The Hunter's Song II: Lost Blood

Ch 14: Jump Point (Mourning Crow)

"Alpha," the helmswoman called out to Groon. "We are approaching the final jump point."

"Initiate on arrival," Groon ordered. The brown and magenta-streaked High Council member sat in a large black angular chair position in the center of the bridge of his dreadnought, the Joyful Tyrant.

"Yes, Alpha," the helmswoman confirmed. "Jump in five, four, three, two–"

In an instant, the ship's hull melted into the stars and the air compressed like we'd been pushed in and out of an automatic hydraulic extruder.

"Graven minions detected!" Groon's head security officer shouted when we reentered normal space.

The view screens flooded with images of grotesque monsters swarming the ship.

"Minion activity detected on all scanners!" Shar'koth, Groon's lead science officer, informed his Elder and Alpha.

He really does stand out!

Kazz'mon's son was lustrous black speckled in flecks of shimmering gold topped with tall slender black horns contrasted by brilliant canary yellow quills contrasting, exactly like his bearer!

"Evasive maneuvers!" Groon leaned forward as he scoured the crescent holographic monitors floating around his chair.

The bridge lights dipped into deep red and an alarm went off, summing the crew to their battle positions.

"Elder," a deep, composed voice spoke up from behind.

It took me a second to realize the voice was speaking to me. The new rank still didn't feel normal.

The voice belonged to Merrik.

The eight-foot Elder was dappled in shades of rust and umber with large ram-like horns and distinct black scales marbled throughout. He was formerly Groon's Master Gunner, now reassigned as my personal bodyguard.

"Here," Merrik motioned for us to take seats on the edge of the bridge outfitted with force-shield harnesses. The Elder had vibrant sage eyes and thick black short quills running up and down his pale cream chest and abdominals.

"Launch interceptors," Groon commanded his crew.

Eight squadrons of small heavily-armed ships broke off from the dreadnought to confront the enemy head-on.

We were still six days from the rogue planet, but according to the long-range scanners, our intended route was packed to the brim with minion chaos.

"Keep them off my ship," Groon chortled while ticking his long black claws over the arms of his Alpha's chair. "I want them floundering, not us!"

The Joyful Tyrant was surprisingly maneuverable despite its cumbersome scale. The helmswoman had the dreadnought weaving and dodging between the mayhem with the grace and agility of a cruiser a third her size.

"Prepare cannons," Groon's one natural eye glimmered with delight. "I want those chargers cycling nonstop."

Merrik's fangs flared briefly on reflex to confirm the orders, up until recently, he would have carried out.

"Yes, Alpha," Groon's new Master Gunner responded.

It was strange having a chaperon, but the Council insisted due to my singular ability to understand the Graven language.

I suppose it wasn't fair thinking of him as a glorified babysitter. Merrik possessed a veritable tapestry of brands and trophies of merit. The selection process for the position must have been grueling. It was a safe bet that the Elder may have not only volunteered for the duty but competed against some of the most venerated Zhaguai in all of Jahaa to claim the honor.