Fenturi Fate (Spacestalker Saga Book 1) Page 3

  “Blane?” What the hell?

  “I’ve got a collector on the Outworlds who would just kill for one of you.” In the back of her mind she noted the crowd staring at them. Then Blane tossed the heavy table away from them, injuring several patrons nearby.

  “You need to pull yourself together and back off. We don’t need the authorities getting curious, you idiot.” Dare backed away. Uncaring of the crowd, she used the Ton to shoot a pulse at his body. But he projected some sort of shield, making him invulnerable to the strong force of her weapon. “Damn it, Blane, I really didn’t want to attract a lot of attention.” She withdrew a short Ziwi blade from her jacket.

  “Nor did I, but this is much more fun.” He laughed and literally split down the middle. Dare stared in shock. That she’d never seen before, and she’d seen a lot in her voyages throughout the Legion system.

  “Shorhu Lord,” a deep voice sounded at her ear. She started, not having heard anyone approach, and wondered at her instinct’s failure to detect a threat. Before she could look at him, the stranger placed a large hand on her shoulder and held her still. The blaze of heat shooting through her at the contact made little sense.

  “Don’t take your eyes off him,” he warned in a low voice.

  Dare watched Blane split again, and now four small, green creatures pulsed and grew in front of her. The Ton had no effect on the lizard-like creatures, so she tucked it away and broke out a sister Ziwi blade, now armed with one in each hand.

  The shrieks of the crowd around them grew still as they watched the spectacle taking place. Dare couldn’t believe that average-looking Blane Fethra had turned into four man-sized Shorhu salamanders, known for their speed and painful bites.

  Suddenly the male’s hand on her shoulder tightened.

  “Why don’t you let me take care of this?” Dare, still not having seen her new companion, refused to look away from the four hissing salamanders.

  “I think not,” he countered. “Stand down Shorhu,” he ordered, “by command of the Legion.”

  Dare cringed inside. Just perfect. She not only had to battle four of Blane, she had a Legionnaire at her side. As if her day couldn’t get worse… “Hell.” She caught sight of Shea behind the Blanes.

  Dare reached into her jacket and grabbed the pouch. She tossed it over Blane’s scaly replicants and watched Shea catch it. “Take the payment back to the ship and prepare to leave.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it.” Dare’s tone brooked no argument.

  Thankfully, Shea used her illusion talent to completely avoid several men—most likely Legionnaires—who moved to intercept her.

  “That wasn’t wise,” the man at her side growled. “The Legion will need to talk to her before this is over.”

  Dare caught a glimpse of dark hair and a large frame as he stepped fully next to her, but before she could get a better look, the salamanders attacked.

  -2-

  Using her blades, Dare deftly sliced one salamander from its gullet down the soft underside of its belly, narrowly avoiding the burning innards that fell from its writhing body.

  Another salamander, managed a large bite out of her thigh which hurt like hell. She quickly reversed the direction of her blades, but it danced just out of her reach.

  The lizard paced in front of her, as if weighing its options on the best course of attack. A burning sensation flooded her left leg, and she cursed the inattention that let herself get bitten.

  The warrior next to her seemed to have little problem in dispatching his attackers. He moved in a blur of speed and soon had two stinking Shorhu carcasses before him.

  Then the remaining lizard darted toward Dare. With a speed and agility suspicious for a woman of her size, she crossed her blades as she flipped over it, decapitating the creature before it could turn on her.

  The fight now over, she knew nothing but the urge to quickly disappear. The pain in her thigh was throbbing now, and she felt lightheaded as she stood next to a Legionnaire. Shit.

  “Nicely done,” the stranger said to her with a curious gleam in his bright green eyes. Dare found her gaze drawn to him as she got her first good look at her companion.

  He stood a good head taller than her own formidable height, yet his breadth of shoulder and muscular upper body made him seem even bigger. His dark hair fell to his shoulders and framed a hard face, glowing with the vitality of life. And anger. His masculine beauty and seething rage combined to create an alarming cocktail of lust and unease. Despite wanting to, she couldn’t look away.

  Such male perfection in a warrior—her downfall, because this man was just her type. He’s Legion, dumbass. Get gone before you’re imprisoned for existing. She pasted a blank expression on her face, hoping she looked less alarmed than she felt.

  Dare desperately needed to leave before the law of the System demanded a detailed explanation for her business with Blane, none of which had been remotely legal. Smuggling artifacts carried a stiff penalty and time spent on Nine and Dead, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  “Now, about this mess,” her Legionnaire started. He stopped and stepped closer to her, raising his sword at a figure quickly approaching them.

  Dare turned to see what had alerted him and swore under her breath when she spotted Roc moving swiftly through the murmuring crowd. Good Night, but how the heck would she get the Legion to forget her after fighting a Shorhu Lord, with a Rovi as her friend?

  Roc didn’t spare a glance for the warrior and dragged Dare to him. “Time to go.” He turned into the crowd in a rush.

  “Hold,” Ren growled as the woman left with her Rovi friend. He hadn’t missed her unease with his help, nor the complete dismissal of her gray companion. No matter. His men would retrieve her. Even now they moved to grab the pair.

  Yet as Ren watched the woman leave, he felt a queer desperation not to let her out of his sight. He ignored the odd feeling as his men closed fast. Then she and the Rovi vanished into the crowd as if they had never been there.

  He blinked and looked again but saw nothing. Impossible as it was, the woman had vanished. He ordered his men to find her and stared down at the Shorhu Lord in distaste, nudging one of the bodies with his boot.

  The remains had melted through the floor. The pleasure room staff tried to calm those still watching the spectacle while others chattered and waved arms and appendages every which way, wanting to know who planned on paying for the mess.

  Ren waved Castor over. “Gather the men and return to the ship.” Castor left, while Ren hurried outside and looked up and down the street but saw nothing of the tempting woman, nor her large gray friend.

  Not exactly a rarity, a Rovi warrior still drew attention no matter what he did, if not for his size, than for the sheer strength of presence a Rovi carried about him. But the woman, he thought with a sudden heat, would draw attention to her anywhere she went.

  He wondered at her origins. He didn’t know why, but she reminded him of a Kre Stalker, her golden skin oddly luminescent, her slanted eyes flashing like blue lightning as she’d battled the salamander.

  She’d moved with a preternatural speed he found interesting. He knew of only a few races that could move as she did yet didn’t recognize her features from any of his recollections. And her eyes. Stars. They had been of the clearest violet, like the pools in the forgotten forests of Bylar.

  He swore as his body tightened, the female’s every detail burned into his brain. Her long, lean legs, curved backside and toned frame could not be hidden beneath the vague suit she wore. He could only imagine the sultry curves beneath her space jacket.

  His blood heated, and he felt strangely unsatisfied in a way he’d never before experienced. He tried to shake off the uneasy sensation, wondering what in the Dark World was happening to him when Castor rejoined him.

  Castor seemed stressed. In his dark gaze lurked regret, as if he didn’t want to but had to tell his captain bad news.

  “Yes, Castor? What is it?” Ren wasn’t happy
about the woman vanishing, but they were Legion. They’d track her down and—

  “Prince Zebram summons you home. The king lays dying as we speak.”

  Ren froze, caught off guard. A dozen emotions hit him all at once, but he allowed nothing to show. “Set course for Bylar.” He turned on his heel toward his ship, thoughts of the Shorhu Lord and exotic female forgotten.

  ***

  Planet Bylar

  Ren looked around him with distaste, never truly happy coming back to his place of birth but feeling a vague sense of homecoming nonetheless. He left Castor instructions to see to the men, not knowing how long this might take.

  He moved past the training fields and watched as the masters bandied about with their new recruits. He felt a sharp pang of nostalgia as the trainers bowed their heads respectfully when he passed, in awe and fear of his blatant status as the best of the Legion.

  He had trained on these fields years ago, struggled against the prejudices and intolerances of his instructors, and through the angry violence of his father.

  Though never formally acknowledged by the king, Ren wore the man’s features indelibly upon his face, much to his shame. One and all knew of his parentage, but such was never mentioned. Zedrax publicly disdained his bastard son, making it clear that Ren should receive no special treatment or favor.

  Ren had more often than not received harder training and punishment, and had grown stronger and more unforgiving because of it. Impressively, he had resisted all efforts to bind him low and rose steadily through the ranks, his strength and quickness of mind his savior.

  He’d worked alone with only the occasional encouragement of his half-brother, the royal prince, to buoy him. Had he let the boy, Zebram would have been all over him, bouncing around, demanding attention from the big brother he idolized.

  Unlike King Zedrax, Prince Zebram had grown to be a loving and caring young man. Perhaps the affection of his mother, Queen Leash, or the young playmates he often sought refuge with had made him so open to light and happiness. Ren had long since given up trying to know his brother better. The king had discouraged any closeness between them save duty bound loyalty, and Ren agreed. The less time he spent near the royal family, the better.

  But Ren had never been able to squelch the small hunger for acceptance from those of his blood. Not back even a passing moon and I’m maudlin. He cursed his inability to stop feeling so damn much and shelved thoughts of the past. Garen was Captain of the Stalkers. As such, he had no room in his life for weakness, only for strength, that he might fulfill his duties and protect the kingdom.

  He acknowledged the nods sent his way and continued toward the palace courtyard. It had been over two years since he had last visited, and his steps slowed as the dread coursing through his veins increased. He masked his unease with a warrior’s bearing and stoic countenance. Never show the enemy your vulnerabilities, he reminded himself.

  And he did consider those in the palace his enemies.

  He walked up the blue-veined marble steps into the great hallway of the palace, aware of the renowned Bylaran architecture, the sheer space around the columns and detailed archways in the palace. Such finery he’d never been afforded. But what use had warriors for marble and palatial estates?

  The guards bowed their heads as he passed, in deference more for the warrior he had become than the bastard son of the king, he imagined. He wondered what the king thought of h their respect, if he’d even noticed.

  Zedrax had made sure Ren was treated as just another Bylaran boy in his ranks. He had shown no favoritism or softness toward his eldest son and had expected his soldiers to chew Ren up and spit him out like the rest of the green recruits.

  But Ren had stunned everyone, himself most of all. Imagine his surprise to find he liked soldiering. He appreciated the sheer physicality of his job, the ingrained order to protect others and defend the kingdom, and most of all, he’d cherished the command structure set in place for all. In a world where he’d had little control of anything, least of all his birth, the military had made perfect sense. Hard work earned reward; idle hands were not tolerated.

  Among fellow soldiers, he could blend. Not like now, as he passed through the banner hall where large depictions of Vinopol ancestry dated back before the Bylaran colonization three hundred years past. His heritage, never to be acknowledged. Not by the king or himself. Ren refused to see the beauty of the rich tapestries lying so elegantly upon the stone walls.

  He hated having to come here. Zedrax had most likely ordered Zebram to summon him. A final insult to Ren, to twist old wounds before the cursed king moved into the beyond. Zedrax was a wily man, and age had only sharpened his wits. No doubt he knew that had he requested Ren’s presence in the palace, Ren would have refused outright. But a request from Prince Zebram brought him home with undue haste.

  Ren still couldn’t understand the ties of love he had to his half-brother. The misplaced affection he held for Zebram made him vulnerable, yet Ren could do naught to sever the creeping affection holding his loyalty close. Having been made to care for the swaddling prince until Zebram had reached his ninth year, Ren had developed a natural devotion to the charming young man the entire kingdom loved.

  And then Zedrax had whisked his prized prince away and threw Ren to the harsh training fields.

  Ren swore under his breath at the memories and picked up his pace, eager to encounter the old man and disappear once again to the distant reaches of the System.

  He strode past the likeness of King Zedrax in his earlier years and found the large room at the end of the hall empty, save for Prince Zebram and his advisor Cyka. Ren slowed as he approached the royal heir and stood stiffly before the younger man, his arms akimbo while itching to grab the sword at his belt and slash every pretty remnant of the king in this room to bits and pieces.

  Zebram’s eyes lit at his appearance—like looking into a mirror except for the skin tone and exotic slant of the eyes. Ren stared without speaking as Zebram’s emotions shone as brightly as the royal seal in Bylaran gold at his throat.

  “Garen, I am so glad you have come,” Zebram began in a deeper voice than Ren recalled hearing. He studied the prince in detail and found to his surprise that Zebram looked fully a man. Though in truth, only five years separated the two, Ren had always felt ages older.

  “You summoned me, your Highness,” he said without emotion.

  He heard the prince sigh and wondered what the hels Zebram wanted from him. Always his brother seemed to huff and look longingly to Ren, seeking something Ren did not know how to give.

  “Yes, I summoned you,” Zebram said tiredly, sadly. “Our father is dying.”

  “Your father would not want me here,” he snapped, unwilling to bend. “I should be off fighting the growing Meklen rebellion, not dropping everything to console Your Highness.” Come, Brother. Send me away for my impertinence.

  Cyka raised a brow at Ren’s aggression but did no more than lean down to whisper in the prince’s ear. Zebram nodded and kept a steady gaze on Ren’s face.

  Zebram rose. “We go to him now.” He crossed to Ren and simply stopped in front of his brother. The two stared at each other for a moment. Younger and not as large in build, Zebram still had a presence all his own in his flowing robes of royal green. Intimidating in his own right, the young prince’s intelligent gaze seemed to burn through a man, as if seeking the truth from his soul.

  Ren turned away from Zebram’s searing stare and bowed. “After you, my liege.”

  Zebram breezed by him, his head held high, his soft Fen-hair cape swirling behind him. They moved through the palace toward the king’s sick room. There in the antechamber sat Queen Lesha looking beautiful but pensive, her skin pale but still flawless, despite her years. Zebram’s cousin sat with the queen, holding her hand.

  As Zebram entered, the queen’s eyes lit. Her gaze moved beyond her son to Ren, and her expression softened. Lesha had always held a tenderness for the roughly handled little boy Ren had be
en. He’d known and hated her pity, disdaining her as much as he hated her husband, the king. Her gentle mien had weakened her son, just as she’d made vulnerable the king, vermin though he was.

  “How good to see you, Garen.” Queen Lesha gave a strained smile and nod.

  Ren ignored her. “Where is the king?” He mentally urged Zebram to move along before he forgot his relationship to the prince and left this miserable palace.

  “Through here.” Zebram sighed and gave his mother an apologetic glance over his shoulder before moving into a darkened room.

  Sconces holding candles flickered on several walls, giving soft light to the otherwise gloomy space. The air smelled of death and decay, and personally Ren thought it both ironic and fitting the old man should go out thus, too weak even to stand on his own two feet.

  Several elderly council members stood around his bedside, as did the Legion Master, Rorn. At Ren’s appearance, the small crowd stared in awed surprise. Rorn managed a subdued smile of joy. Of all his masters and trainers, one-eyed Rorn had commanded—nay, earned—Ren’s heartfelt respect. The man was a fierce warrior who never seemed to tire in battle, and who treasured one’s spirit more than one’s bloodline.

  At the crowd’s silence, the old king shifted with a weary groan. He lay propped up in the bed against several feathered pillows, and his head appeared a great weight on top of his frail, papery neck.

  His eyes widened as they took in the sight of Ren, who stood with his arms crossed and his gaze openly hostile. What more did the bastard king want with him? Perhaps he had more “training” in mind? To torment Ren by clinging to life? Ren swallowed a sigh. He really should have found some release on the pleasure planet, because there was clearly no joy to be found here.