Page 21 of Saving the Alien Chieftain

Phaedroth continues as the recording stops. “As seen, Krogoth never attacked Zyraxis.”

Zyraxis interjects angrily, “I don’t know if what my esteemed brother witnessed is the same thing I did.” He gestures to the holographic display above. “Krogoth clearly attacked first, using my own bodyguard as a weapon to strike me. It’s an outrage!” he finishes, looking down at me, his tattooed face twisted in a snarl.

Vereth waves his hand dismissively. “We are getting distracted from the main issues. I care not for bar fights. By the Gods, we’d never get a moment’s peace if we had to proceed over every scuffle.” He turns his attention to me before continuing, “Krogoth, how do you respond to Zyraxis’ first claims? Do you deny them?”

“I do not,” I respond, my voice steady as an arc blast.

“See!” Zyraxis exclaims, his voice tinged with triumph. “He condemns himself.”

Vereth presses for more. “Do you offer nothing in defense?”

I place my hands behind my back, choosing my words carefully, knowing full well I may be executed never to see my beautiful Pebbles again, if I choose poorly.

“Zyraxis speaks of military matters which fall outside the remit of this council,” I say, enjoying the dawning realization on Zyraxis’ face as my words sink in.

“So, you would have us wait for War Chieftain Gorexius to come and pass judgment in our stead?” Zyraxis counters as heresumes pointing his finger at me. “Unlike you, he’s a warrior of honor who knows his duty, and I speak with the utmost certainty he will see you dead for this treason.”

My heart thumps in my chest as I dare hope I may have at least bought myself more time using a technicality.

A Magaxus elder, his face almost completely black from tattoos, stands up. “There is precedent for military actions to be judged by this hallowed council if the actions are deemed to be harmful to the civil society.”

Zyraxis, giddy with newfound hope, seizes upon this lifeline. “Yes! Yes, Ignixis speaks the truth.” The spark of hope that had begun to flicker now wavers in the face of Zyraxis’ zeal.

Vereth sighs. “Very well… Zyraxis, judging by your fervor, I assume you intend to make such a civil case against Krogoth?” His gaze rests on Zyraxis, his tone tinged with weariness.

“I do…” Zyraxis nods vigorously before pausing momentarily to gather his thoughts. “Esteemed elders. I wish to replay the recording of Krogoth’s vicious assault upon me once more.” The holographic display once again displays the recording from the Last Resort. Near the beginning, he asks for it to be paused.

“There! Zoom in on the ugly little one.” Zyraxis points to the image of Felixus joyfully holding a drink. “That, my brothers, is a Nebian!” The words hang in the air, a revelation that ripples through the assembly. Gasps of astonishment and murmurs of uncertainty course through the chamber.

Zyraxis revels in his moment of triumph, awaiting the hushed silence that follows. “Krogoth knowingly brought an enemy Nebian to our home world. A threat plain as day to our civilians. Look how he and his Second consort with the stunted creature. It’s disgusting,” he finishes, turning his nose up.

Vereth’s gaze turns towards me. “Krogoth, this is highly unsettling. What do you have to say?”

“Felixus… the Nebian, was traveling to Klendathor with the official parlance signal to open peace talks,” I assert, my voice unwavering. “Until his craft was intercepted by pirates. I rescued him from Terminus Exile Station, hoping to preserve the option of peace.”

I turn my gaze towards Zyraxis, unflinching. “But you knew that already, and still you chased him off, didn’t you?”

Again, the elders gasp in shock. Some talk loudly about the possibility of peace with the Nebians, and how the Scythians would never allow it.Finally, we were getting close to the heart of the issue.

“Silence! Silence!” Vereth roars, his staff striking the floor, the sound ending all conversations in an instant. “Zyraxis, why did you not report this to the council immediately?” Vereth asks, his gaze burning into Zyraxis.

Zyraxis shrugs defiantly. “Isn’t it obvious? To protect us from the Scythians!” He sweeps his gaze across the assembly, a plea for understanding. “You all know as well as I do. The Scythians would never allow us to make a separate peace with the Nebians.”

He looks back at me, his face twisted in hatred. “I mean to save our people from destruction. He invites it with every breath. That is why he must die.”

Laughter, bitter and sardonic, spills from my lips. “Our allies, the Scythians,” I remind them. Some elders hang their heads, dejectedly, the cold hard truth shoved into their faces once more. Even Vereth appears speechless, unsure how to respond.

“Silence! You speak out of turn,” Zyraxis bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber like thunder.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but now is the time to press into this festering wound at the heart of my people.

“No! You will listen to reason,” I roar in my battle voice, capturing all their attention. “The Scythians are no allies to us.They stole our females and send us to die in their endless wars. By the Gods, look around at the scarred and maimed remnants of our once-proud kin. There are no children’s laughter, no nurturing mothers, no hope for a future. Only the ceaseless cycle of carnage and death!”

My voice, a tempest of righteous indignation, surges forth. “And what of the youth they thrust upon us every generation? Twisted abominations, bred in sterile laboratories, devoid of warmth, devoid of honor, puppets of rage. If we falter now, if we do not rise, our legacy will crumble to dust within a handful of generations! Zyraxis claims to save our people, but his way only brings a slow death.” My voice swells with conviction, each sentence driving the truth deeper into their hearts.

My words hang in the air, a charged silence that stretches on. The elders, once steadfast in their convictions, now teeter on the precipice of doubt. Before the stillness can settle into acceptance, Zyraxis’ voice pierces through the air. “He lies. Dracoth is a youth, and he is of sound mind.” He waves his hand toward the massive black doors.

Nyxius, the ancient elder, rises with a determination that belies his frailty. “No, Krogoth speaks the truth. Chieftain Aelioth of my clan has spoken of the same troubles with the youth. The bastard Scythians have corrupted them,” he proclaims. Murmurs of agreement ripple through the assembly, a chorus of affirmation that swells around me.

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