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A humid wind blew across the Mayahol, pounding harsh sands against the rocks and caverns scattered throughout the desert. Clouds of dust swept along, blocking out the stars and transforming the moon to a dull blue sphere amidst a sea of brown. Red stone boulders, some forming caves, emerged from the sands in multiple areas, providing shelter for the rabbits and assorted lizards living in the desert. Some of these caverns led deep beneath the surface to an underground network of tunnels and subterranean dens. These passages, formerly home to giant sand snakes, sheltered the remnants of a dying people, an endangered society with talents greater than anything the natives of Terranias could comprehend. To humans, magic was just a fairy tale. But to the Vermillion Mages, it was a way of life.
There was a time not long ago when the Mages were one of the most dominant forces of the universe. They were a space-faring race called the kyrosen with no planet to call home. They moved from world to world, taking what they needed to survive by whatever means necessary. Violence was inevitable; most species didn't part with their belongings so easily. But it was a way of life for the kyrosen. It was their culture, they knew nothing else. However, one too many encounters with Kindel Thorus' Vezulian Armada had left the kyrosen crippled, struggling to survive. It was thought that Terranias would make a perfect location to rebuild; the humans were a primitive race. The plan was to make Terranias the unofficial homeworld of the Vermillion Mages, a name they adopted to mask their true identity from the Armada. But they underestimated the resilience of the human race.
Specifically, Dayne Sheeth and Eaisan Lurei.
The kyrosen Grand Master, Aratus Truce, was murdered by the two humans, leaving the already dwindling numbers of the Mages fragmented and aimless. Led by Aratus' only son, the survivors sought refuge in the caverns below the desert. And though they still suffered from lack of numbers and limited supplies, a new plan brought hope for survival. The attack on Keroko may not have gone as expected, but the news from the battlefield was more than encouraging.
Olock readjusted his short brown cap and wiped the sweat from his brow. The heat of the torches quickly gathered in the caverns, keeping things a bit warmer than he liked. The Underworld, as they had come to call it, had housed the remains of the kyrosen for many years; it was their only refuge from those who would prefer to see them destroyed.
Scuff marks marred Olock's sun-colored shirt, but his black vest covered most of them. He brushed the excess dirt from his dark pants as he rounded the tunnel's narrow corner. Olock had been one of the few survivors to return from Keroko, but his limited involvement in the attack had yielded some interesting tidbits of information.
"You're back." A voice came from an opening in the wall. "We weren't sure if you made it."
Olock stopped. "No thanks to you."
"Hey, Boss said that we were to pull back if things got too hairy," F'Ledro retorted. He was a wiry man, one that couldn't quite be classified as a warrior. While he possessed the same powers of the Mages, he often relied too heavily on his laser pistol and other weapons. His large nose seemed to overshadow the rest of his face. Shaggy and unkempt black hair drooped above his lazy eyes, and a small laser pistol was strapped over his red shirt. He crossed his arms and shook his head at Olock. "We were just supposed to distract the swordsman and his allies, not launch an all-out assault on the—"
"You don't have the experience with Eaisan Lurei that I have," Olock cut him off. He removed his hat and wiped fresh sweat from his forehead. "Sometimes surprise is the best tactic available."
"Do you have any idea how many of our people died tonight?" F'Ledro shot back. "Many could've been saved if we had just—"
"If we what?" Olock stepped toward him, clenching his fists. "If we hid behind your laser barrel? We are not cowards, F'Ledro. Those who die give their lives to save ours. Each of us is aware of the risks we take in any battle, and most of us are happy to accept them."
"Hey, I'm no coward," F'Ledro retorted, though he stepped away from his comrade. "Might I remind you of a little planet called Lavinia?"
Olock rolled his eyes. It was F'Ledro's one claim to fame; he brought it up whenever someone questioned his strength or dedication. A year or so before they had arrived on Terranias, a small team of Mages was sent to one of the neighboring galaxies to collect supplies. F'Ledro had led that team. They landed on Lavinia, a peaceful planet of Morphers rich with food and other resources. They wasted no time in attacking the nearest kingdom—a city on the eastern border of a country called Aerianna. They took the palace by surprise, swiftly eliminating the guards before reinforcements could even be summoned. F'Ledro killed both the King and Queen with two quick laser blasts, and then he and his men raided the storage cellar before escaping to their starships. Of the many missions F'Ledro had led, it was one of only a handful that were successful, and he milked the victory for all it was worth.
"As I understand it, F'Ledro," a strong, husky voice came from further down the tunnel, "the heir to Aerianna's throne has hunted you ever since." The leader of the Vermillion Mages, Sartan Truce, emerged from the shadows and stepped into the torchlight. "And—correct me if I'm wrong—I understand there was an unidentified young lady assisting the Keroko Militia tonight. That wouldn't have anything to do with your decision to withdraw your troops, would it?"
F'Ledro shifted uncomfortably as Sartan approached the officers with folded arms. After Aratus Truce died, Sartan took the reins of the Vermillion Mages. He wanted to pick up and leave Terranias, but their starships had been destroyed near the end of the war. Their departure was long overdue, and Sartan had a plan that he believed would yield results.
He was a solid man, built for combat and wise with experience. His uniform was only slightly different than Olock's, having no sleeves on his yellow shirt and a white tiger insignia on the right side of his black vest. The light of the torches illuminated his golden hair, and he scratched his blond beard with a single finger. "We're waiting for an answer, F'Ledro."
"Uh, Sir," F'Ledro shook his head, "I didn't see . . . I mean, she didn't show . . ." he stammered to complete a sentence. "Was she there?" he finally got out.
Olock rolled his eyes and looked back at Sartan. "You see what I have to work with out there?" He pointed at F'Ledro.
"Perhaps not for much longer," Sartan's eyes never left the wiry man. "I don't know that I can continue to work with a man who is terrified of a teenage girl."
"This is no ordinary girl," F'Ledro insisted. "She's a Morpher. You know what they are capable of!"
Sartan lunged forward and grabbed a fist full of F'Ledro's shirt. "I know what we are capable of, you miserable wretch of a man!" Truce snarled, yanking F'Ledro to his knees. "The girl doesn't even know how to harness her power yet, and even if she did, Morphers are nothing compared to us! We will return to our rightful position in the universe one day, F'Ledro, and I'll not let a cowardly little weasel like you stand in our way! Olock was the commanding officer in tonight's operation, and the decision of if and when to order a retreat was up to him! But you took your squad and ran when things got a little too warm for you. This is your last warning, boy. The next time you disobey an order from either myself or your commanding officer, you'll be cast out of the kyrosen and left to your own defenses. And I seriously doubt you'd get far considering the number of people who would love to see you dead!"
He threw F'Ledro to the floor and turned his back, almost daring a retaliation. F'Ledro knew better. He scrambled to his feet and bowed to Sartan. "Yes, Sir! Understood, Sir!"
Truce didn't look back. "Now, go see Rhuda on Level Three. I'm sure she has some chores that need doing."
"Right away, Sir!" F'Ledro raced off, obviously glad to be freed from his leader's wrath.
"Think he'll learn, Boss?" Olock asked once he was out of sight.
Sartan let out a long breath. "I don't know, Olock. But as much as I'd love
to cast him out, I don't think we can afford it right now. We need every man we have, weasel or not. How many did we lose tonight?"
Olock's eyes turned down. "Nearly thirty, Sir."
"And no suitable subject for the experiment?"
"Actually, I almost had the perfect subject captured, but a young man—a swordsman—interfered. I think he may have been the son of Eaisan Lurei. Or at least a student of his."
Sartan finally turned to face him. "Are you certain? Why do you think this?"
"We've faced Lurei countless times, and this boy's techniques were nearly identical in every way. I could've defeated him, but I eased off once I recognized his combat style."
That got him an uncomfortable glare. "Should've killed him when you had the chance. Why let him go?"
Olock's grin grew. "Because I thought it would be more fitting that one of Eaisan's own students be the one to kill him."
Sartan's eyes gleamed in the torchlight as he caught on. "Brilliant." he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "Eaisan Lurei and Dayne Sheeth have driven us toward extinction. Dayne paid with his life, but Eaisan's crimes against our people have thus far gone unaccounted for. Now he'll pay not only with his life, but with the life of his student as well."
Olock nodded in agreement. "My thoughts exactly, Sir."
"Come, we have much to do." Sartan headed down the tunnel and turned into a darkened room. "Activate the generator, please."
After several moments, the dull hum of the generator filled the den, and several electrically powered lights illuminated the Control Room. Much of their equipment had been damaged during the war, but Sartan had managed to salvage enough parts from the remains of their starships to set up the small control room in one of the larger underground dens. Crude steel panels covered with different colored switches and dials lined the walls, and a large display monitor was mounted opposite the generator. A chair rested in the dirt beside a control console.
"Alright," Sartan mumbled to himself as he typed a few commands into the control panel. "Let's see what we can find here." After a few moments, the screen came to life, illuminating with an image of current sensor readings. His fingers clacked across the keys several more times, and a rough schematic of Keroko Village appeared. "Alright," he said again. "We tried to take them by surprise tonight, and as we know, that didn't work. This time we'll try stealth. I'll need you to get a team together and do some recon. Find out everything you can about this kid—or any of Eaisan's students for that matter—and report back to me. I want everything Olock. His name, his age, his weight, height, birthday, relatives, daily habits, and any other information you can get your hands on. We won't move until we've got a perfect plan in place. Then, we'll send—"
"Sir!" F'Ledro suddenly appeared at the door. He was short of breath, wheezing as though he'd been running. "There's someone outside!"
Sartan's eyes widened. "What?" He switched to a different control panel and flipped a few switches. A fresh scan of the area loaded onto the screen, showing a life form dangerously close to the entrance of the Underworld.
"Are you sure it's not a rabbit or something?" Olock suggested. "The humans rarely travel into the Mayahol; certainly never during a sandstorm."
Sartan was already shaking his head. "No, it's too big to be an animal. Someone's out there, and we can't give him a chance to run back and tell Eaisan of our location. Bring him down here. Kill him only if you have to, but . . ." he glanced at Olock, ". . . I'd like to try to get some information out of him."
Olock straightened with a salute. "As you command, Boss!"