Fated to the Alien Chieftain (The Klendathian Cycle #3)

18. Krogoth

Chapter 18

Krogoth

Choices

O nly a few hours ago, the War Chieftain’s imposing flagship; the Ravager’s Ruin darkened the very skies of Klendathor, obscuring the warmth and light of the purple sun. How many worlds, how many species looked up to the gleaming black and red ship brimming with weapons which resembles a floating colossal shard of a volcano, their last sight before destruction and death rained down upon them?

It had taken only minutes of the flagship’s arrival for our wrist consoles to flash with the notification of a glider being sent to deliver us to the Council of Elders. A positive sign the War Chieftain wishes to speak, and not send his personal elite band of Ravager Berserkers seeking my head. I release a heavy breath, somewhat relieved, knowing if we meet face to face, he can’t ignore my challenge.

Pebbles clutches my arm, trembling slightly despite wearing her golden armor and thick cloak. “This place makes the Draxxi forests look like a holiday resort,” she remarks, glancing around the dark caverns of the Peaks of Scarn with only the flickering fire of the braziers providing fleeting illumination and heat in this abyssal place.

A smile crosses my lips as she squints up at one of the golden statues of a long passed robed elder. Even now, amongst all this turmoil, her curiosity cannot be subdued. My stomach still churns with the gut-wrenching sadness she showed during our Clan meeting. I could offer her no solace, no balm, knowing full well my death is a likely outcome.

I recall trying to prevent her from boarding the glider, reasoning the exposed Peaks of Scarn were too dangerous, but the real reason was to spare her from more heartache and despair for what might come. She had looked at me with eyes red raw from crying and swore no matter what happened, she would be there. My sweet, brave Pebbles. No Mortakin-Kai could ask for more.

Our feet echo through the eerie passageway as we make our way into the heart of Scarn, where the Elders wait, probably more terrified of the War Chieftain than anyone else. They would not be much help. Gorexius does not respect those not forged in the fires of war.

“Did you really escape from this place? I’d prefer a cell than be exposed out there again,” Pebbles asks, shivering.

I nod affirmatively, wanting to say more, but the unease gnawing at my mind robs me of my usual humor. Before long, the sight of the massive black door engraved in golden runes looms over us.

“Wow!” Pebbles exclaims as she rushes over to run her hands over the shiny engravings. “What do they mean?” she asks, her voice echoing in wonder around the cavernous passageway.

One of the enormous black doors creaks open causing Pebbles to leap back with a yelp of surprise. Harkus peeks his head around the slight opening, his eyes darting between the both of us. “Ah, good you’re here,” he says before motioning behind him. “They symbolize wisdom and tradition,” he answers, looking at Pebbles with a smile. “I pray wisdom prevails this day,” he adds, his brown eyes piercing into mine.

“I’m praying for tradition,” I retort with a scoff, noting Pebbles’ gasp as she catches sight of two scantily clad female Argorians, their robes loose and exposed, pulling open the doors.

Her eyes widen in amazement as she gazes into the grand circular chamber, taking in the huge golden judgment rune upon the floor and the raised benches occupied by elders perched atop, their expressions a mix of impatience and nervousness.

Harkus clutches my arm and leans in conspiratorially. “Krogoth, I know you will invoke Krak-Tok given half a chance, as you did before. Now is not the time to play the na?ve angry boy, but for calm heads and wise words,” he pleads, his voice earnest.

I shrug off Harkus’ hand as I glance down at him. “What I do, I do for my Clan and for all Klendathor. Gorexius must be removed for us to break free from the Scythians.”

Harkus nods solemnly as he steps out of my way. “So be it. May the Gods protect you, Krogoth.”

“And you old friend.” I clap him round the shoulder before taking Pebbles’ tiny hand and marching into the enormous chamber that looks every bit as imposing as before. The faint scent of scorching embers and incense linger in the air as burning braziers cast flickering shadows among the ancient stones.

Despite being here previously, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of history and the imposing aura press down upon you. Already my adrenaline is rumbling through my ears, my nervous anticipation heightened standing in the center of this ancient chamber. Pebbles leans in, pulling my hand for me to lower my head, “They are all terrified Krogoth, I’m surprised they can hide it,” she whispers in my ear.

“At least they’ve got us this far,” I whisper as the watchful and fidgety eyes stare down at us. Indeed, despite their obvious cowardice, I had to commend them. Not long ago, I wouldn’t have dreamed they could resist the War Chieftain in any capacity. Their trust in me has created an opportunity to change our fates. I need only seize it.

Vereth rises from his seat, a grave expression etched on his fate. “Hail Chieftain Krogoth and Chieftainess Rocks” He taps his wooden staff upon the stone floor, prompting the few elders engaged in conversations to stop. “The time we spoke off is now upon us.” His voice echoes around the chamber. “The War Chieftain Gorexius comes.” He points his staff at me. “He seeks you, Krogoth. I pray you have a plan.”

“Zyraxis, was right, we should have dealt with Krogoth when we had the chance—” Ignixis, the Magaxus Elder, shouts, his tattooed face wide eyed.

“Silence!” Vereth roars, striking his staff against the ancient floor. “I will not debate this matter again,” he says heatedly, his blue eyes glaring at Ignixis. “We must remain united if we are to mediate this gathering.”

“He’ll kill us all for this!” Ignixis cries out again, shaking his head frantically. “I’ll not be party to this any longer.” With that, he erupts from his hallowed seat and scurries down the steps, his pristine white robes fluttering in his haste as if a venefex is on his heels.

“Pah! Good riddance!” The venerable and ancient Nyxius calls out after Ignixis, as he escapes out a back room.

“Ignixis flees before even knowing the War Chieftain's intentions,” Harkus says, shaking his head. It’s strange to see my childhood teacher perched amongst the other elders, his face partially shrouded in robes and shadow.

“He shames himself and this Council,” Vereth says with a sigh. “But his punishment must wait,” he adds wearily, before shifting his attention to his wrist console. “Gorexius is here,” he says solemnly.

His words prompt Pebbles to squeeze my hand harder. I give her a reassuring look, despite my heart pounding in my chest, feeling like a lone stone about to be cast into a torrent of rolling magma. “You have my thanks, Elders,” I say before turning to face the enormous black and gold doors.

A resounding knock shatters the chamber’s uneasy silence, causing a ripple of unease among the Elders. Pebbles clutches onto my arm tighter, as my breathing increases rapidly. I must not show fear. He will not respect a timid challenge.

Meanwhile, two young Argorian female attendants rush to the doors, their tiny bodies struggling with effort, each tug bringing forth a painfully slow opening.

All eyes fixate on the opening expanse with bated breath until suddenly the doors burst open in an instant, the force sending the two Argorian females sprawling to the ground, groaning in pain.

In the doorway stands the molten mountain himself, War Chieftain Gorexius, flanked by his Second, Drexios, and a retinue of his elite Ravager Berserkers, tall and strong with hard eyes, their armor scarred by a hundred battles.

Gasps of shock echo through the chamber as Pebbles whispers, “Oh, my God,” her voice barely audible amidst the collective awe.

Gorexius looms as a giant, his already enormous frame bolstered by heavy, thick black arcweave armor trimmed with accents of blood-red ruby. His deep-set red eyes slowly scan over the room, his heavily scarred face giving no hint of his thoughts or emotions.

Pebbles leans closer, her voice a nervous whisper. “He feels amused, impatient, but also anxious.” Gorexius, anxious?

Drexios is the first to step forward as he sweeps his half cloak over his shoulder dramatically. He smiles cruelly at the two fallen Argorians, one red eye full of menace, the other mechanical. “Move whores,” he sneers as he marches past them.

“He is dangerous, Krogoth, full of hate, anger. There’s nothing else,” Pebbles murmurs, her voice laced with fear. No Gorexius is the unpredictable one. Drexios is a wild beast, lashing out.

Drexios advances, fists clenched, his long green hair shaved at the sides cascades down to his waist. The vicious sneer etched on his face twists the vertical scar over his eye. Pebbles flinches back as I tense, bracing for an attack until he halts, mere inches from my face. “The traitor, Krogoth!” He spits, peering up at me, daring me to attack him.

I’ve already switched my gaze back to Gorexius, observing him, as he slowly stalks into the room, appearing in no hurry, accustomed to others waiting at his command.

“Dragging us away from our war.... We should have annihilated you and your pathetic clan hall from orbit,” Drexios taunts, so close the heat of his breath grazes my skin, but I remain silent. “Your silence speaks loud and clear,” he growls, growing increasingly agitated. “Coward!” He shouts, lunging forward with a headbutt that I narrowly evade.

Pebbles yells and tries to shove Drexios, who doesn’t even notice lost in his manic laughter as he paces in a circle. “Krogoth, so quick, oh so deadly!” He jeers, extending his claws, their sharp edges glinting in the flickering light. “Fight me here, right now! Come on!” He challenges, his single eye misting, a promise of violence.

I glare at Drexios, my patience nearing its end. “I did not come here to spar with Gorexius’s mad pup.”

Drexios smirks, his tone surprisingly calm as he lowers his head threateningly. “No, you came here to die,” he whispers. “The only question is, who gets the kill?”

The rhythmic pounding of Vereth’s staff on the stone floor cuts through our tense exchange. “Cease this at once! Drexios, you offend the Gods by committing violence in this hallowed chamber,” Vereth’s voice booms, full of righteous anger.

Drexios claps mockingly. “Ah, the old fool with the big stick.” His voice lowers, glaring up at Vereth. “How about I commit more violence by shoving that staff up your ass?” He laughs, drawing laughter from some of the Ravager Berserkers who have taken up positions around the room, blocking all the exits.

Vereth interrupts their mocking laughter. “Enough!” he commands, his voice laced with authority.

The giant Gorexius carries a faint amused smile as he lazily paces about, inspecting the room, his incredibly long red hair also shaved at the sides hangs nearly at his feet, adorned with small braids and bands. The hair of a veteran warrior who has never tasted defeat. “Where is Zyraxis?” He asks, looking distracted. His deep voice cuts through the tense silence as his heavy steps echo through the chamber.

Strange that Gorexius continues to ignore me. Is it a deliberate attempt to intimidate me?

Many have made the fatal mistake of assuming the War Chieftain, because of his massive size, is nothing more than a dumb brute, but there’s a cold, calculating mind lurking deep within his imposing frame, rendering him even more dangerous.

“Well?” he stops, his gaze sweeping over the Elders who shrink back. “You,” he demands, his crimson eyes fixed on Phaedroth, the Elder from Clan Aquaxus. “Answer me.”

“Me? Ah... Zyraxis is well... gone,” Phaedroth stammers out, trembling so much his top knot wobbles.

Drexios’s laughter echoes through the chamber, dripping with malice. “We can see he’s gone,” He sneers, before leaping up onto the Elders’ benches, to tower over the quivering Phaedroth. “That is why the War Chief is asking, you voiding imbecile!” He screams directly into his ear.

Phaedroth recoils, his hands instinctively shielding his head as he cowers beneath Drexios’ wrath. Drexios’s lips twist into a sneer of disdain. “Absolutely pathetic.” He delivers a sharp slap to Phaedroth’s head, eliciting a terrified yelp from the trembling Elder, as he turns his attention towards Gorexius. “We are supposed to grovel before these spineless cowards?”

My pulse races watching the shameful scene. If this tense situation grows more chaotic, there will be no hope Gorexius will honor our traditions, and if I intervene, it gives Drexios and the others the excuse to attack. By isolating the Elders, Gorexius isolates me, but not to kill me. He could have done that already. What does he seek?

“Weaklings shouldn’t display hair,” Drexios taunts sadistically, his grip on Phaedroth’s top knot cruel as he severs it with his claws, leaving the Elder to whimper in his shame.

The ancient Elder Nyxius rises on unsteady legs. His bushy white eyebrows furrowed in anger, directed at Drexios, “Stop this blasphemy! Have you no respect, no reverence for anything?” He demands, his voice heated.

Before Drexios can respond, Nyxius turns to Gorexius, his face stern. “Young Gorexius, you set loose a crazed hydralith in our sacred hall,” he says, shaking his head. “Why do this? What has become of the dutiful, promising Chieftain?” He asks, his voice sad and eyes pleading.

“War doesn’t tolerate respect and reverence,” Gorexius replies, his deep voice hard as stone. “Only the strong,” he finishes, before pacing around the room, almost disinterested, despite the incredibly tense atmosphere.

Drexios moves to loom menacingly over Nyxius. “And we are the strongest,” he sneers, inches from Nyxius’ face. “The wars never stop, always nearby, always closing in.” He sniffs the air. “You can almost smell it.” Then he licks Nyxius’ wrinkled forehead. “You can almost taste it” He turns his back laughing madly, before halting. “Or is it fear I taste?” he asks, turning with a brutal blow aimed at Nyxius’ face. The Elder stands unwavering, unflinching, and unafraid, prompting Drexios to pull his savage blow at the last moment.

Terrified gasps from the Elders do not sway Drexios as he smiles, peering into Nyxius’ eyes. “Oh, this one is not afraid... No, not afraid one bit. The eyes of a warrior,” he says excitedly, performing a mocking salute. “Magaxus Second, ready for battle!” He laughs insanely.

Gorexius has the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Nyxius, where is Zyraxis?” He asks, his gaze fixed on the ancient Elder.

Nyxius’ wrinkled face twists with anger. “Zyraxis is dead,” he spits before continuing. “A vipertail in our midst, we expelled him for his crimes. Then he forsook the sacred tenants attacking young Chieftain Krogoth, getting himself killed,” he finishes, his face stern locked onto the War Chieftain. My pulse quickens, wondering how Gorexius will react to the news that I killed Zyraxis.

Drexios erupts into laughter. “He attacked Krogoth directly?” he inquires, his voice laced with amusement.

Nyxius nods affirmatively. “So brave and so foolish our little Elder turned out to be, yet gravely underestimated, his enemy,” Drexios rhymes absently before turning his snarling gaze on me. “Yet another reason to kill you.” He marches down the stone steps, looking towards Gorexius. “Let me end Krogoth, he’s ruining everything!” He shouts.

Gorexius peers down at Drexios, towering over him as I tower over Pebbles, before his gaze finally shifts towards me, his crimson eyes studying me, showing no sign of his thoughts. It’s a struggle not to shrink under the intensity. Pebbles clutches me tighter, “He’s not angry. I don’t think he will attack,” she whispers.

“No, losing you won’t satisfy Krogoth’s revenge,” Gorexius states slowly, his eyes still locked onto mine, unwavering in their focus.

Drexios bristles, pacing back and forth in a display of defiant frustration. “You shame me, War Chief. He’s overrated. Let me kill him!” He demands, his voice echoing with indignation.

Gorexius raises a hand. “Silence, Drexios,” he commands, sweeping his dark green scaled cloak over his shoulder before extending a hand toward me. “I intend to return our wayward Chieftain to war’s loving embrace.”

Suppressing a flicker of surprise at his words, I respond firmly, “I refuse.”

Gorexius remains unfazed, used to getting his way as persistent and unyielding as a mountain.

Drexios scoffs, gesturing towards Pebbles. “Too busy mating her,” he remarks, his tone dripping with contempt. Drawing nearer, he leers at her. “Not bad at all,” he comments before sneering at me. “Not pretty enough to turn into a filthy traitor, though.”

Gorexius’ eyes flicker to Pebbles for an instant, as if seeing her for the first time. A hint of amusement flashes on his lips. “Surprising Krogoth, abandoning your war brothers for a female.”

Pebbles shifts uneasily under the War Chieftain’s intense gaze as I place a reassuring hand on her back. “He seems more amused than anything now,” she whispers softly.

“Who is this female, whispering like some sorceress, wearing Nu’warian exoenhancer armor and the cloak of a Chieftainess?” Gorexius inquires, his tone touched with surprise.

“My beloved, my Mortakin-Kis. Blessed by the Gods in the Proving and Mortakin-Tok, now Chieftainess of Clan Draxxus,” I declare, my voice brimming with fierce pride for my beautiful Pebbles.

Gorexius’s heavy brow furrows in disapproval. “Superstition and pointless traditions.” He dismisses before gesturing towards Pebbles. “Take her Krogoth. She’ll warm your bed while you return to your rightful place leading Clan Draxxus against the Nebians.”

A glimmer of hope ignites within me, fueled by the belief that I might yet persuade Gorexius. “Don’t you understand? We can father children again, like Astraxius predicted. We don’t need the Scythians anymore,” I plead earnestly, my passion stoked. “No more wars, a chance to rebuild, Gorexius.”

Drexios bursts into mocking laughter. “Look at her so tiny and frail, can you imagine the stunted runts she’ll squeeze out? Fit for nothing more than venefex feed.” My hands shake with fury at his insults, but I suppress it, knowing now is not the time.

Gorexius remains unmoved. “You speak Krogoth, but I hear Astraxius’ words. Where is the old fool?”

A pang of sadness courses through me at the memory of Astraxius’ last moments. “He died on Terminus Exile,” I say solemnly.

A flicker of surprise and sorrow ripple over Gorexius’ brutal visage “Goodbye, old friend,” he whispers, his face twisting in terrible anger. “You see where this foolishness leads?”

He approaches, causing Pebbles to back away as the molten fury looms over me. “You should have protected him!” He roars in my face, taking all my resolve to not balk. “You let him die in that shit hole!” He shoves me with such incredible force it dents my armor, sending me sliding along the stone floor.

Pebbles yells in shocked distress, rushing to help me to my feet. Meanwhile, Gorexius paces back and forth in frustration. “Astraxius convinced me to take the Scythians’ offer all those years ago. Together, we saw the potential within our bloodline that was suppressed. Superior intelligence forbidden from science, bodies honed to a razor’s edge restricted from war. We unleashed our potential upon the universe, our gift, a destiny of conquest and glory!” He says, full of passionate anger. His usual cold demeanor now melted away.

Gorexius shakes his head with disgust. “Only for Astraxius to change his mind, years later, full of doubts. He came to me, Krogoth, echoing those same weak words.” He pauses, sweeping his arms wide. “I’ll never go back to that primitive existence of mere farming and hunting, no hope of glory, no expression of our beautiful strength.” His tone becomes more relaxed as he speaks.

“You feel it too, don’t you, Krogoth?” Gorexius turns his attention to me, his gaze piercing. “The thrill of the battle, the Rush flowing through your veins, commanding fleets of battlebarges, watching enemy planets engulfed in flames, as we stride forward like gods, crushing all beneath us. This is our divine purpose. This is who we are. To deny it is to deny yourself,” he declares, gesturing towards me. “Come back with me, embrace your glorious destiny.”

“Your glorious destiny comes at too high a cost. Bringing nothing but death to our people as the Scythians slowly bleed us dry,” I say with a calmness that defies the torrent of anxious fear and righteous anger churning within me.

“You think the Scythians will just let us go? You risk our doom, Krogoth,” Gorexius challenges, his anger rising again.

“It is you that has doomed us all when you killed my father and fought to steal our females away! You are a betrayer to our noble kin and I will see you dead by my hand!” I shout, advancing toward the towering figure, meeting his glaring red eyes, twisted with both rage and amusement. “Gorexius, I challenge you to Krak-Tok,” I declare loudly, my voice ringing throughout the chamber.

Before Gorexius can respond, the elders solemnly declare, “It is accepted!” Vereth punctuates their affirmation by slamming his staff upon the ground. “This Council acknowledges Krogoth’s right to Krak-Tok.”

Gorexius looks to the Elders with a hint of surprise. “I’ve answered his challenge before.”

“It is decided,” Vereth affirms sternly.

“This Council exists because I allow it. You’d do well to remember that,” Gorexius retorts, his rage focused as he peers down at me, baring his fangs. “So be it. If you seek death, it’s yours now that Astraxius isn’t here to beg for your life.” He straightens suddenly before adding. “After I break you, Drexios will lead the Clan Draxxus warriors, and I’ll finish my war.” His eyes mist red with fury, before he storms out through the massive doors, signaling to the others to follow.

Drexios glances back before exiting. “A promotion for me, and a death for you. Congratulations,” he smiles mockingly, leering at Pebbles once more. “Don’t worry, Krogoth. My first duty as the new Chieftain will be to console the pretty little Chieftainess. Bye-bye,” he laughs, before departing the hall.