V’sair gave in as ungraciously as any twenty-year-old feeling burdened by unwanted watchdogs. “If you must.” He wheeled out of the stables quickly, smiling at his deft maneuvering, thinking he had lost them for a minute. The sky was deserted, the weather making most travel impossible. He heard the labored breathing of their mounts when they tried to make up the growing distance, Hother easily outdistancing them as she ate up the miles.
The rain stopped and the sky brightened, the dual rays of Rast and Nost creating a halo of light. A rainbow sprang up over Syos, painting the horizon a multicolored hue that framed the dormant volcano. He guided Hother toward the Desa. Brilliant sunlight blinded him momentarily; he heard the wickers of several stalliuses behind him. They said they would keep their distance, he thought with fury. He spun, rigid with anger, to come face to face with General Vekin, his father’s other trusted advisor. The older man had never recovered from the battle for Darracia. His left arm hung uselessly at his side. He had lost three of his sons, leaving him without an heir. A fog of sadness surrounded him. His voice, raspy from a wound to his throat, stopped V’sair’s progress to escape.
“Relax, Highness.” The older man halted him with a raised hand. “Cannot you spare some conversation for an old friend?” He paused and gazed at the young man. “We used to be good friends, V’sair.”
V’sair tapped his pommel and sidled up next to the wizened man. He smiled warmly to the wrinkled face, fond memories of playing soldier with the general reminding him of the relationship.
General Vekin motioned for his own men to leave. “Give us space.” He motioned for them to fly in a formation a bit away from them.
Together they began a leisurely flight, their stailluses gliding together in a ballet of synchronization. They floated through the pink and orange clouds, above the condensation, so that they heard the muffled sounds of the Desa beneath them. Hanging in suspension, they galloped over the Hixom Sea, watching the flying fish jump into the wet atmosphere.
“This weather seems to be here for good,” the general observed.
“It makes the Desa bloom.” V’sair pointed to the lush, red foliage populating the hills. It appeared even denser than his last visit. Tulani was down there somewhere.
“You always find the good in everything, V’sair,” Vekin stated kindly, then sighed.
“What troubles you, General?”
“I have news.” The general reached into his tunic and pulled out a white paper.
V’sair reached across to take the paper. He read it quickly, then crumbled it into a tight ball, his mouth down turned into a narrow white line. “I am not surprised,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know how much time you have, but you must act quickly.” General Vekin grabbed his arm.
“You are with me?” V’sair looked him full in the face.
“You had to ask?” The general’s stallius moved restlessly as she neighed.
“I have to get my mother. I will be back very soon.”
Vekin wheeled his mount toward the castle gleaming in the suns, the polished surface blinding his eyes. “I will mobilize.”
V’sair held out his hand, clasping the general’s in a firm embrace. “I will never forget this.”
Vekin nodded and turned to the castle.
Chapter 12
V’sair urged Hother downward toward the hills leading to the hulking great outline of Aqin. It was raining in earnest, and he was soaked, the chill creeping under his tunic to settle in his bones.
He landed hard in the mud, Hother skidding, coming to rest up to her knees in the soft earth of the planet. She looked like a different animal, her white coat speckled red, like a wild hybrid stallius. Jumping off, he sank deeply to his thighs. Rain dripped off the canopy of leaves to run in icy tracks under the back of his shirt. His white hair was plastered to his forehead, his clothes stuck to him like a second skin. He looked around to get his bearing, unsure because of the dense gloom. The Desa was hushed, the rain pattered on the leaves, and V’sair heard nothing, not a bird, frog, or keywallah monkey. Wrapping the reins around his hand, he whispered for Hother to follow him up the steep incline toward the secret entrance Bobbien had taught him to use.
If it was quiet before, it became deathly still, not a breeze, as if the entire world was holding its breath. Even the gentle whine of insects ceased. V’sair turned his head, trying to figure out what he was hearing. A roar as loud as a thousand cannons rent the air, getting closer. V’sair spun, his feet stuck in the mud, only to lose his balance and fall hard on his elbows. In the distance he saw a rushing wall of water, as if the bowels of the earth had opened. It was a swirling mass, it’s sound magnified by the echoing wall of the canyon until it deafened him. V’sair opened his mouth in a soundless scream; he pulled at his feet, which uselessly sank, trapped in muddy shackles.
He looked around wildly, knowing there was no escape. Turning, he slapped Hother hard on the butt. She reared, her eyes rolling, but wouldn’t leave. “I will weigh you down, you stupid beast!” he grabbed a stick and whipped her flank, watching with relief as she opened her vast wings to lift off above the impending disaster. He pointed upward, and his mount obeyed. V’sair watched sadly as his only avenue of escape floated upward.
The water shook the ground, and the spray splashed his face. Licking his lips, he realized it was salty, and he wondered where the seawater was coming from. Turning to meet his destiny, ready to accept fate face on, he stared boldly at the churning mass of gray seawater barreling through the Desa, flattening everything in its path, save the oldest and strongest of the trees. Taking a deep breath, he parted his mouth to meet the Great Sradda with a song on his lips, when he was grabbed under the armpits and lifted violently, his feet sucked out of the thick mud painfully. Airborne, he tried to turn his head, but saw only that it was a Quyroo male and he was being propelled through the tangle of vines at a dizzying speed.
“Who are you?” he called out, watching the force of water travel on a destructive path toward the volcano. He heard only labored breathing and knew he had been snatched from impending death by this savior.
The Quyroo slowed, coming to rest in the lee of a tree that was so tall it grazed the clouds. He looked up, seeing Hother circling above them, a smile splitting his face. He started to laugh, and heard the Quyroo laugh right along with him, their bodies shaking with relief. He felt the weight of the branch dip and knew another Quyroo had joined them.
“This is getting to be too much, my lord,” a familiar voice told him.
“Bobbien!” he shouted with joy. He turned to identify the man holding him. “Do I know you?”
“Your Majesty.” The officer bowed.
“I do not think we have met.” V’sair studied his handsome face. He was big, his royal infantry uniform stretched across impossibly large shoulders.
“I am Seren.” The huge Quyroo nodded.
“I have to get to the volcano—my mother is there.”
V’sair reached out for a vine to leave.
The native shook his head. “I am sorry, my lord. There is no way to get there until the water recedes. This area is my responsibility. General Vekin asked me to watch out for you. I saw you and the stallius on the mountain ridge struggling with the mud.”
“No.” V’sair tried to free himself of the iron grip. The talon-like hands held fast. “My mother…”
“I am sorry, Your Majesty. We have to wait for the water to leave before we can examine the volcano entrance. It is unsafe. Those are my orders.”
“You think I don’t want to go there?” Bobbien demanded, grabbing the front of his tunic, her face pink with fear. “Tulani is down there too,” Bobbien choked out, her voice thick. “Watch, watch, the water is leaving.” She pointed with her staff.
Chapter 13
Denita fumed angrily as Zayden’s capable hands belted her properly into her seat. “Let me out of here, you oversized ape. I should have let you die back there!” she spit angrily
.
Zayden cinched the belt tighter, laughing when Denita turned as red as a Quyroo. He chucked her under the chin, which only inflamed her. “I’m taking you to my stepmother.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That could be arranged,” Zayden replied as he jumped into his seat. The engines roared to life, and once again he heard Denita pounding the glass partition. “What…what…? I can’t hear you.” He chuckled, placing his headset over his ears. He did hear her curses and took off steeply, knowing she was pressed uncomfortably in her seat. That ought to shut her up, he thought, hearing the screams change to retching. Not a great flyer, our Denita. He smiled as he steered his compact ship toward the rising suns of Darracia.
They drifted through the nebula, Zayden enjoying the peace of the void of space. It was a small ship, and made a lot of people nervous—not much metal separated a passenger from the nothingness of the outside. Zayden felt lighter for the first time in a while. Much to his relief, Denita’s screams had died down to sullen silence. He admitted he felt a bit bad for her. He was an independent person and understood her need to control her own life, but he was going to go after Staf, and he couldn’t do it with an encumbrance. He knew he could really dump her anywhere. She was a big girl; it was also clear she could fend for herself. If only he didn’t feel so responsible for her.
“Look, General. I’ll spring your sister. What’s her name?” The silence had finally gotten to him, and he threw out a peace offering.
“I don’t need your help, warrior. When I get the chance I’m going to finish what the Planta started!” she shouted, her face a mask of rage.
He looked at her indulgently and replied, “You’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”
She sputtered furiously, “I don’t need your stinking Fireblade—I’m going to kill you with these!” She held up her clenched hands, her face a grimace.
“Get in line, General,” he replied as he swung left, heading toward the haven of home.
They observed a few convoys, mostly truckers hauling products from one end of the solar system to the other. Many of the planets had to rely on these outsourced vendors. Most of the societies weren’t rich enough for more than just the wealthy to have ships. On Darracia, only the richest had ships that could travel outside the atmosphere of their own home, let alone travel to other planets. Zayden lazed the day away, making notes on weather conditions, and pulled into to Pagil 7 to refuel. It was a rowdy space station owned by a big-shot company outside their solar system. He remembered that his father negotiated rates with them, and though he felt a lump in his throat, it didn’t pack the punch it had when he thought about him before. In fact, he realized with surprise, he hadn’t thought about Hilde for a few days either. He looked back at Denita’s angry face, asked if she wanted to grab a bite, and told her it wouldn’t have to be silver crab.
They disembarked; Zayden lifted Denita from her seat, marveling at her tiny waist. A mechanic rushed past him, pushing the big Darracian. Zayden grabbed Denita close to him to prevent them both from falling. The world narrowed to the two of them as her hands gripped his shoulders tightly. Denita’s tongue touched her lips, her eyes holding Zayden’s in a lock more powerful than a force field. Her long-lashed eyes closed for an instant, and he leaned forward to caress her lips with his own, lightly grazing her. Denita grabbed his braid to pull his face close to kiss him with a desperation born from loneliness. Zayden’s hard body wrapped naturally around her softer one. Their skin melted together as though it had familiar memories matching up like puzzle pieces cut exclusively for the other.
The sound of the bustling terminal coupled with the cry of “Get a room already!” broke the mood, and Zayden felt his face heat with embarrassment. He lowered her to the floor, took her hand, and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
Denita looked him hard in the face and replied, “Well, I did.”
The restaurant was typical space-port food—greasy mystery products from all ends of the galaxy and just about as old. Zayden approached her with a tray laden with an array of products, but they picked over the disgusting containers and smelly wrapping, hardly eating at all. “The food here is prehistoric.” Zayden hit the table with stale bread, watching bugs march fearlessly across the surface to feast on his crumbs.
Denita’s face curled into a disgusted frown, and he marveled at her tiny nose, thinking it made her adorable. She wasn’t a bad-looking female, he mused. In fact, as he watched her intently, he noticed she was rather beautiful.
He sipped his steaming chay, while Denita drank the beverage native to her home, a white, overly sweet liquid that made his bile rise.
Denita watched his stern face softening and figured she might have a shot at making him take her. “You have to take me with you,” she informed him over the din of the place.
“It’s not safe. I can’t worry about you and do what needs to be done. Look,” he said with a conciliatory smile, “you’re going to like Reminda. She’s a great lady, and besides, how many of your friends can say they hung out with a queen?”
“I don’t have any friends. You need me.” She pounded the table, her brown eyes imploring him. She had a white mustache rimming her lips, and Zayden’s own eye caressed her face. Reaching out, he wiped her top lip with a gentle finger.
“I wish I could, but it’s just not safe. I will bring your sister back to you. I promise.”
He purchased her a change of clothing, and arranged for them both to be able to bathe. Her boots were shot from the sand of Fon Reni, so he replaced them too. He left her at the female spa while he went to the baths for a cleanup as well. He didn’t want to deliver a ragamuffin to his stepmother, and he wondered why it suddenly mattered so much. Zayden’s fingers touched the tattoo embedded in his shoulder. The swirls beckoned him with the same hypnotic effect as the desire in Denita’s eyes. Closing his eye, he pictured her creamy caramel skin, accepting the responsibility to keep her safe. He would never let a female put herself in harm’s way again. He allowed himself to be shaved and his hair trimmed, and enjoyed the steaming water more than he had expected.
Denita gave herself up to the fancy, high-priced attendants. She had never been so pampered in all her life. Venturian was so cold that rarely did one get a chance to bathe more than one part of the body. Hair was washed monthly, the cost of heating water too dear.
The perfumed water coated her skin, making it feel and look like a golden pelt. Her hair floated silkily, and when they came to take her out, she refused the first time, enjoying the cocooning warmth of the steaming bath. She sat in the pool, listening to the piped-in music, wondering how she was ever going to return to Venturian. Cupping her hands, she poured a waterfall of soapy liquid over her head, inhaling the flowery essence, thinking of Zayden’s soft lips and the way his hands felt as he held her against him. Her skin tingled with desire, yet she was angry at Zayden. There was no way she was going to let him go to Planta without her. She realized with a start that she couldn’t live if something happened to him.
They met outside the spa, and Zayden blinked, his amber eye wide with surprise. Denita’s hair framed her café au lait face, feathered in a new style. He had thought her hair black, but now realized there was a symphony of browns and golds streaking through the wavy locks. She wore a tight gray pantsuit that emphasized her coltish legs.
“Denita, you look…good.” Zayden swallowed.
Denita stared at his wide shoulders encased in a dark-blue tunic. He was so tall, his powerful tail peeking through the back of his pants. Denita reached up to touch his scarred face. Zayden pulled away, but she placed her palm gently on the ruined skin, her fingers leaving a trail of gentleness in their wake. Zayden closed his eye, and when he opened it, it was to see Denita’s face close to his own. Her lips pressed against his, and he felt her lips moving. “You are mine, warrior, and don’t you forget it.”
He grabbed her hand, walking briskly to his ship. He had to get her to Reminda, and fast.
Chapter 14
Staf’s yellowed eyes observed the large screen in Lothen’s bridge. The Planta leader sat in his chair, his long legs stretched out before him. They didn’t allow graphen on the ship, yet Naje had managed to smuggle some onboard, and he smoked it alone in his quarters. He smiled thinking of her seductive smile and sultry eyes.
“We will be passing the space station momentarily.” Lothen pointed to a huge doughnut-shaped wheel rotating in a circle.
“It’s a dump.” Staf laughed. “Don’t drink the chay, I hear it’s made from recycled piss.”
“Everything is recycled. I wouldn’t eat anything there,” Lothen agreed.
This, coming from a being who ate live species from his planet, made Staf laugh with abandon. Lothen watched him coolly.
“We amuse you, my lord?”
“More than you realize,” Staf acknowledged.
“Perhaps you will share what humors you?” Lothen asked in the deathly silence of the bridge.
The station was surrounded by docked ships. Staf had been watching as some attached themselves for a landing and others departed in many different ways. It was an important way station, and he and his brother had argued over it for years. He had wanted a piece of the profits. It bordered Darracian territory. Drakko wouldn’t hear of it. He didn’t want the responsibility; his brother only worried about the Quyroo and their issues. He never saw the bigger picture. A small craft detached from the landing bay, its tight lines and green and blue stripes unmistakable. Staf leaned forward, his hands gripping a rail, a growl erupting from his throat.
“Look.” Staf pointed to a small ship leaving the space port. “It cannot be…”
Lothen sat forward to observe. “What is it, my lord?”
“Zayden! I would know his ship anywhere.”
“Who?”
“The king’s bastard, Zayden of Darracia. Get him!” He ordered, superseding Lothen’s authority.
Collision: The Battle for Darracia - Book 2 (The Darracia Saga) Page 8
