Author's Note

Hello! This is the second part of The Spear Trilogy and the sequel to Son of the Spear. If you haven't read the first part, you can check it out at my profile by clicking on my name. My profile will also feature some background information about this particular group of yautja's culture, new character bios and a complete pronunciation guide.

I plan to post one chapter every Tuesday for the next 12 weeks (all chapters are written and complete so you don't have to worry about me burning out or getting writer's block). The best way to know exactly when they are posted is to select "Follow Author/Story" after you leave a glowing review praising my superlative skill at manipulating prose and pathos.

*cough* Anyway! Thank you for reading. Let me know what you liked, what you didn't like and things that confuzzled you. (Yes, confuzzled, it's a new word. Learn it. Love it.)

Shaikal

Ekanu Shangar Ikunde - eh-KAH-nuu SHAHN-gahr ih-KUUN-dei - The Great Spear that is Thrown Swift and Perfect

Khaigra Raknar Urgath - KAI-grah RAAK-nar UR-gaath - The Fiery Wrath that Burnt the Sun

Taitarrok Cegorrak Nyrante - tai-TARR-ock SEH-gorr-ack nai-RAHN-tei - The Righteous Sacrifice that Obeys

Arrakai

H'darak Ichande - hih-DAR-ack ih-SHAHN-dei - Fearless Shadow

Isskela Sjeikende - ih-SSKEI-lah sjei-KEN-dei - Lucky Fist of the Gods

Taun'gra

arrakai - ARR-ah-kai - arbiter, judge

ashaila - ah-SHAI-lah - princess, lit. "of the ruler"

h'ko - hih-KOH - no

h'seiya - hih-SEI-yah - brother

korvakra - kor-VAAK-rah - bad blood, lit. "tainted, dark one"

rashai - rah-SHAI - eldress, matriarch, queen lit. "the first ruler"

saa - SAA - yes

shaikal - SHAI-kahl - elder, lit. "second ruler", sometimes translated as "male ruler"

threiyan - THREI-yen - unblooded, lit. "not blooded"

Till His Dying Breath

Ichande clasped his hands behind his waist and waited for the council's decision. He'd told them everything about his hunt on the moon in the small, backwater system. Including about the boy. And since he'd spared him, their fates were now intertwined. The judgment made today would determine whether they lived or died, and set precedent for the other arbiters of the tribe to heed. Several of his brother judges had appeared at the beginning of the session, crimson shadows watching from the upper balconies. They would not hesitate to kill him if the elders ordered it. Such was the way of things. He accepted it. He had chosen this path and now he would to see it through to the end.

Unsurprisingly, many of the councilors thought the boy should die. It was simply a matter of how.

Ichande kept his eyes straight, avoiding Shaikal Taitarrok's piercing glare. As the keeper of traditions and high priest to the gods, he did not welcome the chaos Ichande brought to his doorstep. He argued the boy should be executed immediately.

Shaikal Khaigra, high general and Taitarrok's constant torment, argued that the boy should be given a chance to prove himself in a battle of honor and at least die a warrior's death.

And then there was Shaikal Shangar.

Ichande caught glimpses of the high councilor across the orange-lit hall from the corners of his yellow eyes. Age had done little sap the strength of the elder. He was the pillar of balance between the pugnacious general and cautious priest, a guiding force that had preserved and strengthened their tribe for a nearly a century.

He had yet to say a single word.

At the moment, Taitarrok had the floor. "The youth is tainted. He has been raised to be cowardly, fearful and weak. He learned their ways, followed their gods. He is animal herder, no better than a slave. He has no place amongst our warriors. All he will bring is shame!"

"Phah!" snarled Khaigra stepping into the inner circle. "You doubt the strength of our tribe and insult the honor of the Thunder Fists clan. The arrakai has judged him to be sound of body and mind. Let him fight and prove his worth!"

A rumble of approval followed the councilor's words. The room was slowly dividing as the other elders chose sides. The split was nearly even, with Ichande at the center of it all. The eye of the storm.

"And what of the actions of his sire? Are we to spare the son of a korvakra?!"

The question drew hisses of righteous indignation from Taitarrok's supporters and growls of protest from the Thunder Fists, who were of course backing Khaigra. The shouting swelled, the two sides drawing dangerously close to each other. Ichande stiffened, straining against instinct to snarl and lash out as the bitter scent of anger washed over him.

The general's eyes narrowed, his upper fangs twitching in anger as the two elders stood toe-to-toe and for a moment Ichande thought the general was going to shove the priest. A low growl simmered in the elder's stomach. "What reason can you give to deny the Thunder Fists their right to judge him?"

"The Fire Spitters demand retribution for the loss of the high matriarch's heir. His blood is the price to settle the debt the Thunder Fists owe."

Khaigra scoffed. "Tuchonde is dead and Nayadhi's killer sent to Cetanu. The blood price has been paid. Killing the boy only insults the ashaila's sacrifice."

A rumble swelled through Taitarrok's supporters, the elder Fire Spitters clicking quietly as they debated the general's words. The boy was all that remained of the heiress. It wasn't much, but at least her line had been preserved through him. Did they dare sever it out of pride?

Taitarrok scowled, the metal bells and symbols woven into his intricate grey braids jangling with each irritated step as he paced around the room.

Ichande slowly released the breath he'd been holding, the two sides slowly receding to the edges of the circle, leaving the high elders to continue the debate.

"Your words… have merit, Urgath. But we are at an impasse." Taitarrok made a sweeping gesture at the elders surrounding them to emphasize his point. The room was divided evenly. All eyes turned to the only one who had yet to cast his vote.

Shaikal Shangar stood at the head of the room, hands clasped behind his back, his glittering red eyes inscrutable as he returned their expectant stares. Only Khaigra and Taitarrok dared approach him.

Khaigra bowed his head slightly. "Shaikal, we ask that you pass the tribe's judgement upon the arrakai and the youth."

A barely discernable nod answered his request. With the ease of a serpent gliding over the water, the elder made his way until he was barely an arm's length away from Ichande. Their eyes locked, neither moving as they measured the other's resolve, scenting each other for signs of weakness.

Shangar's deep, guttural voice echoed in his ears. "Is the boy strong?"

Ichande quickly masked his surprise at the ritual greeting, letting the correct response flow from memory. "Saa, he is strong and fierce."

"Is he ready?"

"Saa, his time has come." The arbiter could hear shocked rasps issue from both sides.

Shangar ignored them, his crimson irises boring into the arbiter's bright yellows. "Will he honor the tribe?"

"Till his dying breath."

The briefest hint of a smile ghosted the elder's mandibles at the final phrase. "Very well." He slowly turned to face his fellow elders, his voice growing stronger, his deep growls edged with a grim authority that dared those listening to ignore. "The boy will be tested. He will endure the trials that every warrior must face before the tribe accepts them. If he survives, he will redeem his sire's name by repairing the bond between the Thunder Fists and Fire Spitters. If he does not… then his tainted blood will be removed from our race forever."

The room fell silent, the seconds slowly ticking by. When none came forward to challenge the high elder, Taitarrok dismissed them.

Shangar waited until everyone had left, Ichande noting that the upper balconies were empty, his brothers having slipped silently back into the shadows. He let himself relax, crossing his arms and rolling his neck as he waited to receive the particulars.

"Not what you expected, Arrakai Icharak?" The elder traded his scarlet cloak for a goblet of q'nala offered by a masked slave of indeterminate sex. It disappeared behind a cloth door, the lack of any identifying odors always unnerving to Ichande. His family had never made use of slaves, preferring to burn the rare infant that was malformed in the temples rather than endure the shame of their presence.

"It was a gamble. I had to trust that you would come to the right decision."

Shangar grunted. Whether it was in humor or disbelief the arbiter could not tell. "You risked much bringing that boy here. The wounds of Tuchonde's reckless actions might have healed in another generation or two."

"Or they might have grown worse. My brothers have overseen a dozen duels within the past season between the two clans and all but one ended in the death of one or both parties," said Ichande as he accepted the drink from the elder. "But it sounds like you have a plan to rectify everything once and for all."

"H'ko, it is not my plan. Were it up to me, I would've ordered you to kill the boy and given you some impossible, yet glorious task to complete. It was the matriarchs' idea that he attempt the trials."

Ichande paused mid-sip, his eyes widening in surprise. Of course. The shaikal's unexpected pronouncement suddenly made sense. Only a female would think to preserve blood rather than spill it. He finished his sip and handed the drink back to the elder. "What will they do with the boy if he survives?"

Shangar shook his head, swirling the maroon drink in his hand. "I cannot say. They did not include me in the blood arrangements. When I walked in, it seemed as if the matter remained unresolved. It may depend on how well he performs. If he survives."

"Understood." Ichande bowed his head. "I will prepare the boy and bring him to his sanja—"

"Ul'juska Athende."

"Ul'juska? But he's…"

"I know. That's why I chose him."

"Very well." Ichande bowed again and left.

The arbiter descended into the lower level of the pyramid, stopping short when a familiar smell filled his mouth. He rumbled, glancing around at the numerous pillars.

"Behind you."

He turned, Sjeikende sliding from behind an ornate pillar. "Has the elder's mercy made you careless, Ichande?"

"Not at all. I just didn't think it worth taking the time to acknowledge you."

"How rude."

Ichande beckoned his fellow arbiter to follow, the pair retreating to a terrace outside. The first sun had begun to set, the shadow of the serrated pyramid swallowing the courtyard below in a cool silence. Sjeikende leaned against the railing, his earlier levity replaced with a grim tension. "You should've let the boy die."

Ichande folded his arms, watching ships skim across the orange-red sky. "Perhaps."

Sjeikende straightened and faced him, his silver eyes glinting in anger. "Then why, h'seiya? Why spare him?"

"I was curious."

"Curious? You're telling me you spared a lesser being because you were 'curious?'"

"There is nothing in the code that goes against my actions—"

"Everything in the code goes against your actions! You interfered. You've dishonored the boy by saving him. Twice. Lesser beings have looked upon him and left unjudged. This is sacrilege. You know this!"

"Keep your voice down. The code allows for exceptions. How is one of our own raised by another race not an exception?"

Sjeikende snarled and began to pace.

"I have tested the boy, Sjeika. He is strange, but he is strong. And willing to learn."

His friend paused, sighing and rubbing a hand over his scalp.

"What?"

Sjeikende chuckled softly. "I really expected you to die up there."

Ichande glanced up at the top of the pyramid, the council chambers crowning the flat-topped roof of the massive ziggurat. So did I, he thought. Not that he'd ever admit it.

The other arbiter sighed again. "Fine. It doesn't matter what I think. The boy will take the trials. Does he even have a chance? Or is he as weak-willed as those mewling soft skins?"

Ichande grunted and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Come see for yourself."

~\'/~

The arbiters stood at the base of the ramp leading from the ship, Ichande trembling with rage. Sjeikende stood a few paces away, letting his friend simmer.

"I'm going to kill him," choked Ichande, his claws flexing with each snarled breath.

"He can't have gotten far."

Ichande whirled and marched down the dock, Sjeikende sighing and following after. He watched his friend interrogate the one-eyed dock master for a moment, then scanned the dock workers scurrying about. An elder yautja caught his eye, the mechanic casting furtive glances at Ichande and him before limping away. "H'seiya…"

Ichande continued his growling and Sjeikende cleared his throat. "Arrakai H'darak."

The dock master looked incredibly relieved when Ichande finally dismissed him and he immediately began barking orders at his subordinates to see to the arbiter's ship.

"What?" snapped Ichande.

Sjeikende nodded his head in the direction he'd seen the elder disappear. "Follow me."

The access port led outside to a scrapyard, an elder crouched next to a hovercycle and muttering to himself as he tweaked the engine. He froze as two long shadows fell over him, his eyes glued to the metallic hull of the vehicle.

"What is this, Isskela?"

"I think this mechanic knows something about your ship and your passenger. Isn't that right?" Sjeikende growled, his last words tinged with a warning.

The elder male swallowed, his laser tool clenched tightly in his fluid-stained hand.

Ichande stepped forward until he towered over the cringing elder. "Look at me," he growled.

The mechanic glanced up at him hesitantly, his baggy eyes and drooping brows scrunched in fear.

"Tell me, old one, why were trying to hide from Death's servants?" Ichande's dual blades dropped from his wrist.

At the sight of them, the elder fell to his knees, prostrating himself before the two arbiters. "If Death has come for me, tell me my sin and then judge me swiftly."

The two arbiters glanced at each other, Sjeikende motioning for him to stay his hand. With a twist of his arm, the wristblades snapped back into their holster. "The Dark God will not meet with you today. Raise your head so that I may see your face and see whether you speak the truth."

The old yautja stiffly pushed himself up.

"Why did you run?" rumbled Sjeikende.

"I was afraid it had something to do with the young arrakai that visited me today."

"Young arrakai?"

"Saa. He was a strange one and seemed lost. But he paid me well so I did not question it."

Ichande silently simmered as he processed the information. The boy didn't have money. Which meant he'd stolen his money.

"Where did he go?"

"Into the city, but that was hours ago." The elder reached into one of the pouches tied to his belt and pulled out a glittering skull. He proffered it to the arbiter, the suns' fading rays sparkling across its polished surface. "Take it. Whatever the youth has done, I want no part of it."

"Death cannot be bribed, old one," Ichande growled as he turned away, Sjeikende following after.

"So, where do we start?"

"The central station. We do this ourselves. I don't want anyone else to find out about this—"

Both of their wrist computers squawked, flashing red as a message scrolled across their screens. Ichande pulled up the hologram, dread clenching his forearm as he quickly scanned the broadcast.

"What kind of moron shoots plasma cannons in the heart of the city?" rumbled Sjeikende as he read a similar announcement.

Ichande breathed a sigh of relief at the notification. Gev'riel wasn't involved. Thank the gods—

His wristcomputer squawked again as another message appeared, this one only for his eyes. He read the message once. Then a second time, unwilling to believe his eyes.

I'm going to kill him.