Tales of the Zorantian Brotherhood Volume One: Black Winds

By Luther Giordano Nancy Edgington

Beginning on the darkly claustrophobic world of Darnath, then sweeping across the galaxy, this is the culmination of history. The Brotherhood of Zoran confronts the Order of the Masters of the Chaos out of the Darkness.

This is Volume One of the three volume epic Black Winds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luther Giordano Nancy Edgington
• Release date: Aug 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452346724

Luther Giordano Nancy Edgington

We are interested in people, history, the military, economics ... Our experiences have been eclectic which is one way to say that we've lived a lot of places and done a lot of things. Although we've never served, we know the military, esp. how wars are fought and the necessary planning. We have strong opinions. And like the Brotherhood of Zoran, our "We" is made up of individuals. Black Winds is available in print at Create Space (amazon). If you want to talk, email us at [e-mail]

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Tales of the Zorantian Brotherhood

Volume One

Black Winds

by

Luther Giordano

&

Nancy Edgington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 by Luther Giordano & Nancy Edgington.

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Zorantian

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Foreword

Appearing above Zoran, the fleet hung in space for the few moments necessary for its commanders to issue their final attack orders. No one admired the sparkling blue and green of the planet below them: they were here to kill, to exterminate. All of the savagery and power of modern weaponry bombarded the planet, redundantly at the last as new volcanic fissures covered those senior to them by scant moments. The people on the planet died in the first moments of the attack.

Wearing gray robes or in blue or green uniforms, the commanders of the ships congratulated themselves. The Brotherhood of Zoran had died with its home world. On every civilized world across the galaxy, the hunt for all who had been off world was already under way. They would also die.

The Order of the Masters of the Chaos out of the Darkness rejoiced. Their long war with the Brotherhood of Zoran was over. They had won.

The Path to the Modern Imperium

by Ronnel Latten

The history of the galaxy may be divided into three periods: the Age of the Algolana, the Darkness, and the present era. The time before the Algolana can at best only be conjectured. It is understood that there were civilized worlds because the Algolana conquered them. Little is left of these cultures. The Algolana appeared in the skies of every populated world bringing fire, death, and the worship of their God. The peoples of each world tore down their cities to build the altars of God upon the bare rock and then died in their billions upon those altars. The legends speak of God Himself visible in the air above the altars, consuming the souls of those sacrificed in horror and agony.

Of the Algolana themselves, still less has been known. The Children of God are described as wearing demonic armor designed to terrify the beholder. They killed men, women, children, the young and the old without compunction or compassion. All sinners died for the glory of their God. Even the faces of the Algolana were covered; there is no description of their form. Since the Judgment of God fell more heavily on the non-human races, it is assumed that they were humanoid. The few surviving bits of armor lend support to this thesis.

Then, in one day if we are to believe the tradition, the Algolana were gone. Primitive, superstitious cultures maintain legends that God took them bodily to His heaven and that they will return one day to finish the Judgment of God. The Darkness descended at this time and for millennia the peoples of the galaxy have struggled to regain their civilization, until our modern era. Ironically, it was those worlds that had most cooperated with the Algolana who recovered first and who progressed most quickly. They had not suffered the depths and breadth of destruction of the others. Non-humanoid races appeared, to be viewed with suspicion by the tolerant and fear by others lest they cause the Algolana to return.

Out of the Chaos and the Darkness, two groups having galactic-wide significance emerged. The first, the Order of Masters of the Chaos out of the Darkness, preached order, discipline, and security. They worked tirelessly to restore a galactic civilization. Our modern era dates from the establishment of the Rajkar Imperium with the assistance of the Masters. The beliefs of the second group, the Brotherhood of Zoran, centered on the individual and the right of choice. They held choice to be the greatest good and, organized as a military society, fought as mercenaries (both men and women) for dissident worlds opposed to the new galactic order. Twenty years ago, they and their home planet were destroyed by a combined fleet of the civilized worlds led by the highest Masters of Darkness. Since then, the forces of order have been inexorably prevailing. The House of Rajkar is triumphantly restoring civilization to its pre-Algolana heights.

The Algolana: A Scholar’s View

by Regin Mellor

CHAPTER ONE

She drew the hot, fetid air into her lungs. Lightning flashed through the heavy black clouds, illuminating the jumble of buildings below. Each stroke tore through the darkness, revealing the source of the pervading stench: the filth and garbage, the rot of a backwash port, a place of ancient and degraded evil. Its smell filled Sarr’a’s nostrils reminding her with each breath why she hated this city. Its inhabitants’ fear and cowardice stank in its every corner, festering in the darkness, cowering from and cursing even the fitful light the clouds grudgingly allowed to pass. She did not permit any distractions from her task.

Ships, rising cathedral-like from the muck, refracted the strokes to mocking, ephemeral rainbows. Warehouses and shipping offices and bars and hovels were like medieval litter. Streets through this district not too far from the field were narrow and twisted. Wide avenues weren’t necessary here: the cargoes were only stored for transshipment. Local cargo . . . well, the local cargo didn’t need wide roads.

They were moving again, the boy and the girl, still confident that no one was following them and that they were safe. Safe in this very nasty city. Refugee camps are like that and for all its age Darnath was still a refugee camp. Founded by humans and others running from the Algolana, before the Chaos, before the Darkness, they had thought the endless night and ceaseless storms would protect them. Before this bit of hopeful superstition could be put to the test, the Algolana had disappeared. Descendants of those refugees had cowered for generations; their memories of the stars caught up in a complex religious mystery. They had of course destroyed their ships when they landed. Sarr’a spat. And that was what religion and cowardice did for you. Those things most feared by your ancestors became the objects of your worship and adoration. The ships on the field near the city carried them on pilgrimage to those stars, a pilgrimage required if they were to have any hope of salvation. And the captains sold them into slavery on a thousand worlds, most with starry nights.

Enough of history and religion. Sarr’a moved in close synchrony with the pair then pushed ahead as they neared an area of deeper shadow. Moving lightly, she allowed the next flash to show her to the three waiting figures. They saw a small person dressed in the common clothing of the streets. Stifled, muttered curses confirmed their departure.

This was boring, incredibly boring. And irrational. These last three had sense. The two already rotting four alleys back had ignored the warning and had been a quick, pleasant diversion. This was the smuggler’s district: interfere and die. It must be a very high reward that so many thought they would risk it.

Smugglers. Sarr’a’s thoughts were bitter as she moved to cover the progress of the two below. Smuggler, she corrected derisively, and on a child’s mission. Her orders were to bring these two children to him. And they were stupid children, though the girl at least was full-grown. They didn’t even sense that she was there: in front of them, behind them, above them. But they were to arrive unharmed at the meeting place. Her orders were explicit. She smiled unpleasantly to herself. He knew better than to give her any room for interpretation.

Why had she been sent? Who were these two blind idiots playing games in the dark? What did he want them for? Something truly unpleasant, she hoped. Knowing him, it probably was. And why send her? Anger and resentment rose in her throat to be controlled automatically as she continued to scan. One more block and he would have them. Luck and joy to the three of them in that meeting, she thought sarcastically.

Something in the shadows to her left shifted slightly; she was already facing him when he spoke.

There you are. The tone was self-satisfied, smug. I knew one of you would be along. He wore the black hood of an Ylgaran assassin and had the conceit of the guild to a full measure. But they cannot be as important as I was told. You are only a boy. And a small boy at that.

This one was not a local: he was foolishly ignorant as well.

Lightning flashed again as Sarr’a moved toward him. She was accustomed to the insult, but it still cut. This one, she would enjoy. Then, he made it worse.

I will share the reward with . . .

Black rage boiled from within her at the mention of blood money. Her knife, which should have sent intestines tumbling to the ground, skittered across his body armor. Angry at her carelessness, she felt a rising joy in the intensity, the now of combat even with this scum. As Sarr’a moved forward again, her dark eyes began to dance and death shone from them. The assassin’s smile froze as he realized that her knife had not broken on his armor, as it should, as it must have. Reaching for her with his own blade, he felt an agony searing through him as his right hand was parted from his arm. Then he died drowning in blood, her knife in his throat.

Pulling free, Sarr’a whirled to face the man behind her. Recognition was quick and, also, surprise. He hadn’t mentioned any others and certainly not Reth. Both of them to watch two children? Reth spoke before she sorted through her anger.

This one wasn’t alone. I was sent to watch your back.

Mentally, she shrugged. Any assistant to this offal would not have been a problem.

Reth’s tone was coolly sarcastic as he continued, aware that she didn’t care. They’re all right. They’ll be with him in a minute.

They watched the boy and girl go through the door before he spoke again.

He said you needed discipline and he’s right.

Sarr’a winced at the cold appraisal from the older man. She accepted it because he had been her teacher and he was Reth. She didn’t like it. The rage was folding back into the corner of herself where it ordinarily lay hidden.

What now? she asked, cleaning her blade and sheathing it.

Reth listened for a moment, then, pulling her close, pointed to a man standing in shadow across the square.

My assignment is to watch that one. He’s good enough to make it interesting. He grinned down at her. Yes, you missed him, too.

He watched as she winced again. That one she was supposed to know on sight and he was dangerous.

Stepping back stiffly, she asked, And my orders?

You’re to go home, commander. He’ll be there soon. And half to himself, he continued. I wonder who these two are who need such impressive protection?

So, he hadn’t told Reth either, which was unusual.

Reth was gone with no further ceremony, although half consciously now she watched his progress around the square. Home, he had said. Bile rose again in her throat. No, not home, but certainly closer than this.

Sarr’a turned her back and followed orders.

* * *

Lady Ylana was shaking. The door had opened, revealing a dark, hellish pit.

There can be nothing in there that can help us. Fior was wrong.

With the certainty that his teacher was never wrong, Nat replied, Where else can we go? This is our only contact and we have no other way off this world. He took her arm to draw her forward. We must.

With the door closed behind them, they moved among figures barely visible in the dim light. What they could see would have been an education in decadence had they been more sophisticated. It was merely disgusting because they were not.

Inside, the air was thick with the smoke of a hundred narcotics. Sweet spice warred with acrid across the sour stench of ancient vomit. Nat drew Ylana forward and ragged bundles around the room stirred. It was rare that the more affluent members of society came here. It was even rarer that they were young innocents. Here people took great care not to be recognized; that was a decision most had made long ago. It was a mistake, however, to assume that they did not see. One near the door slipped out and was followed shortly by another. Two others half rose and settled back as the pair’s destination became apparent.

In an alcove of the room, lit by a single beam of light, sat a man with a red beard. More accurately, perhaps, there was a red beard. The man was in shadow.

There, said the boy with some relief. That’s the one. They walked across the room to the alcove. We were told . . .

You were told that I could help you. Sit down.

They sat across the table from him and grimaced as the light shone fully on their faces, further eclipsing his.

And how can I help you? His voice was harsh.

We need transport.

It was Nat who spoke, his voice hushed and furtive. He leaned across the table hoping to penetrate the gloom. Sitting gingerly with her handkerchief pressed to her nose, Lady Ylana tried to ignore the filth on the table. This was difficult because some of it was crawling toward her.

Transport where? Across the city, boy? The voice was becoming derisive.

Off-world, Nat looked around uneasily.

That’s more expensive, boy. I need more information for that. Who are you, to start?

That’s none of your business. Ylana spoke sharply then gagged as she breathed air in unfiltered.

Red Beard laughed and continued speaking to the boy.

Is this flower of virtue someone’s daughter or the wife of some official of the Imperium, perhaps? That is expensive. You are my business, little one. This last in sarcasm to the girl who seemed too naïve or perhaps too stupid to understand his meaning.

She threw a pouch on the table.

Is that enough?

He poured the contents into his hand.

Not bad, gentle Lady. But only half of what you have.

How do you know what we have? Nat tried to reenter the conversation.

It is my job to know, boy.

Red Beard waited until a second pouch had joined the first and he had examined the contents, then he leaned forward, his face almost in the light.

I have been instructed where to take you. The boy’s eyes widened. For now, you will wait at the warehouse of the merchant Skairos. You will be escorted there. Do as you are told or no one will help you.

He settled back in his chair. Behind him, one of several heaps of rags stirred and rose. The man thus revealed gestured peremptorily toward an exit they had not noticed and they followed.

After they were gone, a hooded and cloaked thing moved across the main room to follow. Red Beard rose and the thing stopped as at some unseen boundary. Hate and will flashed between the two.

They’re mine, hissed Red Beard, a spark of green from his eyes.

Growling a deep guttural challenge, the thing moved no farther. It stood and quivered with impotent rage as Red Beard sat back in his chair and considered the problems posed by the two who had just left.

They were Master of Darkness Baltash Fior’s pawns. Fior himself had requested that they be transported to Askarn. And the request had come directly to him, which was cause for concern. He didn’t like attracting the attention of a Master and would like to know how it had happened. He would know.

Those two were simply pawns, tools in the Master’s game. He was almost certain of that although habit and inclination made him suspect such obvious stupidity. Sitting across the table from the most notorious criminal in at least this section of the galaxy, their concern had been with the dirt and the smells. The smile hidden in his beard was sardonic. His reputation was both earned and carefully calculated. Their ignorance was almost insulting and, perhaps, illuminating.

He turned and signaled to another of the men behind him who came forward immediately.

Tell Reth to bring the colonel along. I think we will stir all of this together and see what develops. Has Sarr’a left?

There was a nod. Red Beard laughed quietly.

Then we’ll surprise her with some guests.

He would play this game until he had all the answers he required.

He rose and once again noted the figure still glaring across the room. That was perhaps more interesting even than Fior. Why did they care so much about these two? Customarily careful to avoid involvement in human affairs, the Xackarn were not fond of attracting attention to themselves either. For one of them to come to Darnath was almost unprecedented. Running from the Algolana, the demons who had seemed to have a special hatred of the nonhuman, the human refugees had naturally killed all nonhumans within a year after landing, lest they attract those demons. The Xackarn considered this world a mausoleum and they did not visit their dead. That question was not, however, of pressing importance. He filed it for future thought.

* * *

Across the square, the colonel had seen the two he was following enter the smuggler bar. He was far too well known to risk following them there. Leaning back against the wall behind him, he considered the matter. The boy, Nat Bahadur, was some kind of student and the girl, Lady Ylana, was of the minor nobility with, apparently, political aspirations. They were neither of any consequence. Master of Darkness Baltash Fior was. The colonel had learned that these two were involved in some plan of Fior’s and he had, of course, followed.

There were only two Masters of real importance: Lord Sartak of the Imperium and Master Baltash Fior, currently of the Confederation. Their plots and maneuverings against each other were constant and extremely dangerous to anyone caught up in them. He had to know why Fior was contacting the smugglers, especially this smuggler who was extremely vicious and the most deadly. Masters of Darkness did not deal with criminals, at least not openly. Criminals were an affront to order.

Lord Sartak was interested too; his proffered reward for the capture of these two alive was a staggering sum. It seemed unlikely that Red Beard would pass up the opportunity to collect it. He had certainly seen to it that no one else would. The colonel, carefully and cautiously following the pair, had sensed their shadow and counted the bodies.

He began a careful circuit of the building,