Falco Invictus: On the Forge of War

Falco Invictus: On The Forge of War

Novella #1
of
Falco
Invictus: A Study of The Falcanian peoples, biology and
culture

First Edition November 2011

Smashwords Edition

Falco Invictus: On The Forge of War
Copyright © 2011 by
Rodney C. Johnson
and
Roadrunner Books
, a division of
ThunderHawk
Enterprises.
All Rights reserved. No part of this book may be
used or reproduced whatsoever without written permission except in
the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.

Cover art by
Roark Dallas
.

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http://raptorsclaw.wordpress.com/

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Acknowledgment

Chapter 1. Coming Of
The Overman

Chapter 2. The Golden
Apple

Chapter 3. Phoenix
Dawn

Phoenix Project
Archive

ThunderHawk
Compact

CLOSSARY

About The
Author

I would like to thank April Previte for all
her help in cleaning up my text, not to mention the useful
feedback, as well as encouragement along the way. I also want to
thank Charlie McShane for being there to bounce plot points off of.
Sure, I usually go my own way with things, but even though he
doesn't realize it, his input is helpful to me. I want to thank my
family for understanding my need to write. It's been a long haul
getting here, but at last we've finally arrived.

A Falcanian hammers the alloy of himself
upon the forge of war and conflict. Be it the strife of battle or
the combat of belief, ever seeking to shape his being into a blade
to be carried forth with which to claim his future and that of his
aerie. He does so in joyful celebration of his singular,
divine-spark, yet without idealism or recourse, using whatever
means he has at hand knowing only his annihilation remains before
him as he is torn asunder to be remade anew.

-- Arntiraas Drakonis, the Ascendant. His
task set to those who follow the Road of Tarik. From The Telchar
Shanral, The Green Egg.

[November 9, 2030. Dukedom Of Saxe-Coburg
Germany]

A grand command chair rested on a central
platform -- a throne! From the forward part of the circular
operations deck, she shouted orders in a dialect she had never
heard before, a language that hinted at being influenced by both
German and Sanskrit, though it contained guttural “K's” and “T's”,
sounds that were not heard in any known human language. Those in
the work pit of the vessel who managed the helm and other systems
of the monstrous predatory golden bird-serpent starship obeyed her
and set a course toward her selected targets.

Over in a corkscrew rolled the large vessel,
a smooth elegant rotation that swooped around in the vast
dimensions of deep wide-open space, unencumbered by right, left or
up and down to bring its weapons to bear upon its prey.

In golden armor she had been dressed,
intricate links of ring-mail attached to plate-armor with angular
upward swept shoulder plates. Draped over her shoulder hung a rich
green cloak. On the bridge of her warship she stood, right hand on
a sword hilt with an advanced gun strapped to her thigh. She was
Doom incarnate, a War-Queen to be feared.

“
Railkir!” she shouted to her gunner
hidden in the darkness.

A shadowed red world came into view, covered
with lighted cities that flickered and gray seas which crashed
ashore. The bird-serpent let a ball of hot fire out from its belly
to absolutely flatten a city below.

The vision shifted.

On a vast rusted desert, she discovered
herself. She pushed her eyesight outward beyond the horizon where
she witnessed a flash. An eerie green light burst out from the sand
and coalesced into a column which became a winged armored figure. A
deep cowl obscured the face. The figure stood with her on the rust
strewn track. The warrior gripped a sword hilt in a gauntleted
hand. It appeared to be a shattered blade for there was but a
single spike left of the cutting edge. Three notches curved into
the spine of the fractured weapon.

Blood rushed from cracks in the desert to
form three rivers at the figure's claw boots which began to
overtake the desert. In a deluge, a river of sanguine liquid
ascended around her. Gauntleted hand raised the winged hooded one
held out its bladeless hilt from which came a gleam of light...

Frederika Gisela von Gotha awoke with a
sudden cry. She gazed out the window at the sprawling snow covered
acres of her estate. Since her birth the same dream had haunted
Frederika, her eidetic memory never allowed her to forget the
bird-reptile ship or the winged hooded figure.

Five-foot, eight-inches tall the statuesque
honey-blonde crossed her room in a gracious stride toward her
balcony. She pushed aside a strand of hair and gazed out at the
line of old dark forest, whitened by early morning frost. She
rubbed her neck, her fingers skirted across her tattoo. An unusual
design, two equilateral triangles' apex to apex, a stylized
hourglass, or as some might observe, a double helix.

Dawn beckoned to her on the day of her
twentieth birthday. Despite her surname, Frederika did not know her
parents. Eugenics had fashioned her genome and her DNA was composed
of age-old European families chosen for a few particular reasons.
Her DNA contained various animal qualities also, which enhanced
Frederika's strength and agility.

GenKon INC., had wanted a superior human,
one who could link their new breed to that of an old lineage, and
thus secure for them seats of established power. Because of these
enhancements to her DNA, Frederika found herself cousin to the
British royal house as well as numerous others. Convenient though,
her primary genetic donors had been arms merchants, and from that
pedigree she inherited great wealth.

Back into her room she headed and gazed at
her reflection in her etched silver vanity mirror: Contoured,
emerald “panther eyes” peered back from a heart shaped face, a
slight hint of Asian ancestry could be seen among that of the
Teutonic. A small button nose and a single freckle beneath her left
eye, the solitary flaw on her otherwise perfectly symmetrical
features. The blemish placed there due to some quirk of the
engineer who had designed her. Full and pink lush lips fashioned to
make any male go weak in the knees were, all made to exude
sexuality. Frederika knew she had been built to be exquisite, but
her sexuality was also a weapon meant to be wielded for the
seduction of those in power, a sexual aura enhanced by potent
pheromones.

Frederika threw aside her slinky-silk mint
green nightgown and headed for the shower. Her early morning
workout would soon begin and she wanted to watch the launch of the
foldship,
DSV Excalibur
this afternoon.

[Falcanian Khanate, Bay Of Bengal]

Crescent shaped Vanguard Island shot
coral-white out of the monsoon-driven ocean. Built on a
superstructure of steel lattice, the wave barriers protected the
artificial structure from the assault of the raging sea.
Amphitheater in shape, one whole side housed rooms and a
construction area. Huge conifer trees grew out of the soil from an
insular island. At Vorkrür’s center, a metropolis of towered and
pyramid style buildings arose. They glistened in the sunlight, a
blended high-tech and feudal design, cast in majestic steel-glass
architecture.

The Narshin Thryak palace complex overlooked
the central Falcanian city from atop a great stone foundation.
Domed in gold, the black citadel perched inside the curvature of
Vanguard’s famed metallic tiled road. The palace, pyramid in
structure had clear Moghul influences to be seen in its
construction as witnessed by the arched doorways and golden capped
minarets at its four corners.

Protected in the inner curve of the island,
joined to it by a short causeway rested a medium sized round
building crowned with a gold and bronze dome. In three directions
enormous mammalian-winged and armored statues stood sentinel, they
raised single-edged claw-blades upward at guard over the
tri-cameran of the Falcanian Khanate. A blood-red banner adorned
the arch of the Dreikatha's hall. A bird-serpent, ambiguous,
neither avian nor reptile held watch over the ruling constituents
of the Khanate.

“T'Saar!” Chancellor Trakan gave the
Claw-On-Fist salute, took in the silence that came over the hall as
the members of the tri-cameran waited for his report to the
Shotar.

Lord Sharr Khan Mingh Drakonis, keeper of
The Phoenix Heart and Falcanian Shotar sat in the shadows, his face
concealed under a black cowl and a gloved fist clenched the armrest
of his Claw-Throne. The Shotar leaned against the angular backrest
of his chair. Burgundy fabric embroidered with gold threads
cushioned his back and great talon feet supported the chair.

“Romulus demands you journey to his capital,
and that you speak to him personally,” the lanky bearded Chancellor
reported, aware such a response wasn’t going to be regarded very
well by Sharr Khan.

Under his cowl Sharr frowned at Chancellor
Trakan. “The Imperator thinks too much of himself, he harbors these
Budjah Monks, uses them to seed chaos.” Although the Shotar spoke
in a low voice, each of the nine members of the Dreikatha heard him
clear enough.

And the threat in his tone.

“We dare not anger the Imperium. Romulus’s
wrath scourged the Americas and conquered much of the globe. He’d
have little reservation cutting us down,” remarked a hooded figure
off to the left of Shreik Trakan.

“Perhaps not Nadia?” The Shotar pulled his
cloak closer, and stepped off the platform. Each footfall of his
tri-claw boots clacked on the black stone floor. Sharr glanced
under the velvet royal blue hood of the Valküri Sisterhood’s
Reverend Mother Superior who also happened to be his mate.

“Romulus has achieved much since The Burn,”
Nadia murmured. “He made his country a force to be feared. Raised
his Legion from the Wastelands...”

Drakonis nodded. “Imperator Romulus shall be
dealt with soon enough.” Sharr placed a hand on Nadia's cloaked
arm. “Nor shall we permit these monks to further transgress against
us.”

“I have confidence in your decisions,” Nadia
said.

“Sharr Khan, the Budjah must be tackled,
destroyed!” implored the blue hooded Vorjah, keeper of the holy
lamplight. “They threaten our path of Tarik.” Zoar Jangsiin
understood Falcania’s own, as well as Sharr Khan’s very own
responsibility with regard to the scarlet robed monks. The Shotar
had his reasons to handle them with care, and yet Zoar himself held
little tolerance for them.

Sharr hummed to himself. “No more than any
other religion or philosophy Zoar. We’ve our debates with Heathens
and Hindu alike. It’s less shocking that we have conflicts with
this new ‘Christian’ sect.” He turned to the head of his Tahru
caste. “The Budjah crime lay in a presumption to force their faith
on those at Aren-Zülar.”

“My caste does what’s needed to bring our
species to the stars.” Sharr did not miss the clipped response of
the Guilthari leader. “We mine hrisanar on the red planet at great
risk –”

“Drakorian are always there for your
protection.” Atar Kran, the white tonsured Shrai-Bashir, Commander
of the Imperial Drakorian Guard interrupted. “I’ve tripled the
brigades stationed at Aren-Zülar. Your workers shall not be
troubled by anyone ever again!”

“We thank you for that, my Lord. But that is
not my point.” The Guilthari Lord inched away from the Drakorian
leader hulking over him. “The Budjah harass everyone, daily trying
to convert us.”

“That’s why I ordered the attack,” Atar
growled.

“They claim their faith brought Earth back
from the brink,” The Shotar did not disguise his ironic tone while
he walked the circle of the hall, and glanced at each of the
cloaked caste representatives. “Not the advent of genetic
engineering and nanotechnology. This notion is harnessed, bolstered
by Imperator Romulus to expand his own power.”

“My Lord,” Atar once more growled, he wanted
to at long last be rid of these monks. “Budjah are wherever the
Imperium annex territory and seed the ground for the Centurions to
enter. We really should take a harder line where they show up.”

Sharr nodded. “That is true, but we will not
engage in religious persecution, Atar. Even of Erik’s little band
of high-tech monks. They are an irritation, but one we can accept
for now.” The Shotar’s display of restraint with the Budjah matter
wasn’t popular, but the Dreikatha abided by it nonetheless.