Exile

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Published by Peitho Press

  Detroit, Michigan, 2016

  © 2016 Colleen Vanderlinden

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email the author at email@colleenvanderlinden.com.

  Contents

  Books by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Note from Colleen

  About the Author

  Prologue

  “I have always allowed you your freedom, son. You know this,” Daarik’s father said in the guttural language of their people, his once-strong voice raspy, the breath labored. Daarik could barely stand to hear it, to be reminded that the great warrior who had won not only their people’s freedom and lives, but also power over their enemies, was failing.

  The last thing he wanted was to be reminded that once his father fell, ruling their people would be left to him.

  “But the time for foolhardiness has passed,” Daarik’s father continued. Daarik forced himself to turn toward the pallet upon which his father rested. It was piled high with furs, as his father seemed never to be able to get warm. His dark gray flesh, once heavily-muscled, hung from his bones like ill-fitting armor. Other than the bed, there was a simple table, surrounded by chairs, a small hearth. The hut in which the Maarlai ruler lived was no more luxurious than that of any of their people. He was no king, to sit on a gilded throne and become soft. Daarik watched his father, pride and sadness warring within him. “It is time to find you a mate. Our people will see you as more settled, more responsible, with a female at your side.”

  “As opposed to how they see me now, you mean?” Daarik asked wryly, lowering his bulky frame and sitting on the wood floor beside his father’s pallet.

  His father gave a wan smile. “They know you are a warrior. A hero. They respect your bravery and cunning. But we both know they believe these times of peace for our people are limited. They believe they will end with me. We know the humans are… unhappy with our arrangement.”

  Daarik did not answer. It would not do to admit to his father that he believed they would as well, that the peace and relative prosperity his father had fought for during his lifetime would end because Daarik would be unable to hold it together.

  “We are mighty. We are the lifeblood of this land, as we have been since the day we arrived in this place,” his father continued. “You will be a fine ruler of our people. As my final official duty as king, I have worked out an agreement with the human powers.”

  Daarik stared at his father, dread settling into his stomach. “And?”

  “To maintain the peace and goodwill between our people, you will wed a human female.”

  “You must be joking,” Daarik scoffed. One look at his father’s stone-faced appraisal told him he most certainly was not. “You’re serious? Their women are weak. Soft, worthless… unable to even chop a tree down, let alone anything of real use.” Their women, however, women of the proud and fierce Maarlai, were as battle hardened and strong as the men. Loud, brash, able to work alongside a mate during the day, fight battles when needed, and more than capable of pleasing a male at night. “What am I supposed to do with one of them?”

  His father just raised his shaggy eyebrows. “Marry her, bed her, and give her a happy life, lest her people decide they are less fond of this situation than they realize. We are newly in control here. Our people, no matter how much they love the fight, have no desire to go to war again anytime soon to retain the power we’ve won over the humans. Do you?”

  Daarik would rather bleed out on a field of honor than bed one of the pale, soft things, but he knew it would do no good to say that. He knew, the moment his father became ruler, that things would be expected of him. He just never quite imagined this.

  “It’s not all bad. Four of the most prominent human families will be sending their daughters. You may choose which one suits you most.”

  “How generous of you, father,” Daarik said, meeting his father’s eyes.

  “Well, I have some heart. And I’m just grateful I won’t be the one bedding it.” With that, he closed his eyes, apparently ready to take another nap.

  “When will they be here?” Daarik asked.

  “Tomorrow afternoon. Now go,” his father said drowsily. Daarik watched him for a few moments, until the older warrior started to snore, then turned and left the hut, nodding to the warriors who served as his father’s sentries and honor guard.

  He looked around at what had become the capitol city of their people, of the entire land. Huts, similar to his father’s, stretched on almost endlessly in every direction, forming circles around the open area in the center, which was used for meetings and when his father held court in his own no-nonsense way. The structures were short, barely tall enough to stand up in. They blended into the landscape, so that, unless one knew what they were looking for, they’ d be unlikely to even notice the settlement. The only concession the Maarlai had made to their new status as the ruling race were a couple of large stone structures. The first of those was a palace of sorts that was used only for meeting with the humans. They seemed to think that power was illustrated by how impressive one’s buildings were. Other than that, there was the library, which had been his mother’s pet project. It was larger than the palace, and when he went inside the impressive stone building, he could see her touch everywhere he looked.

  He did not go inside as often as he should.

  His hut was behind his father’s, even smaller and simpler, more on par with what everyone else in their village lived in. He knew the humans thought them monstrous, animal-like. In truth, his people would not disrespect animals by comparing them to the humans. Humanity was a plague, a parasite that sucked the life from the world, leaving it barren in its wake. Once, this world had been lush, full of trees, fresh water, and wildlife. When the last of the Maarlai, a contingent who had fled the destruction of their home planet in search of a new home, had first laid eyes on the Earth, they’d believed it would be a place of healing and peace. For hundreds of years, the Maarlai had lived quietly, in caves and woods, without the humans’ knowledge. And they’d watched in horror as it all fell apart.

  The humans had destroyed it all in their time in power, and his people, who ordinarily kept to themselves and stayed out of sight, eventually began to starve as well. The time for desperate action had come, and the armies of Maarlai left the shadows and fought the humans for what was left of the world in an attempt to save it. The humans had lost, had promised their allegiance and obedience to the Maarlai, even though their hatred and fear of his people ran deep.

  And he would be marrying one of them.

  He glanced around, looking for a friendly face. If it was to be one of his last nights of freedom, he could at least spend part of it with a real female in his arms.

  Chapter One

  Shannen sat in the simple hut with three other women, all of them silent. What was there to sa
y, really? One of them would be chosen to be wed to one of the Maarlai barbarians, a peace offering, a promise between their warring peoples.

  At least they were inside, she thought to herself as she observed the interior of the hut. It was where the Maarlai held meetings when the weather did not allow them to be outdoors, she had heard one of them explain. Though she did wonder why they were doing this here, instead of in the palace she’d seen looming over the horizon. Of course, it should have been no surprise that they were backward, in general.

  With nothing better to do for the moment, Shannen inspected the interior of the hut. The wood floor was clean, oiled to a low sheen. The walls were some type of mud brick, she supposed, small windows cut into it at regular intervals. A heavy wood plank door was the only exit, and she well knew that Maarlai and human guards stood outside it. She could hear them, the Maarlai and human men, talking. The Maarlai voices were low, deep. They spoke in common tongue, and she observed that while they had obviously taken the time to learn her people’s language, her people had bothered to learn almost nothing of the Maarlai’s. That seemed stupid, to say the least.

  The rest of the hut was simply furnished. A sturdy wooden table with four chairs, a pallet with furs and blankets on it in the corner. A small desk and bookcase sat beneath one of the small windows, and a hearth and kitchen made up the rest of the hut. There was a privacy screen, and she supposed the bathing and chamber pot area were behind that. A small rug, woven in deep reds and browns, covered the floor in front of the hearth, and four chairs adorned this sitting area. That was where she and the other three prospective brides sat.

  She had learned little of them during the long wagon ride between their capitol of Tanris and the Maarlai capitol, this place, known as Darathar. However, she already knew plenty about them, just as they undoubtedly knew of her. She inconspicuously looked at each of them. Tall, willowy Brianne was around her age, possibly a bit younger. She had hair that looked like spun gold, held up in an ornate updo. Her skin was creamy, a dusting of pale freckles across the bridge of her nose. She sniffled every few minutes, clearly unhappy. Then there was Ianna, who was, physically, the exact opposite of Brianne. She was short, round, her skin a deep brown, her hair cut close to her head. Her warm brown eyes took it all in, and she seemed the least worried of all of them. When Shannen had asked her why that was, she said she studied other cultures and actually hoped to be picked so she could learn more about their new overlords. For everyone’s sake, Shannen hoped the Maarlai chose her.

  However, based on what she knew of the Maarlai (limited though it was) Shannen guessed the other woman in the room would be the one chosen. She’d been an athlete, a gladiator, and her trim, muscular form was closest to what the Maarlai seemed to consider attractive. Indeed, their women were nearly as muscular as the men. Christina, Shannen remembered her name. She knew it, too. Christina knew she was the likeliest choice, and she sat there, arms crossed over herself, an expression of fear and disgust on her face. All three of them were well-loved, accomplished, desirable women. Any one of them would be considered a precious prize, given to their Maarlai overlords.

  Of all of them, Shannen knew she was the plainest. She had long brown hair, was of average height and thanks to leading a much more privileged, comfortable life than most of her people, had never lacked a meal and her body showed it. She was soft, curvy. She hid a smirk. She knew that would not sit well with the Maarlai. She’d be going home soon, and then she’d be able to get back to her work in the healing center she’d worked in since she was a teen. She had hated her life before, hated the way her uncle and aunt and their children had treated her, hated the way she’d been sheltered and hidden, until she was brought out, like some artifact, to inspire her people. Not because of anything she’d done, but because of who her father was. The last great human general. The former king of what remained of humanity, lost in battle. His throne had been given to his brother, who was nowhere near the soldier or ruler, and knew it.

  Humanity had surrendered to the Maarlai shortly after her father’s death. She’d been ten years old at the time, and her uncle had both cherished and resented her presence ever since. She’d always dreamed of getting away and having her own life.

  Still. She’d never imagined this, and now all she wanted to do was get back to her cloistered life in the palace.

  She could get back to her small circle of friends, all of who had tried to find ways to sneak her out of the city before the guards could spirit her off to the Maarlai stronghold. She loved them for it, but she’d told them it would come to nothing, and they’d drink in celebration when she returned. With the muscular Brianne there, she was even more sure of it now than she’d been then.

  The door opened, and one of the Maarlai sentries poked his head in.

  “It is time,” he said in Common, barely sparing them a glance. The four women stood, each seeming determined not to look at the others, those women they each hoped would be chosen instead of them. They marched single-file out the door, Ianna in the lead, the only one who seemed at all enthusiastic about the situation.

  They were led to the large open area in the center of the village, instructed to stand before the wooden dais. An elderly Maarlai sat there in a large wooden throne, and a younger warrior stood beside him. Shannen realized this must be the Maarlai king and his son, which was who they would be wedding if chosen. To the other side of the elderly Maarlai, another large warrior stood guard, and, beside him, a female warrior who did absolutely nothing to hide her disgust at the humans’ presence.

  The Maarlai were not a pretty people, she thought to herself. Their skin seemed to vary, brown, tinges of green, shades of gray, from very light stone gray to an almost obsidian-like shade. The Maarlai warrior standing stiffly beside the throne had skin that was a dark gray in color, reminding her of the boulders near her home. He was enormous, bulging almost obscenely with muscles. His jet black hair was held back with a leather cord, and his long black beard was braided down the front of his body, hanging to his chest. He wore dark leather armor, even here in his home and he looked at the assembled women with a stony glare.

  “Ladies,” the older Maarlai addressed them. He looked to be an older, more wrinkly version of the warrior beside him. “I thank you for coming.”

  As if we had a choice, Shannen thought to herself, thinking back to the screaming match she’d had with her uncle when he’d told her she would be making the trip to the Maarlai capitol. It had ended with her wrists bound and her ankle chained to the heavy bed frame in her suite in her uncle’s home.

  “This match is essential to the continued peace between our people. It is a goodwill offering on our part, to wed our future king to a daughter of those we rule. We hope it is seen for what it is: a promise that we mean your people no harm, that we hope to live in harmony with you.”

  Shannen let her eyes slide over the warrior again. Yes, he looked like he wanted “peace.” Standing there in his armor, an enormous sword strapped to his back, glaring at them as if he would rather cut them in half than wed any of them.

  “So, why don’t each of you introduce yourselves?” the king said in a thin, raspy voice. “Who wants to go first?”

  Ianna stepped forward, curtsying to the warriors on the dais. She introduced herself, told where she was from, and that she would consider it an honor to be wed to such a warrior. The king seemed pleased by her, but the warrior stood still, expressionless.

  “All right. You?” the king said, motioning toward Brianne, who barely managed to get her name out before starting to cry. The king merely nodded, and again the warrior showed no expression either way. Christina was next, and the king seemed to be happy with her when she issued her name and age in a monotone. Really, even her personality would match the warrior well, Shannen observed.

  Christina stepped back, and it was Shannen’s turn.

  “And you, miss?” the king asked. The wrinkled old Maarlai on the king’s other side seemed to sit up straighte
r. He’d been glaring in disgust at the women, for the most part, holding his nose in the air as if he smelled something unpleasant. Now, he focused on Shannen. She glanced away. He looked like a wolf ready to spring on its prey.

  Shannen stepped forward, not curtsying. She crossed her arms over her chest. “My name is Shannen of House Lyon. I am the worthless niece of the human king. He was more than pleased with the prospect of sending me here to have one less mouth to feed.” She knew she was sneering. It was an expression she’d used well in her uncle’s home. “I have lived in luxury since the day I was born, and I would be an absolute worthless match for any of your people. Look at me,” she said, gesturing to her body, her large breasts, wide hips, soft stomach. “Do I look like someone who would be of any use to you?”

  The king seemed taken aback at her honesty, and when she glanced at the warrior, his eyes were on her. “And I don’t plan on ever having children, so that whole ‘heir’ thing wouldn’t be happening, either, assuming that you people put as much value on breeding lines of nobles as mine do,” she said, this time speaking specifically to the warrior, who continued to study her.

  “Well… thank you, Lady Shannen,” the king said, clearing his throat. He glanced up at his son.

  “Well?” he asked.

  The warrior took a breath.

  The older man said something in the guttural language of the Maarlai, and the warrior shook his head, holding a placating hand out to his father.

  “That one,” the warrior said, and when Shannen looked up at him, his powerful arm was raised, and he was pointing at her.

  Beside her, Christina let out a sigh of relief, and all Shannen could do was stare, dumbfounded, at the warrior.

  The barbarian who she would be forced to marry.

  The next hour passed in a blur. The other three women got on the carriage to go back to Tanris all of them studiously ignoring Shannen. Shannen was ushered back to the hut she’d initially waited in, this time, all alone.