Soros: Alien Warlord's Conquest (Scifi Alien - Human Military Romance) (3 page)

S
ix years later
, Soros stood in front of two more boys who had chosen winter.

Both of their eyes were already sparkling with the Corgan warrior blue. He knew their names, too. Dolon Hall wasn't meant for children and rarely opened its mighty doors to anyone who wasn't already an accomplished warrior. They didn't learn to kill there, or the proper way to hold a blade. They already knew.

Dolon Hall was for the best to become even better.

The two that stood in front of him that night had been out there for almost a week. It was cruel of him to leave them there in mid-winter, but Soros had his reasons.

Or, well, one – and that was that they were the easiest candidates to accept in years. They had come knowing the Hall would open for them.

So he took his sweet time before ordering the gigantic doors to part just wide enough to let him through.

The boys raised their eyes to him, although they weren't really children. In fact, neither of them would have been older than he was.

Soros had chosen his outfit with care. There was a huge cloak draped over his wide shoulders, comfortable boots to cover his feet while the boys were barefoot like he had been years ago. The moment was so similar it took his mind to the roads of nostalgia, but there was nothing there he wanted to remember. Ustra was gone and digging up memories of him wouldn’t do him any good.

Time had changed him and Soros could see the young warriors observing him with unguarded interest. There were long lines of dark ink on his skin now, partly covered by his dark hair falling in strands before his face.

The priests – the Corgan healers and scientist – studied at the Hall too and they had worked hard on him. Like any other Corgan warrior, he was now equipped with a set of hearts and other organs that were too precious to rely on only one.

"It is true then," one of the boys said. "The commander of Dolon Hall is young enough to stand here with us. What happened to Old Ustra?"

Soros gave the young warrior a look that made him take an involuntary step back. His mind flashed back to Ustra.

The man was gone now, but his legend still lingered. While Ustra had never looked upon Soros as a prodigy, the rest of the galaxy certainly seemed to. When Ustra had passed, Soros saw his chance and seized it swiftly and without hesitation. Dolon Hall had gotten a new commander within days of Ustra’s death and there wasn’t a single sword that dared challenge Soros after the initial bloodshed.

What Soros lacked in years, he had more than made up for in skill that came to him as naturally as breathing. That which others struggled for seemed to flow through Soros and though he had not imagined this path for him when he had first come to Dolon Hall, Ustra had shown him that his true goal would be to teach others what he already knew.

His own commander would have sent the heir to a clan lord away without another question, but times had changed. And besides -

"Your father had him killed," Soros said without turning his piercing gaze away.

His deep voice carried easily over the silence around them. The young heir looked taken aback, but the other warrior didn't seem surprised at all. He hadn't said a word, nor moved yet.

"I don't believe you," the heir said. "But if he did, it was because Ustra was protesting his claim on Hetton..."

"Hetton belongs to no one, Turian," Soros cut in, his voice as sharp as a blade. "That has always been so. No clan lord will rule over the academy, nor this world."

"Every other world has a ruler," Turian said defiantly. "Why not this one? It's one of the most prosperous and it has Dolon Hall. It needs a lord."

"That is exactly why it does not," Soros replied calmly.

Before Turian could say another word, he took another step closer, standing almost in front of the boys.

"If you enter," he said. "I don't want to hear another word about it. In fact, you will not speak again until I command it. Is that clear?"

Turian nodded, but his reluctance was obvious. Soros kept that in mind, since he'd expected nothing less. After the death of his master, it had been hard for him to accept the idea he had to admit the son of Ustra's killer, but Turian
had
deserved his chance. Perhaps, with years and hard work, he could make something better of the heir than his father was.

The other boy bowed his head slightly, submitting to his order. Soros had expected exactly that as well.

With a nod, he backed away a few steps to give himself room to pull his twin swords free. Then he threw one of them to the young warriors. Turian caught it with a savage glee in his eyes, but the other boy, Nadar, grew wary, his deep blue eyes filled with suspicion.

"You want to get in?" Soros asked, bringing his sword up and ready. "Deal a wound and you're accepted."

Turian dashed from his place at once, his bare feet slipping on the cold ground. He had the advantage of easier movement over him, dressed in a heavy cloak, but Soros had seen him fight before. The young warrior was good, very good, but he had absolutely no faith in himself. Only the belief that he should be the best because of some right he thought he had.

He lowered his own sword, settling for dodging Turian's blows with enough ease to utterly infuriate the boy. Turian's rage grew with every blow Soros blocked with his body or that he simply stepped away from.

Turian was fast, but Soros was even faster, never needing to really defend himself. When he finally raised his hand, it was to backhand Turian across the face instead of cutting him. Turian went down hard, sliding in the snow and his eyes were furious as he scrambled back up.

"Nadar!" he hissed angrily. "What are you waiting for?"

The other candidate spoke for the first time: "For you to finish. Or do you need my help, Turian?"

Turian's disappointed fury carried over to his companion too now. He gave Nadar a dark look, but it didn't seem to affect the other in any way. Soros noticed he was still standing in the same spot, unconcerned with what was happening around him.

Another attempt followed. Turian came at Soros, trying to tire him out with fast, badly aimed strikes that weren't meant to cut him in the first place, simply force him to move. Soros dodged under one of those and delivered such a kick to Turian's stomach the boy stumbled backwards, gagging and gasping for air as he keeled over.

All that time, he hadn't even cut Soros' cloak, not to mention his armor.

The sword Turian had held was lying on the ground.

"Are there many who actually wound you?" Nadar asked, finally moving to go and pick up the blade.

"None," Soros replied calmly.

"I thought so," Nadar said and although it wasn't nearly as bad as Turian, Soros could also sense a deep, unshakeable pride in him.

"Then you're simply toying with us," Turian spat, glaring at Soros. "Knowing you ask the impossible."

Soros didn't even spare him a look.

"Your turn," he told Nadar.

With a smile that spoke too much of arrogance for Soros' liking, the boy rolled up his sleeve and cut a line across his forearm. Nadar’s blood trickled to the ground as Turian came closer, clearly fuming at being cheated with a riddle. Turian raised his hand and cut it on the same blade that Nadar was holding, a thing, long gash across his forearm that bloomed with blood.

After Nadar handed Soros back the sword, Soros turned his back on them and walked into Dolon Hall, sheathing his swords again.

The two young men behind him stood still for a moment, sharing glances. Soros counted fifty paces before he turned around, looking at them over his shoulder.

“Come,” he said simply. “You both have too much to learn to be trusted on your own.”

He could practically hear the snarl on Turian’s breath, but the young warrior swallowed it in time.

A problem to be solved not a warrior to be trained,
Soros thought grimly as his blue eyes followed Turian’s hurried path, vengeance forgotten for a moment at the promise of warmth and nourishment.

Yet Soros was not foolish enough to think that Turian would soon forget the humiliation received in his hands. It would only be the beginning, after all. Getting through the gates was the smallest of feats when it came to being trained in Dolon Hall.

The gates fell shut, Nadar being the one to close them, following behind much slower whereas Turian brushed past Soros in a run. Soros smirked to himself, feeling the piercing gaze of the clever warrior in the back of his neck. That one would come to lead by example as he did already, it was easy to see.

Whether his arrogance would hold him back only time could tell, however.

If he survives,
Soros added flatly.

F
ollowing that night
, long years passed before Soros was forced to choose between them, but his opinions hadn't changed from the first impression. Both believed that the galaxy owed them something and while Turian had strength and bloodlust, Nadar had skill and cleverness that few warriors possessed. It was no wonder that they both rose to become warlords, feared and respected ones at that.

Equally, it came as no surprise that when Corgans were thrown into a civil war, with Nadar at the helm, both men would come looking for Soros to pick a side. That left him with only one option, if he didn't want to end up like Ustra or give aid to a man he could not put his full faith in.

Turning his back on their petty feuds, Soros left the only place he knew and loved behind. One night, Dolon Hall was left without a lord once more.

But this time, the lord would not be far. Soros was always looking over that which he believed to be his domain, for better and for worse.

And both he and his enemies knew this.

S
oros had come
to find that his old students were capable of disappointing him long after they'd left Dolon Hall behind.

He was gone, but not far. The fact that the two men he had found both the easiest and the hardest to allow into Dolon Hall had now forced him away from the academy grated at his nerves like nothing else.

They made me play their games after all,
he mused, running a hand over his chin, ruddy with the makings of a beard.

It wasn't worth staying in the academy where every second student owed allegiance to either of the clan lords, but leaving didn't give him peace either. None of the young warriors could defeat him between the walls of Dolon Hall, likely not even if they all decided to attack him together, but spilling their blood for a cause not his own was not something Soros was willing to do.

He was a weapon, one that should be used carefully. While humility was something that did not come easily to a Corgan warrior, Ustra had managed to teach that and plenty else to Soros before his untimely demise. Now, he was wise enough to know that if he stayed, he would only encourage warlords to come seeking to use him as what he was, and when he turned them down, they would not take it kindly.

Soros had a home, technically, but there was no comparing it to Dolon Hall. Hetton was where he belonged and as long as he could avoid it, he would not leave.

He stood on the brink of a large hill overlooking the academy nestled in the valley, observing the hall from there. Behind him, the kill of the day dried, hung from a tree.

The beast would feed him for months, but Soros didn't think he needed that long. All he wanted was peace and quiet away from the troubles of the realm to think things over.

After Nadar had taken over as chieftain, the planets and clans had been thrown into turmoil. Conflicts erupted as volcanoes and war was everywhere, both internal and external forces coming together to hash out old disagreements. As if issues with the Galactic Union and the Yemalan weren’t enough, the clan lords had started sorting out their own differences as well.

As long as Soros wasn't sure which of the many, many clans lords would want him dead for a myriad of reasons, there was no place for him in Corgan society. Only Hetton remained, along with Dolon Hall, the planet that had always been good to him since it was as hard and unyielding as Soros himself.

It all sounded good and right, but there was one problem. He might have been happy to forget about the clan lords, but they certainly didn't forget about him.

Turian had already given him an ultimatum, and Soros had the feeling he would not be the only one, given time. Yet his former student was certainly one to look out for the most. A brilliant warrior himself, Turian had risen to control the clan of the planet Ruiam, and Soros had the feeling that his appetites did not end there.

Showing himself recently as an opponent to Nadar’s plans, Turian had made it clear when he reached out to Soros that choosing no side would not be an acceptable answer.

For now, however, Soros had other matters to focus on.

He saw the hunting pack coming from miles away, a dozen strong on top of their speeders. They weren't trying to hide, after all.

It was going to be the last mistake they ever made.

S
oros waited
for his would-be capturers at a clearing, wondering if they were coming his way by luck or good guess.

It was clear he couldn't stay near the hall any longer. Just another reason to hate the clan lords for, but it changed nothing. Soros was one the most powerful warriors in the Corgan realms, perhaps the strongest of them, but it didn't make him immortal like some stories said. While his students were not on par with him, they were all accomplished warriors themselves.

He had to sleep at some point and his impressive form was simply impossible to hide entirely. Another thing that was hard to disguise, beside his bulk, were his shining eyes. The side-effect and now a clear give-away of a Corgan warrior, other than the dark inked tattoos they all wore, was that their eyes were a clear, crystalline blue. Softly shining, it allowed their gazes to pierce through the suffocating darkness of the Corgan worlds.

He would leave Dolon Hall and the areas around it for now, but not before leaving a message to those who wished to come after him.

I will be no one’s weapon but my own,
he thought darkly.

As soon as the pack of hunters arrived on the clearing on top of the speeder bikes, Soros knew who'd sent them. It made sense. Nadar Brenger, their new chieftain, had always had more honor. Turian, however, had apparently been spared of that troublesome quality.

Soros counted both of Turian’s nephews and ten more loyal warriors from the clan lord's world in the pack, all warriors that had been trained at Dolon Hall.

All warriors
he
had trained.

He wondered if he should send the nephews to the clan lord in pieces to make his "no" clear enough or would their severed heads be enough to get his point across.

Deciding to see how things progressed on their own, Soros turned to Tetakh, the older of the nephews. Corgans actually had no such things as heirs, but Turian's father had carefully groomed his son to be his successor and succeeded and now Turian was doing the same to his sister's sons.

"Have you come to kill me, Tetakh?" Soros asked, his deep voice filled with dark amusement. "This seems to be a family tradition."

The older brother looked at him, his eyes burning with barely restrained fury. He reminded Soros of his uncle when he had been younger. Both assumed the world had to compensate for their failures, that it owed them easy victories and respect they hadn't earned.

Both of them had been taught humility through Soros’ sword, but had been reluctant to learn it.

It was his failure, he supposed, that he hadn't been able to beat that insufferable quality of believing they were owed something out of either of them.

"You mean Old Ustra," Tetakh said. "My uncle told me about him. He refused to do his duty to his lord as well."

"Commanders of Dolon Hall owe no clan lord their service."

"So you keep saying and look where that got your old master," Tetakh replied with ease that told Soros exactly how little the warrior understood the danger he was in. “It is time to choose sides, Commander. Either you side with those scum in the Union and Nadar Brenger, or you side with those who want what is best for Corgans and choose Turian. There are no other options.”

He had just sealed his death sentence. Soros' eyes flickered to the younger brother, Tereck, whose horrified gaze said that he, at least, realized that.

"And you, Tereck," Soros turned to him. "Why are you here?"

The younger of the two had always had more sense, he knew, but it wasn't enough. Turian ruled his world with an iron fist and it wasn't easy to stand up to him. Yet Soros saw regret in Tereck.

"Our uncle is coming," he said. "No matter what happens here today, commander, he will not leave you be."

That figured. Soros had assumed as much, which was why he had no intention of being found until he'd decided what he was going to do about it. Killing all the clan lords seemed tempting, but ultimately fruitless. All he knew was that it couldn't go on like this.

"Very well," Soros said, pulling his twin swords free.

They all attacked once, at least. Dodging the blows and moving between razor-sharp blades, Soros was glad to see that. It meant he had managed to teach something to those bastards. When faced with a powerful enemy, standing in line was only good enough for dying in order.

All of them had tried to wound him, waiting before the gates of Dolon Hall and within them, but just as they'd failed then, so did their attempts fall short now. Soros knew them all, predicted the strikes of their swords before they even knew what they were going for themselves.

He moved quickly and methodically, cutting through his attackers’ weak spots. The twin blades in his hands, the signature weapons of Corgan warriors, twirled and stroke out to leave the other warriors lying on the ground screaming. Some had their feet sliced clean off, others held on to limbs barely hanging by straps of skin.

The ground beneath Soros’ feet was littered with limbs and flesh and blood when he stopped at last, like a hurricane that had gone over the clearing observing the damage he'd done. He hadn't killed anyone, as evident by the gut-wrenching screams that filled the forest.

Except Tetakh. Turian's precious heir laid in a pool of his blood, guts spilled out all over him. Soros knew the clan lord would care nothing for the others, but losing Tetakh would be a blow.

Still, he wouldn't have done it if he thought the boy was any better than his uncle. He was practically a mirror image.

Tereck was crawling to his older brother with only his right arm to support himself on, his eyes filled with blood and terror. When his gaze fell upon Soros, it was like he was seeing a demon.

The warlord knew Tereck was redeemable, which was why he had let him off so easily. Missing limbs were nothing to Corgan priests, but it would take a lot of time to get the flexibility and gracefulness of movement back.

Wiping his blades clean on his short cloak, Soros looked at the groaning, gargling warriors lying before his feet before turning back to Tereck.

"When your uncle gets here, show him your brother," he said. "If he decides to come after me, make sure he knows I won't be as merciful to him."

With that, he turned his back on the pack, knowing they had more than likely already alerted others. He needed to get away fast and luckily they had provided him with plenty of speeders.

Though, perhaps the next pack would take heed and be more careful when tracking him when they saw what happened to the last men who dared hunt the Commander of Dolon Hall.

Soros drove, heading for the Grouvelle mountain range without ever looking back. The wind whipped at him and the silence around him was broken only by the growling hum of the speeder’s engine. He drove a long time before a familiar sound reached him.

Looking up, he saw the last thing he would have expected. There was a fighter on his trail that clearly belonged to the Union. On its own, that would have been odd enough, but there were Turian's ships following the fighter.

Soros stopped, curious to see how the fight unfolded, but the ending was quick to come for the outnumbered Union vessel. A nauseating explosion right by its engine finished the chase, though the pilot put up a decent enough fight until that moment.

With a grin on his lips, the warlord turned his speeder around and changed his direction, knowing he needed to ask some questions from anyone who survived. Curiosity was another thing he’d never quite managed to rid himself of.

The cloud of fire around the fighter was making getting any answers exceedingly unlikely by the minute, however.

If the tumbling, free-falling lump of metal about to crash not far from him could still be called that.