Warrior Queen Read online

  J. N. Chaney

  Copyrighted Material

  Warrior Queen Copyright © 2019 by Variant Publications

  Book design and layout copyright © 2019 by JN Chaney

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.

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  Warrior Queen

  A Renegade Star Prequel

  J.N. Chaney

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

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  About the Author

  1

  The weather was wild and harsh for the first three days of our hunt, the cold winds and heavy snow beating us back and slowing our work. It wasn’t until the fourth day that our luck finally turned around and the sun came out. Its light reflected off the eternally white expanse, and I had to shield my eyes against the glare as I scanned the valley before me.

  It was beautiful, the blanket of snow that covered the world, resting below a wide and open cerulean sky, but as my father had told me once when I’d mentioned such a sight, beauty didn’t bring home supplies.

  The landscape lay still and quiet in all directions, clear all the way to the distant mountains where one of the ancient facilities still stood, its broken towers and shattered doors hanging open for all who would come and see. I had only been there once, years ago when I was fifteen and my father insisted it was time I learned to travel. He had taught me how to hunt before, but never so far away from home where the danger was alive and hungry in the vast tundra.

  I wiped my nose, sniffling in the cold air as my breath formed in front of me. Without the background of cutting wind and falling snow to conceal our movements, the four of us were forced to communicate using hand signals and hushed whispers. The last thing any of us wanted to do was spook the herd.

  Cyril Visaro, the Director and leader of our colony, commanded the small hunting party. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and dark eyes.

  He also happened to be my father.

  We called our prey frost horns, named for the protrusions that grew out of their large skulls. They were crystalline horns, hard as stone and made of frozen water around a thin scaffolding core of hair. Our historian, Janus, said the Eternal scientists who’d settled here almost two thousand years ago had not considered them important enough to warrant naming, but we did.

  The horn could break through thin layers of ice to find stores of water, score branches for out of reach lichen clumps, or spear an attacking wolf. These large animals weren’t known to be overly aggressive, but they would certainly protect themselves, especially in groups.

  Most of what I wore now had come from one of the giant creatures. The white fur helped us to blend in with the snowy terrain and almost matched my hair perfectly. This was a convenience for those like me who didn’t care for bulky hoods that tended to get in the way.

  I wondered if the scientists would have felt differently if they could see how integral the frost horns were to our survival. Indeed, the animals provided much needed oil, pelts, and bones that we used for crafting utensils and tools.

  From the size of the tracks, I estimated the animal ahead to be an adolescent. It was of no consequence. Even a smaller frost horn could yield a worthwhile amount of resources, and any animal was more practice for me to hone my skills as a hunter.

  A light crunch sounded behind me and I turned to see my father approaching. I might not have recognized him under his face shield and all the layers of clothing, but his weapon was unmistakable.

  He’d scavenged the rifle as a boy of seventeen, the same age as me now, and modified it with a fusion core for his Selection Ceremony project, as was customary for those in the running to be chosen as the next leader.

  When the Primes picked me as prospus--a term that meant a candidate or prospect--a few months ago, I’d almost done the same but had decided to work on something more unique instead. With Selection just around the corner, I was nearly finished.

  “Stay alert, Lucia,” he warned, pulling me from thoughts of the Prime Regency, whispering so his voice wouldn’t carry. “We aren’t the only ones hunting today.”

  I whipped my gaze back to the valley, annoyed I had missed something, but it still looked empty. My father shook his head and pointed to his ear.

  The other two hunters in our group had stopped and we all listened intently. My trainer, Alma, was the first to react. She gestured at the frost horn tracks, then indicated ahead and to the right.

  Nero and I followed the prints down the base of the valley until they disappeared around a large outcropping of rock.

  That was when I heard the clicking.

  Only one thing on this planet made that noise. Boneclaws.

  I could tell that Nero heard it too, because his form went stiff and his weapon jerked up a hair. It was a practical response. Boneclaws were savage monsters and even larger than the frost horns
. Three lethal claws adorned the end of each thickly muscled arm that could strike with astounding speed and rip through flesh with little effort.

  It had likely scented our game. With the calf separated from the herd, it would make for an easy meal. We didn’t have enough supplies to stay on the hunt much longer, and if we lost the calf we’d return home with nothing.

  Despite that, a little thrill of excitement swirled through me. I’d seen Boneclaws before, but only from a distance. Unless they were dead. This would mark the first time I participated in a kill, and if it went well, there would be lots of praise and congratulations from the people at home.

  My father stepped forward and motioned for us to follow. We moved slowly, careful of our steps. Boneclaws were blind but had excellent hearing. To have the best chance at killing it, and saving our catch, we’d need the advantage.

  Not long after, the clicking had become more of a wet grinding sound and my father held up a gloved fist to stop us. He pointed to his chest then waved a hand at the rock to say he would check it out first.

  I tapped my own chest urgently, showing I wanted to go with him, but he shook his head and held up a hand. As much as I wanted to argue, this wasn’t the place, so I nodded curtly.

  Seemingly satisfied that I would stay put, my father eased around the rock and disappeared from view.

  I couldn’t help but be annoyed at being left behind, but I put it aside and focused on scoping out our surroundings for more threats.

  Alma had a set of farfinders out and looked to the east. She and my father had already commented that the herd had been farther out than usual and we’d been lucky to get this straggler.

  I checked the west for any sign of movement. If there was one Boneclaw, more were probably in the vicinity. Wind gusted by, its howl reminding me of a wolf baying.

  Movement to my left caught my attention. Nero was crouched down digging in the snow, a concentrated expression on his face.

  “Wolf scat,” he announced, then stood to study the icy landscape.

  Maybe the howling hadn’t been the wind after all. I listened, this time turning my ear to the direction the wind had come from. I heard the sound again, but it was far from our current location.

  Nero and I nodded at each other, acknowledging the information at the same time. A single snowfly buzzed in my face and I waved it away.

  My father returned then, motioning us in close, and we huddled together in a tight circle.

  “One Boneclaw. It’s eating the calf and distracted. Let’s go,” he ordered.

  Each of us unsheathed our blades now rather than later, here where we could be quiet, masking our sound in the wind. We left the relative safety of the outcropping and rounded the rock shoulder behind my father. Alma was directly behind him, and I took the middle with Nero at the rear.

  It didn’t take long to see what had taken my father so long to return. Once out of view from our previous position, I found that the path continued a fair amount before curving around again to reveal a deep gorge.

  The sounds from the Boneclaw grew louder as our group moved closer. It was the terrible sound of flesh being ripped from bone, gnashing teeth, and wet chewing, and it turned my stomach. I found that my desire to see the creature up close evaporated rather quickly, but there was no going back now. Steeling my resolve, I gripped my spear and pressed forward, unwilling to let myself be controlled by fear. “Fear and bravery are two faces that every warrior should learn to wear,” my father had often told me. “Fear pulls you back before the fight, and bravery tugs you toward it. Without bravery, there is only the coward; without fear, there is only the fool. True warriors know which face to wear and which to hide. Embracing them both is how you stay alive.”

  My heart thudded in my chest, and I wondered if the beast would hear its pounding and attack, but the squelching went on, uninterrupted by our advance. The noise seemed to fill my ears now, and I knew it couldn’t be far.

  Large boulders littered the snow-covered rock floor, and at first I didn’t see anything. It only took a moment to follow the tracks and the path that the frost horn had forged through the drifts in search of food. From the opposite direction we had come, another set of tracks disturbed the snow.

  These were from the Boneclaw who had undoubtedly caught the scent of the young calf and given chase. It was all too clear where the pair had collided; the area was marked not just by deep grooves, but by the bright red of fresh blood stark against the white surroundings.

  I was thankful to have missed the scene. Though I’d taken part in my share of hunts, we always dispatched our catches as quickly and humanely as possible. The Boneclaws were not known to have such tendencies.

  A smaller pair of prints caught my eye, and I realized they were my father’s. It awed me that he had come so close, and alone. I vowed to be better, more like him.

  The four of us crept closer, wary of the increasingly large steaming patches of blood, and edged our way around a large boulder. Based on the sounds coming from the other side, we would be face to face with our quarry in the next few seconds.

  I held my breath as, at last, the Boneclaw’s monstrous form became visible. It was hunched over the fallen body of the frost horn, its face buried in the corpse. The smell of copper was heavy in the air and filled my mouth with a metallic taste. It did, however, block our scent, and for that, I was thankful.

  Our group fanned out slowly to surround the beast at strategic positions, just as we’d practiced. Alma and I circled around until we were behind the Boneclaw, while Nero took a position on the side not protected by the boulder.

  Alma’s weapon had been modified with a fusion core like my father’s, but hers was what she called a glaive. It looked like a staff but had a long blade at the end, glowing blue in her hands as it powered up and she prepared to attack.

  Our leader stood a few meters from the animal, his eyes fixed on the enormous claws. He had moved the rifle to his back, as it would be too loud in this gorge and draw other Boneclaws to us, trading it for a spear instead. The blade wasn’t as long as Alma’s, but it was certainly sharper.

  We were at a critical point. If the creature heard us now, not only would it attack but it would try to alert others to the area. Taking down one was difficult but possible. Two, much less so, though not completely unheard of. More than that, however, and we wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Nero signaled to me and Alma that he was ready, and we nodded the same. He lifted an arm, then dropped it to start the attack.

  The Boneclaw’s head jerked up as we moved in unison. I heard my father’s spear tip sing across the neck of the beast, and I brought my own weapon across the tendon on the back of its left leg. Alma mirrored the move on the right, spraying blood in all directions.

  The animal reared and tried to take a step but fell immediately forward from the wounds we had inflicted. A strange gurgling sound followed as it began to choke, and the creature’s long arms came around as if to clutch at its neck.

  Alma and I got out from behind the flailing animal in case it fell, and now I could see how well our tactics had worked. Nero’s attack had severed the right arm, leaving it a bloody mess. The appendage flopped uselessly to the side of our circle, rolling in the snow.

  My father’s spear dripped with warm blood, creating condensation in the cold as the Boneclaw staggered from the wounds, its monstrous size still looming over us.

  I launched the spear, praying that my aim would be true just as Nero flew by me, sword raised high. The spear found its mark, and the Boneclaw jerked as its arm was pinned to the torso, giving Nero time to reach my father and bring the blade down to cleave the arm in two, spattering blood on the white snow. The three-clawed hand fell to the ground and Nero moved forward to behead the Boneclaw, bringing his blade straight through the creature’s flesh in a hard, clean slice, finally putting it down for good.

  My father was breathing heavily, steadying himself. “Let’s take care of this and get the hell out of here,�
�� he said. “I’m letting the shuttle know we’re ready.”

  Almost nothing from the frost horn was left, but the remains of the Boneclaw would suffice. It didn’t take long to dismember it and prep the harvested parts for transport. When they were ready, we placed them in tarps that would be attached to the underside of the ship.

  The shine of new experience wore off and disenchantment set in as I took in the gore that now covered me from head to toe. Somehow only Nero and I had ruined our hunter’s garb. My father and Alma barely had a speck of blood between them.

  They had a saying, one I’d never understood when I was younger but had grown all too familiar with in recent months.

  The best hunters need only one set of fresh clothes.

  When the transport arrived, we secured the load and climbed in, shedding our outer layers before sitting down in the beat-up chairs.

  As the ramp closed, a faraway roar echoed through the cliffs, loud and close. We all knew that sound, and we knew what it brought.

  I looked sharply to Alma. The older woman’s face was tense but devoid of fear. She had always been that way. Always so calm, as though nothing in the world could get to her.

  I would never be that way, not when the sound of monsters made me squirm. I looked down at my hands, still trembling from the fight. There was fear still in me.