Cosmic
Wars, Book 6 of the Grand Masters’ Galaxy
Teleport
from planet to planet as the Griffins pursue their enemies across the galaxy
and beyond.
Violet
and Athanor Griffin reunite with their baby son after escaping from the world
beyond the fiery Cosmic Rift, but they find no respite from troubles. The Grand Masters have declared Athanor dead, and are squabblng to replace him as Chair of the Council. Hordes of bloodsucking Ixioth slavers threaten
galactic civilization, and a new enemy has emerged from the alternate universe,
an enemy immune to psychic forces. The dynamic couple is soon swamped with
pleas for help. Athanor’s vow to crush the insectoid Ixioths and expel the
Nulls hits a major obstacle. The teleportal web enables
their allied enemies to make rapid strikes and escape to an unknown hideout,
somewhere in the galaxy. Violet has a different perilous challenge. Her promise
to rescue the children captured on Cinerea means she must brave the dreadful
Rift and lose her psychic powers. Can the Griffins reconcile their divergent
promises, or must they separate for the tasks of rescuing the prisoners and
defeating the slavers?
Chapter 1
At home in the Griffin’s
Eyrie, Violet’s happiness blossomed in lilac sparks of psychic energy. Her
precious family was reunited after their tribulations in the lands beyond the
Cosmic Rift. She sat on the sofa with the orange cat purring on her lap, and
watched Athanor crawl around the rug with their baby son perched on his back. Athanor’s
long black locks draped over his face like a horse’s mane. His short hair as
jet black as his father’s, little Varan giggled and kicked his legs. Only
Athanor’s psi tether prevented him from tumbling onto the ground.
Amused by their antics,
she joked, “Your horsie is missing a tail.”
Shaking the hair off
his face, Athanor smiled at Violet. His eyes blazing with sapphire light, the
potent mark of a Grand Master, he pleaded, “Sweet Violet, relieve me of my enthusiastic
rider. We must talk of the future.”
She
lifted Varan from his father’s back, and placed him on the floor next to his
toys. The cat, Rascal, sauntered over to rub his head against the little boy.
The fluffy, Dally, scampered into the room from the patio. Soon, Varan was crawling
around the room with his playmates.
Athanor
drew Violet to the sofa and slipped his arm around her. “I had hoped for a
respite of three or four days after our ordeal across the Cosmic Rift. However,
news of my return has already reached our allies. I have received felicitations
from old Hanuman Pashtari, and Amarylla Threeleaf wishes to taste my presence.”
Savoring
the clarity of their psychic link, Violet leaned her head on his shoulder, and
suggested, “Mother Tingu must have told them of our escape.”
“By
Odin’s eye, she might have waited a day,” Athanor grumbled.
“Don’t
blame her. You were missing for many weeks, and we were afraid you were dead,
or as good as dead.”
“Brightness
Amarylla pleaded her news was urgent, and I’ve invited her to visit us this
evening. She can inform us of any significant occurrences during our absence.” His
sapphire gaze flicked to Varan. “Assuming our energetic son will go to sleep.”
“Varan’s
thrilled to see his father after your absence of seven weeks, and he’s stayed
awake all day playing with you.” She snuggled against him. “He’ll sleep soundly
after I sing his lullaby.”
Picking up their baby son, Athanor carried him
to his nursery, and read a short story. Violet tucked him into his cot, and
sang his bedtime lullaby. His fluffy friend, Dally, snuggled in beside Varan,
but the orange cat followed the adults into their living room.
Athanor dropped onto the sofa. “Ah, we can
relax until Amarylla arrives.” Violet joined him on the sofa. Rascal hopped
onto his master’s knees, and curled into a furry ball, purring, “Love you, love you.”
They did not have a long wait. Athanor hadn’t
even drained a glass of wine when his com buzzed. Opening the miniportal in his
leather bracer, he related the message to Violet, “She’s coming.”
A column of pink mist formed in the middle of
the room, and quickly resolved into the flower Grand Master, Amarylla
Threeleaf. The Wistralian’s three giant petals were tightly furled in a long
bud above her short stalk and tangle of brown rootlets.
She opened her petals, wafting the scent of
roses. Their translators rendered her greeting, “Griffin Grand Masters, your
brilliant presence sweetens sap of Brightness Amarylla.”
Standing erect, Athanor gave a formal bow, and
waved his hand in a courteous gesture. “Welcome to my castle, Grand Master
Threeleaf. I am grateful for your generosity in guiding the Council during my
absence.”
Her petals paled, and Amarylla’s leaves
rustled, “Absence of Griffin Chair sprouted thorns on Council.”
Sparking blue fire from his eyes, Athanor
grunted, “Hades, I guessed as much. Tell us the bad news.”
“After Grand Master Violet blew into the Cosmic
Rift, not fifteen Terran days passed before Council declared Griffin dead.”
“I might well have been killed, but Violet knew
better,” he grumbled. “She sensed I was alive.”
“Advice of Grand Master Violet unheard,
unheeded, lost in tumult.”
“Tumult? As dismal as that?” He barked a
scornful laugh. “Did they fight for my unenviable position?”
“Choice of new Chair debated with violent winds.”
Amarylla fluttered the edges of her petals.
More amused than angry, Athanor asked, “Who is my
replacement?”
A faint odor of rotting vegetation hinted at
the plantoid’s disgust. “Traditional combat offered for Chair. Four Grand
Masters deferred to Brightness Threeleaf. Brightness declined to fight. Grand Master
and Lord of Lightning, Nathan, will oppose Grand Master Baxicki for topmost
branch.”
Athanor scowled and his blue aura flared. “Odin’s
eye, I might have guessed those two would stir up trouble.” He paced to the
window, spun around and met Violet’s gaze.
Fuming with indignation, she said, “Voids,
Nathan ought to be grateful for your mercy. You refused to punish him for
conspiring to destroy the portal web.”
“Mercy
is rarely rewarded. Nathan claimed he repented, and I deemed Morrigu was the
chief proponent of their conspiracy.” Gazing at the pink petals of Amarylla, he
asked, “When is their combat scheduled?”
Her petals flushed to crimson, releasing the sharp
tang of lemons. “Combat is today. Brightness agreed to hold a special meeting
of the full Council at twenty hours Terran standard. Griffins must attend.”
Quickly checking the relative planetary times on
her com, Violet exclaimed, “Voids, the meeting’s in one hour and forty-five
minutes.” She straightened and glared at her mate. “We’ll have to get dressed.”
“What’s the rush? We’ll be ready in a fraction
of the time.” Athanor laughed. “By Ragnar’s fires, the fools will tremble when
I appear with Violet. They cannot overcome the joint force of the two Griffins.”
The flower Grand Master fluttered her leaves. “Scent
of Griffin’s revival wafts slowly. The sweet news might not drift to their
senses before the combat.”
“Excellent. Do not enlighten them, Brightness.
If they’re eager to command the Council, they’ll have to challenge me.” Satisfied
with his decision, Athanor returned to sit beside his wife on the sofa.
Exuding an acrid odor, the flower Grand Master
said, “Brightness fears spread of rot. Ixioth slavers and ships of Nulls elude
Wistralian fleet. Pleas fly from entities on outer leaves of galaxy. Fears of
Ixioths netting their seedlings for food.”
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