House of Oran: Tales of Master Targ and Esrik the Red

By M.A. Leibfritz

House of Oran is a collection of four stories for the Isra Saga.

Oran was a great Sage, master of strange magic. The Temple she built has stood for ten thousand years, testament to her power. The heir of her House, Targ, never wanted to run the Temple of Oran, never wished for power or notoriety. All he really wanted was to keep his mother happy, uphold his father’s legacy, and maybe find a girl.
It’s not to be. Disaster strikes and Targ must decide if unleashing hell is better than watching the world burn. Deep in the Temple lies a forbidden Gate, and rather than stand by as foul magic rends his planet asunder, he opens it. What comes through will change everything Targ knows about himself, his House, and the source of Oran’s power.

Word Count: 92,000

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.A. Leibfritz
• Release date: Apr 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310331213

M.A. Leibfritz

M.A. Leibfritz lives in Wisconsin with a cat named Odin and a dog named Thor, and a fish tank full of catfish. M.A. possesses a Bachelor’s Degree in Art, and suffers from an overactive imagination. Reading has always been an obsession, now rivaled by writing. Big Plans are common, getting them accomplished is the trick.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Targ fought with the controls of his damaged ship, heart pounding. His claws clacked against the switches, shaking and missing their mark, making this take far too long. Damn borrowed tech, damn stupid delivery gone awry. The alarms were blaring, where was the off-switch? It didn’t matter, he wouldn’t be able to go much further. A glance at the scanner showed his pursuers directly behind him, their sprawling warship quickly closing on his tiny, battered craft. If he didn’t get out of range they would have him, and the People would fall.

Desperately dialing through his navigation terminal, he prayed for a way out. There, one tiny option, a world with breathable atmosphere and tolerable gravity. It was just out of reach, too far for the engine to take. Not sure if he was guided by luck or panic, Targ selected it as his target, and engaged the Fell Drive. This would be tight.

***

Running his talons through his crest feathers, Relku glanced at the sky. The warm summer sky was marred by a trail of smoke. Black and twisting, it sprawled like a wound for kilometers. Captain Relku of Clan Tarkas knew whatever was at its source was huge. Reports of a massive fireball coming down the night before had caused his unit to scramble into the remote forest.

Early morning messages from the Residence indicated the Emperor was taking a personal interest. Investigate and report back, it should be simple. Why were simple things never easy? Relku had been trudging his patrol through the forest for hours, yet knew no more now than when he started. Cold crept up his spine, why had the Emperor singled out his patrol for this? There were other, more established captains. Persistent worry, though not for himself, gnawed at his stomach. Would his performance influence the fate of his cousin?

Dwelling on those thoughts wouldn’t help, Relku focused on the smoking mystery. Best case scenario, this mess was some natural phenomenon, a meteor or the like. Something he could call in a team of scientists for and promptly forget. Worst case, the dissidents in Horali had managed to create some sort of missile and misfired it. In between was some sort of unauthorized shuttle malfunctioning and crashing.

Sir, called one of his scouts, weaving through the trees towards him. We’ve found it.

Can you identify it? Relku asked, quickening his pace, signaling for the rest to spread out. The brush was thin, the forests west of Horali far sparser than near the capital. Fire could be a real problem; despite the spread it was much dryer, Horali hadn’t seen rain in weeks. The belyew trees were shedding their outer bark in grey, peeling strips to keep moisture inside, leaves turning unseasonably blue in the face of the drought. Dead twigs snapped under his feet, a bad sign. He had trimmed his claws last night, his bare feet shouldn’t be making noise. It was far too dry in these woods; he would have to call in a fire crew.

The scout shook his head, rust-brown crest feathers sticking everywhere in confusion, orange eyes blinking. He was young, fresh out of training, the Ruha orange Clan piping on his uniform still bright. It’s definitely not natural, you’ll have to see it.

Not what Relku wanted to hear, but he jogged forward to have a look. When they got back to base, he would have to take some cleaner to his own uniform, the Tarkas green badly smudged with dirt, but he had been so busy lately. Cresting the small rise, he forgot all about his uniform. Relku blinked, trying to decide what he was looking at.

A mess of twisted metal lay among the trees with a long, torn-up trail of ground behind it. The smoke was pouring from a hissing and sputtering collection of spinning metal shards, red light shining off what was presumably the back of the thing. Relku picked his way closer, avoiding strewn bits of burning debris.

The back-swept protrusions had to be wings, the crackling light an engine. It’s a ship, Relku muttered. His eyes widened, and he glanced around at his team. Get a scanner over here! If this was a ship, there should be a pilot, and they were probably not a fellow Kahlrani.

A dozen scientific theories and papers came to mind, the idle speculations of biologists and astronomers. Relku had considered the Civilian scholars foolish for worrying about life in outer space; only reading their reports for entertainment. The wreck before him, obviously not from any part of the Empire, stood in smoking rebuke.

One of his patrol rushed forward, desperately playing with the dials on his scanner. Lieutenant Feruk was out of Clan Bakleth, soft grey feathers pale against his tan skin. There’s something in there, bio-readings, heat-signature, a life-sign? The Lieutenant didn’t sound sure. Something biological, certainly.

Can you read what sort of air is in there? Relku asked.

Seems pretty close to the air out here. Hard to tell. Feruk adjusted another dial and squinted at the read-out screen. The temperature in there is rising, sir. Fast. The readings on whatever that thing is are fluctuating.

Find me a hatch on this thing, Relku called out, causing his men to scramble. His command was new, but the weeks they had been patrolling had accustomed them to him.

Over here, shouted the Ruha scout, waving enthusiastically. I think I found it.

Get it open, Relku ordered. Use the plasma cutters.

Sir. Lieutenant Feruk followed as Relku moved towards the hatch. Are you sure about this?

How sure are you of that life-sign? Relku asked.

If it’s still alive, it won’t be for long, the Lieutenant muttered. Not with those temperatures. There are probably internal fires.

If we leave it in there, it will die, Relku said. If we pull it out, it may still die, but it might not.

Do we want it alive, sir? Feruk asked.

Corpses don’t answer questions very well, Relku said, moving forward as the hatch was cut. Whatever material the hull was comprised of, it didn’t hold heat. He moved toward the hole as his men stared dubiously into it. Smoke, and an odd smell, poured from the opening. He grabbed a scout’s floodlight, and cautiously stepped inside.

Sparks flew from blown panels, the hiss of broken electronics everywhere. Lights flickered around Relku as he moved forward. It was cramped, much less space than the outside led to believe.

This was a bad idea. He recalled the wild guesses concerning the nature of alien life: tentacles, ooze, and violent poisons. Relku became painfully aware that he wore no protective gear. There could be lingering toxins in this ship and he was utterly vulnerable. Even if he found it, whatever it was, there was no guarantee he would know it for life. Communication, assistance, could be impossible. He should have called in scientists, waited, let the thing roast. Movement caught his eye, a dark shape to his left. Relku crept forward.

A black figure, draped in green cloth, lay on the floor. Wet, ragged breathing was the only sign it was alive. He placed a tentative hand on the thing, rolling it towards him. Much like the ship, it wasn’t as big as it first appeared. Its furry body was long, but thin. Its head was long too, and narrow. Its open mouth was full of curved fangs, and its eyes were closed.

Relief swept Relku. It was alien, but not wholly. It had anatomy he could understand, even as it was unfamiliar. He pulled at it, the thing slid easily over the floor, not weighing much.

Running back to the opening, Relku called to his men. Get me a tarp, and three volunteers. He didn’t want to carry it out by himself, no matter how light it was. Nor did he want to touch it more than necessary. It must be injured and Relku might kill it with rough handling. The volunteers were quick to follow, one the field medic. They managed to get the tarp under the alien, and began hauling it out.

Want me to try and treat it? the medic asked.

Relku shook his head. No, we don’t have the equipment, might poison it. He looked down at the alien. The Emperor wanted to know what it was, he can deal with it. We get it to the Residence. The creature might not survive, but at least the body would be fresh.

***

Asria of Clan Tarkas was surprised by the knock on the door. She had been inventorying the small medical ward at the back of the Imperial Residence. It was busywork, the sort she was doing more and more often as she tried to avoid everyone.

She barely opened the door before she was backing out of the way. Four men carried something in a tarp, under direction from Emperor Sirosk and her cousin, Captain Relku. Asria was caught between a desire to shrink from the Emperor and fascination with the creature deposited on the bed. It had black fur, and was otherwise covered in some sort of robe. There was a strong smell, chemicals and something burnt. Curiosity overcame her, and she approached. Shallow breathing, wet and labored. Asria reached for its face, and stopped. This thing was no animal, and definitely not local.

Sterile wipes, she muttered. Sterilized water. Movement in her peripheral vision made her flinch. It was a box of wipes. Emperor Sirosk was holding it out to her, long talons hooking around the container.

Think you can help our visitor? the Emperor asked in that odd, quiet voice. Everything a subdued rasp.

Asria glanced at the thing on the bed. I… She paused, but didn’t look at the Emperor. I don’t know. She could feel his gaze lingering on her, and shuddered. Stick to the pertinent information. Where did it come from?

Space, Emperor Sirosk said.

Asria looked up, but he had already turned away, heading back out the door.

Captain Relku watched him go, turning to her when the door closed. Are you all right? he asked. You don’t have to be here.

Asria shook her head, though his concern was touching. I’m fine, she said. I’ll be fine. She did have to be here, hand absently going to the thin gold chain about her neck. There was no choice, not outside the one the Matrons had given her.

Relku frowned, eyes tight, but he didn’t press. Don’t be afraid to call if you need help, he said, and left.

Asria sighed, and turned to her patient. Let’s see what I can do for you, she muttered to the unconscious form. Perhaps she could help them, as she could not help herself.

There was no saving the cloak, she would have to cut it off. Sentiment made her slice it along the seams, gently peeling it back. The creature was thoroughly dressed, an odd shirt and vest over a pleated garment that covered its heavy haunches. These too Asria removed, cutting along the seams, excepting the garment about its waist. That was held on by metal snaps and she could take it off him—and it was definitely male—without damaging it.

Bare, she examined him for obvious wounds while her monitoring equipment continued analyzing. There were a few cuts, oozing blood a much darker red than Asria was accustomed to. Built on long, narrow lines, his limbs appeared quite delicate. His hands had four fingers and an opposed thumb, tipped in long nails, with shorter ones on his four-toed feet. The configuration of his legs meant he probably walked leaning forward. Mammalian, almost rodent-like, but his teeth were all hooked in the front, only minimal molars in the back. The heavy tail was almost without the wiry fur that covered the rest of him, though with skin as black as the hairs she almost hadn’t noticed.

The scanners beeped, their analysis finished. Asria glanced at the readouts, and scrambled through her cabinets. A broken leg for sure, though it looked to be a clean fracture, and some lodged debris. She had a few things that could safely work, if she was very, very careful. There was no time to waste, and Asria lost herself in the work.

***

In the hall, Emperor Sirosk slowed his pace, waiting for Captain Relku to catch up. Undoubtedly the captain was checking on his cousin, hopefully he would be quickly satisfied that she was unmolested. What did Relku think Sirosk had been up to? Perhaps he bought into the persistent rumors. It didn’t matter; there was no way round it. Not without making things worse. Sirosk was in no hurry, and Relku was quickly beside him. The man’s cool, golden gaze gave nothing away, and made no visible accusations. Good.

I want that ship taken to Horali, Sirosk said. Get every scientist and engineer we have on it. Find how it works, what kind of engine it uses, and what its fuel is.

The Captain balked. Sir, it’s in pieces, still smoldering.

Sirosk was having none of it, dismissing the excuse with a cut of his arm. Unimportant, just get it done. We may never have another opportunity like this, he said. Whether or not the alien survived, its people greatly outclassed what the Empire could put forward. Anything that had made the shift to space travel must be more advanced. If they came looking, they might whisk away the creature and the wreckage and leave the Empire with nothing but questions. Sirosk swallowed, trying to clear his throat. Pointless, as usual, the buildup would not move. I’m entrusting this to you. Do not disappoint.

Relku bowed, and took his leave. Excellent, the matter should be tackled promptly. Despite Captain Relku’s distrust, he was loyal to the Empire, and good with orders. Almost to a fault. Sirosk didn’t regret pressuring his Lord Marshal to promote the man. He headed for his rooms, clawed toes tapping on the flagstone floor. He wanted to be alone, take something for his throat. Take a moment to collect himself before his brother came looking to complain about security.

A stray thought crossed his mind. Perhaps he should tell Vesul about the creature? His son might take an interest.

Sirosk paused, weighing the outcomes of such a message. He would send a note, rather than attempt it in person. If Vesul wanted to pursue it he could. If he didn’t, Sirosk wouldn’t have to deal with an angry outburst. There had been too many of those lately. Should the boy keep pushing, he would be forced to do something about it.

***

Asria sighed, placing a thin sheet over her patient. It was warm in the Residence, but drafts and contaminants were still a concern. He was as patched up as she could manage; cuts treated and fractured leg set. His breathing had eased, so she must have done something right. Asria had debated giving him something for the pain, but settled on a simple anti-inflammatory. Even with the medical scanners, she didn’t feel confident in the doses for anything strong.

There was a knock on the door, and it inched open. Vesul, the Emperor’s son, stuck his head in the room. Asria glanced at him, then refocused on her patient. The young man took a step, but couldn’t seem to commit to entering fully.

Is that it? Vesul asked. The alien?

Asria nodded, not trusting herself to talk to him. At least Vesul was less of an enigma than his father. He had the same pitch-black crest and blood-red eyes as the Emperor, though his scales had a green sheen to the gray. Vesul was half a head taller than Asria, his father topping him by another three inches. Was there something in the water near the Residence that made all of Delapore so tall? She would be lucky to gain another inch or two and be eye-level with his collarbone.

Will it live? Vesul asked. A difficult question, and requiring a verbal response.

I believe so, Asria said, checking the monitors as she inserted an IV of saline solution into her patient’s arm to keep him hydrated. He’ll be a while recovering, anyway. Her voice didn’t shake, making her feel less pathetic.

Do you know why my father had it brought here? Vesul asked.

Him, Asria corrected absently. And no. Odd, that Emperor Sirosk insisted on using the Residence medical ward.

The Lord Marshal had stopped by, utterly flustered and muttering about security risks. He asked if Asria would like any restraints, or a guard in the room, should the alien prove a threat. Asria had declined; she didn’t work well under observation and doubted her patient was dangerous.

The alien had only a single weapon on him, a long knife in a heavily decorated sheath. She had put it on a counter across the room, along with his clothes. It was not a blade for practical use, and she could find no callouses consistent with knife work on his hands. Instead she found ink stains and chalk powder. Marks of a scholar, not a warrior. She may be trained as a doctor, but Asria was still Clan, and knew how to fight. She could hold her own if it came to