“Rosvoi?”
“Yes, Prima.”
She sighed again. “Explain, please.”
With a small nod, Suvesh complied. “Every species of intelligent life has individuals who prey upon their own kind. Uribern, too. Rosvoi are savages, low criminals who?—”
“I get it,” Ursula interrupted to forestall a lecture. Males were predisposed to “mansplaining,” even on distant planets. “Are they in Fangrys? Have they actually been sighted?”
Suvesh nodded. “Not in Fangrys, but in Omari. The Omari Prime sent a personal caution at the behest of their mate. They request you postpone your scheduled visit. The Omari Triad bids us to not risk your safety nor the young master’s.”
She nodded, appreciating the servant’s caution, even while she chafed at the restrictions he and the rest of the planet’s overwhelmingly male population attempted to impose upon her. Although she’d been assimilated into Urib culture for four Urib years—after she’d been claimed by a warrior triad and physically transmogrified on a cellular level into a human-Urib hybrid—Ursula retained her human memories, human perceptions, human values, and human thoughts. The dichotomy frustrated her mates more often than not, although she never doubted their fierce devotion to her and their son.
“I’m still heading out to the shop,” she declared, earning Suvesh’s frown of concern. “I’ve got a lot more inventory for the shelves.”
The servant again tried to forestall her. “Prima, Fangrys does not require the income from your business?—”
“I know that,” she said, cutting him off. “Butyouknow that I’m not one to twiddle my thumbs and do nothing with my time.”
Suvesh sighed, his resignation audible. “Yes, Prima.”
Ursula smiled, a human expression, not a Urib threat. “See? That wasn’t so difficult. I’ll take four castrati with us. They’ll keep you, Crow, me, and our driver safe and still be of use in loading and unloading the wagon.”
“Yes, Prima.”
She clapped her hands. “Terrific. As soon as I get Crow ready, we’ll head out. Have someone load the wagon, would you? I’ve got all the new inventory already packed for transportation.”
“Yes, Prima.” The servant bowed and backed away three steps before turning to carry out her instructions.
An hour later, Ursula held Crow’s small hand in hers while the beast-drawn hoverwagon lumbered down the road. The local reliance upon low-tech conveyances in a technologically advanced society never ceased to astonish her, but she’d learned to accept it. Out in the hinterlands like Fangrys and Omari, people prized a slower lifestyle. The hoverwagon, a finely crafted amalgam of wood, metal, and some sort of artificial composite, floated above the ground and was drawn at the speed determined by the team of animals pulling it. She thought the numpties looked like a weird composite of rhinoceros, llama, and iguana. The phlegmatic animals spooked at little, could move at a steady pace for several days without ever tiring or stopping to eat or drink, and were incredibly surefooted. Their one major drawback: numpties reeked. That the Urib name for the species and the same word had a much different meaning in Scottish slang never failed to make her giggle.
Although progress was slow, particularly compared to the modern motorized vehicles on Earth and Urib’s planet-wide, long-distance transportation system, the ride was smooth. Hoverwagons floated on a cushion of air, reducing the drag of the weight the numpties pulled. Suvesh himself held the reins, unwilling to delegate supervision of his lords’ precious mate and their son to anyone else. The coachman sat in the back of the hoverwagon and enjoyed gossiping with the other four castrati who walked beside the open-air vehicle.
Chapter 1
A puff of dust and a low grunt drew Zul’s attention away from the small band of rosvoi he was following. The bandits paused, too. He refocused his attention. A quartet of castrati traveled along the dusty road toward the Fangrys village, escorting a hoverwagon. Two of the castrati carried pikes, the glowing blue tips indicating the blades could do a lot more than merely jab and stab. That extra capability made them either additionally lethal in the hands of an experienced warrior or foolishly dangerous if wielded by an amateur. Because lesser breeds who served as castrati typically weren’t warriors, Zul assumed they carried the weapons more for show than anything else.
He wondered what they guarded that was so precious. His eyes narrowed, as his ears caught the light, sweet voice of a female and the high-pitched laughter of a youngling. Zul revised his assumption of the castrati’s inexperience with weapons. He couldn’t believe that the female was the Fangrys Triad’s mate. He shook his head in disbelief.No, the female and her youngling must belong to a merchant dyad who are too cheap to hire proper protection.
He’d heard of the Fangrys Triad; their fierce reputation commanded respect. Zul, along with all of Uribern, had mourned when their berserker perishedfrom grievous wounds sustained in battle. The Urib would not have won that momentous battle without the mighty warrior’s unflagging courage, vicious skill, and sacrifice. The Ogranox had retreated from the galaxy in humiliation.
Uribern, however, did not rest secure in that victory. All knew the Ogranox would return in larger numbers sooner rather than later.
Zul assumed the remaining warriors of the famous triad would not allow their mate to travel unprotected and thought it strange they would allow her to travel unaccompanied by at least one of them. Rumor had it their female was uncommonly independent. He attributed that particular character flaw to her human ancestry. Urib-human hybrids, he’d been told, took time to acclimate—if they ever did—to Urib expectations for females. He wanted a closer look; he’d never seen a human before.
It did not occur to him to consider what adjustments the Urib males who mated those hybrid females made to accommodate their prized mates.
A flicker of movement drew his attention. He cursed under his breath. The rosvoi had crept closer while he focused on the female, the youngling, and the castrati. His thigh muscles ached as he held still within a crouched position, ready to charge forward to the rescue. Though the only survivor of his warrior triad and yet to be accepted by another bonded pair, Zul yet held to his honor unlike the bereft rosvoi who had lost their honor along with their blood bonds.
Zul crept forward, careful to avoid stirring up any dust that would alert the rosvoi to his presence and location. He paused, watched the hoverwagon’s slow progress, heard the youngling’s bright chatter, and inhaled the numpties’ stench. It was strong enough that he doubted the rosvoi or the castrati would detect his own scent though the reek, although one of the plodding numpties cocked a long ear in his direction.
He calculated the moment when the rosvoi would leap from cover, their ululating war cries cutting through the air to startle their victims. He charged, too, claws and blade at the ready, teethbared in a ferocious snarl. The castratus driving the team slapped the reins on the numpties’ backs, but the stolid beasts stumbled to a halt rather than leap forward into a lumbering gallop. The animals jigged and danced in their harness, bellowing their fear. The two castrati with pikes leveled their weapons at the bandits. The other two castrati leaped onto the wagon and, with the two already riding, surrounded the female and youngling, forming what was intended to be a protective circle.
Zul ran, dry air sawing in and out of his lungs while the thick, heavy muscles of his legs propelled him across the hot, arid land. The telltale sizzle of a laser striking flesh informed him that at least one of the pike-wielding castrati managed a hit. Zul’s blade swiped in a broad arc that took the head off another bandit. Twisting to one side, he leaped, avoiding the heavy swipe of a tail while twisting midair to whip his own tail at his opponent. The castrati shrilled and snapped, small predators courageously defending against much larger ones. They darted in and out, bit and slashed. Their distraction sufficed to enable Zul to drive his sword into two more rosvoi, giving them a warrior’s end rather than the ignominy they deserved. Unfortunately both of the pike-wielding castrati were the first among their number to die. Three more followed in all too quick succession in defense of their Prima and her son.
The remaining three rosvoi turned their collective attention to Zul. Keeping to a coiled stance and ready to dart in any direction to attack, parry, or retreat, Zul nonetheless kept one eye focused on the female and the youngling who quite sensibly crouched behind the remaining castratus for protection. He noted her small size, barely larger than a half-grown purebred Urib. Something sizzled low in his gut and twinged in his broad chest. He ignored the sensations, preferring to survive and deal with them later.
“Get them to safety!” he snarled at the driver.
