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Chapter Six

The Qaldreth Command Council

Planet of Ivoy

D rafe sat on the outskirts of the training ring, running a cloth along the sword’s blade.

The repetitive motion gave him focus and brought him a sense of peace.

He raised his gaze to the dome above, its opaque glass revealing the lilac sky misty from a morning deluge.

Another thing he’d had to get used to. Water so precious on Qaldreth fell from the Ivoyan sky so much that he longed for sunlight.

Never would he have thought he’d find himself in such a blessed situation.

If he could send home water, he would. No Ivoyan ships traveled to Qaldreth unless to attend the rite of Uhann, and besides, what would an abundance of water teach the Meorri but to waste?

No, it was best he enjoy this time and allow his symbiotes to share his experiences when he stepped foot on Meorri soil.

Thwack.

He lowered his gaze to a male from the mountain tribe. Like a comet, his golden hair trailed every strike he made. He swung a staff, hitting the target with such force, the pole bowed.

“Riermus aac Vaen, where is your sparring partner?” Fumart Dau Lo asked, his hands clasped behind his back. He strolled the grounds, checking each event or exercise.

“At the med-tech, Dau Lo.” Vaen dipped his head in a show of respect.

“I see.” The Ivoyan teacher pursed his dark-orange lips. “Find another. One cannot test one’s strength and agility alone.”

Newer to the training arena, Drafe had yet to spar with all karu. Setting the sword to the side, he folded the cloth and placed it on top of the gleaming blade.

“I am available,” he said and pushed off the bench, picking a staff out of a nearby barrel en route.

Vaen scowled, made more menacing with his black eyes. “Your training has just commenced. You have not yet earned—”

“Consider it practice then.” Drafe smiled. “After all, I am willing to be humiliated at your hands.”

“You waste my time, Meorri.” He swept the staff wide, smacking the padded target without glancing at it.

Drafe bristled but maintained a calm exterior. Vaen could not irritate more than Ulvus. “I did not think a Riermus would fear a Meorri. I am certain my symbiotes will be delighted to tell of this moment.”

“Fear?” Vaen glowered then tapped the mark on the mat beside his.

Drafe stepped into place and ducked when Vaen spun, sweeping the staff at Drafe’s head.

The weapon slammed into the target with a reverberating thud.

Drafe responded with the same. The exercise required a duck and whack but in unison.

Both had to be aware of their partner’s movements while using the correct stances when swinging the staff—weight on the front leg, swivel on the ball of the foot, with the full force of the body to power the strike.

Dau Lo watched then strolled off. Time slowed with the repetitive motion, though Drafe’s limbs marked the effort.

Sweat coated his skin, but he wiped his palms on his pants during ducks.

His connection with the staff began at the grip.

Weakening would jeopardize his control of the weapon.

Lose that, and he would wound himself or worse, Vaen.

At last, the male stepped aside, breaking the hypnotic routine. Drafe stiffened his shoulders, not wanting to slump no matter how much relief coursed through him. His symbiotes hurried to heal and energize, starting with his trembling knees and throbbing arms.

“Mm, better than I expected.” Vaen layered his forearm over Drafe’s in a show of respect.

“From a static target?” A male laughed.

Drafe gritted his teeth and glared at Ulvus who scratched his regrown hand—a startling orange against his obsidian skin.

True to their word, the Ivoy had ‘healed’ him.

His new hand was a mirrored replication of the other down to the fingerprints.

What was amazing was that the symbiotes had adapted, matching the skin tones when they formed armor.

“Ah, Ulvus Karu, why not demonstrate the skill?” Dau Lo strolled through the gathering trainees, clasping his long arms behind his back.

Vaen’s scowl darkened. He gripped and released the staff in agitation.

When Ulvus shifted to the side, his new hand twitching, Drafe smothered a smirk. “Please, show me how it is done, Ulvus.”

“Against you?” His eyebrows arched in a hopeful expression.

“Against me,” Vaen snapped, tapping the spot as he’d done with Drafe.

Ulvus scowled. “I challenged Drafe.”

“That you have done and won. What would another battle accomplish?” Vaen smacked the spot, this time bowing the staff.

Ulvus jerked back.

Drafe palmed his staff and handed it to the male. “Do not fear. Vaen will not hit you unless you are unable to match his rhythm.”

“I fear nothing, Meorri aac Drafe,” Ulvus spat, snatching the offered staff. He stepped onto the mark and raised the long weapon as if he swung a stick.

“The Qaldreth has an issue with this male.”

All turned to the source of the intrusion.

Authority resonated in the Ivoyan’s voice.

As it should. Before them stood the highest-ranked Ivoyan, Luharp Vadril Ot.

A white tunic, embossed with golden thread, draped over the towering Ot.

His narrowed gaze assessed the situation while his expression remained neutral.

The focus shifted to Ulvus whose cheeks had taken on a pale gray hue. “I… I do, Great Ot.”

“Why? Do you blame him for the loss of your appendage? Are you not satisfied with our craftmanship? What will your resentment gain you?”

Ulvus flinched at each question, the staff in his hand slipping until the butt hit the padded mat.

Vadril Ot gestured to Drafe. “Accept his challenge, and whoever does well, I shall consider for my next protector.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Drafe pursed his lips. To be given such an opportunity, he had to try. No matter how much exhaustion still weakened his limbs. With a nod to Vaen, Drafe took up position when the male stepped aside and handed him the staff.

“Remember, Ulvus Karu, it is not the chance to inflict pain that is measured but the ability to work as a team, awareness of one’s surroundings, and the use of one’s might against the target.” Dau Lo dipped his head to whisper to the superior Ivoyan.

“Begin,” Vadril Ot commanded after meeting Dau Lo’s gaze.

Drafe gripped the staff as Vaen had demonstrated—one hand a short distance from the butt, the other below the middle.

Ulvus clasped it with both hands at the butt.

Drafe thudded the staff against the target, narrowly missing Ulvus’s head when he ducked.

Drafe knelt, not checking if Ulvus would swing.

No thwack followed. Drafe didn’t hesitate and leaped to his feet, the staff ready.

Pain exploded across his upper arm. He sucked in a sharp breath, reigned in his fury, and slid back from the mark. His symbiotes vibrated, demanding he retaliate. Once was an accident. Despite the fire spreading down his arm, he arched a brow at Ulvus. “Shall we begin again?”

“Of course,” Ulvus grinned and raised the staff to ear height.

Drafe forced his legs to move, to step into place. Without hesitation, he ducked, wincing when Ulvus hit the target. Drafe jumped up and swung, the force of his anger traveling along the staff to the padded target. He dropped to a knee and waited.

No connection sounded. He glanced up, catching Ulvus’s smirk.

When the staff hit Drafe’s ear, he swallowed a cry of surprise and sheer agony as if his head would explode.

Sharp needles ricocheted from the side of his head to behind his eye, making it water.

He cupped his ear, grimacing at the stickiness of his blood wetting his palm.

“Enough,” Dau Lo roared, snatching the staff from Ulvus.

“Oh, my apologies, Dau Lo.” Ulvus bowed. “I did not mean—”

“I am not blind, Ulvus Karu,” Vadril Ot said, his calm tone slicing through the chaos.

A red-orange-haired male from the Giniiri tribe leaned over Drafe, running his arm over the injury.

The glowing name across his vest said ‘Giniiri aac Nenn.’ The burning ceased, along with the persistent humming.

Given time, Drafe’s symbiotes would have healed him.

Vaen took up a protective stance between Ulvus and Drafe.

Scowling, he staggered to his feet, gripped Vaen by the upper arm, and nudged him aside. “Ulvus Karu, my apologies. I did not demonstrate the process.” He took the staff from a stiff Vaen. “Shall we try again?”

“This is illogical,” Vadril Ot stated.

“In Ulvus’s defense, the process was not demonstrated, Vadril Ot.” Drafe dipped his head to show respect. “I had hours to observe Vaen.”

Dau Lo frowned and whispered to Vadril Ot. The superior stiffened and gestured to security.

Borven aac Igar drew near, his gold eyes narrowed, almost lost against his dark orange skin so like the canyons he called home. “Great Ot?”

“Send the recording to the Senate and the Qaldreth Command Council.” Silence settled while Vadril Ot stared at Drafe. “Escort Ulvus Karu to the vault to await sentencing.”

Ulvus trembled and fell to his knees. “Please, Great Ot—”

“Dau Lo warned you, Ulvus. Yet you allowed your lust for vengeance to govern your behavior.” Vadril Ot flicked a dismissive hand, elegance in his long fingers. “Drafe Karu, walk with me.”

Drafe stiffened, shoved the staff at Vaen, and trailed the Ot. He said nothing, waiting for the Ivoyan to reveal his thoughts.

Once they had left the training grounds and were alone on a sunlit pathway toward the Senate—a hovering building on the horizon, Vadril Ot drew to a halt.

“Tell me, Qaldreth, why did you allow that male to harm you?”

“It costs me nothing to bow like a cucooya tree in a gale. I will not break if I maintain humility. Against a male stronger than me, I cannot stand firm. It would be my death.”