Chapter 9

The Blades Of Sauria

It was raining on Sauria, marble-sized drops hammering the green membranous tree canopy above, and filling the air with a muted roar that drowned out the natural ambient hiss of night, and the slight crunch and squish of footsteps on the moss and leaf-ridden ground. Normally this section of jungle was populated with the furtive aimless wanderings of the various nocturnal life both prey and predator. Now such night-seeing eyes retreated behind the slats of dense foliage and tree bark.

A new layer had been added to the food chain, the bipedal kind. They didn't walk so much as floated, their oily black silhouettes dissolving into bodies of shade only to briefly bleed into vague shapes against beams of moonlight shining between the tree branches. They numbered in the dozens, each garbed in dark red armor like black rust but was curiously curved and segmented akin to an insect. Their faces were covered by dark helmets that sported a glass visor that curved over the top of their skulls. They fanned out at arm's length, their heads scanning their surroundings left to right, as they stalked and crept, their posture leaned forward and their long raptor-like tails trailing behind.

At the head of their march, one of the armored figures held up a gloved hand halting their advance. They became still as statues, only their heads and eyes moved scanning the darkness for any signs of a hidden quarry. All were armed as well, each carrying a compact sound dampened repeating blaster clipped to their thigh, their weapon hand gripping a saurian steel knife. If the preference for melee seemed deliberate, it was because it was. That was the Celkarth way, to make a weapon that never malfunctioned, never jammed, never ran out of ammo their primary.

A simple honed edge, utterly lethal, completely silent, like the Celkarth themselves. Their traditions didn't outweigh their practicality, each of them was a proficient marksman when necessity demanded it. Behind her visor, Nisjeta Marlin allowed herself a private, sharp tooth grin as she looked over her shoulder at the armed men and women around her. It always filled her with a sense of pride seeing the culmination of years of training and discipline on display when her hunters stalked the night. Out of all the tribes native to Sauria, the Black Marlins were top-tier predators and warriors. Even the so-called Cerinian Dark Sceptres lagged behind in combat prowess. The Empress herself wasn't above entrusting her safety to their guard.

There was a saying in the Cerinan Noble circle, that a clan's wealth was not measured in their clothing, extravagant homes, or ships, but in the amount of Celkarth mercenaries that patrolled their gilded estates.

Nisjeta let out a long fluttering growl, signaling to her tribesmen to hold position, as she continued stealthily into the jungle.

Eventually, she came to a clearing of sorts, where the full moon faintly reflected off the surrounding blades of grass. The rain hammered against her armor and visor. The hydrophobic material of the glass ensured that the drops rolled down the surface with ease leaving her view unobstructed. Nevertheless, she twisted the vacuum-sealed collar that connected the suit to her helmet. It came off with a sharp hissing crunch sound, and she was greeted with the full force of the tropical rainstorm.

Her skin was charcoal gray, broken up by horizontal black stripes that flanked the sides of her neck and continued their parallel track to her feet. Her mouth and nose were akin to the threatening shape of a missile, armed with twin rows of razor-sharp teeth capable of severing a limb or head in a casual bite. A pair of wine-red eyes blinked against the hail of drops, the pupils dark vertical gashes. She had only unveiled her face for a couple of seconds before she was completely drenched by the rain. Her neck-length hair rapidly became soaked and plastered against her cheeks and forehead. And yet it began to move of its own accord, absorbing the droplets taste and hydrating her body. Rainwater was her favorite thirst quencher, particularly during the fall and winter seasons of her planet. The warm humidity of the storm soured the taste a bit, but no matter; it was still the nectar of life. It wasn't limited to taste, the stirring strands of hair relayed the perfumed scent of the floral life around her, eucalyptus, and the curious fermented aroma that emanated from the wet wood of the trees behind her.

In the distance, the first fingers of lighting cracked the horizon followed by the delayed booming of thunder. She sensed something else was stirring beyond the storm, gaining momentum and heading towards her. Her ears picked up the faint ripping roaring sound in her mind, associated with the rapid acceleration of a ship. Her eyes tracked the sound to an unseen force that pierced the dark storm clouds ahead of her leaving behind thin ghostly trails of water vapor and fog, beyond that an eerie gaping maw left in the clump of storm clouds. Any sight or vague shape of the vessel completely eluded her vision, but she knew as sure as the ground beneath her it was there. She patiently waited arms at her side as the long blades of grass around her began to sway faster and faster.

The object's approach and figure became more tangible as the torrential downpour morphed and outlined the immense shape of the cloaked vessel as it neared the clearing ahead of her. The unseen propulsion caused grass around her to flail and squirm violently, the droplets of water launching themselves from the green blades and taking flight. The rainfall's direction was now a fast-moving nearly horizontal hail storm. Nisjeta's clawed feet kept her firmly rooted to the ground whereas the loose soil and patches of grass around her began tearing themselves from their moorings. After a few minutes, the vessel completed the vertical part of its journey, the wind and rain resuming its previous tempo. To an outside observer, it would seem the storm had nearly coalesced into a cyclone, only to dissipate halfway through. Again she waited patiently for it to make its presence known. It was a shimmer at first the backdrop before her bending and twisting as splotches and patches of dark metal hull materialized into existence. It didn't look much like most conventional ships, but a large ominous pyramid-shaped ziggurat.

Its landing struts were scimitar-shaped claws curving outward from each sharp corner of its base. The matte black hill was broken up with long trenches that emitted red neon light. Its nature, whether the crew's means of sight or weapons port was uncertain. She had heard tales from beyond the Cerinian shroud, of the marvels of Venomian ship engineering. Their designs were simple and practical but with an emphasis on durability and damage output matching the same military doctrine of the everyday Venomian footsoldier. This was an exception to the established philosophy. The mind of this shipbuilder was meticulous and cunning, the clever stealth tech on display was the likes of which only a Celkarth could truly appreciate.

Somewhere at the underside of the ship a round aperture opened, pure white light piercing the night. The raindrops highlighted by the beam began to fall behind their peers, then, slow … and slow … until they simply hovered in the air. She speculated the curious phenomenon as gravity manipulation of some kind. A lone figure stepped into the oval of light, but instead of plunging end over end into the earth, they sunk gradually to the ground. They were halfway in their descent when a sudden bolt of lightning cracked a few hundred yards to their left, and for a few moments, he was properly lit enough to make out their full features.

Even from this distance, she recognized the snow-white beard and swept-back hair that framed the primate face of the Venomian. His posture was dignified and composed, utterly relaxed as his booted feet touched down feather-light to the ground below. He began walking towards her. That was another peculiarity about him; he didn't walk like the typical hulking Venomian ape. His stride was confident and purposeful yet reserved. When he moved, it was always with the same speed, and intensity, like a well-oiled automaton. He might've been a great leader of the ferocious and ill-tempered Venomian primates, but it was clear a different culture had colored his mannerisms before he joined their ranks.

He had come alone, no armed escort, no entourage - it had been just so when he first met her and her people. He had dressed for the climate wearing a simple brown hooded windbreaker which rapidly became dotted with raindrops as he exited the radius of the ship's underside. She stood at attention only now displaying signs of nervousness that only a Celkarth could perceive, the upward swaying of her hair, the rapid tapping of her tail tip, and the persistent extension, and retraction of her eyelids. He was close enough that she could see the bright sunset hue of his eyes, and when he pulled back his hood she glimpsed the thumb-sized burn scar above his right eye, where the projectile of a blaster pistol had left its mark.

"The great Andross, the man who was given the death blow … and kept going".

She greeted him with the traditional Celkarthian salute, drawing her fore and middle fingers across her brow and bowing her head slightly. He returned the gesture with two fingers sliding across his white brow an inch below the scar.

"Lord Andross … welcome to Sauria, and if I must say a most impressive entrance." She said.

The man favored the ego stroke with a slight upward twitch of his lip, then quickly became impassive.

"I trust your little incursion on the station was successful," he said flatly.

She hesitated a fraction, her hair swaying pausing briefly as she weighed her response.

"The assault on the station was for the most part successful, the Cornerians were ignorant of our presence and -."

"And Alex Mccloud … you told me you left the decoy," he let the interruption hang in the air.

"He escaped, but now he is beyond the reach of the Cornerians, our plans are still cloaked," she said.

"I gave you very specific parameters for this mission Chieftain Marlin, you were to leave no witnesses … we no longer have the luxury of time to execute the next stage of our plan."

Nisjeta gritted her teeth in irritation.

"The station was destroyed, Corneria no longer has an eye on Venom, and Alex Mccloud is under the Cerinian's lock and key, it will be some time before he's released from their custody. Corneria is stretched too thin to withstand our combined forces. The time to strike is now while we have the advantage."

Andross merely shook his head, dismissing the suggestion with a sharp cutting motion with his hand.

"Reign yourself in Chieftain Marlin, we have a very specific agenda, and it doesn't involve starting a war of attrition," he said sternly.

Nisjeta pointed a clawed hand behind her at the tree line.

"I have six more tribes waiting to pledge themselves to our cause, this bolster will equip us with more than enough ships, weapons, and troops to conquer Lylat, the Cerinian Realm has become too isolated and complacent; they will give no notice when we launch our strike."

Again she was awarded with that same dismissive wave as though he was a dissatisfied patron.

"You are fiery and ambitious Nisjeta. You and your people have proven most valuable assets, but I will not co-sign this course of action. We cannot risk being too hasty. If the Cerinians catch wind of our plans, they will surely see it as a secession, and we'll be left with a battle on two fronts."

Nisjeta's nostrils flared, and her hair became a threatening nimbus, but she nodded her head in agreement. Part of her wanted to forego caution, damn the plan, damn the Cerinians and their milk-sop Empress, damn everything in her path. Her people had spent being regulated under Cerinian rule for so long, that it had begun to tamper with her common sense. She took his advice and reigned herself in.

"Very well," The other tribes will chafe under the delay, but I'll see to it that they bow to your wisdom."

He nodded his approval and when he spoke, his voice was less severe.

"Rest assured Chieftain Marlin, I will see to it your people are free from the Cerinian Shroud, with a world to call their own, but I will not win you a victory over a rampart of your own dead."

"It shall be so Lord Andross, and what of the survivor on Cerinia?" She asked.

"That depends … have you tracked his exact location?"

She nodded in the affirmative.

"His pod crashed on a beach near Valonian territory; the city guard transported him to the Praxa medical facility, where he's been under their care for three days now."

Andross's eyes narrowed in thought at this.

"Your contact relayed all this to you?"

"Yes. They were able to eavesdrop and pass along a recording of the medical personnel's findings."

From her utility belt, she produced a quarter-sized data chip. She had barely extended her hand to offer it when the bigger man dexterously snatched it from her palm.

"Very well … at your earliest convenience, I expect you to assemble a strike team of your choosing with the objective of Alex's capture."

"It shall be so, he won't escape again," she said confidently.

She felt her hand graze the handle of her knife at the thought of Alex. Despite all their meticulous planning and coordination, the bastard had slipped through her fingers, even killing several of her most trained soldiers in the process. Nisjeta made a solemn oath to herself then and there, that he would taste the steel of her blade before she flayed him alive with it, Andross would just have to deal with the slight detour from his plan.

"Are the other Chieftains prepared for the ritual?"

Andross said, bringing her back to the present. She sidestepped and made a grand sweeping gesture to the tree line behind her.

"They are ready, and await your presence."

He inclined his head approvingly, but instead of making for the treeline, he lingered and looked off

Into the distance, at the storm clouds moving left to right across the horizon and the fissures of lighting sprouting from their underside, radiating angry flashes through the thick bodies of vapor. She felt buffeted by the storm as though the winds of change were pushing this momentous event forward.

As though reading her mind, "It's the turning point, not just for my people …..but the Celkarth as well."

She nodded gravely, and once again gestured to the trail ahead. After a brief pause, he began walking alongside her, into the darkness of the jungle.

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Andross's booted feet splish splashed through mud puddles diluted with olive green moss and wet fallen leaves. Bordering the trail were about fifty Celkarth warriors, and those were the ones who opted to show themselves. In the dense surrounding foliage, he faintly glimpsed their glowing slitted eyes made all the more ominous behind the fogged glass of their helmet visors. All heads slowly turned, tracking his progress along the trail. They all saluted as he passed two fingers sliding across the glass apertures. He kept his bearing, not once did his eyes glance to acknowledge them as he kept his graceful step. It was the same look of hope and deference in their eyes that was mirrored in his own people when he treaded the path of leadership on Venom long ago. It wasn't the first time that someone like Nisjeta Marlin had referred to him as Lord Andross.

He didn't feel much like a Lord now, more so resigned to the gifted moniker. No, he was more accurately an outcast, whose life was made all the more nomadic by exile, first when he was banished from Corneria to Venom, and again after his near-death experience, he had shed his identity for one that was completely incognito. Now only a handful of people knew of his survival, and their silence had to be kept to ensure his plan's success. When the time was right, he would make his resurgence, and Lylat along with the Cerinian Realm would be united under his rule. An icy finger of pain grazed his forehead, and he was reminded again of his old wound. It made him wonder why these people put him on such a pedestal, and for what? getting a blaster bolt parked in his brain pan. It didn't feel much like a badge of honor, but a stain, a constant reminder that he had failed in his schemes. The punishment was that he had to start all over again. It was all misplaced deference on their part.

It didn't matter if he cared about, or shared their faith and superstition, he had given his word to these people to help their civilization grow beyond the Cerinian shadow and he intended to make good on that oath. Again the similarity of circumstance was almost tangible. It made him feel a sort of kinship for the Celkarth, who were much like the Venomians. Both were once proud and powerful titans of the galaxy, brought low as a result of their own hubris and overreaching ambitions. He had wielded power once, nearly obtaining dominion of Lylat and holding the Cornerians by the throat.

He had squandered it all, gravely underestimating his adversaries strength and resolve. Then there was the damned Mcclouds, who were like persistent rabid roaches that decimated his army's initial blitz. He should've known that taking both of their parents wouldn't spare him from their vengeful wrath, but he hadn't expected Fox to have grown to outshine his Father's skill in a cockpit, even rivaling and defeating the infamous Star Wolf squadron, during the climax of the war. Then there was Alex, the end result of his work on the Siphon project had been appropriated by that damned Hound Pepper and turned loose on Venom. One by one, his creation along with that harlot Phoenix had subtracted Venom's military command structure to below double digits before it collapsed entirely into an uncoordinated mess.

Those who remained survived burrowing under bunkers or fleeing the planet altogether, whether they escaped with their lives or were cut down by the Cornerian fleet was anyone's guess. As for the Venomians, they had suffered the most under his leadership, he had utterly failed them. Andross had no doubt that they would eventually rebuild, but like the Celkarth, he would not neglect them and make them collateral for his own ends. He would have to tread lightly and strike from the shadows; it was his greatest advantage that his adversaries were without an inclination as to who, or where their opponent was, and in war such advantages were never to be yielded.

He looked on ahead and saw that the trail ahead of him transitioned to one of cobblestone illuminated with glass lanterns above towering marble columns. He still had a ways to go but appreciated the less treacherous terrain with proper lighting. It would've made quite the spectacle for him to present himself as the new de facto leader of these fierce and composed warriors, only to face plant into the dirt before his coronation. He looked above and saw only the towering tree canopy that nearly blocked out the night sky. That strange feeling of hidden eyes following his every movement persisted, making him wonder if some of the Celkarth were lurking in the treetops.

Eventually, they came to a large section of the jungle that seemed to have been trimmed away to accommodate a flat patch of grass. He looked left to right and estimated the entire space was at least fifty or so yards in radius. Again he looked up expecting to see the night sky above, only to see the ever-present canopy of the tree tops obscuring it. The surrounding vegetation and trees seemed more dense, almost like a deliberate barrier. Even the sound of the rain and thunder storm had lowered significantly. It didn't feel as though they were simply in the jungle, but in a hollowed out artery of twisted vines and tree branches.

"There will be no prying eyes from above, my people have cultivated the surrounding forest to allow only foot traffic, you need not fear any eavesdroppers," Nisjeta said assuredly.

"Clever … very clever," Andross remarked.

He tore his eyes from the green tint of the forest canopy to what lay ahead of him. The cobblestone path continued, stopping abruptly in the center of the space. Proceeding further, he saw that the path encircled a towering domed pavilion that was made out of the same pristine marble as the torches that lit the space. He squinted his eyes trying to glimpse any sign of the tribe leaders awaiting his arrival.

Nothing, not even a guard, or a casual attendee.

He turned to Nisjeta, "Are the other tribe leaders here?"

"They'll make their presence known," she said cryptically.

She gestured for him to walk to the pavilion, but didn't follow, instead, she walked back the way they came, her figure melting into the shadows.

Andross resumed his pace climbing the marble steps. At its height, he glimpsed an assortment of wooden chairs circling a bronze brazier. The floor was different from the single tone of marble, but polished blue porcelain broken up with cracks of gray and white. It was so pure and unblemished, that he instinctively left his shoes behind before crossing its surface. He didn't take a seat opting to lean against one of the opposite-facing pillars instead. For a long time, he simply waited in the dimly lit space. There was no sign of anyone else in the immediate vicinity, no vague shapes, or approaching footsteps.

Just himself … his own breathing … and the crackling sounds of light torches.

Any illusions of being alone were dispelled when he felt the smoothed clawed hand on his shoulder.

To his credit, he didn't so much as flinch or cry out in surprise.

"That was very courteous of you to leave your shoes, but it is quite alright to wear them in the future, our caretakers scrub the tiles daily," a male voice said just behind his shoulder.

Andross didn't turn but acknowledged the stranger by crossing one arm over his shoulder to clasp their hand briefly before they both withdrew.

"It is my custom to air on the side of caution, and not taint such floors carelessly with dirt," Andross said.

"True, and it's a slight as well to ignore six of my friends who offer you a seat at a fire," the voice said amusedly.

He turned, and to his astonishment saw that there were indeed six Celkarth seated around the brazier which was now lit and roaring. He blinked in surprise and squinted to see that the previously empty space surrounding the pavilion was now packed with rows of Celkarth warriors standing at attention. He didn't even attempt to fathom how they had managed to stealth their way towards him. His attention was brought to the mysterious speaker.

Like the others, he was a Celkarth, but instead of being garbed in armor, he wore a simple black robe that cast his reptilian features in deep shadow.

"Has anyone ever told you … that the Celkarth have an odd way of saying hello," Andross said dryly.

The other man gave a hissing chuckle, taking a big step back and bowing apologetically.

"You must excuse our indulgent behavior, your display with your ship's cloak was quite impressive, we simply wanted to … how you say … one up you," the robed man said.

When he straightened, the fire light leaked into the veil of his hood revealing chalk-white smooth skin, and dark sea blue eyes that glinted mischievously. Unlike the other participants, this man seemed out of place, not just his clothing but he seemed almost too nonchalant.

"And which tribe do you belong to?" Andross asked.

The Celkarth 's lips curved into a smirk with only a hint of his sharp teeth showing between his lips.

"Many years ago I was a part of a tribe, but I shed its name and privileges in exchange for service to a higher circle of beings … higher, and much more powerful."

He favored Andross with a two-fingered slide across his forehead.

"You may call me Kyne, I'll be the overseer for this clandestine event of ours."

Andross nodded but his unease persisted.

"I hope Chieftain Marlin relayed its nature and the need for secrecy."

Again that strange hissing laugh.

"You need not fret Lord Andross, my only obligation is to make sure the ritual is in accordance with our traditions, my guidance and silence is assured."

It did little to quell his worries, but he supposed there wasn't much he could do to further vet the man. The secrecy of their plan was already in jeopardy, it was bound to be exposed soon, he hoped not too soon. He allowed Kyne to take him by the hand to one of the empty chairs. Andross looked left to right scanning the impassive faces of the Celkarth around him. They were all still as the surrounding marble, except for their dark hair, which shifted and writhed atop their heads restlessly.

Andross caught a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision causing him to tilt his gaze. Emerging behind one of the pillars was Nisjeta, a Mona Lisa smile spread across her face. She stood at attention behind the seated tribe leaders, her arms folded confidently as though saying, "Go on …. tell me you're not impressed."

He had to admit, this group of silently brooding leaders and their kin made quite the impression. Andross had yet to truly see his newfound allies in action, but they gave results without a doubt. It made him wonder how the Lylat war would've turned out if he had secured the Celkarth alliance before the first shots were fired. They would've given the Cornerians the same hell that was dealt to the crew aboard the Spillman station and the fleet guarding it.

He drew his attention back to Kyne who was standing opposite, facing him, the lit brazier between them. From his sleeve he withdrew a knife that was adorned with a bone handle, it made him wonder who or what was its unfortunate donor. The robed man's fingers twirled the blade in a casual, but dexterous flourish before resting the blade's flat end over his wrist. Andross studied the sharp end, which was the same ivory color as its handle, probably bone as well.

"As was explained to our guest of honor, my duties as a Shade Priest is to uphold our traditions and practices. My vow is to the great elders, who shed their physical forms to guide us and dictate our creed."

His expression was deadly serious.

"I have given a vow of silence, as have you all. The last time the Celkarth tribes made a blood oath was when we pledged our service to the Cerinian Empress."

The collective low hissing retort from the tribe leaders summarized their disapproval, and even Kyne gave a knowing smirk.

"Yes of course … of course, I am well aware of your misgivings of such a pact, but I am compelled to reiterate the gravity of what we are about to do."

He let the statement hang in the air. Andross again scanned the faces before him, their previous sneer was replaced with a sober expression.

"Make no mistake … this oath, if taken, will be seen as treason and secession from the Cerinian Realm, the penalty of which is death and disbandment of your tribe. My convictions mirror your own … I myself have weighed the risks. I am prepared to forfeit my life for this cause. Because I have no personal holdings, or a tribe under my care, this choice is less of a burden for me than it is for you."

He then began to circle the assembled group, his step measured, almost ponderous.

"For those who are uncertain or have second thoughts, this will be your last chance. You may dismiss yourself without judgment from me or your peers."

There was a long moment of silence in which the six tribe leaders exchanged glances, seeming to size up any dissenters.

No one made to leave.

Andross heard Kyne's footsteps stop behind him at the same time the Chieftains fixed him with their stare.

"The offer extends to you Doctor, you may stay …. or leave."

He remained rooted where he was.

"And there it went …. very well Doctor."

"Chieftains …. you may present your blades."

As one, the six Chieftains unsheathed their knives. There was absolutely no noise, not so much as a whisper of metal on leather as the blades were brandished. With the same perfect synchronized movement, six knife hilts rested against the armrests of each chair with a sharp banging of wood. Andross's eyes roved over each unique design, length, and material of the blades clutched in the Chieftain's hands. The closest one to his left was made out of a strange jade stone with a blue steel edge erupting from its handle. The blades looked sharp, and impossibly clean as though they had never been used.

Andross looked down at his hands, at the long white scar that curved across his left palm, from the previous pledge Nisjeta and the Black Marlins made to him.

This next part was going to sting.

He held out his unmarked palm, doing his damndest to maintain his poker face.

"Who amongst you would like to do the honors."

"I'll make the first cut," Kyne said, as Andross felt the priest's clawed hand close around his wrist.

He looked up to see his face, and his expression was almost kindly.

"I'm an old hand at this, and you won't be left with a scar," he said in a voice so low it was almost a thought.

"As long as the floors are scrubbed after," Andross quipped despite his efforts.

Kyne gave a knowing nod, then his blade slashed across his palm, a streak of white-hot pain chasing the sensation of his flesh being pierced.

Andross reflexively bit down on his tongue to stifle any noise as he felt the priest's hand squeeze his fingers and palm, firmly cupping his hand as it filled with warm red liquid. He fixed his gaze on the lit brazier focusing on its radiant heat, it did little to dwarf the pain.

"You're doing beautifully Doctor … but just to be on the safe side … I'll take a bit more," Kyne said, pressing the handle of his knife above the cut.

The slow trickle was now a steady flow, a few seconds later he heard the first few drops spilling onto the floor. Eventually, the pressure on his palm subsided leaving in its place a persistent sting. Kyne released his hand, but Andross kept it cupped, then held it out in front of him. His eyes met the Chieftain to his left, the one with the jade-hilted knife. The Celkarth gave a slight nod and rose from his seat, making to stand in front of him. He was olive green-skinned with purple-tinted eyes. When his clawed feet clicked to a halt in front of Andross, he turned to look at him. The slitted pupils regarded him lingering on his old scar.

"It's true … you really did die and came back," he said. Without taking his eyes off him, the Chieftain ran his blade across his palm in one swift swipe. With his other hand, he wetted two fingers thoroughly before drawing a vertical line of crimson across Andross's forehead.

"My blood drawn … my allegiance cast," the Celkarth said.

He returned the gesture by wetting two fingers and drawing a straight line down the center of the Chieftain's forehead.

"My blood drawn … my allegiance cast," Andross echoed.

The Chieftain gave a respectful inclination of his head.

Then as quickly as it smudged onto his forehead, the blood began to fade into his skin and pores. The Celkarth blinked and the blood began to leak into the corner of his eyes, disappearing into the void of his pupils. For a moment his spooky hair began to do spooky things, then it nestled back into a steady swaying rhythm again.

He then retreated to his seat, as the next Celkarth Chieftain took his place. And so it went, six blades, six cuts across the palms of six tribes leaders, their pledge and lineage painted across his forehead.

When they were finished, Andross looked to Kyne, who was still standing at his shoulder.

"Will you be making the pledge as well?"

Kyne waggled the blood-stained blade left to right.

"No, as I reiterated before, I am without status, no tribe, my allegiance is to the Celkarth."

From a pocket, he retrieved a silk handkerchief and began wiping the blade clean.

"My part is done, however … if more tribes join your cause, you can rely on me to oversee the proper rites."

"There will be more … once they learn of our plan … there'll be more," this from Nisjeta.

The assembled Chieftains hissed their agreement as they too cleaned and resheathed their blades as silently as they were drawn. They all looked to Kyne, who simply nodded. As one they saluted both Andross and Kyne then made to leave the surrounding Celkarth trailing behind. He felt compelled to say something, maybe a speech, or a word of gratitude. Instead, he remained rooted to his seat as the assembly departed as stealthily as they had arrived.

"They seemed eager to leave," Andross remarked.

Nisjeta took a seat next to him. "You made a good enough impression to garner an audience with them, but now they must keep up appearances until they are needed."

"Good … good, it's a deception we must keep for now," he agreed.

His palm no longer burned, but lingered somewhere between warm and hot as though the flame in front of him was keeping his blood at a steady simmer.

"Curious, I wondered why you made the pledge to each clan. Tradition doesn't require both parties to cast their blood" she said.

He didn't answer right away, instead, he looked down at the splotches of crimson splattered on the floor. They looked like newly formed violent continents. He supposed in a sense they were.

"If it came to it … would it be enough to conquer Lylat and secure the Celkarth and Venomian ascendancy?"

Out loud he said. "This is to our mutual benefit, and I meant it. I won't cheapen this Alliance the same way the Cerinians did, by making it one-sided."

He held out his cut palm to Nisjeta.

"My blood … my life."

"This was done without error, and by my own choosing."

Nisjeta leaned back in her chair, her claws drumming the wooden armrest ponderously.

"To our mutual benefit then … and the downfall of those who would dare oppose us."