Page 7 of On a Barbarian World

More alarms beeped, and she closed her eyes and tried to stay conscious. The reentry flames and shuddering of the ship died away. But now the ship was spinning, making her stomach reel.

She caught a glimpse of a blue sky, sharp-peaked mountains, and brown land. Then the ground was rushing up to meet her.

There was a huge jolt, and she was tossed around, her harness digging into her shoulders. Metal screeched, items vibrated, and glass shattered.

Another huge jolt and something slammed into her head.

She blinked once, her vision blurring. Pain tore through her.

Then there was nothing.

The clang of sword against sword rang out through the early-evening air.

Kavon Mal Dor urged his hargon beast forward, felt the animal’s powerful muscles tense as it sprang into movement. Kavon thrust all his strength behind his weapon, slashing his sword against the raider.

The raider, dressed in scarred, worn armor, lifted his own sword, but it snapped under the size and strength of Kavon’s blade. With a scream, the man fell off his hargon beast, tumbling beneath sharp hooves.

Kavon slowed his beast and turned.

He’d already cut a swath through the raiding party, and behind him, his warriors were making short work of the remaining raiders. His jaw tightened. Raiders were the lowest of the low—men with no honor, who stole and pillaged.

They’d made the wrong decision in choosing to raid a village under Kavon’s protection.

His nanami surged through his blood, giving him added strength and making his reflexes faster. The nanami were a part of every Markarian, a special life form that helped them survive the harsh conditions of their land.

He took down a final raider, and soon they all lay unmoving. He urged his beast, Tarm, forward with a nudge of his knees. He saw two of his warriors calming the two women who’d been kidnapped, while the others rounded up any valuables that had been stolen.

A tall warrior strode over to Kavon. “Everything’s accounted for, Warlord.”

“Thank you, Darroch. The women?”

“Unharmed. Just frightened.”

Kavon nodded. “Good. Return them to their families.” He glanced at the darkening sky, and the first of the stars appearing. “And let’s get back to the estate. We’re too close to the Wilds here. We don’t want to tempt the darken beasts to venture out of their home grounds.”

Darroch nodded. “That’s for sure.” The warrior turned, bellowing at the others to load up and move out.

Kavon felt hot and tired. He’d spent most of the day training with his men, then he’d received the call that the raiders had hit the outer edge of his land. What he wanted now was to wash, eat, and find a good mug of ale.

A hargon beast moved up beside him, steam snorting from its nostrils. The hargon were favored by warriors. They were large, muscular animals, with tough, black, leather-like skin, sharp horns atop their heads, and spikes down the back of their long necks. They also breathed fire when riled.

“You and your mighty sword win again, Kavon.” Colm Mal Kor smiled at Kavon. “The tale of this night will spread through the great hall this evening. It will morph until everyone talks in whispers of the great Warlord Kavon Mal Dor who slew the entire vicious raiding party with a few strokes of his famed sword, Tanir.”

Kavon hefted Tanir, studying the long blade of his sword. It had been crafted straight and true, but was more ornately carved near the hilt. A warrior’s sword. His father had been by his side when it had been made.

The memory of his father carved through him. Kavon pushed the pain aside and nodded at his friend. “But of course.”

Colm shook his head, his dark hair swinging around his rugged face. “Cocky doesn’t suit you. You’re too damned serious all the time.”

That was what responsibility did to a man. Kavon turned his head, and in the distance caught the lights of his estate. The solid bulk of his sprawling home glowed with lights in the night. It was carved from the lustrous dasanite rock. To the east, he saw the verdant farmlands his people worked, and to the west, the pointed spires of the Grimore Mountains in the Darken Wilds.

The Wilds were a dry, rocky place that could test a man to the limit. They were home to all manner of wild darken beasts, and most people avoided venturing there. Thankfully the beasts rarely left the Wilds, preferring the drier climate. He could just make out the distant glow of his nearest mines that produced glittering gems, as well as ore for the metal from which his sword was crafted. His land straddled the sharp divide between the lush fertile lands good for farming, and the barren, but mineral-rich, Wilds.

It made his land some of the most valuable in Markaria. He was now one of the wealthiest warlords. For a hard, long decade, he’d fought and worked to restore his family name. After his father’s murder, Kavon had trained, expanded the mines, restored the farmlands, and worked secretly to avenge his father.

A muscle in Kavon’s jaw ticked. Now, he was getting close to completing the final steps in his plan.

“Too damned serious,” Colm said again, with a shake of his head. “You’re thinking of your ‘grand plan’ right now.”