BloodLust (Rise of the Iliri Book 1) (6 page)

No, nothing like that,
Risk assured her, his tone filled with amusement. 
For him it's natural.  He's here, and we get the benefits of it.  Did your pack teach you none of this?

I never knew my parents,
Sal admitted,
besides a story told by my former owner.  They bought me at a young age.  I only managed to get myself conscripted when I refused to become entertainment for an officer visiting my master. 
In her drunken state, Sal decided the obviously strange Risk would understand her better than the others. 
When I said I'd rather die than become the plaything of some human, the officer agreed.  He enlisted me right then and there, and it's the best thing that ever happened to me.

Took me over three years,
she continued,
but I got a promotion and managed to get permission to apply to the elite forces.  The Black Blades are the only ones to ever consider me, though.

Oh, I think we might do more than consider,
Risk assured her,
but you're very drunk. 
With that he broke the physical contact and led her back to the table where the squad of Blades had gathered.

"Oh damn, Sal," Arctic said, seeing her for the first time out of uniform, "I think we owe Zep a drink for that outfit.  Wow!"

They raised their glasses to Zep, who grinned and lifted his own before tossing back the shot. 

Chapter 6

On the balcony above, LT looked down with pride.  The girl seemed to be working out.  Since the loss of Circus, the Blades had been operating short-staffed.  His men deserved nothing but the best, but the last trial left them empty-handed.  As their reputation increased, so did the applications, and weeding through the bland questions Command permitted was anything but easy.

And now, here, mingling as though already a part of the group, was a pure iliri woman.  She had no idea what she was capable of.  And it wasn't just her breeding that made her such an appealing applicant.  She worked hard, like he expected of his men.  She fought like a "demon possessed," as Shift called it, and she begged to learn more.  She was everything he could hope for, even if a part of him worried about adding a female into his delicately balanced group.

The men were already making it clear they found her attractive and weren't opposed to her alien features.  They snuck trinkets into her room, stole dances, and stared at her with open lust when she moved.  Blaec didn't know how she felt about the attention, or if she understood the implications.  Each time he touched her mind, he only got a sense of her hatred for being so different – most iliri despised their non-human traits. 

She'd probably never been told how the iliri were created.  Their race had been bred to serve and protect humanity, but Sal seemed unaware of the pull of her iliran nature.  She hid her beastly desires behind a wall of human conditioning, and Blaec wondered what would happen when she finally embraced her instincts.

The scrape of a chair pulled Blaec's mind back to the present.  General Sturmgren dropped his aging body into it with a sigh and a strained smile.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," the General said.  "How are your tryouts going so far?"

Blaec nodded.  "It looks promising, sir.  I have two that might do, and one I seem to prefer."

"Good.  Then how long will it take you to get back into fighting shape?"

"A month, maybe two, depending upon which recruit makes it to the end."

"And then?  Do you think you'll have the unit ready?"

"Yes, sir.  We should be able to remove at least three officials and probably four Warlords along the border, leaving the Empire weak enough for you to get the army across."

"Good, very good."  The General signaled for a waitress. 

Their conversation paused while the woman brought another round and pocketed the generous tip the General handed her.  Reaching for his drink, the old man watched the girl sashay away before resuming.

"They're pushing us hard, Blaec," he said.  "We've lost a few hundred men just trying to halt their advance, and the Emperor just keeps sending more.  He refuses to deal with us diplomatically, and we can't match him militarily."

"Which is why you need us."

"I know the Black Blades prefer less restrictive jobs, but without this push, we'll be trading in our blue and gold for the black and purple of the Empire.  You get the army across the border, and I'll give you an assignment to be proud of."

Blaec nodded.  General Sturmgren was an honest man, and his word was as good as any contract.  While Blaec hated to ask his Blades to do the military's dirty work, they could, with their eyes closed.  This war had waged on far too long.  A decade ago, maybe more, the Empire had appeared from nowhere, scattered provinces coming together under a new banner.  Their leader, calling himself simply the Emperor, gathered his citizens into armies and began to take over territories surrounding them.  The Conglomerate hadn't paid attention until Unav fell.  The peaceful nation shared their border for centuries with little more than trade disagreements, and never a military conflict. 

Intelligence said the Emperor was intent on conquering the continent.  His rhetoric centered around his hate for the iliri.  An abomination, he called them, proclaiming he had the right to exterminate the species from the face of the planet.  That was why he hit Unav so hard – because of the large numbers of iliri and iliri crossbreds living there – and killed everyone with iliri ancestry he came across.

Blaec remembered it well.  He'd been a young boy, thinking he was a man, when he heard the news.  His family was from Unav, his mother and kin presumed dead.  He tried to join the CFC military that very day, but they turned him away due to his age.  On his eighteenth birthday he returned and worked his way through the ranks.  If a few assassinations would help the Conglomerate break this siege, then he'd order his men to do them.

Unfortunately, the Conglomerate only cared about protecting their borders.  The extermination of an entire species held little concern for politicians, but the loss of their political districts compelled them to fight back.

"I just need a few more weeks, Ran," Blaec said.  "With only eight of us, being a man down would be a death sentence.  I won't send my men into that.  I'm sorry, but I won't."

"And I wouldn't ask you to.  It'll take us a month or more to prepare.  Pick the right recruit, Blaec, and train him up.  An army of this size doesn't move quickly, and a month is just the blink of an eye.  Knowing you'll do it is all I needed."

The General pushed his chair back and made to stand.  Blaec climbed to his feet in a sign of respect.  "Sir?" he asked before the General could leave. "I may need a favor."

General Sturmgren looked at the Lieutenant curiously.  Blaec rarely asked for anything.  "Go on."

"One of my potentials is pure iliri."

"Ah," the General said, understanding.  "Document the trials well.  If he obviously out performs the others based upon your recruitment needs, I'll back you on this.  Is he really that good, or do you think you might be biased?"

"She's that good."  Blaec smiled at the General's reaction.  "I'd take her if she was human, sir.  She beat Zep in a fair spar."

General Sturmgren chuckled.  "Ok, you win.  Send me her file and I'll start laying the ground work.  How'd you find a female iliri?"

Blaec shrugged.  "She applied.  She's a conscript."

The old man's eyes narrowed.  "Private Luxx?"

"Yes, sir," Blaec replied, shocked the man knew her name.

"Good.  I already have her file.  Seems the little bitch has applied for every elite opening in the last year."

With a nod, the General extended his hand and Blaec grasped it firmly, returning to his seat once the old man left.  Glancing back at his Blades, a cluster of black in the sea of blue and gold, Blaec hoped that this time one of his recruits would pass the tests.  He didn't dare choose a favorite, but a brilliant red flash among them let him know that his men already had.

She bested Zep in combat.  Only Blaec could do that consistently, but she didn't need to know that.  Zep was the weapons specialist of the unit.  He had an affinity for fighting that no other human – and few iliri – possessed.  Not only were her combat skills impressive, she presented herself professionally and kept her iliran instincts under control.  Above all else, she'd stumbled into their minds, tapping into Arctic's ability naturally.  She easily heard all of them, and his men preferred to speak to her mentally, feeling at ease with the touch of her thoughts.  Having experienced it himself, Blaec knew why.  Her mind was sharp but gentle, a pleasant caress he found himself wanting to embrace. 

He pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. 

Most novices shoved their thoughts around without any elegance.  Sal never barged into his head, but glided in when invited, a rare talent.  Plus, according to Arctic, some of his men intended to keep in contact with her even if she didn't pass the trials.  Iliran men were drawn to dominant women, and Sal might pretend to be a quiet and willing servant, but as easily as she'd held his gaze, Blaec knew better.  He knew what she really was and longed to submit to a woman like her.  If only that wouldn't cause problems in the unit. 

Blaec had been raised by his iliran mother and two fathers.  It took him nearly a decade to learn to act like a human in Conglomerate society, but once he had, they accepted him without question.  His mind still longed for the comforts of his mother's people, but he wasn't willing to give up all that his human position offered his men.  They were the only family he had, and only as a human could he protect them. 

Sal seemed to understand that.  She hadn't made him spell it out in her interview, but she seemed to accept that they had to play by the military's rules.  The only problem was that she still had to learn to ride.  A Blade without a mount was like an arrow without a bow.  The other possibility, a young man with experience on the street, could ride.  He'd served a year with the light cavalry, but he couldn't fight any better than a common solider, hadn't been invited into their minds, and Blaec had not seen him befriend a single Blade.  The bond just wasn't there.  No matter how hard he tried to stay impartial, the facts were clear. 

Sal was his best bet, even if her presence would result in a few squabbles.  Blaec told himself that his men had settled worse and come out stronger for it.  They could handle a pretty girl in their midst.  He refused to think about the effect a Kaisae had on her men.  The girl had submitted to him, he reminded himself.  If she passed the trials, she should work out, no matter how nice she smelled.  He was only a half breed, so it wasn't like his instincts would take over.

Below him, the party was breaking up.  The Black Blades left in a group, one shining red spot the only color in their cluster of black.  Looking at them from above, Blaec saw nothing but smiles and true camaraderie.  Sal took Zep's arm on one side, Cyno's on the other, with the rest closing ranks around them.  The girl staggered, obviously drunk, and laughter reached his ears.  She'd feel it in the morning, he thought, but if she could still pass the tests, it wouldn't matter. 

He decided to send her medication, just to be sure.

Chapter 7

The powder helped.  Sal's head no longer throbbed.  She had no idea who'd been thoughtful enough to send her the meds, but wished she could thank him.  Now, if only her mouth would be as cooperative.  She took another pull on the flask – nothing more than water for her dehydrated body – and stared up at the pair of moons in the too-blue sky, hoping to ease the nervous tension in her neck.

She was early, thinking the fresh air would wipe the last of the cobwebs from her head.  Last night, Zep told her their next trial would require her brain.  Sal needed an advantage.  Instead, she just watched stablehands catching horses.  Once haltered, the animals were passed to a groom who cleaned, tacked, and tied them along the rail inside the arena.

Four war horses stood quietly, heads bowed, dozing in the afternoon sun.  Two more were being brushed, and a handler led in a third.  Sal counted on her fingers, her head still not clear enough for calculations, and arrived at seven total. 

What would the test be?  Zep's hint tugged at the back of her mind.  Riding wasn't exactly a mental skill, but it was Sal's weakness.  She spent months tallying the inventory for the stable in her time with the military, but none in the saddle.  Through necessity, she learned the basics of working around horses and the care each required, but few Privates were awarded the luxury of riding lessons unless their families had wealth enough to supply it.  Sitting on the sidelines, she'd listened to the basics over and over: heels down, hands soft, eyes up, don't balance on the reins, but that was different from putting it into practice.  Maybe this test would be to analyze the mechanics of riding? 

Looking over her shoulder across the pastures, her eyes kept returning to a lone horse in the field.  Covered in mud, contained in a small paddock away from the rest of the impressive stock, it kept calling into the wind, prancing around the perimeter of the paddock, tail flagged.  She wondered if the horse called for a foal recently weaned, or if she was a new addition, quarantined to prevent spreading disease.

Sal's dehydrated mouth begged for another drink.  She sucked at her flask, wishing she hadn't gotten so drunk.  Behind her, the mare continued her protest against the confinement unabated. 

Turning to the seven horses tied along the fence, she focused on the differences in each and analyzed them.  The axe-headed beast near the end had the traits to make a good battle steed, but only barely.  The rest were more suited for parades.  A high headed palomino spooked at recruits walking up, pulling hard against its tether, digging its heels into the soft arena sand until stablehands shooed it back onto its feet.  The chestnut, a brilliant, deep red with high white socks and a near perfect blaze, showed signs of age in his joints and posture.  From the animals before her, he suited her abilities the best.  His age and attitude were that of a veteran.  His experience could cover for what Sal's lacked.

Eventually the Black Blades arrived, making a grand entrance on their own battle-ready steeds.  LT sat his black like he was born there and addressed the six recruits before him from the saddle.

"A special operations unit is nothing without transportation.  In our case, our mounts are a second arm, a tool we use more than even our weapons.  The six of you are all that remains from the fifteen we started with, so I had seven animals pulled up.  Choose the horse from this stable that seems suited to be your permanent mount.  If you pass these trials it will be assigned to you, purchased and paid for in full by the CFC.

"This horse will serve as your day to day transportation, it will be the mount you depend upon in the midst of combat, and it will be how you drag your broken body back to camp when a mission goes bad.  You are looking for a smart animal, a willing partner, and one brave enough to do what is needed in the midst of war.  These horses have only the basic training, which is why we have you choose now, so the staff can focus on the needs of each rider."

It was another test, but this time the Lieutenant didn't tell them what they would be scored on.  The pressure to choose wisely weighed on each of them.

"Feel free to inspect the horses, but you may not ride them.  The staff will be happy to have them move out for you to appraise.  You have one hour."

Sal ducked between the rails of the arena fence and, like the other recruits, made her way to get a closer view.  While the chestnut would be well suited to her, the thought of limiting herself with an aged and already weary partner left a bad taste in her mouth.  The men clustered around the impressive black, the flashy pinto, or the hot blooded palomino, none of which had the mind for the job the Blades would ask of it.  Sal remembered stories of the Black Blades pushing their mounts to the limit, riding over mountains at break neck speeds to gain a better angle from which to harry larger forces.  The axe-headed roan could handle that, and possibly the fat bay. 

She managed to find a handler and pointed out the ones that might be tolerable, asking to see them move like LT suggested.  The black lost her interest immediately.  Her initial assessment had been correct.  He was better suited for a parade mount than a war horse.

She turned away in disgust.  None of these horses were anything like what the Blades were mounted on.  They were culls.  She turned to the fields, her mind still foggy from the hangover, and saw that the pastures were filled with horses – more than usual.  She thought back over the Lieutenant's words and realized that he hadn't limited them to these seven, merely said he had them pulled up.  She looked harder, her catlike eyes allowing her to see farther than most humans.  The quality horses were out there! 

Sal stole a glance over her shoulder and saw Zep leaning over his own seal bay mare, eying her.  Beside him, Arctic followed Zep's gaze, but before she could reach out, he smothered the link from her head.  The Blades whipped around, the Lieutenant included, and Arctic gestured in her direction.  Still astride his horse, LT laughed, the ringing tones carrying across the arena clearly.  He held up a finger and wagged it at her, but the smile on his face showed amusement. 

Confused, Sal realized they were actually speaking to each other, heads bent.  Arctic must have shut down the link!  She pushed a thought toward him and found nothing, his mind gone from her perception.  That proved it to her.  The horses before them were not the horses they were expected to choose! 

Turning her attention to the fields, she narrowed her options.  To her right, the mare's calling caused the horses near her to shift and drift.  A well-muscled colt caught her eye with his sweeping walk and secured his place on her list with his easy transition into the canter.  While she worked to narrow the choices, the Lieutenant's voice broke her line of thought.

"Ok, you've had enough time.  Which of you wants to choose first?" he asked.

The veteran spoke up, "I know the one I'd take."

The Lieutenant leaned forward in his saddle, his expression asking for the soldier to continue.

"That roan, his head's as ugly as can be, but he's got talent, I think."

LT nodded and signaled a handler to remove the animal from the line.  A few voices murmured.  The roan had been the choice of many.

"Next?" LT asked.

"I'll take the black," a clean cut man said.  His horse was also led out of the arena.

"The bay for me," called another, followed by chuckles from the group.

"Which one?" Shift asked.

"The heavy one, not the one with the star," the soldier replied.

"The blonde," a man yelled, "I always did like the blondes!" 

With three horses and only 2 recruits left to choose, Sal held her tongue.  The Lieutenant looked from her to the nondescript boy, waiting for one to speak up.

"Luxx, Passel, you're the only ones left."

Sal's mind whirled.  She still didn't know which she preferred.  Glancing out at the pastures, she scanned them one more time.  The mare screamed again and the realization hit her.  That animal was exhibiting the exact traits a good war horse should have!  After moving for over an hour she'd barely broken a sweat.  She had all the endurance Sal could ask for and more grace and ability than most seasoned battle mounts.  Her choice was obvious.

"Sir?" she spoke up.  When he acknowledged her, she continued, "The mare in the paddock.  That's the horse I choose."

"Which?" he asked.

"The mud covered one, making a fool of herself," she said, pointing.

The applicants laughed openly, seeing little more than a filthy animal that wasn't one of the choices, and Sal realized the point of this test.  The others had taken only the clues offered and made assumptions about the rules that had never been said.  She'd analyzed the orders and looked for options outside the arena.  The Lieutenant had been testing them not just on their knowledge of horse flesh, but on their ability to find the boundaries of a problem before them.  By looking at horses outside the arena, Sal had passed, and she knew it.

The Lieutenant directed a handler to retrieve the mare from her paddock.  Once in hand, the horse bowed into the halter and pranced elegantly beside him.  The recruits let their laughter trail off when they realized she'd seen something they missed.  The stablehand presented the mare for LT's inspection, and he directed the staff to clean her off.  Buckets of water and curries were applied and the mud flowed away, leaving blobs of color in its wake.  Not quite clean, but now merely dirty instead of mud encrusted, her true color was as impressive as her form.  The mare appeared to be white, covered from nose to toes in large dark dots the size of Sal's fist and bigger.  On her face and legs, the spots clustered, giving the impression of dark points.

"I don't even know what her color is called," Sal whispered in awe.

"Pinzgauer," Arctic replied.  "They're relatively rare."

"So, Passel," the Lieutenant said while Sal's horse headed to the barn, "you find one that will work?"

The boy shrugged, "I just thought the chestnut out there would be good enough, and he might blend in a bit more than that thing."

LT nodded, sent a handler to pull in the colt Sal had initially looked at, then said, "Your mounts will be cared for, and soon we should know if they will need their training finished – or started.  I want to discuss with my troops, and we will meet back at the fountain in an hour."

The Blades turned, not quite in unison with the blackout in their minds, and cantered off.  The recruits also dispersed, leaving Sal unsure of what to do with her time.  She decided she wanted to see the mare again, so headed toward the barns.

The Stables at Stonewater were a haven for horses.  The barns were large and expansive, unlike the cabins used for recruits.  The smell of fresh straw and horse sweat greeted her nose when Sal walked in.  She never knew why horses didn't set off her predatory instincts, but she'd always liked them. 

Cross tied in the alley, a cob danced while the rider pulled his mane.  Sal stepped around them carefully.  A few stalls down, she saw the unmistakable head of the veteran's roan.  Across the aisle, her mare and the chestnut colt were stabled, bedded in deep straw, contentedly munching on green hay.  She peered over the half door and stared at the horse.  It felt so unreal.  Only a few days ago, Sal had been little more than nothing.  Now, she stared at the possibility that she would soon not only ride, but own a horse of her own. 

Holding a hand out, she clicked softly at the mare and giggled when velvet lips caressed her palm.  Taking the opportunity, she stroked the long muscular neck, straining to feel a difference between the dark spots and the white base of her coat.  Her hand came back lined with grime.

"Hey!" a voice said behind her, causing Sal to tense.  "That mare ain't for the likes of you."  A callused stablehand gripped his rake in one hand, a grimace contorting his face.  He looked her over, his distaste obvious.  "You scrubbers shouldn't go 'round touching things that don't belong to you.  Good thing you can't swipe a horse or I'd be calling guards!"

"Actually," Sal replied, feigning a calm she didn't feel, "this mare is for the 'likes' of me.  You're more than welcome to call my commanding officer.  It's Lieutenant Blaec Doll.  Maybe you've heard of him?"  She couldn't keep the sneer out of her voice but she did restrain her snarl.

The stablehand's eyes widened at the mention of the Lieutenant.  His body stuttered in place until his mind finally caught up, then he scurried down the aisle, rake still in hand.  At the door, he tossed a glance over his shoulder and, finding her still watching, hurried out.  Sal growled softly.  She would never escape the hatred of humans. For each success she achieved, there was always some dark-skinned ape there waiting to laugh in her face.  Every time she proved herself, some human went out of his way to find flaws in what she'd accomplished.  The urge to throw a childish tantrum and run screaming from the barn welled up inside her, but she pushed it down, knowing it would only please the humans to see it.