“How about we get this wulver home? You have your grand feast to prepare for.”
Together, they hefted the beast up, and set off through the trees.
“The skyflyer ship from the Institute of Historical Preservation is already in orbit,” Kavon said. “It is an honor to have them here to study and learn more about the First Warriors.”
Colm already knew. Everyone in the village, across Kavon’s lands and beyond, had been talking about it. It made Colm scowl. He’d known Kavon’s mate, Aurina, would change their lives, but he didn’t have to love it. Kavon and their King, Corant Mal Rann, were controlling outside access to Markaria, trading for advanced technology—like medscopes, that could cure all manner of injuries and disease, and personal computer devices like Syncs.
But Colm was a warrior. He lived to ensure the security of his people, and knowing there were more advanced peoples out there—and some of them were interested in his world—made him uneasy.
“They want to explore our world,” Kavon continued. “And I want you to lead them. I’m assigning you to be their guide and protect them.”
Colm stopped. “No.”
“Colm—”
“No.” Colm shook his head and stared at Kavon. “I am not a babysitter.”
And he had his own issues—issues he’d kept secret from Kavon—that would only be exacerbated by outside influence.
Kavon tugged on his end of the wulver and they kept walking. The tense silence was only broken by their heavy treads.
They cleared the trees and ahead their two hargon beasts waited, grazing on the grassland where they’d left them. The large, muscular animals were favored by warriors. With their tough, black, leather-like skin, sharp horns atop their heads, and spikes down the back of their long necks, they were excellent animals for a warrior to ride into war or a fight.
“Colm, you are my friend and my best warrior. Aurina’s cousin is the leader of this group and I need you to ensure he doesn’t get eaten by a darken beast or get lost in the Darken Wilds. Our world is not what they are used to.” The warlord turned to look out across the meadow.
Colm followed his gaze. In the distance, the spiked peaks of the Grimore Mountains in the Darken Wilds were visible. The Wilds were a dangerous place, especially at night. They were home to all manner of beasts and desperate raiders. Kavon also had mines there and his warriors worked hard to protect the miners.
The highest, most jagged peak caught Colm’s attention. Mount Furioso. It was where their ancestors, the First Warriors—explorers from old Earth—had crash-landed thousands of years ago. It was where they had gone on to use their advanced technology to create the nanami and give birth to the modern-day Markarians, from the wild, primitive animals they’d been before.
With Aurina’s help, they’d discovered the crash site of the First Warriors’ ship on a wild, daring adventure into the Wilds that had almost cost Kavon his life.
But that dangerous quest had also gained Colm’s friend his mate, and the Terran treasures they’d found, including the legendary sword, Durendal.
“Who is this cousin of Aurina’s?” Colm asked reluctantly. He’d never let his friend down before, and he didn’t plan to start today.
Colm took the wulver beast from Kavon and hefted it over the back of his hargon. The animal snorted steam in protest.
“Niklas Phoenix,” Kavon answered. “He is an astro-archeologist. He studies history and works for the Institute. His woman travels with him…as head of his security.”
Colm raised his brows. “His woman is his security?”
A small smile flashed on Kavon’s usually serious face. Since Aurina had come into his life, Kavon had shed much of the darkness of his childhood and smiled more frequently.
“Apparently. If Aurina has taught us anything, it is that women are capable of doing more things than we’ve ever imagined.”
Colm coughed to hide a laugh. Aurina did not let her warrior get away with riding over her, or ordering her around. Kavon had gotten very good at asking nicely—something with which most warlords had great difficulty.
Markarian women were the lifeblood of their society. Colm was well aware that, apart from their soft skin and delicious smells, women ran and contributed to most aspects of Markarian life. The head of Kavon’s mines was a woman, his head healer and scholar was a woman… Colm knew better than to underestimate a female. But they were not as physically strong as warriors, even with their nanami, and they were rarely warriors.
Colm scraped a hand through his long hair. “I still think I am better off here, training the warriors, rather than traipsing around the Wilds with these skyflyers.”