Davor

by Leslie Chase

"The Gate?" Hope flared in Helen at the memory of the teleporter. "You mean the building I arrived in?"

  "Yes, little one," Davor said, looking at her curiously. "But how is it that you came to be here if you don't know what the Gates are? Have your people only recently discovered the one on your Earth? Or did the Fire Wolves raid your home and steal you away through it?"

  "We don't have one," Helen told him. "I've never seen anything like that before I arrived here."

  At his bemused look, she quickly told him how she'd been testing Dr. Hughes' teleporter and then found herself here. At first he looked surprised, then incredulous, and then his jaw tightened.

  "The Gates are a legacy of the Ancients, who ruled this whole galaxy before we overthrew them and claimed our freedom. Now that they are gone, no one knows how to build them," he told her quietly but fiercely. "If your people have discovered that secret, I don't know what that means. I do know that neither of us wants the Fire Wolves to find your homeworld and that knowledge."

  Helen swallowed, thinking about what that would mean. On the one hand, these barbarian warriors were fierce and strong, stronger than any human she'd ever seen. On the other, if they tried to attack Earth, they'd be up against soldiers with guns and tanks. It didn't seem like a fight the aliens could win, but how many people would get hurt or killed before they lost? She didn't want to be responsible for Earth having to find out.

  Before she could ask any more questions, they arrived at the shelter and Davor shot her a warning glance. Inside, another alien lay on the ground, his injured leg extended in front of him. An elderly woman crouched beside him, mumbling something under her breath, her hands extended over the wound.

  Helen felt sick at the sight of it. The man's leg was badly mangled, bone protruding through his blue skin, and his face was pale. But as she watched, the leg began to straighten out, the splinters of bone receding and the skin healing over. The Elder concentrated, moving her hands in a complex pattern as the wound healed.

  "There," she said after a minute had passed. "The healing has begun, and the rest will be easier. I'll need to look in on you every few hours to sing your bones to strength, but the pain should fade, Samsar. As long as you rest it and don't do anything foolish like trying to shift, anyway. A few days of this and you'll be good as new."

  The fallen man snorted, shaking his head. "I'll rest as much as I can, but your guards won't give me much of a chance tomorrow. The work gangs don't make space for the injured."

  "They will after I have a word with them," the Elder promised, standing and looking at Davor. "See, we Fire Wolves look after our friends."

  "When there's something in it for you, Emara," Davor said, unmoved. "You're hardly doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

  "Does anyone do anything without expecting a gift in return?" Emara asked sweetly. "I'll go speak to the guards now."

  Without a word or even a glance at Helen, she swept out of the hut, leaving her alone with the two aliens.

  "Can't say you didn't do right by me, Davor. I'm in your debt," the injured alien said, then looked up at her with a smile. "Who's this you've brought visiting? I don't recognize your kind, lass."

  Helen opened her mouth but wasn't sure what to say. The whole scene seemed strange, surreal. Did these people have magic? She wasn't an expert by any means, but she would have thought that even with a modern hospital that injury would have been serious, would have taken months to heal if it could be fixed at all. But here, an old woman sung at the wound and it was apparently going to be fine in a few days.

  "Don't push, Samsar," Davor said, coming to her rescue again. "This is Helen of Earth, she's new here and doesn't know our people either."

  "Ah, then well met. A friend of Davor is a friend of mine." Samsar nodded to her, as though he was trying to bow without getting up. "Forgive me if I seem a little rude, but I cannot rise to greet you just yet."

  "That's okay," she said hurriedly, trying not to stare at his leg. "Aren't you in pain? Is that really going to be alright?"

  The two aliens grinned in amusement at her confusion, and Samsar laughed as he shook his head. "A primitive, Davor? Really?"

  "Be kind," Davor said, the snap of command in his voice enough to stop Samsar's laughter. It sent a shiver through Helen, too, a pleasant one.

  Turning to her, he explained. "More technology of the Ancients. When we were their slaves, they remade us, and their secrets are still inside our bodies. The Elders of our Clans know the trick of it: we'll heal from minor wounds quickly without their help, but serious wounds need their attention."

  Helen swallowed. It seemed like magic to her, and seeing that, she wasn't quite so sure that guns would be enough to stop these aliens. If they could heal from an injury like that, what would it take to put one of them down for good?

  Shivering, she put that thought out of her mind. Right now I need to stay safe and work out how to get back home. That's what matters, and everything else can wait. She leaned back, and found herself resting against Davor's broad chest. He put his arms around her, and she breathed out, feeling herself relax for the first time since the Fire Wolves had captured her. Davor's arms felt safe, secure, and she drew strength from his presence.

  His touch woke other feelings in her, too, but right now she felt too tired to think about that. The comforting protective aura he enveloped her in mattered more.

  She wasn't sure why she felt that she could trust him, but she had to trust someone. And of all the people she'd met since she stepped into Dr. Hughes laboratory, he was the only one who seemed to have her best interests at heart. He had kept her safe, and more than that, she felt safe in his presence. The exhaustion she'd been holding off washed over her as she leaned into him, and her eyes drifted closed at last.

  6

  Davor

  For the first time since his arrival at the camp, Davor found himself relaxing. It was a strange sensation, but as Helen leaned against him, he found the stress draining from his body. He was surprised to find how much there was to let go of.

  Samsar looked up at them, shook his head, and made a point of turning away. There wasn't much privacy to be had in the prison they were trapped in, but what little he could give the two of them, he did. Davor appreciated that.

  Lowering himself to the hard ground, Davor held Helen against him. She shivered softly in his arms, letting go of her own tension, and Davor could only wonder what it must be like for her. Not long ago she hadn't even known that other worlds existed, and now she was adrift on the Sea of Stars. At least she's found me to protect her, he thought, squeezing gently. No harm will come to her while I have any say in it.

  Sighing, he tried not to think about just how little power he had here. He promised himself that everything he had would go towards keeping her safe.

  He could have stayed there forever, but alas the Fire Wolves wouldn't give him that luxury. Before he'd begun to sort out his feelings enough to talk about them, a horn sounded, the harsh noise startling Helen and making him groan.

  "That will be the feast starting," he said, gently lifting her from him and steadying her. "You will have to go and see if our captors have duties for you, Helen. They don't like their guests sitting idle."

  She frowned, shaking her head. Not in refusal, he thought, just in dismay at the world she found herself dumped into. He sympathized — it had been a harsh transition for him when he was new, and it was a lot stranger for her. But the Fire Wolves wouldn't care about that, and he couldn't protect her from them, not while they were both at the mercy of their captors.

  If they hurt her, I will tear the limbs off whoever does it, he promised himself, the wolf in his soul growling and pulling against its restraints at the thought. But he knew that he couldn't stand against the warband they had here, so it would be a futile gesture. He'd kill some of them before they brought him down but they would win in the end. And then they'd attack his Clan in retaliation, which he couldn't allow.

  Standing, he guided
her out to where the Fire Wolves gathered their new prisoners. The work gang he'd started the day with hadn't returned yet, so the prisoner enclosure was still almost empty.

  Emara the Elder was there along with the guards, and as soon as she saw him, she beckoned him over. Reluctantly leaving Helen, he gave the other prisoners a warning look as he made his way to the gate. The man who had threatened Helen earlier shrank away from him as he passed, and Davor hoped that was a sign that he'd learned his lesson.

  "You come with me," Emara said once he was by her side. "The Ard wants to make sure you are well looked after today."

  Wordlessly, Davor nodded and let her lead him into the camp. The central space was already set for the feast, which almost surprised him. It was part of the ceremony that the victorious warriors' families did the work, but with the Fire Wolves he would have expected them to load that off onto their prisoners as well. But no, at least this much they were willing to do themselves.

  The Clan members were hanging chains of flowers from the posts around the square, and from somewhere nearby the smell of food being prepared was strong. Almost overwhelmingly so, in fact, since Davor hadn't eaten well since his arrival. The gruel that the Fire Wolves fed their 'guests' was nourishing, but it was not fit for a warrior.

  I suppose it does make sense that they prepare the food themselves, he thought as Emara guided him to the dais on which the Ard and some of his family were already seated. They can keep an eye on those serving the food, but someone preparing it might be tempted to mischief.

  Poison was an unworthy way to strike at an enemy, but while he'd never use it himself he knew that some of the other prisoners were weak enough to be tempted. They had no other way to fight back, and revenge on their captors was on everyone's mind.

  "Ah, there you are," Tark called out as he approached the dais. "Come and sit, Davor, come and sit. This will be a fine feast for my son's victory."

  "I'm sure," Davor said stonily. Karak, the son in question, wasn't present yet — doubtless he wanted to make an entrance. "Has Karak once again defeated a force half as big as his own?"

  I shouldn't provoke them, he told himself. If they take offense, it won't just be me that suffers for it. But Tark just laughed off the insult, waving to a cushion at one end of the dais.

  "A victory is a victory, Davor, no matter how it's won," he said. "Understanding that is how my Clan defeated yours, remember? Now, you take a seat beside my daughter Gesha. I'm sure we'll all have much to talk about."

  Gesha smiled at him, that smile that belonged on the face of a hunting predator rather than at a celebration. Gesha was very much her father's daughter, tall and lean and hungry. She could have been attractive, and many would have said that she was, but the coldness in her eyes was all that Davor could see. It showed a willingness and desire to do anything to further her goals, at the expense of anyone else. That was more than enough to cool any desire he might have felt for her.

  Suppressing a shiver, he sank down to the cushion beside her, accepting the bowl of wine she poured for him and sipping it. In her own way, she was more frightening than any Fire Wolf warrior.

  7

  Helen

  Surrounded by aliens, Helen tried not to draw attention to herself as they were led into the camp. It was futile: even the smallest of the aliens stood at least a head taller than her, and they all had blue skin. She could hardly have stood out more.

  There were plenty of whispers and glances, but at least the aura of Davor's protection kept most of the other prisoners from getting too close to her. That didn't apply to the guards, though.

  "You, girl, get over here," one of them growled, pulling her out of line. Helen stumbled, almost falling as he dragged her aside and looked her over. Blushing, she glared up at him, unable to help showing her anger. Antagonizing her captors was almost certainly a bad idea, but she found it hard to care.

  The guard just chuckled, as though her anger amused him. "Yes, you'll do for the Ard's table. He likes to see the more exotic guests, and show them off. Fetch a wine jug, and make yourself useful."

  He gave her a shove in the direction of a table laden down with jugs. Behind her she heard another guard speak.

  "Isn't that the one Karak caught?"

  "Yes," the first guard answered, sounding amused. "I figure he'll want to show her off in front of his father and the guests."

  Her face burning, Helen lifted one of the heavy jugs and walked towards the sounds of the celebration. Am I just a trophy for Karak to show off then, something exotic? She supposed there were worse fates for a captive, but it was still a humiliating thought.

  The central square of the village was filling up with revelers and the prisoners serving them. Everyone seemed to know who was who, though Helen couldn't tell the Fire Wolves from the other aliens. It must be the silver markings, she realized, that showed which Clans they belonged to. But they all looked alike to her, and it would take a lot longer for her to learn to read those markings herself. Hopefully I won't be here long enough to pick up that trick, she thought as she approached the dais where the Ard sat. At least she could recognize him, even if she'd rather be anywhere else.

  The aliens seated there were the scariest of them all. The Ard sat in the center of the table, looking down over his Clan of warriors and slavers. On his right sat the leader of the warband which had captured her, who she guessed to be Karak. Around them sat others, male and female, all looking tough and fit and dangerous even compared to the other warriors here.

  And there, sitting amongst them, was Davor. Helen froze at the sight of him beside one of the alien women, her hand on his shoulder as she laughed at a joke Helen hadn't heard. He looked as though he fit in, one more warrior amongst this Clan of raiders, and she cursed herself for thinking that he might be different, might be her protector. He was clearly in the favor of their captors, and looking at him there she started to wonder if he was really a captive himself.

  "Girl!" A harsh voice broke through her thoughts. "You're supposed to be serving the wine, not hugging it."

  She felt her face flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger, turning to look at the speaker as the rest of the group laughed. It was Karak, holding out a bowl for her to fill with a nasty grin on his face. It was a struggle to resist the urge to upend the wine jug over his head. Only the memory of him with his knife held her back from doing it.

  Biting back a sarcastic comment, she filled his bowl with the deep red wine, and started around the rest of the dais, pouring everyone a drink. Davor gave her a look she couldn't read, and she wasn't interested in trying. Here he was, enjoying the service along with the rest of her captors — what did she care what he thought?

  The female alien beside Davor grinned, leaning up to whisper something in his ear as Helen poured her drink. Helen resisted a sudden urge to break the jug over her head. The thought was all too satisfying and she turned away before the temptation overwhelmed her. The laughter that followed her made her fume.

  By the that she'd served everyone, Karak's bowl was empty again, and he waved her over to fill it. His gaze lingered on her, making her blush and pull away as far as she could and still pour.

  "Afraid of me, sweetness?" Karak asked with a grin that bared his sharp teeth. Helen didn't think that he minded, in fact it looked like he enjoyed being scary. "Behave yourself and there's nothing to be scared of here, you can prosper as my guest."

  "Your slave, you mean," she muttered under her breath, but she misjudged him. His hearing was evidently better than a human's, and he laughed as though she'd made a hilarious joke.

  "I don't suppose there's much difference," he said once his laugh faded, the others beside him chuckling along. "If you insist on looking at it like that, then so be it. But there is a difference between a comfortable life as my property and a life of labor as the Clan's."

  "And if I'd rather be free?" Helen couldn't help herself, despite the sinking feeling that it was a mistake to argue with him. But again, he took
her words as a joke, not a challenge.

  "No one is truly free, sweetness," he told her. "Even I am in the service of my father the Ard — and he serves our Clan. It's simpler if people admit that, and accept their place. More comfortable for everyone."

  "It's easy to say that when you think you're at the top of the pile," she shot back. "Would you say the same if it was you serving the wine and me lounging around giving the orders?"

  His deep blue face darkened, but before he could answer his father clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh of his own. "She has you there, my son. You can't expect anyone to lay down and accept that they are our lessers. That's why we have to prove it, every moment we are alive. Make them accept you as their master, or they'll think themselves your equal."

  His laughter cooled in an instant, and he looked up at her. "Never debate with them, son. Never argue. It's your right to take what you want, and you convince them of that by doing it."

  The Ard's ice-cold eyes bored into Helen's and she shivered. There was amusement there, but she could see that it would never overcome this man's cold, dangerous intelligence and ambition. Even Karak looked unnerved at his father's attention, and she knew that if the Ard saw the slightest gain in killing her he wouldn't hesitate for an instant.

  With shaking hands, she refilled the Ard's drinking bowl in silence. She had no desire to become an object lesson in how to deal with unwilling slaves.

  "Isn't that how the Ancients dealt with us, before we overthrew them?" Davor's voice broke through her fear. "Our ancestors proved the problem with that method."

  Tark frowned, not accustomed to being challenged, and Karak glared at Davor. For a moment, there was silence on the dais, and then Tark nodded.

  "That's true," he said, raising a hand to cut off his son's objection. "The difference is, we were able to free ourselves, to cast them down. That proves our superiority to the Ancients, but it doesn't mean their methods were wrong. Only that they were the wrong people to be using them."