worth a little risk.
"Alright," she said, seeing the Union's ambassador smile with relief. "I will do it."
"Excellent. He was last seen on Hetton, near his academy. We believe he is still there in all likelihood. Good luck to you. And Miss Edwards... be careful. If we do not cross paths again, it was a pleasure."
The words were spoken with silent concern. Kat nodded, knowing what she meant. Soros might have been a warrior with a set of rules, but he was still a killer.
Not only that, either. The commander of killers, teacher of warriors. The man who taught all the bloodthirsty clan lords everything they knew.
And I guess it’s my job now to reason with him. Fun.
Chapter Three
Soros
T hey called him a prodigy , but Soros disagreed with that assessment.
He was only twelve years old when he first set foot in Dolon Hall on the planet Hetton, the youngest warrior and student they had ever accepted. As much as he could tell, there had been objections, but Ustra, the commander of the warriors, had not cared.
The first time Soros stared into the deep, dark blue eyes of Ustra, he knew why. The old warrior, with the tell-tale blue shine of his eyes almost gone, didn't fear him. He might have been the only one Soros had so far or would ever meet.
Dolon Hall had trained the elite of Corgan warriors for as long as anyone could remember. As the only Corgan planet left without a formal ruler, Hetton’s only purpose was to train all Corgan warriors worthy of the honor of being there as equals, brothers in blood regardless of which clan they belonged to.
Once they left the sacred grounds of Hetton, many who had considered one another friends in the halls of Dolon Hall would come to slay one another during clan wars, yet that was the grim cost of being a Corgan warrior. Friendship only lasted until blades met on the battlegrounds for the first time.
Soros’ first memory of Dolon Hall was meeting the old warrior in the dark night in front of the academy's gates, staring up at the building that was going to be his home for long years. Of course, in that moment Soros hadn't had the faintest idea it would turn out like that. For all of his skill and power and speed, he was still just a boy who was trying to not avert his gaze from the most intimidating man he'd ever met.
The meeting was symbolic. The commander of the warriors met him before the gates to show that Soros still needed his full approval to enter.
He was ready, but no rumor had prepared him for Ustra. It had been decades since the commander had last taken a sip of the concoctions that the warriors drank to make their eyes glow in the dark and boost their senses. Soros knew that, which was why he had expected to see an old man. And old he was, perhaps, but nothing of his age showed.
The man before towered over Soros' own already considerable bulk, the commander's shoulders as wide as his and not hunched in any way. He wasn't worn down by his years, he wore them like a badge of honor. Soros had heard rumors that his entire body was covered in the sacred tattoos.
And then Ustra had said something to instantly make him hate the old warrior.
"So you are the prodigy."
The words echoed in the cold winter air as Soros stood before him, refusing to shiver. There were many signs of weakness he simply didn't show by the force of his will. Like looking away from the darkly simmering eyes that seemed to look right into his soul.
Most of all, he wondered what the warrior saw there that made him not fear him like all the others.
"Don't call me that," Soros had said, at the same time wondering whether the academy meant so little to him that he would throw it away to be spiteful.
But if life and the ways of the Corgan warriors had taught him anything, it was that he couldn't back down from any challenge, even if it were to cost him his life.
Ustra definitely wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense. He had killed boys right where Soros was standing, right there in the snow
"Alright," she said, seeing the Union's ambassador smile with relief. "I will do it."
"Excellent. He was last seen on Hetton, near his academy. We believe he is still there in all likelihood. Good luck to you. And Miss Edwards... be careful. If we do not cross paths again, it was a pleasure."
The words were spoken with silent concern. Kat nodded, knowing what she meant. Soros might have been a warrior with a set of rules, but he was still a killer.
Not only that, either. The commander of killers, teacher of warriors. The man who taught all the bloodthirsty clan lords everything they knew.
And I guess it’s my job now to reason with him. Fun.
Chapter Three
Soros
T hey called him a prodigy , but Soros disagreed with that assessment.
He was only twelve years old when he first set foot in Dolon Hall on the planet Hetton, the youngest warrior and student they had ever accepted. As much as he could tell, there had been objections, but Ustra, the commander of the warriors, had not cared.
The first time Soros stared into the deep, dark blue eyes of Ustra, he knew why. The old warrior, with the tell-tale blue shine of his eyes almost gone, didn't fear him. He might have been the only one Soros had so far or would ever meet.
Dolon Hall had trained the elite of Corgan warriors for as long as anyone could remember. As the only Corgan planet left without a formal ruler, Hetton’s only purpose was to train all Corgan warriors worthy of the honor of being there as equals, brothers in blood regardless of which clan they belonged to.
Once they left the sacred grounds of Hetton, many who had considered one another friends in the halls of Dolon Hall would come to slay one another during clan wars, yet that was the grim cost of being a Corgan warrior. Friendship only lasted until blades met on the battlegrounds for the first time.
Soros’ first memory of Dolon Hall was meeting the old warrior in the dark night in front of the academy's gates, staring up at the building that was going to be his home for long years. Of course, in that moment Soros hadn't had the faintest idea it would turn out like that. For all of his skill and power and speed, he was still just a boy who was trying to not avert his gaze from the most intimidating man he'd ever met.
The meeting was symbolic. The commander of the warriors met him before the gates to show that Soros still needed his full approval to enter.
He was ready, but no rumor had prepared him for Ustra. It had been decades since the commander had last taken a sip of the concoctions that the warriors drank to make their eyes glow in the dark and boost their senses. Soros knew that, which was why he had expected to see an old man. And old he was, perhaps, but nothing of his age showed.
The man before towered over Soros' own already considerable bulk, the commander's shoulders as wide as his and not hunched in any way. He wasn't worn down by his years, he wore them like a badge of honor. Soros had heard rumors that his entire body was covered in the sacred tattoos.
And then Ustra had said something to instantly make him hate the old warrior.
"So you are the prodigy."
The words echoed in the cold winter air as Soros stood before him, refusing to shiver. There were many signs of weakness he simply didn't show by the force of his will. Like looking away from the darkly simmering eyes that seemed to look right into his soul.
Most of all, he wondered what the warrior saw there that made him not fear him like all the others.
"Don't call me that," Soros had said, at the same time wondering whether the academy meant so little to him that he would throw it away to be spiteful.
But if life and the ways of the Corgan warriors had taught him anything, it was that he couldn't back down from any challenge, even if it were to cost him his life.
Ustra definitely wasn't a teacher in the traditional sense. He had killed boys right where Soros was standing, right there in the snow
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