Fenturi Fate

by Bevan Greer

  She’d been surprised to actually like Castor, a large man with kind brown eyes. She didn’t dismiss his potential for violence, but she didn’t think he was the one of the Bylaran butchers she’d originally thought Ren’s crew to be.

  Castor didn’t dislike the Fenturi, but Ren did because he’d been programmed to dislike them. How sad to grow up unloved and forced to prove your worth. At least she had been loved until the Bylarans had destroyed her parents. Mra had been a wonderful guide on her journey into maturity. A journey that was far from over, according to the arrogant feline.

  Dare closed her eyes and wondered where Ren had gone. The crew had been given some leave time in which to relax, or so Castor had mentioned. She wondered if that spoke unwell of the future, or if the crew were simply relaxing due to a stressful few weeks. She hoped it was the latter and wondered if Nexios would allow the possibly for an escape.

  And yet… She needed to forego escape until she learned more about this Mari. Obviously something huge was really going on if King Zebram had spent such considerable effort to capture her unharmed. But then, who could be sure what Zebram would do?

  She prayed her crew were okay. After such a drain on her power, she knew she didn’t have the strength to try to communicate with him from such a distance. Were they okay? Was Ren with a woman tonight? Did Mra really like the stubborn captain? And why did it matter that she did?

  Dare tried to fall back to sleep, but her body needed exercise. Knowing she wouldn’t get back to sleep after hours of rest, she fell back on the exercises she’d learned as a young girl and worked until her body coated with sweat. Encumbered by the robe, she nevertheless kept it on, in case of any surprise visits from the Eyshan6 crew.

  She had a feeling Ren would come again tonight. Would he try to kiss her again? Would it feel as good? Heck, should she let him? Decisions, decisions.

  ***

  Ren stared in disgust at Nesham returning from the back rooms with a satisfied grin. Ren knew the Hams could go at it for hours with the pleasurers.

  He frowned. At one time he too had been able to lose himself in a woman’s soft thighs. But not tonight. He swallowed another tankard of Bitter Blue. That damned Fenturi pirate on his ship must have done something to him. He couldn’t think of a woman without seeing her face, couldn’t touch or smell one without wanting…Dare.

  As his frustration grew, so did his self-loathing. For years he’d silently berated Zedrax for his weakness. Had the king not lusted after his mother, Ren never would have existed. The anger Zedrax constantly felt for Ren had been born of his own insecurities and disgust at his inability to resist a Fenturi. A woman from that inferior, hated race had consumed Zedrax, as he’d constantly reminded Ren.

  Now Ren felt the same thing for a Fenturi. Like father, like son. He swore and threw his drink to the ground, shards and ale spilling everywhere. But no one said anything as when they caught Ren’s angry stare.

  He stormed out of the bar, praying for something to relieve his rage. Luckily the Goddess heard his silent plea, because he heard shrieking in a dark alleyway away from the light of the city.

  He moved quickly and found a large collection of criminals encircling two hapless Vembi pleasurers. At Ren’s approach, the motley crowd of Meklen, Pith and Kre filth sneered at him.

  “Go back the way you came if you want to live,” a creature larger than Ren warned as it mauled one of the females. The Vembite cried out as the creature’s single claw grazed her tender flesh.

  Ren smiled and felt his teeth razor sharp against his tongue. His vision grew brighter, as if the night sky had turned to day. And even he could see the glow of Vembi’s moons ambient light reflected off his skin.

  “Who says I want to live?” Ren leapt forward to free the Vembites from the giant’s grip, thrusting them away from the fracas before it started in earnest.

  Ren grinned in delight as he saw the creature’s four eyes turn to slits. Despite being gray in coloring, its four eyes glowed with menace in different shades of purple. Its teeth looked jagged between black gaps of decayed rot. With two large arms, it swung at Ren, though he avoided the blows easily.

  The other men in the gang gave way to the giant, watching and waiting the outcome of the fight.

  Ren didn’t want to hurry things and let the creature lumber after him, letting it get close before moving just out of reach. After its fourth loud bellow, he figured a need to end the altercation lest the roving Legion patrols investigate the noise.

  With a solid punch to the creature’s rib cage, he watched it double over but caught a rough claw across the cheek. Ignoring the blow, Ren quickly struck at the monster’s eyes and mouth, knocking loose any teeth he could reach.

  Its eyes watered with a lavender fluid that seared Ren’s hand where it touched, and he thanked his stars to still be alive when he realized what he’d been battling.

  “By the Stars, you’re an Ard from Pith, aren’t you?”

  The Ard’s mewling increased until Ren knocked it unconscious with a blow just under its left knee, a scarcely known vulnerability.

  The others in the gang backed away when Ren moved forward.

  “Well, come on. I haven’t got all night to deal with you cowards.” He sneered, waiting with anticipation for his words to have their desired effect.

  They didn’t disappoint him.

  An hour later Ren stood aboard the Eyshan6, his cheek throbbing, his body battered. But he felt better than he had in a fortnight and grinned when Castor found him in the galley.

  “What happened to you?” Castor asked in shock. “You look like you tangled with a Fra beast and lost.”

  Ren smiled around a mouthful of meat. He chewed and swallowed before answering. “Actually it was more like an Ard and a handful of Vembi miscreants.”

  “It would have been too vexing to ease your tension with a Vembite?”

  Ren’s grin faded. “Yes, too vexing.” He swallowed an entire bottle of ale.

  “Well, then, tell me more of your fight.” Castor joined him for a drink.

  Later, Ren left him in the galley and moved steadily but slowly toward his room. He had purposefully gotten himself bludgeoned and drunk to escape Dare’s sensual thrall. By the Dark World, it had worked. Mostly.

  He found his way into his room and laughed aloud. Unable to resist, he opened the door connecting his room to Dare’s and smirked at her sleeping form.

  “You can’t best me, you know,” he whispered. “I’ll always win. I’m not him, not like him at all.” He swayed against the doorframe. “I could take you now and probably not remember a thing. But I won’t. Because if I do I’ll never stop wanting you,” he admitted. Then, pleased at his honesty, he chuckled again and locked the door behind him.

  ***

  Planet Bylar

  Zebram’s robe swirled behind him as he strode with purpose down the hall of the palace toward the war room. He entered to find Rorn looking weary, seated at the large table with his two Seconds flanking him. Rorn stood when he entered, then sat again when Zebram waved him down.

  A glance around the war room at the tapestries of Fenturi slaughter made Zebram feel sick. Familiar revulsion crawled through him, and he decided then and there to order the room remade as soon as Rorn and his Seconds left.

  “What news, Rorn?”

  “Unfortunately, Sire, the second vessel has been out of contact for too long. Joran tells me that an Ocaian outpost confirms our spy ship was destroyed by one blast from the Horde ship.”

  Behind Rorn, Joran bowed his head in respect. “It’s true, Sire. The Horde now know we are aware of them, yet they sit and wait.”

  “Until they are ready to strike,” Zebram murmured. “Rorn, take your men and continue training, but make sure they’re getting their rest now. I fear the time will soon come when they’ll be put to use.”

  “As you command.” Rorn nodded. “But I fear the only way to fight the Horde is to get them offship. Are we any closer to finding a way to so
lve that problem? I ask because the rumblings are swirling through the ranks, and a disheartened spirit lingers in our men.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have told you sooner.” Zebram should have realized everyone knew of the Horde’s coming. Rumors had been abounding for weeks, and not just through Bylar. A better king would have sought to allay his people’s fears before they fell apart at the uncertainty before them.

  Zebram explained, “Garen has been away on a mission to find a weapon which can destroy the Horde. He has succeeded in the first phase of the plan. Now we must pray he continues to succeed in the second.”

  Relieved expressions filled the men’s faces.

  Rorn grunted with approval. “Garen has never failed at anything. In fact, I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word.” He chuckled and rose. “With your permission, I’d like to tell the men about this development. It should greatly ease their fears.”

  Zebram nodded and watched them leave, wishing his fears could ease. He ran a tired hand over his head. In one short month he’d felt as if he were losing that part of himself that could save the kingdom.

  Reports of increased rebel Fenturi uprisings continued to reach him, but he had forbidden the Legion to exterminate the insurgents. He’d instead ordered his men to a defensive position.

  Bylar could not afford a civil war now, not with the threat of the Horde upon them. Only yesterday he’d returned from yet another System Council meeting. The stubborn Ocaians refused to make any move, even with the Horde sitting right outside their planet’s orbit. The Nexians had chattered on about the savior, and how he or she would come in time; they spoke of nothing else. The Nearworld representatives had been the most helpful, resolving to consider future relations with Bylar at a later date.

  If we have time in the future to think of such things beside survival. By the suns, I fear we cannot avoid this war.

  For a moment Zebram wondered what life would be like were he a simple peasant. He’d focus on his crops, his wife and children. He immediately imagined a golden-haired female with Fenturi blood welcoming him home after a hard day’s work. His children, a girl and a boy, would have their mother’s eyes and Zebram’s dark hair, and they’d move with Fenturi grace.

  He would never condemn his half-blood children as his father had condemned Garen. Instead, he would lift them up and hug them, praising them for—

  “My king?” a soft voice called from the doorway.

  He turned to see the object of his desire watching him with wariness. Zebram sighed. Thela Fenwi never looked at him with anything but caution.

  He couldn’t rightly blame her. Since his edict a fortnight ago, the people of Vinopol had been strangely silent on the topic of the Fenturi. And since he’d announced to one and all that Thela and Myla, a woman they’d known for years, were Fenturi and to be treated as his own family, the Bylarans hadn’t known how to act.

  His father had hated the Fenturi with a passion. Zebram did not, and his feelings for the native race clearly opposed his father’s. Not willing to put his kingdom to the test yet, Zebram remained mute on his desire to merge the races together, his concentration firmly focused on the Horde.

  Zebram looked into Thela’s blue eyes, then glanced away before she could make him forget everything but her. Unlike his father and Garen, Zebram enjoyed the intimate feelings a Fenturi—Thela—invoked in him. He knew that her natural sensuality was merely another expression of joy and a love for life.

  Now if the stubborn female would stop hiding behind Myla, he might start showing her how accommodating and friendly he could be.

  But he knew better than to push. Instead, he smiled as he rose, pleased when she returned his smile with a hesitant one of her own.

  “What can I do for you, lovely lady?”

  She blushed. Considering the effect she had of muddling his mind, he felt some satisfaction that he could heat her cheeks with a simple compliment.

  “Myla wanted to see you, Sire.” She bowed her head, then started when he took her chin in his hand and forced to her meet his gaze.

  “Don’t hide from me, Thela.” He brushed her full lower lip with his thumb. “A Fenturi should always stand proudly, even in the face of her king,” he teased, his voice light.

  Predictably, the fiery woman glared at him, all pretense of humility gone. “You’re not my king,” she began only to stop in confusion when he moved his thumb again over the swell of her lip.

  “Ah, but alas, I am yours.” Before she could question him, he moved around her and walked toward Myla’s domain, the kitchens.

  “Well, there you are, my king,” Myla said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I wondered if the foolish girl had perchance forgotten to tell you I wished a word.”

  Thela huffed and joined Myla, a mulish frown in place.

  “Thela was merely explaining my importance in the grand scheme of things.” He fought a smile at her darkening expression.

  Myla raised a brow. “Oh? I doubt she told you the truth of things.”

  “And what would that be?” Thela challenged.

  Myla stepped to Zebram and whispered an impossibility into his ear. He stepped back, shocked, but at her nod, a thrill of anticipation filled him.

  He gave her a slow nod, still not sure he could have everything he wanted at no cost to the kingdom.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “All will be well. It must happen.”

  He would have responded when he saw a few of the cooks doing their best to look uninterested in the conversation. He motioned Thela and Myla to follow him.

  They walked to his private tower above his bedchamber, accessible only by going through his personal quarters to ensure the utmost privacy. At the top of the narrow stairwell, he closed the large Fen door behind them and motioned them to be seated.

  “We’re in relative privacy now, Myla. Would you like to repeat what you just said?”

  “Please do.” Thela looked bewildered, staring from Myla to him and back.

  “It’s the rebellion, Zebram.”

  “What?”

  Did he imagine things, or had he heard a hint of panic in the beautiful woman’s voice?

  “Quiet, Thela.” Myla fixed her bright eyes on him. “I’ve foreseen a problem that only you and Thela can fix, I’m afraid.

  “The foolish Fenturi raiders that live just beyond the village are planning an out and out attack upon the kingdom. They will succeed if you don’t make a move to intercede.”

  “But how can they succeed?” Thela asked in confusion. “I’ve never seen a more well-defended keep.”

  “And you’ve seen many?” Myla asked wryly. “The point is, somehow the Fenturi have gotten wind of the palace plans, and they’ve found a vulnerability. We, as Bylarans and Fenturi, cannot afford to be divided. When the Horde come, and they will, we’ll need every able-bodied man and woman to fight together.”

  Zebram blew out a breath. “Thela’s brother is behind it, isn’t he?”

  “Wh-what? How, I mean, do you—”

  “Come now, Thela. I’m not as stupid as I must look.” He met her guilty gaze, still unable to dismiss her loveliness, the way his heart beat just for her. “I’ve known since your arrival who you really are. But it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “And who is that?” Thela challenged bravely while Myla watched the two of them, her eyes gleaming with merriment.

  Zebram moved until he stood mere inches from Thela, committing her delicate features to memory.

  “You’re the sister of the Mikhel—the Fenturi Leader—and my future queen.”

  -10-

  Ren woke the next morning with a horrific headache. He cursed his stupidity in drinking too much, then groaned when his body protested any sudden movement. A banging on the adjoining door echoed too loudly, and he swore in silence for the Fenturi witch to be still.

  “Ren, I know you’re out there.” Her voice tormented him, even muffled through the door.

  Ren slowly sat up and dragged himself towa
rd the door. Entering the security code to unlock the panel, he waited with a growing headache, wondering what Dare could possibly want so early in the morning. The panel opened, and he growled, “What do you need?”

  Her jaw dropped, and he wondered if he truly looked as bad as her expression reflected.

  “What happened to you?” She lifted her hand as if to touch him but tucked it back at her side before she gave in to the impulse.

  Ren wondered at her actions. Did she worry about him, or was it all an act? And what the hell had he been thinking to visit her room late last night? He could only be glad she knew nothing of it.

  “A small fight on Vembi.” He shrugged. Her eyes narrowed. “Again, what do you want?” He leaned against the doorway for support.

  “I’d like to get out of this room. I’m going stir crazy. Could I at least go to Mra? I know you have her somewhere on this ship.”

  Ren recognized something in her glowing blue eyes, though he couldn’t pinpoint the emotion. He absently noticed that she had used the lav facility, for she smelled of the Jonkwyr apple soap he’d once purchased on a lark for a future lover.

  Sweet and addicting, the scent of her wafted through him. Though his body ached from the previous night’s exertions, he felt his desire for the stubborn female return at a rapid rate.

  He cleared his throat. “Just give me a minute to clean up and I’ll give you a small tour.” He straightened, and she settled a graceful hand on his arm. The temperature in the room seemed to rise.

  “Aren’t you going to use the med unit?” Her blatant concern confused him.

  “No,” he said without pause. “Weakness makes one stronger. To deny myself any opportunity to gain strength would be like trusting my worst enemy.” My worst enemy—you. He wanted to distance himself from her. But instead of drawing back, she frowned at him.