Blood Royal (Grendel Uprising Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Special Offer

  Blood Royal

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Previously in the Grendel Uprising series

  1 - Borghild's Dwelling

  2 - Fugitive

  3 - Sky Clan Village

  4 - Aefel

  5 - Longhouse

  6 - Rogue Operator

  7 - Mountain Pass 83D2B

  8 - Klak Mount Training Post

  9 - Dawn

  10 - First Base

  11 - Foothills

  12 - Carson Device

  Also by Scott Moon

  Sgt. Orlan is the toughest dog in the Fleet. Gangsters kidnapped is son. What is the worst that could happen?

  Sgt. Orlan: Hero of Man (a subscriber exclusive!)

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  BLOOD ROYAL

  Grendel Uprising: Episode 2

  Scott Moon

  Copyright © 2014 Scott Moon

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to fans old and new, because sharing a story is an honor and reading takes time in a world where there is little to spare. You may never know what your participation in this imaginative journey means to me. Thank you for coming this far.

  Previously in the Grendel Uprising series:

  Aefel, a talented and well-respected lieutenant in the First Armored-infantry Lighting Division, or FALD, was sent to kill the Chief Strongarm of the Emperor, Seccon, for the crimes of Treason and Regicide. During his dramatic quest for survival, he made an enemy of Jorgo, the leader of the Hawk Clan, and discovered that the Emperor’s nephew and three nieces were alive when everyone in the Earth System Commonwealth believed them murdered. Aefel located Seccon, but faked his death after deciding that the Chief Strongarm was not on Grendel to hide, but to protect the four children of Imperial lineage.

  1

  SUNRISE

  BORGHILD’S DWELLING

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE

  Seccon reviewed his situation the moment he awoke and saw the smoke-stained ceiling of Borghild’s cottage. It had been the same every morning since his death was faked. The First Armored-infantry Lightning Division had sent one soldier, Aefel 70391, to hunt him down. At first, he wasn’t sure if this was a trap or an insult. When he saw that it was Aefel, things made sense. The man was a legend in the Earth Systems Commonwealth military. His exploits inspired a new generation of soldiers to identify themselves as FALD Reavers, or just Reavers for short, and win more hopeless battles than any amount of support, luck, or technology could explain.

  The logic behind Aefel’s decision to abort his mission, fake Seccon’s death, and go AWOL might never be unraveled. He made himself a fugitive just like Seccon. Maybe not as wanted as Seccon, who had assassinated the Emperor, but likely the target of fellow Reavers who felt betrayed and humiliated by his actions at the very least. Seccon tried not to think about what his Strongarms thought of him since the assassination — since he had betrayed everything he had taught them and played them for fools.

  Seccon assumed that Aefel had realized Sveinn, Ari, Thrud, and Fey were part of the Blood Royal. The FALD Reaver must have guessed that the Emperor ordered their death and that an unknown coalition of very powerful and very desperate people had hidden them on Grendel. It was a theory that Seccon shared.

  He had more proof than Aefel could dream of finding.

  He had burnt more bridges.

  In the grand scheme of things, his position was orders of magnitude more impossible than Aefel’s failed mission.

  With a nearly priceless coin held securely in his right hand, Seccon rolled onto his side and gazed at Borghild’s body. She was young and well endowed — a sight for any man to appreciate, especially a widower like Seccon who spent thirty years married to a woman with a chest as flat as a sword thrust. Casia 70004 had been as trim as any modern athlete; her flat yet dynamic abdominal wall had been the core of her explosive physical presence and championship athletic skill.

  Aggressive, passionate, and fiercely political, she had been the prime example of a new human. Her tough, business-like manner made romantic encounters hard and fast — like a Crossfit event rather than an ultra-marathon. Their lovemaking had always felt satisfyingly like lust, even near the final days when the political universe spiraled toward interstellar oblivion. That did not mean a man quit liking the feel of a heavy breast in his palm just because his wife was a diminutive athlete. He had never actually been with anyone else to learn the difference, but what did that matter?

  He opened his hand and looked at the coin without really seeing it; his mind was on the women in his life — an infinitely more personal subject than the talisman of a possible rebellion. He had known only Casia before coming here, and she would have cursed him for avoiding the truth of the coin. She would have raged at the inscription on the forged alloy disc. She had been, after all, in possession of the most advanced cybernetic enhancement available to military or civilian operators. She had been human and then some, contrary to the commanding words on the coin.

  By contrast, Borghild was all natural, completely organic, the descendant of paid role players who had gone feral on Grendel generations ago. Full breasts, sturdy thighs, and a heart full of nature and love — she didn’t even know what an internal cybernetic modification was.

  Tears filled the corners of his eyes as he thought about Casia 70004. My fierce, perfect spy, he thought. Do you see the fields of purple lavender now, my love? His adventurous, proud, and violently loyal wife talked about flowers in her sleep. Her first battle had soaked a beautiful spring landscape in blood and she frequently sought virgin meadows without realizing what she was doing. Once, he asked her why they spent most of their liberty time wandering remote, picturesque places.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she had said. “No one is listening to us here. Watch the flowers. If they move, someone is trying to sneak up on us.”

  Seccon hadn’t broached the issue again. She had, however, continued to talk of purple lavender in her sleep. He sighed and trembled at the memory, holding tears inside where they belonged.

  Borghild saw his distress and hurried to him, the sudden movement making alarming changes to her breasts and tangles of golden, waist-length hair as she rolled to face him. On impulse, he thrust one hand between her legs as she came near and she playfully closed her ample thighs on his hand. Hot and delicious, Borghild was no replacement for Casia. She never would be, but she was loving and passionate, and Seccon felt something entirely different for her than he did for his wife, God rest her soul.

  “Oh, my little killing,” she said.

  Seccon shook his head. “That word means something else in my language. Try kitten.” He smiled as she said the word and frowned.

  “I think ki-t-t-en is a silly word.”

  “Kitten,” Seccon said.

  “Kil-it-ing.” She followed the attempt with a triumphant smile, then kissed him. “I will go outside. When I come back, I will tell you how the beaut
iful sun hangs in the sky and birds sing me pretty songs like the Gren-pipe you used to play for me.”

  He smiled at the sound of her words and watched her shrug into what was either a long shirt or a very functional tunic.

  She tucked a belt around her slim waist, then tied back her hair a moment later.

  “Always in such a hurry,” he said.

  She smiled and left the hut.

  He wondered what a scan of her genetic markers would reveal, but put the thought out of his mind. Sveinn and his sisters were already caught in a political machine that would grind them to rotten meat chunks. Why had he come here knowing what the consequences must be?

  It is more than simple genetics.

  “Humans sit Humanum,” he read from the palm-sized coin token. Humans must be human. His wife would have learned who made the coin and to whom the watchwords belonged. Seccon never appreciated espionage until she was taken from him. He had assumed it would be easy to find the secret society on this simple world.

  Seccon closed his eyes against the memory of his wife. For a time, he savored the memory of her words and did not attempt to understand the remembered sounds. They had argued for days and nights and thrown the good plates.

  Of course it was all about the genetics of the Blood Royal. Sveinn and his sisters carried the purest heritage of Earth before the Crises, remnants of all races, all ancestries, every hope and dream of the blue planet no matter their differences. True members of the Blood Royal line were neither white nor black nor yellow nor brown. Complete racial and social integration had taken thousands of years and there were many who hated the concept. Sveinn and his sisters were the most perfect mutts of the human race that could be bred outside of a test tube. With the exception of feral humans on abandoned planets, the Blood Royal were the only members of the modern race without technological contamination — without genetic pre-planning and cybernetic restructuring. They were the living templates of everyman and everywoman of all races.

  How could humankind survive without such historical unity? He glanced after Borghild and tried to forget the question.

  The smell of ash permeated everything in the Sky Clan village, especially the rushes and thatch roof of the hut. Without standing, or even sitting up, he was able to turn just enough to see the tunnel opening near the wall post. Aefel had nearly burned him alive. Two weeks after his fake execution, he was still hacking up black phlegm.

  The ruse wouldn’t work for long. This village wouldn’t last a month before ESC commandos sterilized it or someone just bombed it from orbit. For now, it was best to remain hidden and let Borghild and her huge breasts take care of him.

  No more traveling carnivals for him. He had been rather happy on Grendel 0473829 before Aefel 70391 came. The brief period of freedom and hope had nearly restored his faith in miracles.

  The strangest thing was that Emperor Dan Uburt-Wesson would have agreed with Casia. Of course he would, since his assassins had been sent to kill the last of the Toman Sorven-Hollun Blood Royal line, the boy who would be named Sveinn on Grendel. There could be no contest for supreme power. Civil war could not be endured.

  Morning birds cried at the sun, circling the village like drones — or, perhaps — simple birds. They perched on rooftops and squawked at Borghild. Everyone liked her; even the birds seemed happier around her.

  He sighed and stared at the ceiling.

  His time on Grendel had been one of the best weeks of his life. During that time, Aefel had lain in a dark, smoky hut similar to this one and suffered injuries few soldiers endured in the modern army. Seccon could scarcely believe the FALD soldier hadn’t died of infection on this primitive world.

  Through the doorway, he watched a scene of domestic tranquility.

  Borghild sang a washing song as she worked elbow deep in soapy water. Apparently, her emergency had been little more than helping other women with chores in the village commons. Maybe she would cook something and remember him in his dark lair. Voices argued, although he could not make out the words. He listened for a time and amended his assessment of Borghild. Everyone liked her, except for other women.

  2

  MORNING

  BORGHILD’S DWELLING

  GRENDEL 0473829: SURFACE, HIGHLAND VALLEY 83A2T

  MISSION CLOCK: n/a – FUGITIVE

  Sitting deep inside of the hut, gazing through the wide doorway, Seccon saw Fey striding past Borghild and the other villagers. Strange as the moment seemed, he found an odd triangular unity in his understanding, such as it was, of Fey, Borghild, and his wife, Casia. The first was a creature of royal blood, the second a feral barbarian, and the third the most advanced new human he'd ever known.

  Casia had been unpopular with other women, as was Borghild. The reasons were vastly different, but the effect was similar; each woman was self-sufficient and slow to find real happiness. Fey was different from Casia and Borghild. She seemed blessed and entitled at the same time. Seccon sighed. He probably judged her harshly because he didn’t like her.

  A draft sent shivers into the core of Seccon’s body. He pressed his back to the wall, drew in his knees where he sat on the floor, and hugged his legs with both arms. Another cold and damp place came to mind — a hunting world that became the battlefield of Earth System Commonwealth Military Expeditionary Forces, legions of the Capital Trading Company, and the security garrison of the privately owned planet — scorned as mere park rangers by the ESC and CTC soldiers alike. It had been the same season, in the same hemisphere of a very similar world as Grendel. The only difference was the state-of-the-art hunting lodges and fully functioning space stations that offered modern travel options and support versus the ghostlike technology currently in orbit around Grendel.

  The young, extremely beautiful Casia 70004 had walked into his life in the form of a rookie not even done with basic training before her first deployment. That had been in the days before general troops made drops from the atmosphere. Desperate times — soldiers going into battle without proper equipment or training, battleships sent to the Fleet without adequate evaluation trials, Nations of the Commonwealth fighting their own wars and claiming worlds like they were bags of cookies.

  He remembered watching her disembark from the shuttle parked on the airfield.

  “Have I done something inappropriate, Captain?” she asked.

  Seccon, at a loss for words, tried to concentrate on her eyes so that she wouldn’t think he was checking her out. “I am only a lieutenant, Private 70004.”

  She smiled with the corner of her mouth, the right corner, the place he would learn to focus his attention during these awkward moments. “Private? I’m not even a scrap of dog shit on the First Sergeant’s boot, or so I have been told.”

  He laughed as the aforementioned sergeant stormed down the line of new soldiers, half-intelligible words flying from his mouth. Casia had been one of the few who did not flinch and paid for her boldness with a punishment march in full gear around the base in lieu of sleep.

  Seccon had sat inside one of the guard towers drinking coffee and watching her squad belt out unoriginal marching cadences as sleet began to fall. Bowed heads and hunched shoulders did nothing to change the fact that they were wearing BDU pants and tank tops. Their boots splashed through icy puddles. Wind hit them in the face each time they ran the north stretch of the base perimeter road.

  Seccon breathed the memory like air, but could only hold it for so long.

  Borghild dropped a bucket of wash water and grabbed Fey as she made for Seccon’s tiny hut. She was taller and stronger than Fey — much more attractive than Fey or Casia, truth be told. Seccon wondered how she would have fared on the long ago punishment march.

  “He is resting. Don’t you know it now?” Borghild punctuated the statement with a firm tug and Seccon saw a glimpse of her true character. The tall, big-breasted, young blond was stronger than advertised and not afraid to get physical with one of the village’s favorite daughters.

  Fey yanked her arm
free and continued toward Seccon’s hiding place. “Watch yourself, Borg.” She stopped just outside the door, looked down, then turned to look back at Borghild. “I won’t be long.”

  Seccon exhaled, disappointed. He’d been surprisingly curious to learn who would win an eye gouging, hair pulling duel to the dirt. His voyeuristic taste for violence shamed him. Fey had the eyes of a killer. He had seen that the first time they met. Now, however, he wondered if Borghild might be as ruthless as Fey, or even as ruthless as his wife had been.

  Fey stepped inside and slammed the crude door without looking back. She put both hands on her hips and glared at Seccon.

  “He is not coming back.” Seccon struggled to find the words he needed. “And if he does, you won't live long.”

  Fey glared defiantly, eyes challenging the truth of his words. “Big words for a man he spared.”

  Seccon shifted his feet but did not get up. He wanted to stand to face the small woman’s anger, but the axe on her belt looked a little too close to her hand and her eyes promised a front-row seat at a blood bath.

  “Why did he burn down his shelter with you inside if he wanted you to live?” she asked.

  “I think you know the answer,” Seccon said. He waited for her response, had been waiting days for it, in fact. There were ways to determine how much Aefel had told her. He could ask. The thought made him smile and think of his wife, who had been so much better at these kinds of things.

  She had been better in every way at everything. It seemed impossible that she could be killed by anything less than Godlike force. In the end, he supposed that was about what happened. Before the death of his wife, the Weapons Research Division had meant nothing to him. His opinions changed after she fell victim to the Carosn Device that ended the war for Regenison Independence.

  Seccon hated secret weapons.