Darkin: The Prophecy of the Key (The Darkin Saga Book 2) by Joseph Turkot

incompetence of his comrade.
    “You ask good questions Welgrunt, as always, but as usual, you glean the answer much slower than the rest of us—I question your presence here at times… Kams…” the commander said in the manner of one fed up with a child’s crying.
    “The memory of an ancient metal alloy would be too vague to probe in this manner,” Kams explained. “If we were to waste another month, maybe two, we would find clues—maybe; there is simply too much focus of the collective consciousness on the value of metals—they seem to value a great many different kinds on this planet, each with its own particular rarity and value. Remember also, Welgrunt, the alloy does not have a name on this planet, and there is also no collective name for this unique color and brand of metal—we can only do best by questioning the origins and nature of this crater further.”
    “Yes, obtain a thorough history, use your intelligence, and the alloy will be in our grasp in no time—again, once we have completed this continent, we will move to the next one,” spoke their leader, and she elegantly turned to the screen: it flashed across a great ocean and appeared over a jungle that bordered a sallow plain with a wide granite road embedded in it, edging on blue-grey mountains.
    “In the event some of these creatures can withstand our interrogation methods?” asked Kams.
    “I suppose killing a few of these lesser beings will not anger Godking Hayas too much,” the commander replied.
    “Commander Naeos!” coughed Teme, shocked, along with the rest of those sitting at the jet table, that their young commander had suggested disobeying the wishes of the Godking.
    “ Never call me by my name! ” snapped commander Naeos, the illusion of her fragile femininity shattered by the violent proclamation.
    “I’m sorry, commander,” whimpered Teme, recoiling in fear at his superior’s rage. We are above this kind of emotion, thought Brosse to himself, and through all his fixed admirations of his commander, and his blind love of her for her beauty, he felt disheartened that she was one of his race—if only for her inability to stopper her rage.
    “ I am a second level officer—you are never again to use my name, understood? ”ordained commander Naeos, quickly leveling her outburst. Perhaps she harbors some resentment toward Godking, Brosse thought—what else could bring out such reckless fury, such uncontrolled primitive tone and volume? He remembered a story he’d heard about her; how once, the Godking had met her, and told her she would never ascend . For that slight, Brosse thought, she must harbor such ancient feelings of contempt.
    “Sorry, commander. Never again,” wailed Teme politely.
    “You’re quite forgiven,” she sighed in a delicate, convincing manner. “To the transports—the rest of you continue your research on the consciousness of this planet from the ship, as we discussed.”
    Brosse stared at her elegant body, her domineering mode of leadership, and her silverblack shine of hair as it lashed around her neck when she turned, striding strongly for the corridor, leaving them all—taking all of the beauty out of the room. Brosse wondered for a moment what she really thought of him. Then he stood from his chair, and began giving orders.  

VIII: EXECUTION OF A VAPOUR
     
    “King Terion, it is time for Merol’s execution,” a voice drifted in over red carpeted walls and ceilings to reach the sidelong glance of stout Terion who sat in his throne, surrounded by dwarven guards.
    “How joyous a day it is—that now we will have something to say for our seclusion, when we reveal ourselves to the world again—that in our mourning we have found and destroyed the very cause of our shame!” The guards surrounding Terion smiled, agreeing heartily.
    “And we can void the remnants of that foul prophecy,” came the voice again, drifting from the hallway leading away from the King’s chamber.
    “Indeed, dear