Because of this, Arghet would handle his misgivings about Skehl and the female. And he’d watch the giant closely.
At that moment, Skehl shifted his attention to Arghet and simply stared.
You do anything to harm my clan, and I’ll take your head from your neck, then carve you into pieces.
The marker on Skehl’s face glowed red. He gave no sign of interest before looking back at the maffet wool in his hands.
“Yes,” Talzec murmured, looking from Skehl to Arghet. “I think you’re exactly the warrior I need to keep our newest clanmate in line.”
***
Skehl had spent the better part of his short, worthless life under the harsh regime of the Nasuhl. A barbarian of little worth, the only thing he’d had in his favor, so he’d been told time and time again, was his massive build and immense strength. That he chose to exercise temperance and adherence to a strange moral fiber absent in his clanmates made him the lowest of the low. His attitude also explained the many scars on his body, remnants of the discipline he’d been sorely needing. Beatings hardened a warrior. Fear taught respect, conditioned adherence to hierarchy. Obeisance.
The Nasuhl believed in harsh discipline. Females were nothing more than whores or breeders to service the alpha and his interior guard before being passed along to the rest of the clan. Those not in the interior guard trained with diligence, so as not to be excised from the camp. The men raided and hunted. They did not farm, barter, oraskfor anything. They took what they wanted. As they’d taken Skehl during his fifth year, adding to their numbers.
He had vague memories of his first people, of trying to return to them. But there were harsh penalties for those who refused to assimilate. He wanted to think he’d tried to resist, but Skehl knew they hadn’t had to work very hard to break him down. Before long, he’d joined them in their raids. For even at a young age, Skehl had enjoyed fighting. He was weak in every area of his life but one—battle.
Numb to most pleasures life had to afford, he only felt excitement during a fight, defeating an opponent. Causing pain. He’d never known softness in any form, at least, not with the Nasuhl. Since he hadn’t earned the right to procreate, he’d never been allowed near the females, who might have shown him another way. But he’d been confined to training and warring, with no room in his life for anything more.
Those things made sense. All this…
Five days after they’d set out for the Cloud Games, the jungle teemed with warriors from a hundred different clans among the tribe. Barbarians ruled the habitable regions of the planet, minus a small section in the west that the offworlders had claimed, a vacationing resort that had all manner of visiting alien lifeforms.
Because of an old treaty, the East and West held to their sides of the border. The barbarians provided security and refused to harm the offworlders, and the offworlders left the rest of the planet alone.
Many of the Vyctore clan had provided services to the offworlder resort. The Nasuhl had always refused, wanting nothing to do with foreigners, not when they had clans to conquer, women to rape, and enemy to kill—and they considered everyone not Nasuhl their enemy.
Skehl had never liked the Nasuhl or felt a part of the clan. He’d rebelled in his quiet way by not doing anything he couldn’t stomach. He killed those he felt deserving of death, but never the innocent. Something the Nasuhl alpha had never understood.
“By the Hells of Fyanthul, move your ass.” The familiar growl eased something inside him, because with it came a sense of security. “The tribal games are getting ready to start. I don’t want to miss the opening ceremony.” Around them, more Vyctore warriors gathered close, eager to watch and participate in the competition. “I saidmove.” A shove from behind had his feet heading in the direction he’d been told to go.
Skehl walked slowly, testing, waiting. Yet no one speared him. No one took away his food or refused him water if he didn’t move fast enough. No one in his new, very strange clan mocked him, choked him, beat him, or forced him to live in the pit amidst the refuse.
Arghet, a stern, able warrior many in the clan looked to for leadership, guided him toward the edge of the crowd, from where they could see their alpha. Talzec, a giant of a warrior, stood with his mate and many other alphas, yet he seemed to overshadow them all. Near them, on an upraised dais, the Cloud’s elders, three wise men who ruled the tribe, sat between two shaman, one representing each Father Sun.
In the middle of the wild rainforest, a wide open field had been cleared to fit all those in attendance, yet the openness of it all made Skehl anxious. He’d lived most of his life in the underground caves with the Nasuhl. And with the Vyctore clan, he lived in a village bordered on one side by a lake and on the others by dense jungle. This open space made no sense from a strategic viewpoint.
His head ached, and he longed for the quiet dark under a canopy of maffet trees, or even the hut he’d been given back in the village with its small, enclosed space.
Then Arghet’s arm brushed his, and his tension dissolved. He took a subtle step closer to the warrior, heard him sigh, and pressed close anyway.
Arghet didn’t shy from the contact, but he didn’t encourage it either. “See that? Our alpha is better than all of them.” Pride laced his words. “Even his mate is fierce. A worthy female, even if she is an offworlder.”
Skehl didn’t know what to make of Skye of Earth, or rather, Skye of the Vyctore. She’d mated the alpha and beta, forming a powerful ruling triad. She had ties to the land and her mates, could move things with her mind, and felt like a true barbarian. She made her mates stronger, and her tie to the planet could be sensed by one and all.
But still, a femalewarrior?He glanced at Arghet and saw the same confusion underlying his pride. Females should be treasured, for they alone had been chosen by the Maker to carry a barbarian’s young. A warrior protected his mate, provided for her, and sheltered her. And the female cared for him.
Not that he’d seen any of that with the Nasuhl, but the Vyctore and most other Cloud clans believed in such.
A few other female mates stood interspersed with their clans, while many barbarian maids had been provided for the men’s entertainment. Though Skehl didn’t care one way or the other about pleasures of the flesh, he knew his clanmates enjoyed sex. He wondered if Arghet did. Oddly, he’d never seen or heard the male engage with a female, and the men of the Vyctore were not shy about taking surcease when needed. In public or private didn’t matter when a warrior needed ease.
“Yes, our alpha is the best,” Efhel, another of the Vyctore, dragged Skehl’s attention back to Talzec.
The others around them nodded as well. A dozen warriors in all, the Vyctore had sent their very best to showcase their skills.
One shaman raised his hands, and the gathering grew quiet.
Overhead, the binary suns shone brightly. A cool breeze whispered of sweet-sylk vines and honeyed red-stems. The lavender- and blue-layered sky, spotted with clouds, blanketed their tropical forest and gave home to the colorful ondi birds gliding on warm winds.
