Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The battle cry was thunderous, not unlike the howling, screeching, and stampeding of nether devils rising from the underworld through the fissures of the lithosphere.

Three figures led the charge, one of them a woman.

Her long, dark hair whipped with power, her aura lit up by the light of the mist-covered twin suns.

She soared in her metsai armour, tracking at high speed across the sky.

To her right was the flaming Drákon Queen, and to her left was her fiancé.

His eye caught hers, and he smiled through sharpened teeth.

She shivered.

Their engagement was to be made public after this expected victory.

Not that they’d be one, she thought.

The horns blew.

The Drákon army of Isato roared and flew forth into the fray.

Their enemy, the Sphinx army of Cygnus, met them with force.

A bank of gloomy, ominous clouds rolled over the scene, churning with the rage of a wild banshee.

The clashing multitude whipped through the devastating derecho, which ripped snow and rocks from the surface of the white world below.

Keeping pace with her consort and his mother, the lean woman with flashing diamond-flecked eyes summoned her blades.

They shimmered from their hidden sheaths on the spine of her armoured suit.

Their unseen profiles whirled through the air, and when she lifted her hands, their diaphanous, translucent forms materialised in her grasp.

She gripped their familiar hilts.

She’d sharpened and polished the whetted edges with such care. If she were to unleash them to the visible eye, their brilliance would summon the sun from behind the clouds.

For they were made of SHärd ether, folded, hammered, fired, quenched, and cooled five times over. In the pearl-like waters of The Seven Wonders of Shotel’s high mountain lakes.

The process urged them into their rarefied fifth-element form.

One believed to permeate all space, including the interstices between the particles of matter and light.

The SHärd short swords were also sentient, each with its unique essence to wield. One had anaesthetic properties to heal, and the other had solvent attributes to annihilate.

She ran her forefinger in both hands along the inset signature groove. It bore her name and a pledge beneath it - in Shotelai symbols. She hissed as the piercing edges slid through her skin.

The pain reassured her they’d complete her mission with the SHärd-like precision she’d refined all these years.

Wiping off the tiny spots of blood from the sharp edge onto her suit, she took in a hitched breath.

One oath, two blades, three tragedies, four slays, five fates.

Her whispered wish was less reverent than when she’d first uttered it many moons ago. Now, it was more resigned to fate and exhaustion.

After a span of anguish, this was the moment.

As the baying of warfare ratcheted, she lifted her arms and flung her weapons, steadfast and sure.

With all eyes fixed on their leviathan foes, none spotted her furtive move.

The daggers arced through the air, lighting up with an ethereal illumination as they raced towards their twin marks.

She held her breath, then felt the jolt as they hit, sinking into past scales and sinews, severing tendons, slicing arteries.

The SHärd psions flooded the wounds, delivering the final blow, cutting off all oxygen throughout the circuitry systems.

The Drákon Monarch of Isato fell, and she twisted midair, confused, unaware she’d been struck.

The Prince, too, mouth slack in shock but clinging on to consciousness.

Isaya’s panicked eyes darted around and met the Shotelai’s cool gaze, probing, asking a question even as terror overtook him.

She gave no answer, no response, only ice.

He jolted in realisation just as his wings withered and fell away.

His panicked, clawing form wheeled through the air in the wake of the Queen. Both Drákons scrabbled as their life force faded.

Seconds later, the titian bodies of Queen and Son exploded in a cloud of burnt sienna scales over the white boulders far below.

A roar of confusion rose from the ranks, for the formation floundered without the monarch at the helm.

The shikari closed off her heart from the pain of betrayal threatening to blade her soul in two.

Instead, she let herself nosedive away towards the mountains looming below.

Still, she kept her head cocked as she caught sight of the Drákon sub-commander, who darted his eyes around, seeking the assassin.

His crimson-lined gaze widened.

He pointed to her falling form.

At his screeched howl, a surge of forces leapt after her.

The woman maintained her calculated plummet through the air.

The sound of her ragged breaths filled her metsai helmet, drowning out the distant roars of the enraged army.

Somewhere deep within her, a silent scream echoed, the cry of a shattered soul, even as she fell with great speed to the surface.

Her eyes were drawn to the gold-drenched rays of the twin suns shining in between the rainfall of falling bodies and mist.

She held out her arms as her blades returned to her grip, still dripping with the ornate maroon blood of the Queen and her Son.

At her neural command, a waiting pinnace shot out from its hiding place amongst the crags of the snowed-in peaks.

She aimed towards it and dropped into the tiny cockpit with a thud.

Seconds later, the glass plex slid closed over her, and the flyer raced away.

Swivelling her head in retreat, she raised a brow as the sub-commander’s maddened red eyes glared at her. His mouth worked in a fury, his snarls snatched away by the derecho.

With a twist of her lips, she faced forward.

Just as she twisted her head, she sensed the ethereal presence at her shoulder.

She gazed at the figure floating before her, a translucent form that flickered and wavered in the dim light.

It was the spectral visage of a once mighty king.

He was draped in ice-white robes and crowned with an aether-encrusted crown. His features misshapen in despair, a wraithlike holdover of the past.

She closed her eyes, and he was gone when she flung them open again.

Taking a shaky breath, she reminded herself of her promise, the same one tattooed on her heart, soul, mind, and skin of both arms.

‘One oath, two blades, three tragedies, four slays, five fates.’

A sleek ship darted from behind a far-off mountain rise and sliced through the atmosphere, burning hard out of Isato’s orbit.

Inside its bridge, the woman stripped off her armour.

She removed her vital metsai undersuit and laid down her two still-pulsing swords on the surface of the wrap-around panel.

‘How did it go, Sana’a of Shotelai?’ a quiet, steady voice emanated from the racing gunship’s console.

‘Well enough.’

The woman could not hide the weariness and devastation in her voice.

Nor the spasms in her swollen joints, and she took a sharp breath, willing more tikό to siphon through her metsai covering.

It flooded in, and she sighed in relief, almost slumping over the bridge’s smooth surface.

‘Success?’

‘Always. Took much longer than the planned six months, however.’

‘It’s what was needed to earn their trust.’

Sana’a huffed. ‘Can’t wait to be fokkin’ done with this oath-life. Still, the funeral horns for Gudit and Isaya ring all over Isato, and the Drákon army is floundering. Nothing they didn’t all deserve.’

‘How do you feel?’ the intelligence ventured.

The shikari shrugged. ‘That I’ve slain two more of my father’s plotters? Nada.’

‘How do you really feel?’

As if her heart had been plunged into an icy abyss, her very essence shattered into millions of crystal slivers floating in a bleak void.

‘Let it go, Sika, I’m fokkin’ drained and exhausted.’

Aside from the fact that her body still trembled with the weight of guilt, her shoulders slumped from her soul’s invisible burden.

The heaviness threatened to swamp her.

Her hands crept to her chest as if trying to hold onto the last remnants of her lover’s presence.

Isaya had been kind to her, even a good lover at times.

For a fleeting moment, she longed to touch the hand that would never stroke hers again and feel his embrace once more.

The thought slipped between the million jagged pieces of her shattered, grieving ka.

It flowed not with sorrow for her prince but for a notion, once living and breathing, now long gone.

After a beat, she spoke again, her tone softening. ‘Apologies, Sika. I shouldn’t be so sharp with you. But it’s been a fokkin’ long span of planning, waiting, and watching.’

Her companion clucked. ‘I understand. Have faith, your purpose will not be thwarted.’

Sana’a sighed, disbelieving, as she slid her blades onto a flat tray on the console. ‘Please sterilise these for me, then polish them.’

‘Of course.’

With a smooth hum, a hatch opened, and the unusual weapons disappeared into the machinery.

Sika chirped. ‘I have news on our next target. Care to hear more, or do you prefer to take some rest?’

The shikari fell into a crash couch behind the captain’s chair. Her hands rubbed at her joints, still tensed from hours of continued aching. ‘I’m all ears. The sooner we wrap up this cursed oath, the better.’

‘There’s chatter coming from Eden II. Of a rare visit by a small band of Katánian warriors.’

The woman knifed up from her seat. ‘Pray to tell.’

‘Even more interesting is the presence of the Kogun War Eagle on the rock. The King of Katánē’s personal warship.’

Sana’a unfurled her lithe legs and strode to the pilot controls. ‘Do we have vision?’

‘Naam,’ the intelligence said. ‘Pulling it up now.’

A holo flickered to life above the console. On-screen, a massive avian-shaped vessel resembling a predator bird was parked just off Eden II.

Sleek and bristling with steel, rail guns and power, it dwarfed the extensive port.

‘It’s freakin huge,’ Sana’a breathed.

‘I can confirm it’s one of the largest warships in all Pegasi. They’re readying for a long flight, most likely back to Katánopolis. I also happen to know that there are rumours of a formidable trio of Hawk Hunters strutting the city.’

‘What are they doing there?’

‘A wedding, as I understand it. They’re guests of the Sable Riders.’

The woman cursed under her breath. ‘Fokk, the Riders. Are you confident the royal is on board? That he is among them? Can we make certain lest I make a mistake?’

Sika responded after a beat. ‘I’m not sure I can get you that level of intel. Not until we land. For now, I’ve accessed data that shows numerous confirmations, including a copy of the wedding invitation. The only Katánians on Eden II on the list and allowed off the ship are a trio of Imperial Hawkers from the royal craft. One of them has to be their Consort. No one else can command or travel in the Kogun.’

‘Hunt down anything you can find on where the heck those three are spending their time.’

‘They’re probably wandering the bars and pleasure halls of the rock.’

The shikari grimaced. ‘This could be the break we’ve been waiting for. We can’t chance missing it.’

‘Do you want me to burn for -’

‘Please. And hurry. They won’t be on Eden II for too long.’

The lithe woman nodded to the Edenite guard checking her Sys-ID at Eden II’s expansive entry port.

She kept her head down, and her diamond-flecked eyes averted, trying to avoid his scrutiny.

‘Ay! Eyes up!’ he grunted.

With reluctance, she glanced into his face, which was lined with languor, mottled with scars, and pitted with acne.

He flicked his eyes over her plain, ordinary features, her chiselled chin, and her dark, severe ponytail. ‘Don’t I know you? Like know you, know you?’

She pushed back her hood and gave a wry, conceding nod. ‘Tugen, good to see you.’

He reared his head in shock. Then rushed around his mobile droid to embrace her. ‘Fokk! Sana’a? Is it you for real? Where did you get to after the L’yiki skirmish? You just disappeared off the face of Pegasi.’

‘Had places to go and people to see.’

His long-lashed eyes, the single beguiling feature on his face, sparkled with memories. ‘Damn, remember when we flushed a dozen Falasian rats out of their cave? Caught them with pants down, sitting on a weapons haul large enough to nuke an entire planet?’

‘I do recall,’ Sana’a drawled. ‘Only too well. Heck, we iced them.’

Which just managed to slow the all-out genocide of her people.

He grinned at her and waved her past the checkpoint. ‘Get in there, and come by for a drink when you’re done with your bizna.’

‘Sante.’ She gave him a mini salute and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, walking on.

As soon as she was round the corner, her metsai cloak changed colour, and she pulled its shroud close over her head.

Her cape shifted shape and hue a few more times as she boarded a maglev train for Eden Central.

She had no intention of running into any more of the mercs she’d served alongside in various insurgencies throughout Pegasi.

It didn’t help that most racketeers and outlaws in the galaxy had either faced her blades or had a hankering to hire her for their lethal touch.

Neither did she want attention from officials who’d amassed a pile of bounties in her name.

She pushed out of the transport and into a crowded avenue, packed with workers scurrying home and revellers getting ready to paint the cityscape red.

None of the surrounding gleaming scapes that made Eden II such a drawcard for visitors caught her fancy.

In the distance gleamed Old Town’s temples and ancient monasteries, where tourists thronged to the Paladian sites.

To stare at statues of age-old gods and hundreds of artefacts, their imaginations captured by legends of the long-gone deities, of which Sana’a had zero time for.

She stepped onto the pavement, crossed the busy avenue, and headed towards a neon sign above the entrance to a venue.

It flickered and hummed, casting a golden glow over the street.

The BirdKage.

The infamous bar was one establishment amongst many run by the infamous Sable Riders.

She sucked her teeth at the inevitable. She’d need to watch her step while within its confines.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed on the door.

She walked into an expansive lobby and paused, sending a neural command to her metsai cloak and suit.

It changed form, moulding onto her into a contouring metallic dress that caressed her curves and stopped just below her mid-thigh. It outlined her full breasts yet concealed a wealth of folds to hide her blades.

She hoped it would be enough to entice her quarry.

Her crushers altered into knee-high leather boots with pointed toes and slanted heels for a chic touch.

They also acted as a hidden holster for her sleek phaser.

Last, she ran her metsai glove over her face.

It deposited the right amount of coloured layers to highlight her contours. Transforming her face from a make-up free, forgettable visage into a high-cheekboned, glossy-lipped beauty.

Satisfied with her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that dominated the lobby, she tucked her stealth kit into a purse and marched to the escalator.

It rose two levels to where the swell of music hit her with force.

The vast venue was packed, the air thick with synth smoke, ‘hol essence, the scent of delicious bites and the headiness of perfume.

She sensed none of it, pushing past the laughing patrons indulging in the refinement and sophistication wrapped around the nested, birdcage-inspired set-up.

Where were they last spotted?

Sika replied, speaking into Sana’a’s neural node. In the rooftop gardens, just through the large open sliding doors.

The intelligence was tapping into Sana’a’s vision, and digitised markers glowed in her sight as Sika led her to her mark.

The Shotelai threaded through plush furnishings and intimate booths.

Above her swung gold bird enclosures overflowing with shrubs, plants and flowers.

The effect was a calm oasis that was an escape from the heat and chaos of Eden II’s bustling metro just outside its doors.

Beyond the front of the house was an open kitchen swarming with sous chefs from where heavenly aromas wafted.

The restaurant opened to a deck area with sweeping views of the city.

The long-haired woman paused at the arched entryway, her eyes darting around the bar, where busy mixologists dreamed up wild-hued cocktails complete with flames and fireworks.

Patrons packed the tables and couches under bobbing fairy lights, and servers danced through the crowd with platters overflowing with enticing fare.

Sana’a ignore it all, searching the vast space for her prey.

Behind you.

She turned and was hit with gales of raucous laughter.

It emanated from a group of people bunched together at the far corner of the rooftop garden, half hidden behind a large pot of trailing plants.

Many of them women, some men.

All crowding around a trio of oversized beings.

Sika chirped. Those are the so-called Katánians. I have never seen anything quite like them.

Sana’a huffed in surprise. Neither have I.

For they were giants, towering over the assembled punters like outsized demigods.

Two of them had craggy faces, handsome and chiselled yet with an eagle-like menace. They each sported short silver hair with shorn sides and an unusual glowing jewel at the centre of their foreheads.

Their bodies were extensive, with ropey muscled limbs under their tight, dark suits that fit them like a glove.

Their posture was alert, their eyes darting in lethal sweeps across the rooftop terrace, their relaxed postures affected.

She sensed they’d leap to action at a moment’s notice. Their vigilance told her they were in high shielding mode.

Protecting whom?

That soon became clear when her eyes wandered over the third man alongside them, who was now easing into a lounge chair, stepping away from the adoring crowd.

He was the polar opposite of the other two in style and stance.

He took casual to a new level, from the flowing cloak shrugged like a shawl across the expanse of his broad shoulders to his rough-shorn beard.

Is that him?

I can’t access any of their Sys-IDs, so you have to work out which of the three is our mark.

Sana’a’s eyes raked over his form, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

He was all primal, gargantuan in size, menacing in vibe, sculpted in face, dead-bored in stance.

He wore a half-open shirt under the cape that revealed a muscled chest covered in shifting, inked markings.

It was tucked into loose trews that clung to the sinew of his immense thighs.

His elongated legs were crossed at the ankle and ended in a pair of flat, knee-high boots.

She had to give it to him. He’d toiled long and hard to keep his muscles corded, lean, and whipped.

She raked her eyes back up.

He sported a thick dark brow, a proud aquiline nose, lush lips, a jutting chin and a chiselled jaw.

She twisted her mouth, not impressed in the least.

She’d seen many of his kind. Hackneyed conventions of predictably alpha males, complete with their overworked, brooding, lofty and unfathomable mystique.

But it was his locks that had her sucking her teeth in disapproval.

The man bun was once again a craze amongst Pegasi’s outright bachelors and hardcore playboys, from Iccythrians to Edenites.

Sana’a stopped shy of rolling her eyes.

In her estimation, the style was untidy and tended towards funk if not washed well, when worn by individuals who did not adhere to hair maintenance rituals.

It also sent a message of solid asshole vibes.

That said, his crowning glory had a different take; his silver locks caught up in a loose roll, trailing several chrome plumes studded with jewels that ended by his broad midsection.

She leaned in for a close assessment. His presence gave off a silent charisma, dominating the space without speaking.

Yet somehow, he was removed from it all, aloof, as if not quite in communion with the carousing around him.

With zero warning, he glanced up. At her.

Their eyes met, clashed, and heated with a lightning-fast smoulder.

She jolted, a fever running over her skin. In waves, as if she was being scanned.

Or was it stroked?

How was that even possible?

Pushing back on the arced heat, she challenged him, narrowing her own gaze.

He sat back, savouring their eye lock.

He stretched his long arms to either side of the couch he lounged on, the movement stretching his rippling chest against his thin shirt.

His tongue teased out from between sinuous lips as he worked his mouth around a slight bulge in his cheek.

He was chewing something, but what the contents were, she could not tell.

His cheeks and jaw worked from the pressure, adding to his nonchalant air of sensual insolence.

Even from a distance, she caught sight of thick lashes from which his meta eyes glowed silver and penetrating.

A radiant gem was embedded into his temple, and Sana’a’s brow rose as it pulsed.

She deflected the unexpected charge aimed at her.

His mouth twitched as if sensing her rejection.

He smirked, his gaze piercing, needling the creases of her close-held secrets.

For a moment, she thought she glimpsed someone else flitting in front of his features; the essence of a sage, much older, wise man spilled out from behind the shadowed, chiselled planes of the stranger’s face.

While his broody spirit had done nothing for her, the flashing lurch of another lurking soul hit her with such power that she almost swayed.

She pushed back against the surge and gritted her teeth.

I think I’ve found him.

It was all she could manage to comm out to Sika.

The SHärd blade sheathed in her backside fluttered on her skin.

It sensed something, and she waited for one of the instinctive thoughts it usually sent, but there was only silence.

She focused her attention back on him.

Caught in the pull of his old soul eyes, Sana’a took a few steps forward.

As if disinterested, his gaze slid off her and to the far horizon beyond the roof.

Oblivious to the gaggle of women at a nearby table who were swooning at him.

The slice away of his eyes delivered an unexpected stab of loss that shook her to the core.

Still, her boots kept moving.