Legend Beyond The Stars (23 page)

The reason ambled along beside her.

Oblivious.

She hoped.

Tarak indicated a large building with a wide stone staircase which led up to double metal doors. On either side of the open doorway an armoured Darkon warrior stood on sentry duty.

“This is my father’s quarters.”

“Your father is the leader of your people, isn’t he?”

“This is so. Our family has always ruled Darkos, since the beginning of our memory.”

His curt tone had Alana peeking sideways at him as they mounted the stairs. She caught a flicker of emotion which crossed his face at the mention of his family. Her eyebrows rose. It appeared not all was well in the royal household. More questions whirled inside her head, as they entered the spacious hall. His grip tightened over her hand.

Alana glanced again at her companion. With an impassive face, he stared ahead and she followed his gaze. On a dais at the far end of the hall, a small group of warriors stood surrounding a man seated on a throne. She had had visions of a room filled with mysterious technology, flashing lights, weird machines, robots even. Not this dimly lit chamber which
reminded her of a medieval church with its stone pillars reaching to the high intricately carved ceiling.

How odd
.

The walls were bare and there were no windows. Plain stone benches sat empty before the podium. It was bitterly cold. She shivered.

One of the warriors broke away and walked with an unhurried long stride to greet them.

“Lord Tarak, it is good to see you are undamaged. Your father has been waiting for some time for your report. He is most anxious to gain tidings on the rebels’ decision,” the warrior chided in a low well-modulated voice. He clapped his hand hard on Tarak’s shoulder.

“It was not my intention to keep my father waiting, Lord Barid, but it was unavoidable,” the Commander said noncommittally. He dropped Alana’s holdall onto the rocky floor.

“I for one, am glad you have returned.” Lord Barid smiled with warmth, his eyes bright with avid curiosity when he glanced at Alana.

This Darkon lord wore no armour but rather a thigh length purple tunic over a white shirt and the figure hugging pants all the warriors seemed to favour when not in their flight suits. An aura of calmness and sad acceptance clung to his person.

Another one who had suffered greatly through this war.

Tarak’s grasp left hers and he wound his arm about her waist drawing her closer to his body. She noticed how the older warrior’s eyebrows rose in astonishment at his actions.

”This is Alana,” Tarak informed him.

Lord Barid slowly inclined his head.

Alana stuck her hand out and the older warrior stared at it nonplussed.

Tarak grinned at his confusion. “You shake it, Barid. It is their method of greeting.”

“Aaaah,” the warrior breathed and extended his hand. He bent his head and peered into her face. “A small species and does not look particularly strong. Why would you bring such a one here?”

“I have my reasons.” Tarak’s voice dripped with ice as he stared at Barid. “She is under my protection.”

Lord Barid’s mouth dropped open as his head swivelled from Tarak to Alana and back again. “You surely do not mean …?” he spluttered into silence.

“We are keeping my father waiting.”

Speechless, Lord Barid bowed and stepped backwards waving Tarak ahead of him. The warrior’s stare boring into her back made her shoulders twitch as they walked towards the dais.

The warriors parted before them and they gave the Darkon salute as Tarak approached. Alana gazed with intense curiosity at her first glimpse of the ruler of what remained of the Darkon Empire.

The warrior turned to greet them.

Her heart sank to the tips of her toes and melted through the stone floor at the cold malevolent dislike emanating from his hollowed cave-like eyes. She noticed how his narrow hands with their long taloned nails curled over the carved armrests of his chair. Bitterness and disappointment blighted his rigid features like black ice on a treacherous winding mountain road. His glare alighted onto his son.

Alana’s throat tightened.

But then he smiled and his face transformed. His features lightened, the darkness fled from his eyes and he rose with one fluid movement from his seat to greet his son.

She relaxed.
I must have imagined it
.

It would not have been hard to do, considering the deep shadows which patterned the room giving her the impression of hidden crevices luring the unwary to certain destruction.

His greeting to Alana was courteous if a little cool. She could not fault his manners as he bid her welcome.

Still, her sixth sense niggled at the back of her mind. Warned her to remain wary, as his heavy lizard-like gaze swept over her.

More than shadows caused by a lack of light cloaked this room.

Chapter Twelve

With his arms folded across his armoured chest, Tarak surveyed the gathered council of high Darkon warlords with serious misgiving. With the exception of Lord Barid, whose support he was never entirely sure of, the remainder of those present consisted of warriors anxious to please their royal leader.

He repressed a sigh of resignation. There would be little dissent here to any orders his father decreed—Tarak would need to choose his words with great caution.

His father had ordered the meeting to be held in the royal receiving chamber despite some of the warlords’ complaints about the cold, the lack of lighting and lack of comfortable seating.

After giving his report, Tarak stood a little apart from the others and waited for a response in the heavy silence which was rife with disbelief. He had insisted on ensuring Alana was safe in his chambers before attending the council. An action which had caused a twist of anger to tighten his father’s face and which Tarak, in turn, ignored. He repressed his amusement as he wondered how his father would have reacted if he could have witnessed Alana’s heated arguments about the necessity of her attending the council. In his father’s
world, as also in the worlds of the majority of the other warriors present, females were considered breeders. Their opinion was never sought.

His father had certainly never expressed any desire to hear his wife’s opinion or her needs.

His chest tightened as he recalled his mother’s gentle demeanour, how she had grown so quiet since the loss of his baby sister. His sister who had never been … she had been aborted long before this cursed war ever began and he had watched his mother’s life force ebb away. Perhaps if his father had shown her more consideration, had given her comfort, included her in his life …

Never would he treat his female so.

Never would she allow him too. Tarak shuffled his feet impatiently. He wished they would hurry up. What time he had left, he wished to spend with Alana, not mouthing useless protocol.

His boots scraped across the stone floor. His father glared at him for daring to make this intrusive noise. Tarak noted the aggressive flaring of his father’s nostrils and braced himself.

“First you say you have not made contact with the renegade Darkons and therefore, not gained their support. And then,” Lord Rajan, his voice as cold and empty as the pits of Cercis, thumped the stone armrest of the royal throne with his armoured hand. The metal rang loudly in the cavernous room. “Then you say this has not been achieved because you decided to chase after females. Females who despite being an inferior race should have been delivered to Isla immediately. Females, you say, which have cured our impotence.” He barked
out an incredulous laugh, raised his hand and shook his clenched fist at his son. “Well, Tarak? Speak!” he shouted.

“I have already spoken.”

“Insolence! If you were not my son, I would have you thrown into the fiery furnace of Elijah,” Lord Rajan hissed. “What proof do you have this is so?”

A slow satisfied grin spread over Tarak’s face. “As I have experienced this myself, I need no further proof.”

His father spat out, “You refer to the puny female you dared to bring into my presence.”

The smile left Tarak’s face. “Be careful, Father of what you say. I will not tolerate any abuse of her.”

The Royal leader of the Darkon Empire sank back into the shadows making it impossible for Tarak to read his expression. Foreboding slivered down his spine at his father’s next words, disappointment sour in his mouth.

“Need I remind you of the laws and culture which are the foundation of our society? These laws have served us well throughout our long existence.”

Tarak grimaced. “Not so well now we stand on the very brink of extinction.”

“This is not from any consequence of our long held traditions,” snarled his father, his narrowed gaze fixed on the impassive features of his son.

“So you say, Father. But with this I do not agree.”

There was a collective drawing of breath from the warriors surrounding the two combatants. Tarak fought the urge to shift his feet again. The heavy weight of cycles of responsibility and duty pressed ever downwards on his shoulders. It was hard to discern his father’s reaction in the gloom, a fact which Tarak was sure his father had counted on when insisting their meeting take place in this dismal setting.

“You have long known of my distaste and arguments against our method of breeding. The culling of any offspring which does not genetically meet our high standards is barbaric and cruel,” he continued.

“Need I remind you, it is this practice which has bred us into a superior race. As warriors we have no match. We are renown throughout the universe as a race to be feared and respected.”

“So respected and feared we are now at war with the majority of the universe? So respected the Elites and Relics covet our source of power and will do anything to relieve us of this respect? Well they have succeeded. We are now few and scattered and with no hope of existing beyond this generation. We are hunted for sport. A price on all our heads,” Tarak said unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“You would have us return to more primitive methods of reproduction? Our females physically giving birth and all offspring allowed to live? Our race would soon deteriorate into a weak and puny life form.”

“I do not believe this would happen.”

“Bah, you are a fool!” spat Lord Rajan.

Tarak met his father’s cold glare without flinching.

“You are wasting time. Since our females have succumbed to the retro virus, there is no point in discussing this matter.”

“Not all have perished. There are still those who remain at the camp,” Tarak pointed out quietly.

“So we once again return to this subject. Some of us at least, are trying to find a way for the Darkon race to continue its existence. Some of us are not countermanding my orders and wallowing in a brief momentary pleasure taken in the flesh of some primitive life form!”

Tarak’s jaw clenched so hard, pain radiated down his neck. His muscles locked as he fought the surge of anger his father’s words generated. With difficulty, he remained silent. It would not do to give his father any more ammunition.

“I find you such a disappointment to me, Tarak.” As the sectons dragged on and Tarak refused to respond, Lord Rajan tapped his finger slowly against the armrest, the noise jarring in the leaden atmosphere. “You have proved to be weak. Your ideas and discontent with the old ways make me uneasy to think you will be leader of our people once I have passed onto the other realm. But not yet!” he shouted. “Here and now I am the ruler and my word is law.”

Tarak tamped down the hot denial which sprung to his lips, and bowed his head.

“Very well then.”

This sudden return to a calm demeanour aroused Tarak’s suspicions. He waited.

“I find all this most interesting but my orders hold firm. You will leave immediately and fulfil your mission. You must gain the support of those traitors and offer them immunity
only if they can provide the location of the Emperor’s seat of power. If the rumours are false you are to execute them all, a fate which will befall all who betray the Darkon race.”

“My men and I need time to refit the Ark and renew our energy.” Tarak held close his distaste at his father’s decree.

Lord Rajan waved an imperious hand. “One cycle of the sun only. As my only surviving son, as the last ruler of the Darkon Empire, you will do your duty.”

With his heart a burnt out energy sphere, heavy and useless, Tarak inclined his head. “I will take only those who volunteer.” He ignored his father’s hiss of fury and continued, “And what of the females? I have promised them sanctuary.”

“Then so they will have sanctuary. They will be safe enough until you return.” Impatience tightened the old ruler’s voice. “You seem to be far too preoccupied with these slaves and it concerns me greatly. Need I remind you of your obligations to the Darkon people?”

“There is no Darkon people,” Tarak answered, bitterness lacing his voice. “All that remain are males. I do not include those poor females you have incarcerated in the camp. Their fate I find abhorrent.”

His father leaned forward and hissed, “This I already know, you seek every opportunity to make your opinion known to me. But I am not weak. I, Rajan, am determined the Darkon race will not fade into darkness. This is why we must explore all options to ensure our fate is not total annihilation. This is why I have authorised further research and you, my only remaining son, stand there and defy me!” He thumped the armrest with his clenched hand and his glare swept the faces of the watchful assembly.

Tarak’s lips curled as he saw how they refrained from making any movement which would bring the wrath of their lord on their heads. “You are mistaken. I do not defy you father.” Tarak kept his gaze unwavering on his father’s face.

“You are a fool if you think I am taken in by your words. Your actions speak of the treachery in your heart.” The Darkon Warlord rested his head against the back of the throne and regarded him through narrowed eyes. “I know of your plans.”

Tarak kept his expression impassive as he returned his father’s stare and deliberately remained unresponsive.