varies for each kind.”

  “I don’t want to wait. What’s already out there?”

  “We’ve had dozens of releases this evening since sundown, Lord. There should be an abundance of children and unclothed females of all types, even if some did not survive.”

  Bálok gave a short nod of approval. “The forest?”

  The Ka took a few steps out in front of the party so he could point in the general direction of features as he spoke. “The perimeter wall encloses twenty square miles of old forest. Straight ahead, the primary road snakes into the heart of the forest and has many offshoots—find any one of them if you need to get back here quickly. Off to the north lie several small lakes and marshes. Straight east is a ridge covered with rocky outcroppings and dotted with caves. To the south, the trees are thinner, but the open areas are full of brambles and scrub. Throughout the grounds you’ll find the remains of buildings, a few holding pens, scattered nets and pits, so watch your step. You may find prey already snagged in some of the traps.”

  The muffled sound of padding feet came from the right as a tan ground runner with spiky armored plating, and a sleek, frilled, dark-skinned runner, both twelve to thirteen feet high at the shoulder, were led toward them on long chains by Torg keepers. Bálok motioned to one of his officers. “Rico, check them out and choose the one that obeys you flawlessly.”

  Turning back to the grounds supervisor, he asked, “How many parties have gone out?”

  “At the moment, fourteen, Lord, thirteen with saurs.”

  Bálok grunted at that bit of information. The party without a saur was either highly skilled and well equipped, or not interested in the usual prey. “Describe the men who went out.”

  The man dipped his head and kept his eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry, Lord, no one is wearing house badges and it’s difficult to see any kind of skin color or features in such poor light.”

  He gave a quick look to Jimat who handed the supervisor several pieces of gold.

  “See if you can remember,” Bálok added smoothly.

  “Uh, why yes, Lord,” the man hurried to explain. “About thirty, thirty-five Goran nobles left about an hour ago—I think they split up into smaller bands since they took out three raptors. Um, there were also a couple of small Ka groups with fancy equipment like yours, Lord,” he said with a glance at the Eltanins’ intricate visors.

  Bálok nodded to keep the man talking.

  “Let’s see, there were a dozen tan-skinned Ka’s with short, stiff crests who took out a huge raptor—you’ll probably hear it bugling from anywhere in the forest. A large party of purple-skinned nobles went out with a ground runner about twenty minutes ago. Hmm, oh yes, there was a trio of really tall Gorans who each took a saur by themselves—watch out for them, Lord, I think they were really messed up on something,” he finished with a worried frown. “Um, let’s see—”

  “Alright, good enough,” Bálok cut in. He had what he wanted.

  A loud bugle went up from the sleek saur to their right and was quickly cut short by a command from the Eltanin officer. The armored runner snorted and stamped, eager to be permitted to make noise as well. Rico pointed at the dark saur and called, “This one, Lord. It minds, even though it’s hungry.” He held out his hand for the Torg to transfer the animal’s heavy chain over to him and led the docile beast toward to the waiting Eltanin party.

  “Let’s go,” Bálok ordered and walked out into the trampled, moonlit field toward the inky black mass of shadow spreading as far as the eye could see in both directions.

  As the party neared the forest edge, the gaping maw of the open road leading into the dark trees became visible. Veering away from the exposure of the main track, Bálok came to a halt about fifty yards away to allow his men to flip on and adjust their synced headgear and ready their weapons. He twisted the small microphone down into place and fine-tuned the light levels of his view with the overlay reading of the party’s positions before unsheathing his blade.

  “We’ll feed first. Rico, run the saur silently until we find a sizable group. Head in toward the high ground so we can find a central vantage point, but stay clear of the main road and other hunting parties. Spread out, standard formation behind the saur. Keep your voices low.”

  The officer led the beast into the trees while the rest of the party fell into outside positions around Bálok and Jimat, moving as a unit across the dry ground which appeared to have been cleared of almost all underbrush.

  The forest was anything but quiet. Bálok’s headset amplified every little sound and he picked up the unmistakable throaty roaring of an enormous raptor attacking its victims not too far off ahead and to the right. The officer in the lead directed the runner away from the noise and the party ran in silence, moving further from the road as they penetrated the murky depths of the forest.

  The runner lifted its head in rigid attention just before the voices of a loud group of Drahks carried through the trees from somewhere off to the left.

  “Hold,” Bálok called softly. “Move out of sight.”

  The Eltanin hunters slid behind trunks while Rico drew the saur back and commanded it to lie down between the roots of a massive tree. A Goran party made its way along a well-worn track running in from the northern lake district and passed in front of them, leading a raptor in the direction of the main road. As soon as the rowdy noblemen disappeared into the trees, Bálok waved the group forward and they crossed the track without incident.

  The snuffling saur took the lead again and the party picked up speed as the beast lurched forward, pulling insistently on its chain, heading for a patch of faint light filtering through a portion of the trees in front of them.

  “There’s a clearing up ahead of us, Lord,” the officer reported.

  “Slow down and stay in the trees. Keep the saur quiet until we see what it’s found.”

  The tang of fresh blood reached Bálok’s nostrils as the light brightened between the trees.

  “Someone already fed up here, Lord, but the runner is watching something over on the other side of a small meadow about five hundred feet away.”

  “Stay where you are—we’re almost there.”

  “There’s something hanging up in one of the trees—looks like a heavy net with several people still in it.”

  “I see it,” Bálok responded as he and Jimat caught up and moved around the shifting tail of the saur. A number of torn bodies littered the ground beneath the dripping net and as he watched the hanging mass dangle several feet above their heads, he detected a slight twist and a pair of eyes looking down, followed by a surge of apprehension.

  “Shall I cut them down, Lord?” Jimat asked beside him.

  “No, leave it. We need more than they can give us. Let’s see what’s across the clearing.”

  Creeping forward and taking cover behind a large t
runk, Bálok scanned the far side of the wide meadow until he saw a flicker of movement and the profile of a small face behind one of the trees. He amplified the volume on his headset and picked up the soft sibilance of youthful voices whispering. As he watched the spot where he had seen the first face, two or three others came in and out of view behind the trees. In his peripheral vision, he caught several flashes of movement between the trunks along the far edge of the clearing.

  “Looks like a number of children are hiding across the meadow just inside the trees,” he whispered.

  “Sweet,” Jimat responded behind him.

  “They haven’t seen us yet. Half of you, circle around the clearing to the right and form a line. The rest of us will head left. Rico, keep the saur out of sight until my mark and then walk it through the meadow to shake them loose. Go.”

  Bálok took off back into the trees with Jimat to his side, falling in behind two of his men as they crept silently around the end of the glade in a wide arc. The tension of anticipation ran beneath his skin—the first rush of the draw was always exhilarating, especially when the prey was young and its terror pure and undiluted with anger or resignation.

  Once they reached the far side of the clearing, Bálok motioned for the group to spread out and form a loose line away from the open area. The hidden children had stopped whispering, clearly sensing a shadow of danger somewhere close by.

  The instant his readings indicated his party was in position on both flanks of the crouching quarry, Bálok gave the command. “Now!”

  A hungry, shrill cry pierced the air as the huge beast stepped out of the dark trees and into the bright light of the overhead moon with the tall form of the Eltanin officer walking calmly beside it. The initial wave of startled shock rolled out from the invisible youth, straight into Bálok’s flesh, sending a tingling ripple through his entire length.

  The beast stamped the ground and shrieked as it moved steadily across the open glade. Small heads darted around the trunks and, one by one, the children began tearing back through the trees away from the approaching lizard.