“I already sent it. Spec Ops should be on their way. I need to do some scouting to help them find us, and perhaps to go out against the Bordash troops once they get here. And you need to let the ring help you heal for a little while longer. Can you do that?”
“Yes. I can do that.”
“Ok. Stay here. Stay safe…” He held up his finger as if making sure he knew I was serious about staying in the cave.
“I will. You be careful.”
“What Curan warriors say to each other is be brave.”
“Ok. Then, be brave…”
Jase winked at me, then disappeared down the tunnel.
Fuck… I laid back against his cloak and looked at the bat guano stars above my head in the cavern, trying to catch my breath. Some of the bats had returned due to the storm. That was amazing. That was literally breathtaking… He had better come back. I wanted more of that.
Nine
Tarsine
“It’s true. Alpha Warlord Jase and his Trios, and perhaps a few other Commanders are still in the Salt Hill's near the Wazuun River. We intercepted the telepathic message they have been broadcasting to him for over seven hours now, but just twenty minutes ago, he sent out one, as well. It was in code, clearly. But we have our spies helping on it, now. We also have the five members of his Crew we captured from the downed transport.”
The reader speaking took a deep breath and continued on, “We know that they always carry their teams in 12. We only captured 5, so we are missing 7, including Jase. Now, we found the remnants of at least four bodies, but maybe there were more killed in the craft, but there’s no way that transport carried more than twenty people, including the two pilots, who were two of the four killed. But the message we intercepted was clearly from Jase, intended for one of his Trio, so one of them, at least, must still be alive, close, and in command of some type of electronic equipment that can get signals back to his troops in Emerona. We are missing a speeder, stolen probably by Aimer, the best Trio pilot.”
I looked at my Reader as he reported in. He was a jumpy son-of-a-bitch, and not much of a fighter, but he was the best Reader in my fleet. I could trust his intuition on this. If he said it was Jase on the telepathy reading, I would believe him. My telepathy skills were only so-so. I much preferred flying, killing people with thrown swords, slinging knives like razor blades fired from a gun. Brawn over brain never bothered me. I was never one of those Bordash who tried to be as good as the Curans with all that mental talking stuff. I didn't much care for talking out loud, neither.
“Fine.” I downed the rest of my beer and slid the stein across the table to Rotcher to fill again. Rotcher was my Second, and he knew when I needed another, usually before I did. He helped me keep my head on straight; sometimes burns beer helped with that. It had a stimulant in it, too. It was good to keep the nerves down, but the mind straight. “I want to unleash the Ten Sevens, then. Let’s comb these Hills. Let’s find them. We must know that they are getting reinforcements from Emerona, and likely from Kajo. Or, at least eventually from Kajo. If we can kidnap Jase, we will have a bargaining chip, or maybe even a checkmate. A cut the head off of the snake situation.”
“His Empire is loyal to him. I have never seen a more benevolent tyrant. He may be an Alpha Warlord, m’Lord, but his people love him,” Rotcher said.
“Thanks for the two cents, Second," I said, rolling my eyes and tossing one of my knives over his head. He didn't even duck. He knew I wouldn't hit him—unless I wanted to. And if I wanted to—I would. I did what I wanted. That's why I was the leader, and he would always be my Second.
“The Ten teams of Seven are ready. Your Generals are at your command, sir. They can redirect. They are gathered near the Wazuun already.”
“But—” The Reader looked alarmed that he had even said the word.
"But what?" I had another knife in my hand, and the Reader knew better than to finish his sentence. I already knew what he was going to say, and he knew that it was above his pay grade to bring up the weather and superstition.
“Nothing, sir. Thank you.” The Reader backed out of the tent.
I threw the knife at his retreating back anyway, but the tent flap slipped down just in time, and the razor-sharp knife slipped in and slipped down, making a slit in the side canvas. I frowned at it, retrieving it with an easy recall telekinetic Will.
“Think the Ten Sevens will have a problem going out in the thunder and lightning?” My question was punctuated by a particularly loud burst of thunder and a new dash of driving rain that bent the tent sheets up on one side.
“Not if you give them enough burns beer first.” Rotcher had to shout over the rain onslaught. It did make me shiver a little. It was amazing the things we were engrained with from such a young age. Why should we be afraid of a few tiny forces of nature? They
