Outlaw

by Angela Verdenius

  As she breathed through the pain, the black dots started to recede enough for her to observe Darvk and Maverk emerging from the tent, their features clouding with anger when they saw her.

  Their reactions were immediate and harsh. Darvk furiously planted his fist in the first guard’s stomach, his knee smashing into the guard’s face as he jack-knifed forward. Maverk gave a swinging roundhouse fist to the other guard’s jaw, throwing him back several feet to slump unconscious to the ground.

  As Maverk blew on his knuckles, Darvk leaped agilely to the ground and hunkered down beside her, his lips tight as his gaze swept over the blood running down her arm from several grazes sustained from the fall.

  “Are you all right, lass?” His tone was gentle, the vivid blue eyes in his tanned face peering down at her in concern, and he reached out his hand to touch her.

  Her head jerked back as she glared at him. Did he think she’d forget that he’d bought her, she wore his brand? She was his slave, his to do with as he wished.

  She wasn’t going to forget it, didn’t trust the concern. Didn’t trust anyone.

  Trust had gone a long time ago, and experience had done nothing but firmly entrench it into her very soul.

  With a sigh, Darvk withdrew his hand and gestured to his friend.

  Before she had time to react, she was picked up - albeit carefully - and placed firmly in the cage sitting atop the hover tray, the door snapping shut behind her. Trapped! For one insane moment she contemplated trying to kick the sturdy wooden bars down, but blood loss was weakening her.

  No, conserve your energy, bide your time. When you are stronger, escape and avenge the deaths of your sister-warriors. Find the murderers who started the bloodshed. Honour the oath we survivors took before events scattered us to distant lands and made us prey for the slave traders and bounty hunters.

  Tenia pulled herself up to lean against the bars of the cage as the hover tray skimmed just above the road. Blood had seeped out from under her belt, soaking into the short leather skirt. The pain in her side was dull but constant, making her long to close her eyes, though her pride forbade it.

  “Show no weakness,” Reya had instructed her.

  Reya, her older sister by two years. She could still picture her, wild red-gold curls tumbling to her waist, long legs encased in rawhide boots strapped up to the knees, short leather skirt and tightly laced leather bodice. Clothes the same as she wore.

  Where was she now? Dead like their mother? Hunted like a wild animal, cut down by laser or sword? The thoughts produced memories of bodies hanging from ropes, turning slowly in the breeze, smoke filling the air along with the stench of burning flesh…

  The hover tray halted, drawing her attention back to the present and the huge trading spaceship that stood alone in the docking bay. Wooden crates and heavy sacks were piled near the cargo opening, and a ramp was down. Traders, their heavy muscles bulging and cheerful voices laughing and cursing, busily loaded the crates and hover trays.

  They were a tough looking crew in leather vests that hung open, and coarse material pants tucked into boots. A couple of the traders wore headbands to keep long, shaggy hair out of their faces, while others had their hair tied back at the napes. All of them had a small, silver hoop in their left earlobe. She counted quickly - twelve traders, including Darvk and Maverk.

  “Hey, Darvk, what’ve you got there?”

  “What the hell you been trading, Cap’n?” Another dropped the sack he was carrying onto the ramp. “That’s human cargo!”

  Leaving their chores, the curious crew gathered in a wide arc around the cage, their gazes surprised as they stared at her.

  “Bloody hell, ‘tis a wench!” one of them blurted out, sounding shocked.

  So, this was to be her fate. Plaything to a crew - to be raped, used by them all, until they tired of her. Well, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. Once aboard the spaceship, she was lost. Escape was only possible while still on this planet.

  The cage door opened and the hover tray operator looked warily at her narrowed eyes.

  He drew back quickly. “You bought her, you get her out!”

  ~*~

  A red-haired trader gaped. “You bought a slave?”

  Darvk scowled. “Nay, I didn’t.”

  “Well, in a sense he did, Red.” Maverk grinned. “Though to be fair, he did it because he felt sorry for the wench.”

  The crew exchanged questioning looks.

  Reaching into the cage, Darvk noted the warning glower in the lass’s eyes. “Give me a hand, Maverk.”

  “You need assistance for one helpless lass?” Red was appalled.

  “Helpless?” The operator guffawed while handing the golden death mask to Red. “Your captain bought himself an outlaw.”

  “Outlaw?”

  “None other than a Reeka warrior.”

  A fair-haired trader gazed at the occupant of the cage. “I heard they were all dead.”

  “Not this one,” Darvk answered from the cage where he and Maverk were leaning in, trying to grab the lass who strained back against the bars. “Damn it, wench!” he added in frustration. “Come here!”

  The cage was too small for the outlaw to avoid his long arms, and she was dragged out. Not wanting to spook her, especially when she tried to jerk away, he steadied her with a hand under her elbow.

  “Here.” The operator handed Darvk the keys. “Keep the chains, you’ll need them.”

  After slamming the cage door shut, he jumped into the chair at the head of the hover tray and skimmed off down the road back towards the settlement.

  “She’s a Reeka?” Aamun, the ship’s engineer, raised his eyebrows dubiously.

  “Don’t be deceived by looks.” Maverk grinned.

  As the outlaw looked around, Darvk realised he didn’t even know her name. Though she was tall for a woman, he still had to bend down to look her in the eyes. She glared defiantly back at him. ‘Twas not going to be easy, he could tell, but he smiled reassuringly. “What’s your name, lass?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Tenia moistened dry lips with her tongue.

  Noting the sympathy on some faces, Maverk drawled, “She bites.”

  Red cast him a dubious look. “Seems harmless enough. You sure the wench is a Reeka?”

  “What the…” Borga pointed at her left thigh. “She’s been branded. Damn it, Darvk!”

  “’Twasn’t my idea!” Darvk’s face reddened as he met the accusing eyes of his crew.

  “’Tis your name,” Aamun pointed out.

  “The slaver did it before I realized.”

  “What else did he do? The poor lass is bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  “What? Bloody hell!” Darvk stared at the blood starting to soak through the side of the skirt. How could he have missed it? “Get her inside now.”

  Jerking on her chains, the lass gazed up at him appealingly.

  “Unchain her so she can walk properly,” Aamun advised.

  “I don’t know if that’s wise…” Darvk began, but was immediately howled down by his appalled crew.

  “The poor little thing!”

  “Never thought I’d see the day when you feared a lass!”

  “She’s injured! What would your mother say if she found out?”

  Shame filtered through him. They were right, she was injured. “All right, all right.” Darvk unlocked the wrist cuffs and they fell to the ground. Kneeling down, he fitted the key in the lock of the cuffs encircling the booted ankles.

  Maverk frowned at the bowed golden head. “Better hurry.”

  Hearing the concern in his friend’s voice, worried that she was so docile - she must be very weak - Darvk unsnapped the cuffs, pulled them off and started to straighten up. “Come, we’d better check those injuries - ooff!”

  The wench’s boot slammed down onto Darvk’s shoulder to send him sprawling face down into the dirt, while she jabbed Maverk hard in the stomach with her elbow. As Maverk jack-knifed forward, her arm snapped back in
a short, sharp arc; the back of her fist slamming into his nose and sending him staggering backwards blinded by tears.

  As Darvk pushed upright, he reached for her but she moved fast, lunging forward.

  Morgan grabbed for her, but she dived beneath his arm and snatched up the sword that someone had left lying on a crate, rolling away and coming to her feet with the spaceship at her back. She slashed the sword savagely from side to side, forcing the traders back.

  “Thank the stars she didn’t get hold of a laser,” a trader muttered.

  “Got your answer now, Aamun?” Darvk asked dryly as he straightened and eyed her.

  “I guess she is a Reeka,” Aamun replied faintly.

  Hand over his throbbing nose, Maverk staggered up beside Darvk. “That wench needs a damn good spanking!” He glared at her.

  “Mayhap we should recapture her before thinking of punishments,” Dark replied, amused that she’d gotten the jump on both of them. The wench was wily, no doubt about it.

  She didn’t waver or blanche at Maverk’s empty threat, though Darvk doubted she would know that a Daamen would never hurt a wench. Her attention was focussed on the movements of the traders.

  Noting Aamun starting forward, she forced him to jump back hastily, slashing the sword not three inches from his chest.

  “Get out of my way and no one gets hurt.” There was a definite strain in her voice.

  Darvk’s amusement vanished as he eyed her warily. Tension made for uncertain actions, and he didn’t want anyone hurt. “Why don’t you put the weapon down and we’ll talk about this?”

  When her reply was to swing the sword in a threatening arc, Maverk said, “I wouldn’t go near her right now, if I were you. We might be short a captain.”

  Borga raised his hands placatingly. “Lass, no one is going to hurt you.”

  She stepped to the side, right arm expertly slashing the sword around, making the traders retreat hastily.

  Darvk’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not leaving, lass.”

  “If that wound isn’t seen to, she’ll bleed to death.” Maverk pointed to her bloodstained leg and boot.

  This was going too far, the concern spiking higher inside Darvk. “Is that what you want, lass? To bleed to death?”

  Her gaze went from him to Maverk as if she knew instinctively that they were the two to watch; the crew would follow their orders.

  “The lass’s not as big as us and probably weak to boot.” Her gaze switched briefly to Morgan who was thoughtfully scratching his neatly clipped goatee. “Why don’t we just rush her?”

  “Aye, the lass barely reaches our chins,” Borga agreed. “How hard can it be?”

  “Come and try it,” she taunted chillingly.

  No second invitation was necessary. Borga and Morgan stepped forward, while the other traders watched tensely.

  Darvk saw her eyes darken, assessing the two approaching men even as she crouched in readiness. As he watched his crew members draw closer with more confidence, the sword flashed up and around suddenly, slashing crosswise from right to left, making a vibrating noise as it cut through the air.

  Moving quickly, Darvk grabbed the back of his friends’ vests, yanking them back from the deadly blade just in time. Sparing only a brief glance in their direction, enough to note them feeling their chests with the realization that they’d only just escaped serious injury, he cursed angrily. “You could have killed them, damn it!”

  “That was the idea.”

  “Someone needs to teach you a lesson, wench!”

  “If you think you’re good enough, trader, try it.” The challenge was laid down quietly.

  A muscle jumped in his tightly clenched jaw. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  One fine, dark brow arched up mockingly beneath the golden fringe draped low over her forehead. “I will gladly take you all on, trader.”

  “You’d have no hope of winning, lass.” Maverk pointed to the blood now slowly pooling in the dirt beneath her boot. “’Tis the whole idea, though, isn’t it?”

  Morgan frowned. “I don’t understand. The wench wants to die?”

  “Death before dishonour, Morgan,” Maverk returned.

  As understanding dawned, Darvk’s fury faded, although anger at the threat to his friends’ lives remained. He should have guessed it wasn’t going to be easy, he just hadn’t realised how serious the situation was becoming…had become, in fact.

  “Dishonour?” Red was indignant. “There’s no dishonour on our ship.”

  “Pretty words.” Taking several steps back from the pooling blood, she came up against the side of the ship. “It means nothing. Now get out of my way.”

  “The only place you’re going, lass, is with us.” Darvk folded his arms decisively.

  Her already pale face grew paler and she shook her head. Seeing her stagger, the traders started forward, but again she halted them with the sharp blade before leaning back against the cold metal of the spaceship. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her hand to her side, blood welling between her fingers.

  Darvk cursed. “Damn it, Maverk, how long will she last?”

  “I don’t know, but I reckon there’s more blood on the ground than in her body.”

  How did the wench remain on her feet? The pool of blood was widening, the skirt and boot drenched. Frustrated, he finally burst out, “Are you going to just stand there and die?”

  “Make it easier and fight me if it worries you so much.”

  “That’s the coward’s way out,” Maverk snapped.

  Sweat dotted her brow, pain darkened her eyes, but the sword remained unwavering. “Nobody told me I had to be a hero.”

  Darvk searched for something, anything, to shame her into lowering the deadly blade. “I thought you warriors were strong and brave. What happened to you?”

  “I’ve survived being hunted for a very long time.”

  “And now you’re giving up?”

  Amusement flickered across her face. “I’m still fighting for freedom. Here I am, sword in hand, and there you are wanting me to put it down.”

  Disbelief filled him. “ Your life’s blood is draining into the dirt, and you find this amusing?”

  Fleeting agony showed on her face suddenly, her teeth clenching in response. “I don’t care what you think, trader.”

  Features tight with pain, her sword arm faltered but she remained standing. Darvk didn’t want to fight her, not when it would result in the death of someone on this warm, sunny afternoon. The skill with which she wielded the sword meant rushing her was not an alternative. All they could do was wait.

  Frustration simmered inside him as her blood darkened the earth, the warrior growing steadily weaker. Finally, the sword toppled out of her hand and she slid to the ground, back against the spaceship.

  The traders leaped forward, Darvk crouching to wrap one brawny arm around her slender shoulders, supporting her against his chest. His heart lurched at the shallow breaths.

  “Lass?” He didn’t even know her name.

  “Your six hundred dinnos was a bad investment, trader.” Her voice was thready.

  “You’re not going to die.” Nay. Nay, damn it.

  Hunkering down on her other side, Maverk gently turned the pale face toward him. “Why, lass? Why choose death?”

  “Death is freedom.” Wearily her eyes closed.

  “We would have set you free,” Darvk said softly.

  “To be hunted and recaptured later? No.” He had to strain to hear the last words. “I would rather die free than a prisoner, a slave.”

  The golden head rolled limply against his chest before she stilled, and he stared down at her, his throat tight.

  “Darvk.” Red touched his shoulder. “She still breaths. If we can get medical attention, she may live.”

  “I’ll fetch the settlement medic.” Borga jumped to his feet.

  “Nay.” Maverk held up his hand. “He’s a butcher. She’ll die for sure.”

  Maverk was right, the la
ss would die under these butchers. There was only one place that could save her now. “We go to Saalm.” Darvk stood up, the warrior cradled to his chest, her blood staining his vest. “Throw the cargo aboard. I don’t care how, just do it fast. Maverk, come with me and we’ll try to staunch the blood flow. Aamun, start the engines. I want to be on Saalm by nightfall.”

  Men scattered grimly in all directions.

  Darvk hurried through the huge cargo bay to the lift in the corner, Maverk on his heels. The platform lift rattled and groaned as it carried them to the floor that housed the crews’ cabins.

  Uncaring of the blood that immediately seeped into the covers, he laid the wench on the bunk in his cabin. Maverk hurried to the heavy chest in the corner and opened it to disclose the contents of bandages and dressings.

  Unclipping the wide belt around her waist, Darvk drew it away to reveal a ragged cloth coated in old and new blood. Removing it carefully, he sucked in his breath at the sight of the wound, long and deep, red and inflamed. Blood oozed out, dark and streaky. Infected.

  Hands full of dressings, Maverk’s usually laughing face was grim. “No wonder she lost so much blood, look at the size of that cut.”

  “’Tis not a laser burn. Someone has used a sword on her.” Darvk’s face was tight, eyes blazing with fury. “That bloody slaver knew she was injured and deliberately kicked her there.”

  Maverk placed a small dish beneath the wound to catch the cleansing water he poured over it.

  “Haven’t we got any antiseptic?” Darvk pressed a dressing to the wound.

  “We used the last of it when we had that brawl with Kenza’s traders on Czez two days ago, remember?” Maverk taped the dressing to her skin. “That should hold it until we get to Saalm. Which reminds me, there’s some cream that Byron made that’ll draw the heat from the brand.” Retrieving the jar from the chest, he knelt beside the bed again.

  Darvk looked up as Red appeared at the door. “Cap’n, everything’s loaded and we’re ready to leave.”

  “Let’s go. Borga can get us off this forsaken planet.”

  Red disappeared to relay the order.

  As Maverk smeared the cream gently onto the burn that marred her firm thigh, Darvk smoothed stray tendrils of hair back from the lass’s forehead.