Blood for the Empress: Part One of the Empress Trilogy

  Blood for the Empress

  Part One of the Empress Trilogy

  Lon Varnadore

  Copyright © 2017 by Lon Varnadore

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For my grandfather, who believed in my dreams. And for my parents, who dealt with my insanity.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Excerpt from Wrath of the Empress

  About the Author

  Also by Lon Varnadore

  One

  Kesh slipped the bone hilt dagger into the sheath on his belt. His injector was in his right-hand satchel at his waist. Thinking of the injector caused his right hand to itch under the gauntlet for a moment. Not real, it's a phantom pain. Ignore it, he thought, while mentally pushing away the itch. He pulled his sand cloak over his shoulder and let the dun-colored material settle over his shoulders. It was a gift from his father before the family escaped their former Masters. For a moment, Kesh touched the fabric, and his mind was far away. He saw how his father would tend the fields using the cloak to protect himself from the cold Martian badlands. His mental image shifted to his father shoving the cloak into Kesh's hands as the youth was pushed into a cramped crate with his mother. "Watch out for your mother and yourself." And then he was gone. Shaking himself from his reverie, he continued getting ready for a day of salvage.

  The front door scraped along the rough gravel ground. Outside, the Tharsis Plains glared bright, the red-orange sand reflecting the weak light of the sun many times. Above, the brown sky threatened a sand storm. Another day in the badlands. It wasn't a horrible place, but he thought of about seven other places he'd rather be. Out here, he and his mother were free and safe from the grey-skinned floating freaks.

  "Kesh, don't forget about dinner," his mother said from the kitchen area. "And Blue's food is on the hook by the door." He half-turned to catch the glint of metal of her right hand waving from the kitchen in the back. He felt a twinge of guilt whenever he saw that hand.

  "I know, Mother," he said over his shoulder, pulling on the strap of the meat bag over his shoulder. He turned to Blue, who had raised his head from his sleeping area near the barn when the door opened. Kesh gave a click-click with his tongue.

  The lizard gave a growling, chittering cry. Stretching out and standing up, the scytheclaw was two meters at the shoulder, or twenty hands. Kesh thought it was a stupid metric, yet the other ranchers used it for the horses, so he used it for Blue once and again. But his scytheclaw wasn't like the red or the yellow ridgebacks from Venus. Blue was special, created to survive in the badlands of Mars, the wet jungles of Venus, and even the cold climes of Terra.

  Blue shrieked and charged, the blue feathery scales of his arms and back ridge standing on end. Kesh pulled out a small hunk of raw meat. He tossed it up, and the lizard snapped it up. The muzzle, streaked with green and odd flecks of blue were slimy from saliva and blood. Blue looked at Kesh, and for a moment, Kesh felt the lizard wanted to leap at him, using its thick scytheclaw to tear into him. He tossed another hunk of meat at Blue to one side to dissuade him.

  Kesh grabbed the bridle when the scytheclaw went for the meat. Unlike the strange ones for horses that had a bar for them to bite, this one was a wrap of leather around the base of Blue's muzzle. He used it to jerk the scytheclaw's head forward. "Not today, you piece of leather."

  Blue let out a hiss and butted his head against Kesh. It hurt, but he let Blue do it. Kesh patted the top of Blue's head and stroked it a few times. "Alright boy, ready for a run?"

  The lizard let out an excited shriek, shuddering a few moments as Kesh mounted the lizard's back and gave another double click. As soon as Kesh settled in the saddle, Blue shot forward towards the plains and the fence of the ranch, scaring the few bleating shellbacks that pulled themselves into their thick bony shells as Blue surged by them.

  Kesh didn't care about them at the moment. He let out a smile and kicked Blue's flank a little to get the lizard to pour on the speed. The seven-foot fence of the property loomed, and he needed speed. "Faster, Blue. Faster."

  Blue clicked his muzzle in response and dug his three-toed feet deeper into the red-orange sand. Kesh felt his heart jump when the lizard leapt. Flying over the fence, away from the ranch and responsibility, was freeing. For a handful of heartbeats, he enjoyed the peace of being free. It was good to get out for a little bit. His mother had steamjacks to help with the chores. Blue landed and sprinted, continuing his run into the badlands of the Tharsis Plains. Kesh could stay out a little later if he wanted. It was a good day to be out.

  A cacophonous explosion jerked Kesh’s and Blue's heads towards the sky.

  The outline of a large ship-of-the-line, a sleek craft that had to be a half-mile across was the source of the explosion. There were a series of explosions that caused the thing to cant to one side with smaller bits of detritus shooting from the wreck in all directions. The main bulk of the ship started to fall towards the horizon, towards Tharsis City. Slag, that would have been a score. Maybe I'll find something though.

  "Well Blue, looks like the scavengers near Tharsis City are gonna have a field day with that one." He would have gone after it himself, but he had only a few hours. The shellbacks were fine for now, the chores would be handled by Gear and the Twins. Scavenging would take most of the day. Calculating the distance in his head, it would take Blue more than half the time to get to the wreckage, and better-equipped salvagers and scavengers were already heading towards the crash site and picking the thing clean.

  Kesh heard the whistling scream of debris streaking overhead. He looked up to see a large chunk of the ship fly towards the hills nearby. He watched the streaking hunk of metal with a grin as the piece grew bigger and bigger. He then patted Blue's neck, calming the animal a little.

  Maybe I do have some time. "What do you think, Blue? Want to see if we can find something?" Blue's answer was a growling series of clicks and hisses.

  "I'll take that as a yes." He tugged at the reins and turned Blue's head towards the hills and the fallen debris.

  Two

  Jonica opened her eyes and regretted it immediately. She heard a clattering of beads and the whisper of voices that helped intensify the pain in her head. Someone spoke in Old Martian that sounded like, "She stirs," from nearby. She wasn't sure, it had been some time since she had been on the tiny rust ball of the Terra system. Last thing she remembered was being on the Bloody Cunt's Sharnia's Claw, finding the package, and scuttling the ship. She sought Meph in her head throu
gh the mind-link. Damn cat, where are you? She touched the small furled part that was Meph's mind-link in her head. Nothing. Better not be dead, Meph.

  She sensed someone move closer to her. A rough warm hand touched her forehead. The touch soothed away the worst of the pain. "You're awake, child. Open your eyes," the voice said. It was a different voice, older and female. Again, in Old Martian, but it wasn't as garbled as the first voice.

  She opened her eyes to see a leather-faced woman smiling down at her, barely a tooth in her head and some kind of body paint on her. It had the color of woad, yet it blended into other colors as well. Jonica's eyes went to the woman's hair. It was festooned with various fetishes, and Jonica felt herself reassured when she saw a small curled shell of deep purple. Shellback Tribe. Good. Thought I was in trouble for a moment.

  "Mother Shellback, is she alive?" The first voice asked, a bit clearer this time.

  "Yes. And she can understand," the old woman said.

  "Good," the other, deeper male voice said. A male's face took the place of Mother Shellback, and Jonica's heart jumped into her throat. The man's tribal hair knots were of the Tharsis Plains Sharptooth Tribe. His body paint was a deep green. She guessed he was their leader. And his teeth were filed. Slag, cannibals, wonderful. His smile reminded Jonica of a shark. "You need to be alive so we can gain your power."

  "Why would you gain power?" Jonica asked, pushing away and walking backwards as best she could. She hit something. She looked up to see several more members of the the same Sharptooth Tribe standing around her. I'm dead. Slagging hells, I'm dead.

  "You fell from the sky. You are a Sky Woman. You have power. We eat you and gain power," the Sharptooth leader said. He smiled again, and she shook at the horrid teeth. The stench of unwashed bodies hit her at that moment, and something like mesquite that didn't help the nauseous feeling roiling in her stomach.

  Jonica's mind raced for a moment, sorting through anything that could help her. She looked at Mother Shellback. Might work. "Why would Shellback help—"

  "She is our gost. She has mydel to the tribe."

  Jonica looked at Mother Shellback. How would a medicine woman of the Shellback have a debt to the Sharptooth and be their servant? Jonica looked around and realized she couldn't establish a mind-link with Meph. Like I don't have enough problems. Where is that damn cat?

  Mother Shellback stood up slowly, a strange staff helping her up in her hands. She took a step forward. "Come dear, let me help you."

  "Help me so they can eat me?" Jonica asked, narrowing her eyes. Though the pain was lessened, it was still a dull ache behind her eyes.

  The older woman leaned down, "I help you," she whispered in broken Trade Tongue. Switching to Old Martian, she said, "You need to be fit for them to feast on your power."

  Jonica looked at the old woman, the scraps of clothing layered with dirt and the same multihued body paint as her face and arms. She then took the offered hand of the old woman. She was small, but spry. Mother Shellback helped Jonica up more than she thought the old woman could. For a moment, Jonica thought the staff had a soft glow to it. She shook her head, trick of the light.

  There was a loud cry from the Sharptooth Clan. Some set their spears of hardened wood, some raised makeshift slugthrowers. All kept their eyes on Jonica as she moved. Mother Shellback shrugged when she tried to speak to them about putting their weapons down. Jonica shook her head.

  "Alive?" The leader asked, eyes raised.

  "I'll live," she said in Old Martian.

  "We go," the leader said.

  Looking around, Jonica knew that she needed to stow her attitude. Either she could escape, or possibly talk her way out of the situation. She let the Sharptooth clansmen point the way. If they prodded, she slapped the sticks away. "I'm going," she hissed when they tried again.

  Jonica took in the surroundings and realized she was somewhere in the Martian badlands. From the position of the small sun and what she last remembered from being on the Empress's ship, she was on the southern hemisphere. Meaning that the only populated area was Tharsis City. She did a quick calculation and realised she was walking away from civilization. Before she started to burden herself with more issues, she stopped herself. One problem at a time.

  The badlands had a tough and surreal beauty to them. The few scrub trees, tough fibrous needle leaves, and something she thought was mesquite brush were the only vegetation. The smell was dry and cold. Her clothes had survived the crash better than she thought. The leather jacket was a bit torn, her dungarees scraped and torn in places but still good. She wasn't sure how she landed without breaking every bone in her body. Whenever she asked the Sharptooth tribesmen, even Mother Shellback, they said that she flew.

  "What do you mean, 'flew?'"

  "You flew, child," Mother Shellback said, looking at her like a mother calmly explaining something for the fifth time.

  The smell of shellback shit hit her before she saw the camp of the Sharptooth. The warm earthy smell caused Jonica's stomach to churn more, and she wanted nothing more than a drink and a bath. She noticed a few wild shellbacks roaming around the camp, their soft yellow, orange, and red hues marked them in different groups. A few of the Sharptooth women tended to them as Jonica passed. A makeshift fence formed a perimeter around the camp, with another pen that looked pathetic on the other side. The large beasts bleated and pulled into their shells as the warriors passed. Though the one bull of the group snorted and trotted up towards Jonica and the returning warriors. It was five meters tall and seven meters, nose to tail. The bony head had rows of spikes sticking out of it that grew smaller and smaller the closer to the beak of the creature. A thick, clubbed tail swung in agitation as it watched over its mates and gave a challenging bellow.

  "Those are some pathetic shellbacks," Jonica said as they passed the small pen.

  "The Sharptooh aren't ranchers or farmers like the Shellback Tribe," the old woman said with a sigh. "It is one reason I am here."

  "You let yourself get taken?"

  "I have gost."

  "How?"

  "Long story," Mother Shellback said with an enigmatic smile.

  "We have time," Jonica said with a look around to the hut they were being marched towards.

  "No, you don't," Mother Shellback said, casting her eyes to one side. Jonica followed her eyes and saw a small fire hut, the Sharptooth tribesmen tending to it with dung from the shellbacks.

  "What's that?" Jonica asked, though she felt she knew.

  "Their oven. I believe they are going to roast you alive," Mother Shellback said, pointing towards a large upside down shell of a shellback.

  "Great."

  Jonica's eyes snapped open. She wasn't sure how she had fallen asleep. She looked around and saw Mother Shellback was next to her, drinking from a small leather bag. She passed it to Jonica as she sat up. "You must have been exhausted."

  "I was," Jonica said, slurping down the tepid water. There was something about the water that caused her to stop drinking for a second. "What is wrong with this?"

  "Part of it is water, the other gesh."

  Jonica looked at the sack. "No wonder. I'm not drinking this." The mead-like gesh was terrible.

  "Then you will die of dehydration," Mother Shellback said in Common.

  "Better than—"

  "You will not last the night, Skygirl."

  "The name is Jonica."

  Mother Shellback looked at Jonica with a bemused look. "And I will continue to call you Skygirl."

  "How can we get out of here?"

  "I have gost. I can't leave, silly Skygirl."

  "Alright, is there a way I can get out of here?" As soon as she said it, she realised that Mother Shellback was forbidden from telling her how. Jonica knew about the Martian tribes and their ideas of gost. It had to do with honour, debt, and it was a strange and complicated thing. Mother Shellback wasn't a slave, nor a captive, she willingly served as a mydel. And, she would be back home to the Shellback people when her
three years was up. Jonica shivered thinking about the idea of spending six Terran standard years with the Sharptooth. The tribes operated on a Martian calendar, and their year was twice as long as Earth Standard.

  "Tell me, Skygirl, do all of the Skypeople have white hair?"

  Jonica gave Mother Shellback a half-smile. "Was wondering when you were going to ask." She ran a hand through her shoulder length white hair. "It’s something some of the 'Skypeople' have. Not many though."

  "Your husband must be happy."

  Jonica sneered and looked at Mother Shellback. "No. He isn't." The last time she saw that bastard she had put a hole through his hand. The hand that he used to strike her once... only the once when he kidnapped her. The image of Pryce, his hand reaching out to take her by her pale milk-colored hair. She pulled away, yanking her hair out at the root. She jerked the slugthrower from the bodyguard next to her, spun, and shoved the barrel into his outstretched hand. "You will never strike me again." And pulled the trigger. In the chaos, she had run off and never looked back. She smiled.

  Mother Shellback pulled back from Jonica. "I am sorry, Skygirl."

  "Forget it. How much longer do I have before they fricassee me?"

  "'Fricassee?' I have never—"

  Jonica rolled her eyes. "When do they plan to cook me?"

  "Before nightfall. It is Mooncross Night, and they want to have your power for their next raid."