Bride of the Trogarians (2 page)

“If he can have any human, then let him.” Iris forced herself to meet Malo Yvin’s dark, piercing eyes. With the shock of white hair that stuck straight up, and his curved beak of a nose, he looked to her like a very angry bird. If the thought amused her, the amusement would be short-lived in light of his next statement.

“You’ve disgraced this house,” he said. “And everyone has paid.”

The uneasy feeling she’d brushed aside in the atrium returned. “What do you mean?”

He turned to her. “Your fleeing ahead of the ceremony was such an affront to this esteemed Traoian that he withdrew both his request for you and his support for our house. And where the most powerful man in the sector goes, others follow. They all withdrew their bids.”

Iris’ heart began to pound as the impact of what she’d done settled in.
Nora.
When she’d last seen her friend, the dimpled face had been ecstatic. She’d been modeling her Claiming Day dress, giddy with happiness at having learned the handsome diplomat who’d placed the bid for her had won. Soon, she had told Iris, she’d be living in a comfortable apartment in the executive sector.

“You’ll come visit me, though.” Nora’s eyes had shone as she’d grasped her friend’s hands. “Won’t it be wonderful?”

Iris had smiled, wishing she could tell her friend that she was leaving, that she hoped her happiness in her new home would blunt the pain of her departure. To think Nora was suffering…

“Where are they then?” Iris asked of the other women.

“Moved to where they will be accepted,” he said, and Iris suddenly hated him for the smugness in his voice.

“Where?” she persisted, trying to keep the desperation from hers. “Where are the others?”

“Offered as mates to the lower-class tradesmen,” he said, then paused. “Except for you, my dear. You won’t be so fortunate.” He smiled almost indulgently, and Iris glanced up to see the same smile on the faces of his robed companions and the spiteful matrons.

A holoboard appeared in front of them. On it was a map that showed the domed complexes and the stretch of open plain and mountains beyond. Malo Yvin flicked his hand toward the screen and the field narrowed to the base of the towering peaks. Rugged huts and tents dotted the landscape.

“You don’t know much about TraoX39,” he said. “But why should you? Three nights ago—decades in your Earth time—General Augustus Bron led us to a great victory. His name, I’m sure you’ve heard. He ended the practice of trading technology for Earth slaves. Of course, it’s no longer necessary. Your planet can’t get rid of excess humans fast enough, now that it’s no longer sustainable.” He smiled.

“I’m not a slave,” Iris said. “We were supposed to have choices in who we accepted as mates.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course, you now realize that was never the case. Not really. Human females are no longer called slaves, but for refugees, there are few choices other than what you are given. When you refuse, you’ll find the options to be much worse than what you declined.”

He turned back to the board. “The peace we enjoyed was not a lasting one. General Bron did not remain a general. He became a premier senator and while he curbed our colonization of other planets and sought diplomatic solutions to grievances, that was not enough to assuage our enemies. Bron became devoted to peace, and now his senatorial role is primarily as ambassador. Augustus Bron is currently on a diplomatic mission, leaving others to lead. These missions are wise, for we are constantly under threat, and the alliances we forge are beneficial. On the last moon cycle, we allied ourselves with the Trogarians, a fierce and warlike race—barbarians, really—who now keep an outpost at the base of the Blood Mountains at the mouth of a pass where some enemies like to sneak through.

“Interesting culture, the Trogarians… they are almost strictly militaristic, and because of the high casualty rate among the males and low birth rate among the females, two males within a bloodline mate with one female to assure that bloodline is continued. Sometimes that female is a Trogarian, but it doesn’t matter. No matter what race they impregnate, the genetics of the child are always full Trogarian.

“We seek to accommodate our allies; sometimes a Trogarian family will lose its female. That’s happened recently, when one died in childbirth. It was a particular tragedy because the two brothers in question are chieftains, and now they seek a replacement.”

Malo Yvin turned to Iris. “It won’t be an easy life for you there. The Trogarians are fiercely patriarchal, sexually insatiable and—by all accounts—brutal disciplinarians.”

“No…” She was shaking her head, even as he nodded to the two guards who stepped forward to take hold of her. “I know my rights!” Iris began to twist in their grip. “I want to see Kiplinger. I demand to be taken to the ambassador! I want a hearing!”

Malo Yvin chuckled. “Silly human,” he said. “Do you think you’re the first one from this house to demand a hearing today? Your friend Nora displayed a similar show of spirit, but I’ll tell you what I told her. Your ambassador is just as disappointed as we are. When we told him that we’d refuse future shipments of humans unless we were allowed to handle your disobedience as we wished, he gave us leave to dispose of you all as we would. The steady flow of humans is what keeps him living in such high style, you know.”

“No!” she said. “I don’t believe you!”

“It hardly matters,” he said. “Let’s hope your plight will serve as an example to future humans. You may not be slaves, but you are far from in control. You will be sent away to live out the fate you have earned. But first, we will see you publicly punished.”

Light filled the room, and Iris looked up and realized that the room was a type of theater, with an observation platform overhead. It was shadowed, but even so, she could now make out faceless Traoians as they silently filed in. Row upon row of them came. The silence filled her with a sense of foreboding.

“Strip her.” Malo Yvin’s voice echoed through the hall. “She doesn’t deserve to wear the Claiming Day dress.”

Hands were on her. The matrons. Iris felt her garment pulled off, felt the air touching the exposed skin of her naked form, felt goosebumps arise at the thought of what was to come.

The matrons—large, strong, and as foreboding as any large earth male—had terrified both Iris and Nora. With their robes and their cowls, they reminded Iris of giant nuns, and approached training of their charges with a fervor that was almost religious in nature.

“No!”

Iris had not meant to beg, but when she saw two of the matrons pushing a punishment platform into the room, she knew what would happen next. She was pushed over the rectangular bolster, which adhered to her skin with the same gel the guards had used to trap her hands, securing her. Her feet barely touched the floor. She kicked her legs helplessly, and could not help but whimper when she saw the implement the head matron planned to use.

It looked benign enough, but they all did. This was a flat disc on the end of what looked like a rod. Iris had seen it used on others, had heard their screams. And now, even though she knew escape was impossible, she pulled against the suction of the unforgiving gel and rocked her bottom from side to side.

A large hand on the flat of her back held her still and a moment later, she felt a tap. Just a tap. But that’s how it began. The matron would barely impact the surface of the miscreant’s bottom with the disc. But that’s all it took. That’s all it took to dispense the pain micronics embedded in the head of the disc—tiny particles that spread over the surface of the skin and heated rapidly to a fierce burn before dispersing into the air as static charge.

Another tap. And another. Two more fierce burns. Iris was wailing now; these had been applied directly to the sit spot—that soft strip of skin at the junction of her buttock and thigh. Hot tears tracked down her face. She felt as though her bottom was on fire, even though she knew that the red circles would dissipate almost immediately, even if the agony lingered. The matrons never used any correction that left welts; unblemished skin on the humans was too highly prized.

Four more taps, and Iris felt as if the room was spinning. She could not move, could not escape. She could only wag her bottom as her garbled pleas for mercy filled the silent theater. She could almost feel the satisfaction of her tormentors. And when they finally released her, finally lifted her to stand on shaky, unstable legs, Malo Yvin’s sneer was the first thing she saw through her veil of tears.

“Chastened, are we?” The sneer faded. “You only think you are. But what happened here will pale in comparison to what awaits you. The Trogarians aren’t afraid to mark a female. Soon enough, you’ll regret refusing a civilized mate.” He turned. “Take her away.”

Chapter Two

“Utak, catch!” Zios flung the hatchet underhand, and watched it pinwheel through the air. On the other side of the ravine, Utak caught it by the handle and immediately brought it down on the exposed portion of the lunging beast’s thick skull.

The Blood Beast roared, raising itself up on its thick back legs and lifting its spines as it pawed the air with massive front legs capped by two razor-sharp claws.

Utak took advantage of the animal’s blind fury to scramble up the rock face to a ledge, but both he and his brother had witnessed how this animal could loosen rock with just one swipe of its scaly tail. Green blood was running down the creature’s head, flowing into its eye. Now it cocked its head so that the other eye—yellow with a horizontal pupil—was fixed on the Trogarian warrior who’d struck him.

Zios knew there wasn’t much time. If the beast struck the base of the ledge, the rocks beneath it would crumble, collapsing the shelf and bringing Utak down with it. Zios needed a clear shot. The creature’s hard, flat spines were lowered, creating an impenetrable armor.

“Utak! Throw a rock! Aim for the eye!”

His brother did not question why he’d been given the order. Like most Trogarian males, the pair lived together, battled together, and—until recently—shared the same mate. They had complete trust in the other’s judgement. So when Zios told Utak to throw a rock, he did, hefting a boulder and bringing it down on the narrowed yellow slit.

The beast screamed again, its spines raising and vibrating in a threat display. And this gave Zios the opportunity he was looking for. Drawing back his huge, muscular arm, he let fly with the spear. The tip found its mark between the spines, sinking into the vulnerable flesh beneath. The beast whirled around. It was facing Zios now. The hatchet was buried in its head, and the eye below it was blinking away the flow of blood that clouded it. The socket of the other eye was crushed. What vision it had was limited, but it was snuffling the air, relying now on smell where sight was failing it. It pulled its lips back in a snarl, revealing double rows of jagged yellow teeth. Zios could smell its fetid breath from yards away. Its head was down. It was about to go into a blind charge.

And he was down to one weapon.

He pulled the knife from the strap on his calf, then spread his legs and arms to make himself an even bigger target. It was a direct challenge to the huge creature, who heaved its body the short distance across the ravine, only to have its quarry leap to the side and roll out of the way. The sheer size and weight of the beast made it impossible to stop, and it slid into the rock wall. As it did, its head became wedged in the small space that had been directly behind Zios moments before. Now the beast desperately tried to extricate itself, lashing its thick scaled tail and pounding against the rock face on either side of the opening with its massive claws.

Again, Zios realized time was of the essence. He ran toward the beast, leaping over the thrashing tail as he dived for the front leg closest to him. He felt himself thrashed about as the panicky creature tried to dislodge him. The beast flung him up, and on the second time down, he reached out and slid the blade of his knife across the soft, exposed throat stretched taut by the beast’s effort to pull free.

A flood of green instantly poured from the wound, the animal’s energy flowing out along with its life’s blood. Zios laid low as the tail thrashed overhead in one frantic death throe. Then the animal moaned, shuddered, and was still.

On the other side of the ravine, Utak was climbing down from the ledge. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he jogged over to Zios. Together they stared down at the creature.

“This one is bigger than the last,” Utak said when he reached his brother.

“But not the biggest in the valley. Amon has seen bigger ones.” Zios wiped the knife against the kilt he wore before sheathing it back in the strap on his leg. He placed his foot on the beast’s head, and pulled the hatchet from where it had become imbedded in the top of the bony, ridged skull.

“We will need to warn the others.” Utak looked through the narrow pass toward the encampment. “And we will need to keep the fires burning at night now.”

There was a screech overhead. Winged scavengers, scenting the rusty smell of green-black blood soaking into the red clay, were already wheeling above them.

“I’ll send Ulnos and the others to scavenge the carcass. The meat from the last one wasn’t very good, but the skin from the belly makes good leather, and the spines will make nice blades for the sons of Trogar…” Zios glanced up, and at the sight of his brother’s face knew they were sharing the same painful thought. The son who should be waiting with his mother for their return had never seen the outside of his mother’s womb. Mara had died trying to birth him. As custom dictated, they’d burned mother and child together. They’d known it was a boy; it was almost always boys. And besides, the Crone had told them so. But she had not seen the death that would take both mother and child

Their mounts were waiting halfway up the path. The well-trained gyrands had adapted to the Traoian climate despite their wiry hair. Zios leapt up on his gyrand’s back. The sway-backed creature lowered its head and scratched the bulge of its dome-shaped muzzle against the inside of its front leg. When Zios jerked the reins, the long neck raised high and the ears perked forward. As Utak mounted his own gyrand, both Trogarians headed in the direction their animals were staring.