As they ran, Yuder said, “The Royal Guard raised the alarm. The traitors have taken Jes­sica and Michaela hostage. All avail­able units are on their way.”

  Cla­jak growled in re­sponse and ran faster. He de­cided at that mo­ment there would be no trial for Pwal­dur and his ac­com­plices. They were all dead men when he caught them.

  * * * *

  “You will not have the em­press,” the cap­tain of the Royal Guard snarled, his laser pis­tol un­wa­ver­ing as he aimed at Wag­nox.

  His squad and an­other dozen men sur­rounded the traitors and hostages in the shut­tle bay. The dark in­tent in ev­ery face told Jes­sica they were de­ter­mined to save her from her as­sailants, but not one gun was aimed at Marzk­lis or Pwal­dur. They too clearly feared hit­ting the Earth­ers with their fire.

  Marzk­lis’ blaster dug into Jes­sica’s stom­ach, and he growled a warn­ing. Pwal­dur sneered at the cap­tain. “Your em­press will die if you do not give way. Fire at any of us, and we’ll kill her. Look at me, Cap­tain. I have noth­ing to lose and I do not bluff.”

  The cap­tain bared his fangs but said noth­ing in re­turn.

  Sty­tyn pointed at a large ship docked nearby. “There’s a long-range trans­port. It will take us out of Kalquo­rian space.”

  “Let’s go.” With the bound Michaela still slung over his wide shoul­der, Pwal­dur led the way.

  The Royal Guard kept them sur­rounded as the traitors gath­ered next to the shut­tle. Marzk­lis shoved Jes­sica at Wag­nox and handed him the blaster. Speak­ing loud enough for the guards to hear him, he said, “Hold her. If they move in this di­rec­tion even half a step, take us all out.” He grinned at Jes­sica. “Make sure you kill her first.”

  Wag­nox held her by the throat against him­self, the blaster still pointed at her ab­domen. “Done.”

  Marzk­lis pulled a long slen­der tool out of his belt and be­gan dis­con­nect­ing a metal­lic box at­tached to the un­der­side of the shut­tle. He worked light­ning fast, his hands a blur.

  “What is he do­ing?” Jes­sica de­manded.

  The cap­tain an­swered her. “My em­press, he is re­mov­ing the transpon­der so the trans­port can’t be tracked once it reaches open space.”

  The soft whir of a shut­tle’s ar­rival got Jes­sica’s at­ten­tion. Pwal­dur and Wag­nox’s clan also paused as it landed in the bay. The guards never wa­vered in their fo­cus on the traitors, wait­ing for any op­por­tu­nity to take the group down.

  Jes­sica rec­og­nized the mark­ings on the land­ing ve­hi­cle. It be­longed to Zarl’s clan. Hope and fear min­gled in her heart.

  “Cla­jak!” she cried as her mate dis­em­barked with Ko­rkla and Yuder right be­hind him.

  The rage on the Dramok em­peror’s ex­pres­sion, though not trained on her, made her stom­ach knot. Cla­jak’s mur­der­ous ha­tred was mir­rored in Pwal­dur’s snarling face. Jes­sica knew death waited in the wings for one of the men. She watched Cla­jak ap­proach with ter­ror.

  * * * *

  Cla­jak sur­veyed the sit­u­a­tion, forc­ing un­wel­come com­po­sure on him­self. See­ing Jes­sica pale, ter­ri­fied, and held at blaster point made him want to give in to mind­less fury. He burned to rend the traitors into un­rec­og­niz­able pieces. He held back, know­ing giv­ing his in­fa­mous tem­per free rein would surely get his Matara and un­born child killed.

  Marzk­lis hissed at him, re­spond­ing to the homi­ci­dal threat on Cla­jak’s ex­pres­sion. Cla­jak growled back, in­dif­fer­ent to the knowl­edge he was no match for the bat­tle-trained Nobek. All that mat­tered was sav­ing his beloved. His own life meant noth­ing in this mo­ment.

  Pwal­dur spoke qui­etly to his ac­com­plice. “Keep work­ing. I can han­dle this fool.”

  Marzk­lis re­sumed rip­ping the transpon­der from the belly of the trans­port, but his at­ten­tion was now split be­tween his work and Cla­jak’s party, slow­ing him down.

  Pwal­dur let Michaela fall to the ground, and the Earther’s cry on im­pact was muf­fled by her gag. Be­hind Cla­jak, Ko­rkla cursed vi­o­lently at the abuse.

  “Easy,” Yuder whis­pered, reach­ing to grip the aide’s shoul­der. “Wag­nox has to get that blaster off Jes­sica be­fore we move.”

  Pwal­dur pulled a long, wicked blade from his belt, and Cla­jak rec­og­nized it from Be­vau’s col­lec­tion. It was one he him­self had given to his Nobek as a clan­ning present. The vi­cious curved knife was ser­rated in such a way that it would slide eas­ily into a vic­tim and shred the flesh to rib­bons on the way back out. Cla­jak’s cau­tion raised an­other notch.

  Breath­ing deeply to con­tain his emo­tions, he told the traitors, “This place is now sur­rounded by Global Se­cu­rity. There is no es­cape. Re­lease the Mataras and I will con­sider mercy.” For all of half a sec­ond, just be­fore I rip your throats out.

  Pwal­dur’s lip wrin­kled back, dis­play­ing yel­lowed fangs. “You’ll show me mercy? Af­ter all I’ve sac­ri­ficed to bring great­ness back to our planet, and to what end? So an ir­re­spon­si­ble play­boy, child of peace-lov­ing weak­lings, can take the throne!”

  Cla­jak snorted. “What real sac­ri­fices have you made? You’ve lost noth­ing in your greedy pur­suit of power un­til now.”

  The head coun­cil­man’s face turned pur­ple in rage. “I lost my en­tire clan, you fool! For the good of Kalquor, I laid them on the al­tar to die next to you. You were sup­posed to be on that trip to Joshada with them!”

  A cold, heavy weight dropped into Cla­jak’s stom­ach. “The ac­ci­dent—”

  Marzk­lis’ cruel laugh­ter filled the hangar. “That was no ac­ci­dent. It was some of my best work, I dare say.”

  Pwal­dur shook with rage, the blade in his hand trac­ing crazy pat­terns in the air. “With you and Zarl out of the way, our path would have been clear. Earth and its mul­ti­tudes of fer­tile women would be ours now if not for such stupid luck!”

  Yuder stepped for­ward, his face a mask of bes­tial fury. “You killed my Matara and crip­pled my Dramok!”

  “For the good of Kalquor and our very sur­vival; some­thing you care noth­ing for! Oth­er­wise you’d have con­quered Earth long ago.”

  Cla­jak spoke in slow, clear tones. “Your death will be long and painful, Pwal­dur. Hear this as my solemn vow.”

  Pwal­dur as­sumed a fight­ing stance, the blade held be­fore him. “Come and try to deal it to me, Cla­jak. This farce has gone on long enough. Let’s fin­ish it.”

  Cla­jak snarled, his fangs ex­posed and ev­ery mus­cle tens­ing. He would gladly die on Be­vau’s stolen blade for a chance to kill the gurluck be­fore him. He gath­ered him­self to spring on his en­emy.

  * * * *

  As Pwal­dur re­vealed the shock­ing truth be­hind the death of Cla­jak’s mother, Michaela’s bound feet thumped weakly on the floor, cap­tur­ing Jes­sica’s at­ten­tion. She looked down at Michaela, who due to Pwal­dur’s move­ments now lay about two feet be­hind him.

  Michaela locked her gaze on Jes­sica’s and gri­maced. She’d fallen hard where Pwal­dur had dropped her, but there was no pain on her tearstreaked face, only grim de­ter­mi­na­tion. Jes­sica couldn’t imag­ine what her friend planned to do tied up as she was, but she twitched a slight nod at the dancer. What­ever Michaela had in mind, Jes­sica would be ready to take ad­van­tage of the op­por­tu­nity.

  “Come Cla­jak. This farce has gone on long enough. Let’s fin­ish it.”

  Jes­sica jerked her at­ten­tion back to Pwal­dur and Cla­jak. When she saw the deadly in­tent in her mate’s face, saw him ready­ing to throw him­self at the knife-wield­ing Pwal­dur, she screamed.

  “Cla­jak, no!”

  Sty­tyn’s cry im­me­di­ately fol­lowed hers. “Be­vau!”

  “Kill her!” Marzk­lis screamed. Jes­sica looked in time to see the rene­gade Nobek launch him­self at her, his hands reach­ing and fangs snap­ping.

  * * * *

  Be­vau’s roar shat­tered the air as he threw him­self at Marzk­lis. He’d man­aged to creep within strik­ing dis­tance when Sty­tyn had caught sight of his ap­proach. Breft and Raxs­tad were else­where in the hangar, wait­ing for the op­por­tu­nity to res­cue the Mataras.

  Marzk­lis was only a hairs­breadth away from snag­ging Jes­sica’s head for a fa­tal neck-snap­ping twist when Be­vau smashed into him, driv­ing him sev­eral feet back­wards. Snarling, Marzk­lis wrapped one arm around Be­vau’s waist while reach­ing for the blade in his belt.

  Be­fore they hit the floor, Be­vau wrenched him­self from the other’s grasp. He som­er­saulted over Marzk­lis to avoid be­ing dis­em­bow­eled. He rolled into a crouch to face the el­der Nobek, his knife com­fort­able in his fist.

  Marzk­lis gained a de­fen­sive pos­ture al­most as fast, his sharp blade at the ready and his stare riv­eted on Be­vau. Nei­ther re­acted to the sounds of fight­ing nearby, not even when a blaster went off twice. Their at­ten­tion was all for each other, for the com­ing fight to the death.

  “The Imdiko war­rior,” sneered Marzk­lis. “It will be a plea­sure to erase your pretty face. It has been a blot on the Nobek clas­si­fi­ca­tion for too long.”

  “You are wel­come to try,” Be­vau tried to an­swer. The words got lost in the growl rum­bling from his chest.

  In a flash of move­ment, Marzk­lis was sud­denly at his throat. The knife in his hand flashed light­ning. The world filled with rage, pain, and blood.

  * * * *

  When Marzk­lis came at them, a star­tled Wag­nox in­stinc­tively brought his hands up to fend him off. The in­stant the blaster wa­vered from her side, Jes­sica dropped to the ground in a crouch, ex­actly as Be­vau had taught her. She never knew how close Marzk­lis came to killing her. She scrab­bled to­wards Michaela, her ears ring­ing with the roars and shouts of Kalquo­ri­ans.

  Her friend was al­ready on the move, rolling fast to­wards Pwal­dur, who con­cen­trated on Cla­jak. The dancer col­lided with the back of the traitor’s legs. With a sur­prised curse, Pwal­dur fell back­wards onto her. Both grunted in pain. The mir­ror-shiny blade dropped from Pwal­dur’s grasp to clang on the floor.

  An ex­plo­sion spat up bits of the mar­ble-smooth ground only inches from Jes­sica’s face. She darted a quick glance back to see Wag­nox point­ing the blaster at her. With a lit­tle scream she rolled away, grab­bing the knife Pwal­dur had dropped as she went. An­other blast ric­o­cheted past her, and then Wag­nox shrieked. Jes­sica looked to see the rogue Dramok flat on the floor with Raxs­tad on top of him. Michaela’s Nobek bent down, his fangs flash­ing. Jes­sica shut her eyes to block the sight of what came next.

  Cruel hands grasped her up­per arms, lift­ing her into the air. Her eyes flew open to see Pwal­dur’s snarling face be­fore her.

  * * * *

  Cla­jak stopped short as Pwal­dur put Jes­sica be­tween them, us­ing her as a shield to ward him off. “Get back or she’s dead,” Pwal­dur warned, shak­ing the lit­tle Earther like a rag doll. His meaty paw moved from her right arm to her throat, clos­ing around the grace­ful col­umn in a chok­ing grip. “I mean it, Cla­jak. I’ll snap her neck in an in­stant.”

  Jes­sica’s freed arm jerked, and Cla­jak saw light glint off some­thing in her hand. Sud­denly Pwal­dur’s eyes bulged as if they would ex­plode from his head. Jes­sica’s arm moved again, and the for­mer coun­cil­man screeched. The next in­stant she flew through the air, but Cla­jak didn’t dare watch her land. Tak­ing his at­ten­tion from Pwal­dur would be a fa­tal mis­take.

  How­ever, Pwal­dur didn’t at­tack him. He stared down at his torso, con­fu­sion and pain mix­ing on his face as he watched blood pour from the ragged holes in his gut. He looked up at Cla­jak, his ex­pres­sion stunned. “She stabbed me. That lit­tle Earther bitch stabbed me.”

  See­ing his en­emy bleed sparked the an­i­mal sav­agery Cla­jak had held at bay. His fear for Jes­sica’s life, rage for the pain Zarl had suf­fered, and grief for his dead mother rose to bury all sem­blance of civ­i­liza­tion in a red-rimmed haze of bes­tial fe­roc­ity. Bar­ing his fangs in an­tic­i­pa­tion, Cla­jak sprang at the for­mer head coun­cil­man.

  * * * *

  The hard land­ing on the floor drove all air from Jes­sica’s lungs, and she lay stunned. Yuder ap­peared at her side al­most in­stantly, his feral face soft­ened by con­cern. “Are you all right, my em­press?”

  She couldn’t draw oxy­gen to an­swer. Yuder leaned over her and gen­tly slapped her cheek. “Re­lax, Jes­sica. The breath will come. Just re­lax.”

  She forced her­self to obey, and for a won­der her lungs loos­ened. She gasped like a beached fish, feel­ing dull pain throb in her back and but­tocks, which had taken the brunt of the land­ing.

  “Good girl. Can you move?”

  “I think so.” She had to, be­cause they were un­der at­tack. Jes­sica strug­gled to sit up with Yuder’s help.

  Ko­rkla ap­proached them with the still bound Michaela in his arms. He set her down on the floor next to Jes­sica and pulled her gag free. Be­fore Michaela could speak, he kissed her des­per­ately.

  Jes­sica looked at the chaos be­yond them and re­al­ized the fight­ing was all but over al­ready. Wag­nox was most as­suredly dead, but Raxs­tad still ripped and shred­ded the body into bloody con­fetti. Swal­low­ing nau­sea, Jes­sica looked away.

  The sight of Cla­jak dig­ging an eye­ball from Pwal­dur’s face greeted her. The head coun­cil­man lay be­neath the new em­peror, his arms and legs bro­ken and use­less for de­fense. Weak­ened screams gur­gled from his throat as the snarling Cla­jak me­thod­i­cally took him apart, piece by piece.

  Gasp­ing, Jes­sica tore her gaze from the hor­ri­ble sight. Cla­jak’s re­venge for his mother and Zarl was long over­due, and she didn’t fault him for it. Still, she couldn’t bear to wit­ness the bloody jus­tice Pwal­dur re­ceived.

  Only the deadly com­bat be­tween Be­vau and Marzk­lis con­tin­ued. Ripped flesh hung from both com­bat­ants, blood cov­er­ing ev­ery inch of their bod­ies. Still they fought on, knives and fangs flash­ing. With the ex­cep­tion of Cla­jak, Raxs­tad, and Breft, the lat­ter stand­ing guard over the crum­pled, sob­bing heap that was Sty­tyn, ev­ery­one else gath­ered silently around the fight­ing Nobeks.

  Marzk­lis’ knife found Be­vau’s chest, tear­ing a long fur­row into the younger man’s flesh. Jes­sica cried out to see the white­ness of bone peek through be­fore gush­ing blood cov­ered it. She jumped to her feet. “Why is no one help­ing Be­vau?”

  Yuder wrapped his arms around to re­strain her. “Be­cause he needs no help. His vengeance for those he loves and for my Dramok and Matara is at hand. Watch.”

  The two fight­ers van­ished in a blur of su­per­nat­u­rally fast move­ment. When they reap­peared, Be­vau had Marzk­lis pinned help­less on his belly. Marzk­lis screamed in rage.

  Be­vau an­swered with a howl of an­i­mal tri­umph, his blade held aloft, poised for the killing strike. He paused long enough to snarl, “Know this, ev­ery­one. For those who would harm my Matara, I’m no Imdiko!”

  The knife de­scended, tak­ing the traitor in the neck. Mo­ments later, Be­vau held Marzk­lis’ sev­ered head aloft. The other Nobeks, in­clud­ing Yuder, an­swered his roar in a deaf­en­ing dis­play.

  Jes­sica was shocked to hear her­self also scream in tri­umph, the blood­ied blade she’d stabbed Pwal­dur with clutched in her raised fist. Yuder stared, and his face broke into a fierce grin.

  “You never dropped the blade once it was in your pos­ses­sion,” he said. He pressed his palm to her cheek, the tra­di­tional fa­ther’s greet­ing warm on her face. “You would have made a fine Nobek, my em­press … my daugh­ter,” he amended.

  “Thank you, my fa­ther,” Jes­sica said, touch­ing her palm to Yuder’s face in turn. She blinked back threat­en­ing tears.

  “I see we missed all the fun.” A pale Egilka hur­ried across the bay floor to­ward them, Flen­cik’s bulk be­hind him. Jes­sica ran to be en­folded in his em­brace. “Are you all right, my love?” he asked her, clutch­ing her tightly to him­self.

  “No, but I’m a sur­vivor. I’ll get through as I al­ways do.”

  “What shall I do with this one, my em­per­ors and em­press?” Breft called. He kicked Sty­tyn, the blow hard enough to knock the whim­per­ing Imdiko traitor sev­eral feet across the floor.

  A cho­rus of growls rose at the ques­tion, leav­ing no doubt as to the vote on Sty­tyn’s fate. It was Flen­cik’s voice of rea­son that kept him alive for the mo­ment. “With the Im­pe­rial Clan’s per­mis­sion, I sug­gest he be taken into cus­tody and in­ter­ro­gated so that we may solve the mys­tery of Nar­pok’s ill­ness. Her mind might yet be saved if we know the true na­ture of the abuse she suf­fered.”

  “I con­cur with Imdiko Flen­cik’s sug­ges­tion,” Egilka said af­ter a mo­ment’s hes­i­ta­tion. He looked at Jes­sica ex­pec­tantly.

  “As do I,” she agreed. She’d seen enough car­nage to last her an­other twenty years.

  “Very well,” Cla­jak didn’t sound pleased as he stepped away from the life­less re­mains of Pwal­dur, drip­ping blood glov­ing his hands. At least he looked sane once more, Jes­sica thought. “We have a ma­jor­ity from the Im­pe­rial Clan on the mat­ter, but do you wish to vote, Be­vau?”

  The gore-cov­ered Nobek stag­gered but man­aged to re­main up­right as he stum­bled drunk­enly to­wards them. His voice was lit­tle more than a thready whis­per. “I will con­cede to the judg­ment of the rest of my clan. It is a unan­i­mous vote.”

  Egilka and Cla­jak moved to ei­ther side of their clan­mate, catch­ing him as his legs buck­led. Jes­sica wept to see her beau­ti­ful Be­vau so bru­tally sav­aged.

  Flen­cik sighed. “My em­per­ors, if you will put Em­peror Be­vau in the med­i­cal trans­port? I need to put him back to­gether be­fore he bleeds to death.” He shook his head wearily. “Surgery on two mon­archs within hours of each other. I’ll be so glad when this day is over.”