Page 102 of Warrior's Reign
Vykhan steppedout of the docked shuttle, the doors to Lohail’s deck on Anthhori sliding open.
A line of liveried guards stood, similar in height and musculature, though varied of skin, hair, and eye tones. They all wore the shimmering red silks of Lohail’s household, and they all carried weapons.
“Is this the greeting I am offered? Was I not once Lord here?”
He withdrew his sword, a true metal blade blessed in the blood of his family’s enemies for ten generations. Light danced, a near silent hum running through his arm.
“We are an honor escort, Lord, no more,” one of the guards said.
This one boasted the slate skin and moon silver eyes of an Icarian clansmen. Wingtips peaked above his head, folded tightly to his back to minimize their appearance.
Vykhan smiled thinly. “I accept your escort then.” Lohail must think his time away had softened his brains. Vykhan strode forward, thehonor escortfalling into step behind and at his sides. “This is not the way to Lohail’s greeting room,” he observed.
“We have orders to escort you to your quarters until our Lord can attend you,” the Icarian said, voice brusque.
“Really. It is unfortunate, then, that I have no intention of being escorted to my quarters.”
“Refusal to comply will be met with force.”
“Really.”Vykhan smiled.
Aggression roared to the surface. He almost thought Lohail offered him a gift; a chance to purge his anger before entering the den. Or perhaps Lohail was no fool, and had no desire to meet Vykhan while bloodlust rode him hard.
These males stood between him and Reign, between ascertaining for himself that she was well and untouched. Hearing her voice should have been enough, but he knew better. This was Anthhori, and for all her skill, she was a mere babe in these halls.
“Are you certain this is what your lord commands?” he asked them. “I am pleased to entertain you, but I cannot guarantee you all will live.”
“Very well, then.” Vykhan leaped into motion, unleashing himself in a way he rarely allowed. A flurry of en-blades—no blasters, which told him Lohail was still cautious. Discharged blasters meant answering to the neutral overlords of Anthhori, the slate of cross species overseers who were tasked with keeping the peace.
They attacked as one; well trained, but he had expected no less.
Strike, parry, thrust. Only the soft thud of feet and the satin surrussh of his cloak. A grunt as he elbowed a warrior in the nose, turned and blocked a strike from behind, returned it with a series of slashing thrusts.
Pain seared his side and Vykhan snarled. Very well. If these children wished to be treated like adults, he would oblige.
Once he stopped playing, the fight was over in moments.
“That’s enough,” a cool tenor called out. Doors at the far end of the hall slid open and Lohail stepped through, alone.
Vykhan watched the guards to ensure they obeyed their master’s command then sheathed his blade, staring at the half breed Yadeshi male as he strolled through the hallway as if he owned it.
He did.
But once Vykhan had as well.
“This is how you honor me?” Vykhan asked. “Curious. We seem to have a different understanding of that word.”
Lohail gazed down at a still guard. “You did not have to kill him.”
“Did you think I would show mercy?” Still, Vykhan glanced at the crumpled male. “He is probably not dead yet. Call a medic,” he coolly ordered one of the remaining guards.
Lohail pursed his lips, nodding to the guard. “Your Haeemah is supposed to be a pacifist.”
“Haeemah is not an aggressor. But she is a finisher.”
“I wanted to observe for myself the value of your years of training. What you left for.”
Vykhan stared at him. “I took my leave decades ago. A human lifetime. You’ve had ample time to observe.”
