Soros: Alien Warlord's Conquest (Scifi Alien - Human Military Romance) Page 13

  Can they hear me? she thought. Could they know I'm still here?

  She couldn't believe it. The material under her boots was so soft that it was almost like she was walking in socks. How could they possibly hear that?

  Kat heard the message when it came in.

  "Captain Romod," the comms sounded. "We need you on the Plateau. The Commander is falling back, but they are not breaking ranks. Lord Turian wants you to push forward, use this chance before he slips away."

  "Understood," Romod replied tersely. "I will be there soon. Keep the pressure on him until then."

  If it was possible for a comm link to sound hesitant, it did.

  "Yes, Captain," the voice finally replied. "But you should know the men are reluctant. It would help if one of the guards was leading them."

  Guards, Kat thought. These two are Turian's bodyguards? I don't know if I'm in more luck or more trouble. No wonder they heard me.

  She knew enough about Turian from her readings and form what Soros had told her. Turian was a paranoid bastard who only surrounded himself with the best of the best. That meant that the men walking in front of her had to have been the best warriors Dolon Hall had supplied for Turian’s clan in their lifetime.

  "I said I'll be there," Romod snapped back. "What is wrong with them anyway? We are Corgans. We are not reluctant to fight our wars!"

  "Yes, Captain," agreed the comm. "But it's the Commander. No one wants to face him."

  Kat felt her heart skip a beat. Not only did it mean that Soros was still alive and fighting, but that he was striking fear into the hearts – the many hearts - of the enemy – and not just any enemy but battle-hardened warriors capable of conquering worlds.

  She felt ridiculously proud and not a little turned on. Soros’ promise about the bed sounded better and better with each second.

  We're not there yet, she told herself firmly. No celebrating until we've won. I still have to find Turian.

  "The Commander is nothing but a man," Challen barked into the comm. "He bleeds, he can be wounded like all of us. Tell those bastards to find their spines or we will rip them out when we get there."

  Lovely people, Kat thought as the comm fell silent, trying to reassure herself that they were wrong and Soros was not just a man.

  They kept going through hallways that were growing increasingly silent. Kat was starting to get a bad feeling about it all. She could no longer even guess where they were, but they seemed to be going underground. Kat had no idea what lay beneath Dolon Hall. It wasn't on any map she could find and Zoey Swann hadn't provided her with one.

  The trap didn't occur to her until it was too late. Romod and Challen turned another corner and she kept walking, lulled into false security by the fact that they'd been strolling together like that for a long while now.

  Challen's charge took her down. The warrior ran into her clumsily, nearly missing her, but it was enough to throw her off her feet. And if she had managed to sidestep him, Romod was by his side. They came at her together like a moving wall, knocking her to the ground.

  She grabbed for her gun, but they were so much quicker than her. Feeling the shape of her body underneath him, Challen took two tries to pull her hood back.

  "Turn this off," the warrior growled at her, smiling. "If you don't want me to cut off your pretty, floating head."

  Gritting her teeth, Kat obeyed, making sure they didn't see the motion itself.

  She was caught but not broken. She would live to fight another day.

  "Now," Romod said, pulling her to her feet. "Let's go and see our lord."

  Or not.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Soros

  Soros had always believed in the truth.

  It was much simpler to live without lies and deception, without trying to keep track of all the webs the clan lords spun around themselves. He spoke his mind freely and knew that others expected him to do as much.

  Which was, ironically, why lying was so easy for him.

  He didn't do it often. Mostly, there was no need. And he had carefully avoided telling Kat the whole truth about the matter. Technically, he hadn't lied, but the fact remained. She was better off not knowing how outmatched they really were.

  Turian had the victory in his grasp, if he wanted it. Soros had been almost certain that Turian couldn't really afford to destroy Dolon Hall. And that the clan lord would try every possible way of defeating him without the cowardly bombardment. If Turian went that route, it would undoubtedly leave Soros dead, but the incident would be etched forever in his students' minds.

  Turian didn't want that.

  He was one of Soros' students, after all. No, what the clan lord hungered for above all else was victory over Soros, this much was obvious. Something Soros had never allowed for any of them, not while they remained at Dolon Hall. None of his students had ever defeated him when Soros was still their commander.

  He had often wondered if anyone could win over him in fair combat at all. The chieftain might have stood a chance, these days. Daegon, maybe, but not many others.

  Every last one of the warriors Turian sent against him knew that all too well. His name preceded him, walked in front of him, creating a nearly physical embodiment of fear. It was that shadowy, mythical figure of his superiority that Turian was really after.

  Yes, Soros was almost certain. The only thing bothering him about that was the simple issue of gambling with the lives of everyone at Dolon Hall. Perhaps he should have called Turian out in a less crowded place, but that didn't sit well with his plan.

  Soros needed an audience.

  As he fought his way through the corridors, looking for Turian to come out of hiding, his thoughts kept returning to Kat. Dolon Hall was far from defenseless and so was she, but despite what everyone thought, Soros wasn't in love with the academy.

  Not to betray her location, he didn't open the link to her transmitter. In response, it stayed silent.

  Be safe, my little Kat.

  * * *

  The one advantage Soros had was that Dolon Hall was a maze.

  In addition, it wasn't nearly as easy to pulverize as Turian would have liked. A long time ago, the man who had built the academy had thought everything through to the last detail. The following generations didn't always understand the intricate structure and balance between the halls, but Soros did well enough.

  It was a dizzying combination of different areas, meant to encourage cooperation where it was needed and discourage it where it could be harmful.

  The warriors’ training facilities opened almost entirely to the skies in several places. They were the easiest to destroy and just as simple to rebuild. Everyone knew that and so no one was there when Turian arrived.

  It was different with the rooms meant for future priests. Their halls were reinforced and strengthened again and again, to make sure none of their experiments damaged the rest of Dolon Hall.

  The experiments didn't behave like they were supposed to very often. After all, they wouldn't have been experiments if the priests already known the outcome.

  Most of the fighting took place under rock and metal and the overall cover of the Plateau. That's what the priests’ part of the academy was called. Knowing the place well, Turian had most of his clan's firepower concentrated on that, but they both knew the Plateau would hold for a long time.

  That did not concern Soros. Turian was welcome to destroy as much as he liked, since every piece that fell made him less popular.

  Every piece can be rebuilt, individually, Soros thought.

  Clan lords didn't turn against the Hall. It was not the way things were done. By that point, both Soros and Turian knew that only victory would allow either of them to live. Not just in the general sense, but in the eyes of the Corgan community.

  If Soros lost the academy, he would lose his reputation. If Turian let himself be defeated, he would never be forgiven for the Hall.

  And yet, there was no sign of the clan lord.

  It would have
bothered Soros a bit more if he hadn’t had his hands full of the droves upon droves of warriors Turian threw at him. He also took comfort in the fact that if all the warriors were there, Kat would be in less danger.

  That was good, since Turian hadn't come to play.

  As he cut one warrior down after another, it occurred to Soros that Turian had been setting it up long before he ever became the clan lord. With whispers and hate mongering, he'd turned Soros’ students against him a long time ago. That was the only explanation to the absolute loathing in their eyes as they fell thoughtlessly to his twin blades.

  Soros was used to being hated, but this level of scorn was something entirely new.

  "Commander," one of the attackers roared at him.

  Soros saw others making a path for the man. Slowly, with measured pace, Hux approached him from the horde of enemies, his swords bared in his hands.

  Soros wasn't surprised in the slightest. Hux was exceptional, and men like that were prone to be so self-centered that they lost the world around them, seeing only themselves. Soros saw Turian's handiwork as plain as day.

  For one, the warrior wore his colors on his sleeve. He hadn't graduated yet, so he was still dressed in the Dolon uniform, but despite being Soros’ student, Hux was better than most of the men around Soros, including the ones guarding his back.

  They seemed to know that, growing tense like beasts sensing a true opponent.

  "Stay back," Soros said.

  Hux smiled. He was tall and slender, unlike most Corgan warriors. It made him damnably quick and agile, as he weighed practically nothing. Soros had seen Hux almost float out of the way of blows. The warrior's blue eyes were fever-bright and wild.

  The battle died down around them. In a second, the fight went from a clash to a duel – it was a possible tide-changer, after all.

  "How noble," Hux said. "You don't want to get the traitors behind your back killed, although you show no hesitation at ordering them to die for you otherwise."

  Not even looking at him, Soros shook his blades clean of the blood coloring the steel red. The splatter flew on the ground but blended immediately into the crimson surface where so many bodies lay already.

  "I don't want them to feel the blood of their brother on their hands any more than they have to," he replied.

  The smile fell from Hux's face. Soros raised his blues to meet Hux’s gaze, seeing the fury rage within him. All the warriors studying at Dolon Hall felt a kind of kinship. They fought together, ate together, suffered under his rule together.

  They called each other brothers, until they left to serve their respective clan lords. But even then, warriors who'd been at Dolon at the same time forever respected each other.

  Soros wondered how it felt for his students – on either side – to kill their brothers now, still surrounded by the walls that were meant to bind them together.

  Most likely the same as it did for him to kill them.

  Excruciating.

  "I looked up to you," Hux hissed.

  Now that was a surprise. Soros had always taken Hux for a natural lackey, bodyguard material to the bone. With his single-mindedness, he was perfect for the job of keeping someone else’s backside safe. But the man's voice said he wasn't lying.

  All the more reason for him to carve Turian to pieces, for forcing warriors to pick a side in this madness.

  "We all did," Hux went on. "Everything you said, everything you taught us. We believed that if Corgans were ever truly in trouble, you would lead us against the enemy."

  Soros looked at him, standing true to his beliefs. He had tried, he really had. Talking to Turian hadn't helped and he didn't think Hux would be any different. Even he couldn't undo a whole lifetime of believing in one thing with such single-minded fervor that it took on an existence of its own.

  "I am," he replied quietly. "You are just on the wrong side, boy."

  Hux was no boy. Soros had never asked, but he figured he couldn't have been much younger than him. Perhaps even a year or two older. But at those words, the certainty on Hux's face slipped for a moment.

  Only to be replaced by stubborn anger in the next, as Soros had known it would. They both raised their blades.

  "I need to hear you say it," Hux demanded furiously. "Tell me you agree with Nadar Brenger."

  "He's a bastard," Soros said, shrugging. "I don't agree with him on many things, but Turian is even more wrong. And this is not a matter to die over."

  Soros gave Hux a moment to consider that, but he saw it was useless.

  "I'm giving you one final chance to get out of this," he told the other warrior.

  Now Hux smiled again, but it was a hopeless grin. One belonging to a dead man walking, one of a man who knew there will be no tomorrow for him.

  "That is not what you taught us, Commander," Hux said. "A Corgan doesn't back down."

  No, Soros thought as Hux charged. We don't.

  They met in the middle of a rough circle, with the rest watching them, the battle forgotten for a moment. There were a few clashes here and there, but most of the attention had focused on them. Hux was the first fighter that day who made Soros grip his swords in his hands, who made him put some effort into his movements.

  Hux was fast, but it didn't mean he was weak. Soros had to parry his blows while immediately pushing himself free to catch the follow-up that came with terrible speed. The twin blades clashed between them, scratching the surfaces of their armors, cutting red lines where their skin was exposed.

  It was a merciless duel, trying to get close enough for the kill. Soros found himself actually working to stay without a serious injury, but Hux knew he was fighting for his life. There was no remorse, no hesitation in his movements. The warrior knew the only way to walk away from him was to never let Soros actually fight.

  Hux tried to keep him pinned, tiring himself doing so. The twin blades in his hands never stopped moving, never blocked although they wounded Soros. Breathing heavily, grunting, Hux advanced, step by step, putting tremendous effort into not letting Soros get room for a real strike.

  It was a pity that it wasn't going to save him. Soros faced the attacks calmly, stepping back when he needed to. The warriors around him weren't rookies who thought that to be a Corgan was to never retreat. It was to never lose that truly defined a Corgan – there lay the vital difference.

  He kept his eyes on Hux, watching, waiting for the second the other warrior gave him his chance. For long, long moments, he did not. That was admirable. Hux's swords were growing blunt as he hammered them against Soros’ armor like axes, but the angle was always too much off to cut in.

  Soros knew it was torture. He should have put an end to Hux's misery, but he wanted the others to witness what he needed them to see. For almost a minute, Hux had fought as hard as he could. There hadn't been one wrong move, only relentless, determined fury.

  Soros' armor was dented and scraped, and he was bleeding from several wounds.

  Despite Hux siding with his enemies, as he'd known he would, Soros regretted making a spectacle of his death. Turian deserved that in his stead.

  It only took half a step back to gain the upper hand. Suddenly, Soros slid out of Hux's reach and his blades that had so far only been blocking, came up to start delivering strikes. He saw the look of naked surprise on Hux's face as the warrior struggled to match his speed, but Soros was merciless. He'd let the farce go on long enough.

  He dove under the synchronized strike of both Hux's swords and stabbed him in the stomach faster than the eye could follow. Hux hadn't even lowered his swords before he was standing two feet away, completely at ease. The warrior looked at him, his mouth hanging open, clutching his stomach before falling to his knees.

  The hall around them was dead silent.

  Soros walked over to his fallen enemy.

  "You were good, boy," he said darkly. "Very good. You could have been a great warrior, a treasure for our people. But you never were good at understanding how wrong you were about so many
things."

  Taking his eyes off the furious look in Hux's eyes, the light draining from those wild blues, Soros regarded the warriors around them.

  "Let this be a lesson to you all," he said. "Being a great warrior isn't everything. If you pair that with letting idiots and tyrants lead you astray, this is how you will end up. I can promise you that."

  "Still teaching, Commander?" Hux asked, wheezing.

  Soros raised the sword in his right hand. Blood trickled down his arm.

  "Yes," he said. "Clearly I still have much to teach."

  He struck, clean and true. Soros saw Hux’s eyes grow wide as the sword descended, but he probably barely felt it. Then his head rolled on the ground, finally stopping when it hit another fallen body.

  For a moment, the hall remained deadly silent. Soros didn't expect any miracles. No matter what he'd said, it was too late to change sides for many of them.

  He took a deep breath and the battle came alive again. The swords in his hands started to rise and fall as he backed away with the men who'd decided to fight with him. Soros didn't look behind him once.

  Unlike Hux, they had chosen to follow his lead against whatever their clan lords would have thought. Considering the number of warriors approaching them, it meant almost certain death.

  Soros smiled.

  "They have us surrounded," he called to his allies. "Their funeral. They need to look for us, but we are free to attack in any direction."

  Laughter answered him – it was the laughter of dead men walking.

  Chapter Twenty

  Kat

  Kat stumbled on, Romod's grip around her arm hurting more than it had to.

  She didn't let it show, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of seeing how badly he was bruising her.