The Fires Of Hell Read online

  If they were nervous before, they were scared spitless at that point. “You know we cannot allow anyone in unless they have a key code,” said the same one. He’d begun shaking.

  “I will fetch Ardiilii from the armory, and we will spill your guts right here in the passageway. Open the doors now.” If they said no, I had no plan. I was way out on a limb.

  They might not have known Midriacks by sight, but they must have known their names. My new clan friend’s name must have carried some weight, or more likely, been associated with serious horror. It was all it took.

  “N … no, sir, your excellency, sir. That won’t be necessary.”

  The other guard finally spoke. “We were just testing you, mate. No problem. It was just a test.”

  I rose on my tiptoes and leaned in so close my cowl touched his bulbous nose. “Do you think I have time to play with toy soldiers?”

  “No. Of course not, Master,” he replied with his eyes closed.

  “No one on this ship is master but His Imperial Lord. Is that clear, little brain?”

  “S … sir,” he responded.

  As I was verbally brutalizing the one guard, the other had opened the door.

  I looked down the open corridor, then back to the guards. “It is fortunate for you I have pressing business today. But know this. A Midriack never forgets a scent. Be afraid.” With that I walked into the private suites. I had gotten a lot farther than I thought I would. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I was going to pull this off. Incredible.

  I heard the door close behind me. I felt more isolated and uneasy. Every locked door was a major barrier to my retreat when it came time to flee. I could hear voices way down toward the end of the passage. I headed that direction. The door slid open, and I was staring at a huge ballroom crammed full of celebrants. Male and female Adamant were dancing, clinking glasses, and generally whooping it up. I was crashing a party.

  Of course, there was a reason no one would ever invite a Midriack to a party. We were, after all, nothing more than vicious, ruthless killing machines. Fun and Midriack didn’t belong in the same room let alone the same sentence. So naturally, the festivities crashed into frozen silence. In retrospect, I guessed they took my appearance to mean a brutal public execution was about to take place. Home assassination delivery at no extra charge. Everyone was hoping passionately that they were not about to become bloody goo on the walls and ceilings.

  A senior officer stepped forward. “What is the meaning of this intrusion? You know you are not allowed here unless there’s an emergency.” He spoke confidently and commandingly. I could see he was not afraid to die. Good dog.

  “How dare you challenge me? I do the bidding of none but His Imperial Lord. Step aside.”

  He drew his sidearm.

  I was quicker. I snatched it from his paw when the tip of the barrel was still in the holster.

  “Ah, you’re giving late arrivals gifts. How welcoming, Wedgelet.” A wedgelet was on par with a second lieutenant.

  “I will not be insulted in the presence of my men and my lord master.”

  Wow, he just confirmed Bestiormax was in the room. I was self-impressed with my efforts.

  “Then I am happy to relieve you of the burden life has become for you.” For effect, I repeated the stupid sailing north sentence in the Midriack language. He wouldn’t understand it, but it sure would stick in his wheelhouse. I raised the facsimile of a Midriack fighting stick. It looked like one, but it was only a prop. I hadn’t had time to try and make a working model.

  He cowered back a few steps.

  I was deciding whether to whack him one good when a voice boomed from a figure rushing through the crowd. It was the emperor himself. He was also flanked by two Midriacks. Dudes appeared from nowhere. I knew because I’d scanned the entire room as soon as the door opened. Their sticks were raised but not ignited.

  “You there,” said Bestiormax, “what are you doing? This is an outrage. How dare you challenge one of our guests.” He turned to the Midriack on his right. “Blehk, take your clansman away and question him severely. I want his hide and an apology by the time this soiree is over. Is that clear?”

  Blehk gestured at me with his stick. “This is no clansman of mine, Lord.”

  “Then he should be questioned even more severely, shouldn’t he?”

  “Yes indeed.” He pointed his staff at the open door and said, “Move.”

  Crap on a top hat. My excellent plan certainly had taken a turn for the worse. And I was so close. Then it hit me. If I sliced Bestiormax in half then and there, how could it possibly go any worse for me? I mean, escape was less likely than a pregnant pole-vaulter setting a new world record as it was. I started to raise my right hand.

  Before it had moved three inches, Blehk slapped it down with his unlit stick. He moved faster than with blinding speed. I decided to hold on the assassination attempt. It wasn’t going to happen with these two present. I’d only seal my fate sooner. I turned and walked through the door. The Midriacks followed silently.

  From behind, Blehk hissed that I should turn right. We exited the private suites and were back in the corridor passing the humanoid guards I snookered moments before. They watched us pass with wide eyes and open mouths. They directed me to go back the way I’d come. I didn’t know what areas of the ship belonged to the Midriacks, so I couldn’t guess where we were heading.

  Als, any ideas before these two disassemble me?

  Sorry, Captain, nothing comes to mind. If you were here, we could start shooting, but you’re not.

  It wouldn’t get me out of an ass kicking if you did, anyway.

  We’ll monitor your progress and alert you if we think of anything.

  Al, seriously, if they do kill me, keep up a full membrane. You two live a happy and long life together. You both deserve to be happy.

  Jon, that’s … thank you, replied Al. But that won’t happen because you’ll think of something. You always do.

  Not this time. I think either of these two could dismember me before I land one punch. If I had my … Als, I’ll get back to you.

  What a moron. I was conceding defeat without remembering that I could raise my personal membrane at any time. It would at least level the playing field. I just needed to spring it at the most opportune moment. Then Ardiilii came into sight, standing like a bronze statue in front of the armory. His head turned almost imperceptibly to note out approach. Then he turned to face us directly.

  “Blehk, I see you *** Bonder Wagd. He didn’t tell you *** joke did he? He promised,” he shouted in his native tongue.

  Al downloaded a partial translation program to me so I could make out most of what they said. “Stand *** attention, fool,” was the commander’s response.

  “You *** me fool *** the open? You hold my clan friend at staff ***? What are you doing ***?”

  “Castord, assume this fool’s post. Ardiilii, come with me. Your *** is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, my ***,” replied the second Midriack.

  “You would *** me of duties in plain view of the aliens? I cannot live *** that.”

  Blehk was done talking. His staff flared to life, as did Ardiilii’s. They crashed together in a blur of motion. Staffs moved so fast they were invisible, but the flashes of contact and the cries of rage and pain were plain to hear. I was having trouble figuring out who was winning when it occurred to me this was probably my one and only chance of escape.

  Castord was fixated on the battle. He even walked past me to get a clearer view. A few brave Adamant also stopped to watch the spectacle they likely had never seen before. I stepped up to Castord’s back and sliced his head off with my laser. It hit the deck almost silently, since his cowl was up. The eruption of purple blood was unmistakable. But no one seemed to assign any significance to it. They must have figured it came from the ones doing the fighting.

  I turned on my membrane and walked as quickly as I could past the melee without drawing too much attention. As I turned toward
the warehouse where Stingray was hidden, I glanced back at the fighters. Ardiilii was on one knee and bleeding profusely. One arm was missing.

  Around the corner I started sprinting. I hear what had to be a death-cry from behind me. Ardiilii had officially lost. Then I heard a sound I hoped never to hear again. Blehk screamed what had to be a victory wail. It was loud and it was terrifying. I knew he’d be on me in no time.

  When his first blow came, I was surprised how quickly he’d overtaken me. He had to be surprised when his staff skidded off and plowed into the metal deck. The planted staff and his foot speed caused him to fly up and strike the ceiling hard. I didn’t turn to look, but I bet he left a dent. I heard him scramble to his feet, and he was on my back again.

  He couldn’t penetrate the membrane, but he did manage to knock it and me off balance, and I tumbled to the deck. A wall stopped me, and I swung my right hand in his direction. Before I could aim, his staff whacked my hand wildly to the side. By then he must have figured my hand was a weapon, as I'd raised it twice.

  That was my break. He focused all his attention on my right hand. I whipped it behind my back and his head followed it. I shot my probe fibers out and bound his legs together with maximum force.

  He screamed in anguish.

  I ripped at the fibers, and he crashed backward. His cowl softened his head’s landing and popped off his head.

  Man, was he ugly. Dude could trick or treat over the telephone. Midriacks looked a lot like lizards, but they had flabby skin dangling from their faces. No wonder they were such good fighters. When you were that ugly, you had to get insulted all the time.

  He struggled to stand but quickly realized that wasn’t going to happen. He saw the fibers and snatched up the staff he’d just dropped.

  I feared his weapon might be able to cut the probes, so I released him.

  He was on top of me in a flash. I slammed against the wall. He reached back to impale me with his staff. That slight shift in weight was enough. I flipped him on his back. The staff skidded away. He seized my throat and clamped down for all he was worth. Fortunately, he was not worth enough. My membrane held.

  I set my laser finger right between his black eyes and bored though his skull. The floor's metal under his head began to hiss and smoke. I drew a line down his face to the base of his neck and whipped it to one side. He fell limp. His face slid open, hinged at the top of his skull, and his brains oozed out. That was the grossest thing I’d ever done. I wanted to vomit.

  No time for that. I jumped up, and looked to see if anyone was coming. The coast was clear. I sprinted to the warehouse and had Stingray off the ship and out of the galaxy before I could say, “Stewardess, where’s the air-sick bag?” Thank every deity I’d ever heard of that no one followed us. There was no more fight left in me if they had.

  EIGHT

  Mirraya had changed into a torchcleft early, before either Cala or Slapgren were awake. Winter was in the air, such as it was on the inhospitable Rameeka Blue Green. She flew to a tall mountain that overlooked the plains Cala had settled on. She sat on a rocky crag suspended over a vast glacier. It was bitterly cold up there that morning. A north wind hurled ice dust, having the effect of a frigid sandblaster. Mirri wanted to be alone. She wanted to be cold. Mirri needed to be very cold and very alone.

  For many months she’d labored under the ever-increasing weight of Cala’s yoke. The brindas was a kind female, even motherly at times, but she was a harsh taskmaster. Cala maintained that if she wasn’t firm, none of her pupils would ever have learned enough to survive the trials they were to face. But Mirraya did not want to face trials. She did not wish to survive them if they were inevitable. What she wanted was to be the pretty, blossoming woman she had been when she had lived with her family before the Adamant destroyed everything.

  No one, not even Uncle Jon had explained to her why that awful empire had done such a horrific, unthinkable act of genocide. The Deft were a threat to no one. All the race had ever wanted was to be left alone. As shapeshifters, they were feared and envied, so they’d learned that isolation was their best friend. But the Adamant went out of their way not only to conquer them, but also make it their mission to delete them. Why? Mirraya knew for a fact her people hadn’t hurt, offended, or challenged any other inhabitant of the galaxy.

  Madness. It was all madness, and one she did not want to participate in. She decided she would perch on that crag until the cold slowly took her. Torchclefts were perfectly unsuited for an arctic environment. It wouldn’t take long. After she was gone, Cala could do whatever she wanted. She could be the wise old hermit, claiming mighty power but accomplishing nothing. And Slapgren would be better off without Mirri too. Sooner or later they’d be forced into hollon by their know-it-all teacher. Mirri would spare him the violation and humiliation of their melding just to please an old woman’s sick desires.

  Mirraya would always miss Uncle Jon. He saved her when it had been impossible. His love was the most intense she’d ever experienced. Her parents had to love her. Her relatives were expected to love her. But Uncle Jon chose to, for whatever reason. She giggled in her head. He wouldn’t save her this time. He didn’t know where she was or what she was about to allow to happen. Even if he did, the big-mouthed golden dragon would chirp and bluster at him until long after she was an ice cube. She would miss Uncle Jon.

  Yes, she had to admit it, she’d miss Slapgren too, that lunkhead. He was insensitive, crashing his way through life, but he had his good qualities also. None came to mind as she sat there freezing to death, but she recalled noting some in the past. It was the cold. It was affecting her brain. Slapgren was loyal. Yes, that was one of his strong points.

  She shook her head to clear it, then wondered why she cared? Wouldn’t it be better to slip away addled than sharp as a new knife blade? Mirri knew the end was near. She began hallucinating. She smelled smoke whipping past her high on that windy peak. Only a dragon could start a fire …

  Mirri turned slowly. Cala was nursing a bonfire, and Slapgren was just dropping a large load of wood on it from above. The flames curled way up into the sky, like they were direction signals to heaven. What an odd hallucination. It was so specific, so detailed. The smoke, the movement.

  “If you don’t come warm yourself now, child,” shouted Cala, “I’ll be forced to drag you over kicking and screaming.”

  Mirraya concluded numbly it was not a hallucination. They could never be so annoying.

  “Leave me alone. You don’t own me,” she said very softly.

  “No one does. But we can’t just let you freeze.”

  “I can look out for myself.”

  “And look how well you’ve do so far,” replied Cala as she kicked at the wood.

  “Leave me alone. I want to die.”

  “I assumed as much. But I cannot allow that.”

  “Why, because you’re not done torturing me?”

  “I’m not done teaching you yet. If I were torturing you, you’d know it well.”

  “Are you sure you should tease her?” asked Slapgren very quietly. “I mean, she seems kind of upset, sort of on the edge.”

  “Of course, she’s upset and on the edge. She’s a teenage girl. No matter what I say, she’ll be one for a few more years. Hopefully we’ll all survive emotionally.”

  “Is it okay if I go talk to her?”

  “No, because she’s coming here before she turns into an ice sculpture. Then you can chat until your heart’s content.”

  “Do you think she’ll listen to me, about not hurting herself I mean?”

  “Sure. You’re her future hollon mate. She’ll have to.”

  Slapgren winced. “Could you stop saying that? It only pisses her off more and creeps me out.”

  “Fine. And I’ll stop saying the sun will rise tomorrow and fish poop in the water. I’ll stop saying everything that is completely obvious. Then you won’t be creeped out. I can’t have that on my conscience.” He pretended to shiver. “Wait here while I re
trieve the girl.”

  “Do you need my help?” He wished he hadn’t asked the instant the words left his mouth.

  “Have I ever?”

  Slapgren let it drop.

  Within five minutes Mirri had begun to thaw. Cala flew off to get more wood. Slapgren put a wing around Mirraya.

  “I don’t know what I’d have done if I lost you,” he said, looking into the flames.

  “You’d have done just fine.” Then she winked at him. “You’d do better because you’d get my share of the agatcha.”

  “Don’t joke about that. I’m serious. You and UJ are the only people I’ve got left in this whole big universe of indifference and malice.”

  “Wow,” she said with a crooked smile, “when did you learn to talk so well?”

  “What?” he said pulling back a bit.

  “Really, you’re starting to sound like Uncle Jon with your indifference and malice.”

  “I will choose to take that as a compliment.”

  “It certainly is,” she said, snuggling closer to him under his wing. That caused him to recoil a little more.

  “I’m so frustrated. I can’t stand my life. I can’t imagine standing my future.”

  “We’ll get through this,” he responded, trying to believe his own words.

  “Sure, in like twenty years we may get a three-day pass to leave this prison. Oh boy.”

  “I’m going through this too, you know? Lost my family, stuck here with you and Cala.”

  “Thanks for the encouragement and support. Have you ever considered being a crisis counselor?” She jerked her shoulder away from his light hold.

  “I didn’t mean that. Come on. I mean I’m stuck here just like you, and my life sucks just as much.”

  “Well I guess you var-tey are just tougher than us little girls, so you don’t mind it.”

  Slapgren’s wings dropped to the ground. He looked down and said nothing.

  “Sorry. That was mean,” she said quickly. “You’re family, and I shouldn’t attack family. Plus, you’re all right. You’re one of my two friends.” She smiled. “You forgive me?”