Protectors (The Chaos Shift Cycle Book 3) Read online

  Protectors

  Book 3 of The Chaos Shift Cycle

  TR Cameron

  MD Press

  For Dylan, who never ceases to amaze.

  Contents

  More Cross and Kate!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  More Cross and Kate!

  Thom’s Protectors Notes: 25 October 2017

  Exclusive Deliverers Preview

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by TR Cameron

  The Destroyer Lubyanka. Undefeated. Undefeatable.

  Cadets Anderson Cross and Kate Flynn face the ultimate rite of passage: taking on the Lubyanka. Countless others have tried. Countless others have failed. Now it is up to them. Together, they will try to overcome the unbeatable enemy.

  The Suicide Run is the start of the adventures of Cross and Kate, and it’s yours for FREE!

  Join TR Cameron’s Readers’ group and download Suicide Run today!

  Visit www.trcameron.com/Protectors to download it for free!

  Chapter One

  The edge on the blade gleamed as it cut through the blue sky, descending effortlessly, seeking to cleave his head from his body. Only a last-minute shift of his weight brought the heavy mace around in time to deflect the sword, and an immediate jump backward avoided the stomping kick that followed it.

  Within the lines of eight, Kraada Tak and Drovaa Jat circled, occasionally darting in to trade blows, testing one another. It was a beautiful day, and the surrounding crowds basked in the sun, cheering on their chosen champion as the opponents fought under the emperor’s watchful gaze. Blood from one of them would darken the already sapphire-stained soil before day’s end. The outdoor combat arena at the palace had hosted countless battles to the death before this one.

  Kraada stepped forward, swinging his weapon at chest height in a spinning attack that carried him quickly toward his opponent. A quick tap by Drovaa’s sword on his own vambrace redirected the blow, and Kraada finished the spin with a withdrawal into a defensive crouch. His enemy didn’t pursue, instead weaving his hand-and-a-half sword through a complicated set of movements.

  Kraada rested the mace on his shoulder and regarded the marshal. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just surrender, Jat?”

  Drovaa spread his wings wide, raising his blade into a classic offensive position over his left shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather, Tak?”

  Neither man rose to the bait, and Drovaa dashed forward in a straight attack, a chop along the diagonal from upper left to lower right that Kraada just barely avoided with a back step and twist. To waste energy would be to lose the battle, and both were experienced enough not to do so.

  Kraada swirled his mace around its balance point, near the head, making lazy figure eights in the space before him. Longer than his preferred weapon, this version had the length to defend against Drovaa’s giant sword. Both men had secondary and tertiary weapons behind them, ready and waiting in the hands of their seconds.

  “You overstepped when you attacked Indraat, and when you killed everyone in the cathedral, Marshal.”

  Drovaa shrugged. “So you say, Kraada. Had I waited but a month longer, I would’ve been defending myself against your attack. Don’t deny it.”

  He heard vague jeers from the crowd as the two men declined to engage, conversing instead, but they were filtered through a haze of irrelevance. He understood that this was the pivotal moment of his existence. After this battle, the trajectory of his life would settle onto its final path, and he would begin the unification of the Xroeshyn people as was meant to be. All he had to do was to defeat his old friend, adding his blood to the legacy of the arena.

  Without a word of warning, Kraada charged, the crown of his mace swinging through an underhand whip to strike up at Drovaa’s groin. Drovaa skipped lightly back, flicking his sword out in riposte, but Kraada’s attack wasn’t finished. As the blunt weapon swung up, he spun left, using centrifugal force to whip the heavy head outward. He held it only with one hand to gain full extension and lunged toward his opponent. The quick loss of distance separating them surprised Drovaa, and he barely caught the blow on the pommel of his sword, managing to save his body from destruction but breaking several fingers. Kraada lurched in, bringing the mace high again, but stopped as the point of the marshal’s blade sought his throat. He backed off, watching Drovaa test his grip.

  “First blood to you, old friend. Enjoy it while you can.” Drovaa’s teeth were gritted, his eyes laser focused. Kraada fell into a defensive stance again with one fist holding his mace just under the head and his other low on the handle, keeping the weapon crosswise to block his body. Drovaa ran at him, a feigned leap turning into a slide under Kraada’s guard. Kraada jumped, but chose poorly, and moved toward the hand holding the blade. Its wicked edge sliced a sharp line through his robes, armor, and the flesh beneath. He clasped a hand to his side to keep pressure on the wound, staunching the blood flow as much as he could. A clumsy throw sent his mace flying at Drovaa, useless now since he couldn’t wield it one-handed. He staggered to his second, and accepted his favorite version of the weapon. It had a short haft, a squared off hammer at the top, and a strap at the bottom. He turned to Drovaa, who waited with a distrustful sneer on his face.

  “Are you injured? Or not? Is this just another one of your tricks, Hierarch?” Kraada knew he was referring to the ruse he’d played upon the assassin—the only piece of knowledge he’d permitted to leave the cathedral about that attack. It never hurt to sow the seeds of confusion among one’s enemies, after all.

  “Come closer and find out, Marshal.”

  “I intend to. No slow lingering death for you, just my sword, separating your head from your shoulders.”

  Kraada used discipline learned during his training to control the pain and settled into a fighting stance with his left leg forward, his weight on the back foot, angling his body to present a minimal profile to his enemy. He advanced and tested his opponent’s defenses with a spin of the mace in his right hand. Drovaa’s sword tip twitched in response. The battle had to end soon, or the loss of strength from his wound would finish it for him. He charged Drovaa, darting ahead in his battle crouch. Drovaa stepped to meet him, and their weapons clashed together. Each sought to use that moment to sneak inside the other’s guard, and each was unsuccessful. A clever shift of Drovaa’s weight slammed the pommel of his blade into Kraada’s face, staggering him.

  The pain didn’t hit right away, but it soon would. Charging forward with the last of his energy, he ran toward his opponen
t but stumbled on the way. Drovaa reacted with a strong downward slice, seeking the deathblow that would end the contest.

  The stumble was one more ruse, that Kraada turned into a roll, spinning past the falling path of the blade that buried itself in the earth. A scissor kick brought Drovaa to the ground beside him. Kraada rolled from his back to his front, his mace whooshing in a long arc before shattering the other man’s collarbone.

  He staggered upward, standing over his prone opponent, and said, “Any last words?”

  Through gritted teeth, Drovaa responded, “Lead them well, Tak.”

  Kraada nodded. “You know I will, old friend.” His mace rose as if weightless, glistening in the bright sun, then plummeted to smash the life out of the commander of the Xroeshyn military.

  Later, with his wounds bandaged and his damaged robes traded for new ones, Kraada sat in the emperor’s side chamber awaiting an audience with the great man. He assumed Enjaaran desired the opposite result, to see the power of the church diminish and his own increase in turn. That wouldn’t happen while Kraada lived.

  Finally, the door swung open without a sound. Surrounded by attendants, the emperor strode in. His voluminous robes in green and gold were offset with a black slash of ribbon, signifying the death of one of the key figures in the realm. Kraada’s own garments were being similarly adorned at the cathedral. He stood, bowing, and said, “Your Grace. Thank you for seeing me.”

  The emperor gestured him nonchalantly back to a couch, and his attendants brought both men drinks as they sat with the emperor’s chair like always just a bit higher than Kraada’s own. He set his glass on the table, untasted.

  “What is your request, Hierarch?”

  “Eminence, it’s my wish that you place our military forces under control of the church, investing in the position of hierarch all of its historical responsibilities.”

  The emperor’s eyes narrowed, considering him. Kraada imagined it was playacting, for he couldn’t imagine that Enjaaran’s attendants would let him enter this conversation unprepared. “As you are aware, Your Grace, in the past our people were led by the emperor who oversaw all, and the hierarch who watched over all matters military and spiritual. In this time of holy war, it seems only prudent to restore this practice.”

  “And the opposing argument?”

  This was a favorite tactic of the emperor, forcing one to argue against his own position. “There are only two negatives that I can see. First, you might find the person in the role of hierarch untrustworthy, and thus undeserving of increased power. Second, you may be concerned about having only a single voice making decisions regarding our holy war.”

  Enjaaran nodded in affirmation as Kraada continued, “Of course, the decision is yours, Your Grace. All I can say is that during the first year of this battle, our forces have been hampered by leaders working at cross purposes. The church has provided clear instruction, clear mandates, and clear goals for our military. Those forces, however, have had priorities that were not in alignment with the needs of our people. I don’t fault Drovaa Jat for this. He was acting in the best interest of those he commanded. As you well understand, given your own wisdom as a leader, there are higher purposes than just taking care of one’s own domain.”

  Kraada thought he provided a persuasive argument to the emperor, but there was never any knowing which way Enjaaran Velt would jump at any given moment. During his rise to power, he’d added to the carnage of the arena outside, eliminating other aspirants to the throne—most of them his direct relatives. Historians would say he was the rightful monarch—of course, those historians now belonged to him. In any case, Kraada had contingency plans prepared.

  “I agree, Hierarch. I now place you in command of our armed forces. However, let me be blunt. The palace will monitor your actions. Overstep, make a mistake, and you will not face the glory of the lines of eight, but rather the axe of the royal executioner.”

  Kraada stood, taking the dismissal for what it was. “I live only to serve, Your Grace. First the gods, then our people.”

  Later, he strode into the command center for the Xroeshyn armed forces. He’d tasked his attendants with sending word before him, and his newly subordinate leaders were all present. “I’ll make this brief. Previously, the church and the military failed to cooperate. The marshal lost his life to demonstrate the gods’ displeasure at that decision. Henceforth, there is one voice: mine. You will obey the mandates of the church, or you will be replaced. If you have an issue with this, take your leave now.”

  Several officers did just that, throwing hostile looks his way and marching from the room. A twitch of his hand instructed his new seneschal, who followed them out.

  “We have eight days remaining of our temporary treaty with the humans. All forces should be positioned for the next wave of attacks. We’ll no longer be content with taking their territory. Instead, we will raze it, sowing destruction upon planet after planet. We will draw them out and chip away at them until we open the way for a decisive blow against the hellish world that spawned them.”

  He surveyed his people. Resolve shone on their faces. He nodded.

  “Very good. Get to work.” He strode from the room, his attendants forming a shield as they surrounded him. Once outside, he stepped carefully to avoid the headless bodies of those officers who’d chosen not to follow him, left in place as a reminder to those within. The seneschal, dual long swords cleaned and returned to the sheaths on his back, fell in step beside Kraada.

  It was indeed a new day for the Xroeshyn people.

  Chapter Two

  Eight days later, the Washington was rocked as the enemy’s torpedoes blasted through her defenses, penetrating one of the gun emplacements on the starboard side. “Dammit, get those shields up,” Anderson Cross growled, knowing his tactical officer was doing just that, but unable to stop himself. He tapped furiously on his display, issuing commands to the other two ships in his patrol. All three sent energy blasts at a single target, but the Xroeshyn had learned, and the ship rotated in place, spreading the damage of the sustained volley across multiple shield sections.

  “That’s new,” Jacobs observed from tactical.

  “Maybe they just can’t steer,” quipped Zachary Lee from the helm.

  “Sensors, have the computer model that tactic and see if there’s anything we can exploit.”

  “Affirmative, Commander.”

  Cross flicked the communication toggle on his armrest to trigger a connection to Commander Kate Flynn. “Kate, status.”

  “Almost ready to go. Final loadouts are being dragged on now. Second shuttle is buckled up and slaved to ours, loaded with supplies for the colonists.”

  “Excellent. Let me know when you’re green to launch.” Cross killed the channel. The request had arrived a day ago, and it had taken them half the time since to travel to the sector. Upon arrival, they found the Xroeshyn in a defensive posture around the planet—a full double squadron of ships guarding all approaches. The signal from the colonists reported ground troops were deploying. Fortunately, they hadn’t attacked. Yet. Had they chosen to bombard the colony from space, it all would’ve been over before the Union ships could assist.

  “It’s probably a trap,” Cross mused under his breath.

  Another signal flashed on his chair, and he toggled the line open. The voice of his chief engineer spoke in his ear, “You know this is most likely a trap, right, my boy?”

  He laughed to himself. “Of course, I do, and so does Kate. We haven’t found a better option than stepping into it and seeing what happens. Unless you’ve come up with something incredibly brilliant in the last half day?”

  “I did manage to give Kate and the ground pounders some toys that might assist, but no, no staggering feats of intellect today.”

  “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “I can’t do your entire job for you, Cross, not like in the old days.”

  He heard laughter as Jannik killed the channel.

  He keyed t
he connection to Kate. “Jannik thinks it’s probably a trap.”

  “Of course, it’s a trap. But we don’t have any other options.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Great minds.”

  “Indeed.”

  Around them, the Washington and her escorts fought the defenders, trading blows with those that were within range and watching additional Xroeshyn battleships approach from two sides.

  “Our window’s closing, Kate. Those reinforcements will be here in minutes.”

  “Then I guess it’s good that we’re ready. Permission to launch, Commander Cross.”

  “Permission granted, Commander Flynn. My regards to Sinner and Saint. All of you are ordered to come back to me safely.”

  Unspoken, but no doubt received, was his emphasis on “to me.” He and Kate had grown even closer since he’d assumed command, and he hated every time that events forced them apart.

  She’d never consider shirking her duty because of their relationship any more than he would. It was a difficult lesson that they relearned over and over.

  “Lieutenant Lee. Shuttles are ready to launch. They’re now your responsibility.”