The Blood Empress (14 page)

"We only have to kill the leaders and the others will follow or die."

Tarse agreed. "We have hidden tunnels into the Kastra levels. If my family are there, they will be exposed."

Verrad looked at Tarse with disgust.

"You could so easily kill your own Kastra?"

Tarse moved closer to Verrad with his wide, imposing chest. His large hands gripped the hilt of his desert blade.

"I only hope my father is there in person so I can gut him myself."

Verrad could see the rage in the man's eyes and believed him.

"Okay," Verrad said, looking back at Nykostra.

Nykostra's knees became weak and she fell to the ground. Both men stared down at her before Verrad came to her side to try and revive her.

"Those damn lizards are killing her. She should not be near them."

Tarse ignored the comment and picked up Nykostra by her arms and flung her gently over his broad shoulders. "She'll stay with me and we'll attack with my tribe."

Verrad followed the large man as he headed back to his tent. He wasn't about to let them be alone together.

***

Veasa tended to Nykostra in Tarse's tent as the two men stayed outside, preparing for battle. Verrad didn't have a blade so Tarse provided him with a native design. It was thinner and more curved than the standard issue Votainion falchion. Verrad practiced his moves with it in a warrior's dance while Tarse sharpened his own blade.

"You're doing it wrong Captain," Tarse taunted.

"Am not."

Tarse shook his head and stood up with his blade. He struck his own attack pose and then swung the huge blade with a grace and power that Verrad had never seen before. It ended with the slicing of a desert cactus from top to bottom in two equal pieces.

"Impressive," Verrad said.

"Did the Benzotii teach you to fight like that?"

Tarse nodded.

Verrad grinned and said, "Teach me."

Tarse agreed with a curt bow. Before long he was showing Verrad how to properly hold the curved blade and which thrusting moves worked better than what the Votainion army had taught him. Before long they were sparing with each other and Verrad was able to hold his own against the larger man.

"Good, you are a fast learner," Tarse said. He stepped away from the dirt field and hoisted a water bladder to his mouth. After several large gulps he handed it to Verrad. Verrad smelled it first and realized it was just water and took a long drought from it.

"She's stabilized. But I'm beginning to fear for her sanity," Veasa said as she came out of the tent.

Verrad handed Tarse back his water bladder.

"What do you mean?"

Veasa pointed to her own head. "She's reacting to the Benzotii like a Soothsayer. They are the only ones who go mad on this world unless they are protected."

"She is the Kamsa-riecht. Part seer and part goddess."

Veasa shook her head in amusement. "All I know is that she's starting to lose her mind. If she stays here much longer she will die."

Verrad and Tarse exchanged looks.

"What do the Soothsayers do to protect themselves on this world?"

Veasa brushed her hands off and dug around in her dusty bags until she pulled out some meat. She stuffed some into her mouth and started chewing on it, offering some to Verrad. He declined.

"The Kwerza-Ni wears a special helmet of some kind. No idea what it's made of. Keeps him from going crazy, is all I know," she said, while chewing.

Tarse seemed deep in thought. Verrad looked at him.

"What are you thinking?"

Tarse looked at Veasa. "How long does she have?"

Veasa shrugged. "How should I know? I'm not a healer."

***

Nykostra was sweating when she awoke alone in Tarse's tent. Her clothes had been removed and there was a wet sheet over her body to keep her cool in the heat of the day. Her head was still pounding but the intensity had lessened. It was still there, gnawing at her but she could at least think for the first time in what seemed like forever.

She sat up, keeping the sheet against her body. There was a sluggish wave that lapped against her brain and she could sense others around her. Votainions and even a few Benzotii. She heard someone approaching her tent. It was the soft shuffle of a woman.

Veasa pulled back the tent flap and entered. She was wearing combat gear and the brown robes of a warrior.

"How do you feel, Empress?"

Nykostra managed a slight grin.

"That's the Chartoc I gave you. It should help with your headache and you might experience renewed vigor. It's a stimulant."

"Thank you for all you have done on my behalf."

Veasa brushed aside the compliment and started gathering Nykostra's clothes.

"We're going to attack before dawn. It will take us the rest of the day to get into position. Can you dress yourself?"

Nykostra nodded. Veasa motioned over her shoulder. "I'll be right outside if you need any assistance. She ducked back out leaving Nykostra alone.

Her ill-fitting military clothes were gone leaving her with only the native garb that the tribes wore. She was not used to the course material or the layering of robes. The traditional desert robes were not conducive to fighting. At least not in her opinion. She pulled and adjusted them to suit her own taste. At one point she used her falchion to rip the lower third of the dress off so as to make running easier. Combined with a few belts and some knee length boots she felt reasonably ready to fight.

She attached the scabbard of her falchion to her belt and donned a hooded cape to exit into the blazing sun.

Veasa looked her over critically and then shook her head.

"You dress like a fool. You should have let me help you."

Nykostra was not used to being insulted. It infuriated her and she lunged for Veasa's shoulders to try and push her down but the native woman brushed off her attack and landed Nykostra on her back in the hot sand.

"How dare you!" Nykostra shouted.

"I don't have time to school you in desert fighting. But if you try that again I'll do more than body slam you," Veasa said.

Nykostra was unable to get up with the woman's full weight on her chest.

"Okay," she said.

Veasa got off of her and offered her a hand to pull her upright. Nykostra accepted and after she was up she dusted herself off.

"Show me how you think I should dress."

Veasa started to reach for Nykostra's outer robe and then hesitated. Nykostra nodded her consent. Veasa eyed her suspiciously and then started ripping off her outer robes and belts. Stripped down to her under clothes Nykostra fended off casual observers with a fierce scowl.

"You have to know
why
we dress the way we do, not just how we dress. The desert is a harsh and unforgiving place, especially on this world. You layer your robes to provide comfort and you fold them to provide movement. Your clothes will protect you from the heat and keep you warm in the cold night, but only if you wear them properly."

By the time she was done lecturing she had redressed Nykostra into a proper desert warrior. Veasa stood back and looked her over head to toe.

"Now, you may fight along side of me, my Empress."

Nykostra felt the fit of the robes and admired how snug they were in all the right places and loose in areas where movement was a concern. They felt strange, but secure. Like a second skin. She looked more and more like one of them. Like Tarse and Veasa and to some extent, like the Benzotii themselves.

In all the commotion she had forgotten her headache. It was barely there, lingering behind her eyes, waiting to strike again. She pushed on her forehead and blinked hard. The pain was returning fast. In the background several Benzotii had been watching them. Nykostra eyed them with disdain. It was hard to appreciate those who caused her so much pain.

"Here, take one of these tablets whenever you start to feel uncomfortable. But don't take more than one and not more than four per day," Veasa said. She handed Nykostra a small wooden cylinder with a cork top. Inside were green pills made from Chartoc.

Nykostra took one and swallowed it dry. It tasted bitter going down her throat.

Veasa offered her a drink from her water bladder. Nykostra drank from it and handed it back to the older woman. Veasa's hair was covered by her head piece but her tight skin and wrinkles betrayed her age.

"What is the plan of attack?" Nykostra asked.

Veasa motioned for them to sit near some sandstone rocks in the shade of an overhang.

"The Benzotii tribes have dug tunnels into the lower levels of all the major cities, including the Capital. They will punch through and draw out the denizens with flash grenades and gunfire. When they come screaming out into the open, our tribes will attack them. It is a good plan, but it won't be enough. The Kastra will attack us with their war planes and probably kill many of us."

Nykostra could feel the discomfort subsiding.

"Captain Verrad's warship will take several ships with him to the far side of the system to cover another attack. Which means we'll still be bombarded by at least one warship from space."

"Exactly. It will be over quickly. I hope this is worth it for you."

Nykostra looked up at Veasa's dark eyes. She could see the doubt in them.

"We are not attempting to kill all the Imperial citizens. We only want them to leave this world. If this battle is bloody enough they won't want to stay."

"I hope you're right Empress. Because when word gets out that you've had a hand in this slaughter your orders will never be countered again."

Nykostra narrowed her eyes and thrust her jaw out.
I'm
counting on that
.

Lord Kevern stood on a balcony overlooking the largest landing bay in the capital. Transports were loading people from lines that snaked their way back inside the tunnels of the city. They would only be able to evacuate a few thousand people at best. Which meant hundreds of thousands of his citizens would be killed or left behind to unimagined fates. The leader in him was fine with making such decisions but the Votainion in him hated it. It was a waste of resources and it shrank his power base.

The Kwizarra Lonn stood beside him, covered in a brown cloak and wearing a metal mask similar to the ones that Kevern's Soothsayers wore. It protected them from the intrusive and harmful rays that emanated from all Benzotii life on this desert world. Kevern looked out the open bays to the cliffs beyond the canyon. Somewhere out there was Empress Nykostra, unprotected from the painful rays and no doubt suffering for it.

He smiled to himself at knowing she was in pain out there in the cold night. It served her right for what she was doing. Leading an attack on his Kastra under the guise of indigenous aliens. She was probably with Tarse and his rebels. Just as well that she die with his lot. Kevern only wished he had the chance to kill both of them.

"Careful what you wish for Lord Kevern," the Kwizarra Lonn said. His voice smothered by the dark mask.

"Will I get a shot at my son?" Kevern asked.

The Kwizarra Lonn was quiet.

"That is beyond my reach on this world. But your concern should lie in ensuring the royal bloodlines are safely removed before the attack commences."

Kevern waved at the transports taking off for orbit below them.

"They are all off world now, we're down to the secondary officials and overlords."

"Excellent."

Kevern held up a wrist communicator and barked orders into it. After a short pause he received a terse, military reply. He turned to the Kwizarra Lonn and said, "All units have taken up their positions. We are moving in munitions and provisions at this time."

"Most Excellent," the Kwizarra Lonn said.

***

Tarse and Verrad lay prone on the desert floor, covered in heat absorbent cloaks. They studied the capital city with optical scopes mounted on their long rifles. Lights from the city blurred with the lights of distant stars on a perfectly clear night. A steady stream of transports lifted into the sky like airliners from a major city.

Tarse looked away, towards the sky behind them. The twinkling lights diminished as they got closer to the horizon behind them. An impenetrable darkness was gathering on the horizon, swallowing up starlight.

"A beneet is building behind us. I estimate we have no fewer than five hours before it hits."

Verrad looked over his shoulder at the darkening horizon.

"Some kind of dust storm?"

"Yes."

Verrad turned to face Tarse, who did not look pleased about the storm.

"Surely that will help us in a battle."

Tarse shook his head slowly and watched the city lights.

"A beneet is no man's friend. It cuts off the sun and takes away the very air we breath. Massive downdraft's suck air away and sand is blasted hard enough to destroy most metal items. The storm will end our battle, whether we have won or lost."

Verrad looked back over his shoulder again at the now ominous clouds.

"Should we move up the attack then?"

"No. They will not suspect an attack before a beneet. It will work to our advantage."

Verrad waited for Tarse to say more but the man just stared off into the night.

"What do we do when the beneet comes?"

Tarse slowly looked over to the Captain and stared at him with dark green eyes.

"We suffer and wait, until it passes."

"How long is that, usually?"

"Could be hours, could be days. You were not in a hurry were you?"

Verrad smiled and looked back through his scope. "Not at all."

***

Lord Kevern climbed into the armored cockpit of a tracked vehicle that resembled a tank. It had several medium sized guns and outrigger treads to keep it steady in the soft desert sands. His second in command of security saluted across the chest. Kevern returned the salute.

"My Lord, we have reports of a large sand storm forming beyond the capital. Orbital imagery suggests it will be here in a matter of hours."

Kevern studied the readouts on the monitors in the cockpit. The size of the storm was literally off the charts. Wind speeds churned at nearly the speed of sound. As if to accentuate what he was reading the sky rumbled from distant thunder.