To Steal a Moon Read online

  “Keep them herded,” Bálok directed as the small scurrying bodies appeared between the two lines of Drahks. “We’ll let the saur drive them up toward the ridge.”

  “There must be at least fifteen of them,” Jimat added with a tremor of pleasure edging his voice.

  When the saur broke into the trees, the high-pitched shrieks and emanations of panic escalated as the children scattered in all directions and discovered the giant reptilians waiting for them in the dark. A pair of dog-headed girls shot out straight in front of Bálok and tore away again with horrified squeals the moment he lunged in their direction.

  The Eltanin party jogged ahead of the saur, keeping their netted quarry running in front of them until the gradual incline of the forest floor rose abruptly on the far side of a deserted road, forcing the children to shift course to avoid the steep grade.

  “Steer them to the left,” Bálok called out. “One of you, scout ahead and let me know where this leads.”

  “There’s a gap in the trees about a hundred yards away,” the officer in the lead reported. “It looks like a shallow gully, lots of rocks.”

  “Hold your position—we’ll drive them in there.”

  The frenzied children scrambled down the road until their path was blocked by the looming officer. The small bodies funneled in fright into the narrow space away from the road, clambering through the boulders, searching for any means of escape while the Eltanin hunters swept in behind them, sealing off the mouth of the gully.

  When Rico burst through with the saur, the hungry beast let out a triumphant bellow which rang off of the steep rock faces high above the heads of its trapped prey.

  “Let it feed!” Bálok shouted over the cacophony of cries.

  The instant the officer dropped the chain and issued the command, the dark beast bolted forward and snatched up the closest boy, snarling and shaking the thin body high over its head, breaking loose a torrent of screams and unadulterated terror from the children on the ground which flooded over the Eltanin party like a tidal wave. Bálok’s head fell back as the current ran through his flesh and electrified every cell in his body. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the sensations while they peaked and plateaued, bringing his mind and blood into a heightened state, charged and ready for the final hunt of the night.

  With a satisfied exhale, Bálok checked quickly through his men to make sure each had received enough sustenance to keep fit for the next Darbanian day or two. If necessary they could utilize the servants or captives in their quarters to generate nourishment, but he knew the tastes of his officers ran to a more invigorating harvest such as this.

  The piercing screams of the remaining children had given way to soft weeping while the saur finished its meal, but their anxious cries started up again when the beast raised its dark head and barked several times in their direction.

  “Call it off,” Bálok ordered, turning away from the cowering youth, ready to move on. He walked further down the road into the trees and waited until all of his men were assembled beside him. “Rico, take the saur back toward the gate and wait for us inside the forest out of sight. We’ll come and find you when we’re finished,” he instructed.

  “Yes, Lord.” With a single command, the officer led the now-docile beast off into the darkness.

  “Alright, listen up. Our target is the Gianfar hunting party. The two lords have dark skin, white-tipped crests. The one I want has a scarred right eye and is—brutal,” he added tersely. “I want him alive.”

  Walking back to the edge of the weed-encrusted track, he motioned to his left where it disappeared out of sight around the steep rocky hillside. “We’ll follow this until we can find a way to climb to get some perspective.”

  As the party traveled along the desolate track, the slope gradually eased, enough for the group to climb up and across the end of the ridge. The terrain was dotted with clusters of jutting boulders, making breaks in the canopy which allowed patches of moonlight to filter down into the trees.

  At the base of an enormous outcropping, Bálok brought the party to a stop. “Jimat, come with me,” he ordered, sheathing his knife and scrambling up around the backside of the rock to climb out onto the top of one of the boulders. A wide break in the canopy gave a sweeping view of the lake area at the bottom of the ridge and the vast expanse of Kish stretching to the horizon beyond the high outer wall of the forested grounds.

  “Listen and tell me what you hear,” he whispered, adjusting the volume of his headset up slightly as well as the magnification of his screens as Jimat settled in beside him.

  The captain paused, scanning across the moonlit canopy, concentrating on the faint sounds rising from the forest below. “It sounds like two saurs are fighting, back there, next to the broadest lake, Lord.”

  “Might be the ‘messed-up’ Gorans the groundsman mentioned—idiots,” Bálok grunted with disdain, shifting his attention to the areas closer to the ridge. “I’m picking up two different groups of wailing females, one not too far out from where we are, and one further away toward that small lake.”

  “Yes, and I thought I heard a runner trumpet a second ago between us and that same lake.”

  “I marked the bearings of both groups on my screen so everyone else’s should be synced in a second.”

  “Yep, they came through on mine.”

  “Alright, let’s get going.”

  Jumping down off the boulders, Bálok hurried to his waiting men, suddenly antsy to get to the hunting parties in the trees below. Pulling his rifle off his shoulder, he nodded, indicating that everyone else should do the same as he fired off quick orders.

  “You two, scout the coordinates I sent you for the party moving down the slope toward the lake. Let me know what you see and be ready to fall back in case the one we’ll be scoping is the Gianfar party. Go! The rest of you, form two wings to come in along both sides of the group just below. Move!”

  The Eltanin band tore down the slope, rifles ready, in silent pursuit of the unsuspecting group of hunters. The distant cries of a woman somewhere up ahead carried through the trees, followed by the squeal of a saur and husky male laughter.

  Bálok signaled the two wings to ease their approach as the voices grew louder. The party ahead was no longer moving and the woman’s cries became shrill and desperate. Creeping forward from tree to tree, the Eltanin guard quickly formed a wide noose around the attacking reptiles, tightening the circle until the hunting party came into view.

  A pair of Ka’s had the woman on the ground while eight others stood above them with a small light, laughing and watching. A small mottled raptor stood off to the side, busily filling its belly with its latest kill.

  With an audible sigh, Bálok whispered, “Skin’s too light—withdraw and regroup.”

  As silently as they had come, the Eltanin officers pulled back into the shadows away from the oblivious party. Bálok stalked off into the trees and Jimat ran to catch up with him. The moment they were well out of ear range, he looked at the captain and shook his head. “We could have mowed them down in seconds. If any of you were ever that sloppy, I’d be dead.”

  Jimat stiffened, his features taking on a haunted look behind the visor. “You got away from me once, Lord,” he replied with an odd hitch in his voice. “And it cost you—more than your wife and son. I never knew why you didn’t kill me for failing you.”

  Bálok stared into the familiar golden eyes of his captain. They had never spoken of the horror with Tiga and Bakir, and he was stunned to realize that Jimat carried such deep self-recrimination over it.

  “It was my fault, Jimat. I didn’t listen to you that day,” he said quietly. “We both paid the price.”

  The captain dropped his eyes and swallowed, nodding his head once.

  Two of their officers ran up to join them, but kept themselves back a pace with their eyes lowered having heard the exchange between their lord and captain.

  “When everyone’s back, we’ll join—”
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  “Lord, we have a problem!”

  The hushed, alarmed voice on the link belonged to one of the officers scouting the other hunting party.

  “Report,” Bálok ordered curtly as he checked his screen for the positions of the two distant officers. They were both in the vicinity of the area where he had calculated the earlier sound of hunting.

  “We spotted the rear guard of a large party of Ka’s moving down the slope,” the man whispered. “Dark skin.”

  Bálok’s pulse raced at the prospect of homing in on Eo. “And?”

  “We slipped further down and verified the white on two crests near the center of the party, but we had to pull back fast.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Someone else is already on their tail, Lord.”

  Bálok raised startled eyes to Jimat. “Shit! What did you see?”

  “Crested Ka’s with headgear and rifles running silently on both sides of the hunting party.”

  “Both of you, move around the stalkers and get ahead of them, but stay out of sight and keep your distance. We’re on our way!”

  With a wave of his hand, Bálok and his party took off at a run down the ridge. His short-lived elation at spotting Eo had given way to agitation at the thought of losing his prey to some unknown adversary. Apparently the Lords of Gianfar had mortally offended someone other than him.

  The high-pitched screams of a number of women floated across the link.

  “Report!” Bálok barked as he darted around trees and over twisted roots.

  “The group of females was herded into a shallow ravine by two of the riflemen who disappeared again, Lord. The big ground runner and the Gianfar hunting party just poured into the ravine behind them.”

  “What’s at the end of the ravine?”

  “I’ll check, Lord,” the other scout interjected. Several minutes later his voice came back through the link. “There’s a cluster of ruined buildings at the bottom—looks like it used to be a village on the shore of a small lake.”

  “Anyone down there?”

  “It looks deserted—no, wait. Something just moved between two of the buildings.”

  “They’re being set up,” Bálok flared. “Damn it! Does the hunting party have any idea anyone’s out there?”

  “They don’t seem to, Lord,” the first scout reported. “The guards around the noblemen are alert and watching, but the riflemen out in the trees move like shadows. We would never have seen them if we hadn’t come in from behind.”

  “Alright, pull back and sweep to make sure no one is waiting for us.”

  The sound of piercing screams drifted through the trees.

  “The hunting party just let the saur loose in the ravine, Lord,” the scout below relayed.

  “We’re coming in—are we clear?”

  “Yes, Lord. No sign of the riflemen.”

  Bálok slowed his men to a cautious crawl, creeping forward to take up positions behind trees above the ruined village. Off to the right, dark-skinned huntsmen fanned out from the mouth of the ravine in a wide arc, driving the shrieking women toward the broken walls of the outermost buildings.

  Bálok searched feverishly until he spotted the two white-tipped crests among a number of other dark figures with blades in their hands racing after the terrified females, scattering into the shadows of the crumbling houses. He noted carefully the points where the white crests disappeared into the ruins, marking the bearings on his screen just as hideous cries and snarls sliced through the air, mingling with the chaotic noise of the rest of the party chasing down the last women in the outskirts of the village.

  “Alright, we’ve got to move in fast. Jimat, take four with you, the rest come with me. Swing in from the left and head for the bearings I just sent. Shoot the guards and bring the two lords to me. Stay alert for hidden—”

  He snapped off his words when he heard the soft pulse of a rifle—a single shot, barely detectable above the frenetic mayhem in the village below. He shifted his eyes quickly to scan through the buildings, moving on to the dark trees beyond, watching for any sign of a retreating marksman. Nothing.

  “Damn it!” he whispered as deep-throated shouts broke out inside the village, followed by more shouts and an abrupt surcease of violence by the guards out in the periphery. Several bleeding women took the opportunity to scurry off into the dark forest while the members of the hunting party raised their weapons and ran toward the sound of invisible officers rapping out commands.

  “They’ll be combing the buildings for the shooter and sending scouts out through the forest any minute, Lord,” Jimat commented in a hushed voice.

  “I know. Can anyone see a road out of the village?”

  “Yes, Lord,” the officer furthest to his left replied. “It heads back off in the direction of the palace gate.”

  Angry voices shot up from the center of the buildings while the shadowy figures of guardsmen could be seen rushing through the ruins, searching for any sign of the sniper. The voices settled as the dark heads of the Gianfar party shifted to some point away from Bálok’s view.

  “They’re coming out onto the road now, Lord,” the officer reported. “Two soldiers are carrying a bleeding man between them.”

  “White crest?”

  “Yes, and the other lord is right behind him. Some of the guards are clustered tightly around them and it looks like more are sweeping both sides of the road.”

  “Do you want us to pursue them, Lord?” Jimat piped in. “We can easily take them all out.”

  Bálok let out a heavy sigh. “No. If the dead man is Eo, then that’s the end of it. But if it’s Ukúr—”

  He pushed away from the tree trunk and dropped his rifle to his side as a sudden thought struck him. “Ukúr was winning in the games. The Emperor will allow Eo to take his brother’s place in the semi-finals and I’ll have a chance to fight him in the tournament.”

  The glimmer of a smile spread across his face and he nodded to himself, unexpectedly gratified by the odd turn of events. “The fucking bastard is going to see my eyes when I rip the life out of him.”

  Swinging his rifle up onto his shoulder, Bálok turned away from the deserted ruins below.

  “We’re done here,” he said as he sauntered back up the slope into the blackness of the trees.

  Bálok paced in the wide hallway leading out onto the arena floor. Ukúr had not shown up with his Gianfar guards, leaving no further doubt about who had been murdered in the forest during the night. The thought of facing Eo in the ring made his heart race and he found it impossible to stand still for more than a few seconds at a time.

  The voice of the announcer echoed through the arena, calling the semi-finalists out to appear in front of the Emperor. As soon as he made it through the arched entrance, his eyes flew to the far end of the seating, searching for the section of Gianfar nobility. Eo was standing in the middle of his officers with a sour look on his face, as usual, watching for him.

  Keeping his own features a mask of stony indifference, Bálok stared at his adversary for several moments before shifting his eyes briefly to Saryn who was already in the stands next to Tirgal and then down to the airfield entrance where Izar and his band of bodyguards were just coming through.

  Apparently the peevish Emperor had not extended imperial hospitality to the intrusive Lord of Rastaban who was strolling in with as much aplomb as he had the day before. Under a fanfare of applause, Izar walked toward the group at the center of the floor with a smug grin, giving Bálok a sidelong look as he took his place among the semi-finalists beneath the Emperor’s box.

  The noise in the arena shifted to a drone of dismay as it became evident that there were fighters missing from the lineup. The announcer held up his hands for silence before raising his voice to speak.

  “The unfortunate demise of two of our semi-finalists has created openings in the lists for today’s games. Zan of Altais—”

  A rumble of enraged shouts erupted from the huge section of kha
ki-garbed spectators around Shahr whose voice thundered over the rest as he pointed down to the fighters on the floor. “You’re a dead man, Majah, you piece of shit! You’re dead—do you hear me?”

  The Lord of Tyl turned with an obscene gesture in the front row of fighters and spat vulgar threats back at Shahr. Bálok glanced up at Tashek’s lounging form to find a predictable smile on his withered face.

  “Lord Shahr,” the announcer called, “do you wish for another fighter to represent your house?”

  “No!” Shahr bellowed. “I’m not sacrificing another son to this farce!” The daunting nobleman crossed his arms and glared at the Emperor, daring him openly to make an issue out of his insult.

  Tashek frowned at the blatant insolence of the Lord of Altais, but waved his hand for the announcer to continue.

  “Ukúr of Gianfar is dead,” the booming voice rang out, bringing on another wave of noise in the stands. “Lord Eo, will you take your brother’s place to compete in the games?”

  Bálok turned his head as all eyes in the stadium focused on the new Lord of Gianfar. Eo’s gaze dropped to some point on the floor before he raised his head to address the Emperor.

  “I … decline, Your Majesty,” his rasping voice called tautly, causing a loud murmur of astonished reaction to cascade around the sea of spectators.

  For a jarring moment, Bálok’s internal ballast capsized, threatening to drop him to the floor. The fucking coward was going to evade him—again! This couldn’t be happening. He closed his eyes while he marshaled his rebelling mind and senses, the only outward indication he would allow to be seen of his mounting fury at being thwarted.

  “Very well, Lord Eo,” the announcer replied. “The tournament will move forward with eighteen semi-finalists. The top four fighters after three rounds will move on to the finals. Contestants, clear the floor.”

  As the drummers rapped out a steady rhythm, Bálok turned and walked carefully back toward Jimat, keeping his eyes rigidly trained on the steadfast anchor of the captain’s golden irises, his lifeline past the storm writhing just beneath his skin. The rest of his guard stood rigidly still, gravely aware of their lord’s frustration and escalating tension. Without a word, Jimat handed him a towel, something he could sink his claws into without being noticed.