Silver Slayer (Warriors of Valose #16)
Chapter 1
Chapter One
VENNOX
Ishifted in my seat, hyperaware of my position between two males who would have slit my throat not so long ago, the unease prickling across my scales like a warning.
Brunnex of Clan Jurigon sat to my left; the artificial light caught his silver scales, throwing blade-sharp reflections that danced along his arms. On my right, Truxxet of Clan Trisess maintained a rigid posture mirroring my own, his eyes fixed on the viewport ahead, yet his focus flickering back to me, as if he were still weighing the odds.
Centuries of clan warfare echoed in my bones, each pulse of the engine a fresh reminder of old hatreds.
I forced my hand to uncurl from the edge of my seat, the metalloid cool against my too-warm palm.
My mind accepted the truce with Jurigon and Trisess, but my body remembered ambushes in the Huren jungle and the metallic scent of spilled blood.
The past wasn't just close; it was a ghost in the recycled air, whispering that trust was a blade with no safe edge to hold.
“Exiting Kytis atmosphere in ten seconds,” Ruze called out from the pilot’s seat, his Nomadican accent curling low and steady beneath the constant thrum of the engines.
I tracked Tyrk's claw-tipped fingers as they moved across the control panel's gleaming surface, big and callused yet unexpectedly deft.
Everything about the Nomadicans felt foreign, from the sharp sweep of their black horns to the sheer size they carried like a challenge.
Yet, sitting here, I realized I trusted them more than the Valosians flanking me.
There was a strange comfort in their presence, a steadiness the others couldn't offer.
Maybe because the Nomadicans had never circled me like predators over a patch of disputed ground, never looked at me and seen an enemy.
Not like my own kind had, too many times to count.
Ruze’s fingers danced over the navigation panel with a confidence born of repetition. “Course is set for the Orc home world,” he said, glancing at his co-pilot, a silent exchange of trust and intent.
Tyrk’s rumble broke through the hum of the ship, his black horns catching the light, sharp against the metallic glow. “Gunnox got what we needed from the Zibeck. Without him squeezing out the truth, we’d never know where the trollis sent those humans and Valosians.”
At the mention of Gunnox, Truxxet straightened beside me, the restless flicker in his gaze sharpening as he fixed his stare on the horizon ahead.
Pride radiated off him, Clan Trisess through and through.
His hands stilled, the habitual flex of fingers longing for a spear replaced by deliberate stillness, flattened against his thighs as if anchoring himself in the moment.
Our weapons rested in the compartment at our backs, close enough to grab if danger struck, yet distant enough to keep ancient hatreds from flaring.
My palm burned empty, missing the familiar weight of Valosian steel.
The phantom sensation of my blade slicing through Jagot flesh to free the Mayrans lingered, as did the savage satisfaction it had brought.
That primal surge of violence, the blood-song that had kept me alive during my captivity, hummed beneath my scales, unwilling to be silenced even now.
"The Mayrans seemed grateful." I glanced over at Truxxet, surprised by his words. He wasn’t looking at me, but down at his own hands, as if recalling the sight of the freed captives.
The quiet statement, devoid of his usual sharp edges, felt less like an intrusion and more like a shared, unexpected echo of the same thought.
I met his gaze directly, my voice hardening with the certainty of one who had known both captivity and release. “They were. Freedom is always worth gratitude.”
"Not all captives adjust so well to liberation," Brunnex mumbled.
The comment hung between us, and I knew he was referring to my own history of captivity under the Gorken queen Uri. My scales flushed with an involuntary pattern of distress before I could suppress it.
"Some adjustments take longer than others," I replied evenly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words had struck home.
The ship shuddered as we cleared the last wisps of Kytis's atmosphere, the stars beyond suddenly sharp and clear through the viewport. I found myself searching for familiar constellations, but nothing here resembled the dark sky of Valose. Another reminder of how far we had traveled from home.
"We are being hailed,” Ruze announced, his fingers tapping across the console. "It's from Valose."
We all straightened at once, the tension in the air snapping to attention, and for a fleeting heartbeat, the discomfort of sharing this cramped space with former enemies faded into the background.
“A Lizordian vessel reports successful extraction of captives from the Natookie,” a familiar, deep voice announced over the comm. Zaku. The massive purple Moktian Sia Jakkar had named a warrior of Valose.
“Twenty-two Valosians and twenty-nine human females recovered. They are preparing to depart for Valose."
"Twenty-nine more humans," I murmured. The words felt strange on my tongue.
A yeron ago, the very concept of their species was unknown to me.
Now, they were bound to us, bearing our young, changing the very future of Valose.
The news was another stark reminder of the world that had moved on without me while I was trapped in unnatural slumber, caged beneath the Huren palace.
"Good news from home," Tyrk tossed over his shoulder, his deep voice pulling me from my thoughts. "But our own hunt continues. Course is locked for the Orc home world."
"I thought that Zibeck was going to shite himself when Gunnox got a hold of him." Tyrk glanced at Ruze, barking out a laugh.
"Seeing him dangling from Gunnox's fist was a sight to behold," Tyrk added, his massive fingers adjusting the navigation controls. "Good thing he had the good sense to tell the Valosian what he wanted to know."
"I wouldn't doubt it if the wiry prick packed up and left Tirius after that," Ruze muttered, eyes fixed on the star field ahead.
"What is Tirius?" Truxxet straightened at the mention of his clansman's successful interrogation.
"A planet used as a trafficking hub," Tyrk replied grimly. "Gunnox forced a confession from a Zibeck who lives there. Grimy creatures called trollis use it as a central point to distribute abducted beings from all over the universe."
Something stirred at the edge of my memory.
A name, half-heard through the fog of whatever the Gretolics had used to keep us under.
I had woken in a cage aboard a Gorken ship, disoriented and shackled alongside other Valosian males, the planet Tirius drifting through conversations I could barely hold on to.
A hot surge of fury tightened my chest, the phantom weight of Uri's collar cold against my throat. I was not a singular horror, but one of countless, a piece of cargo moved through a hub I didn’t recall, then sold to the Gorken.
"How many more are lost?" I asked, through a throat tight with rage.
"Fifty-one still unaccounted,” Ruze answered.
I exchanged glances with Truxxet and Brunnex, and for a fleeting moment, I saw understanding pass between us. The recognition that our old hatreds were small things indeed when measured against what unknown horrors lay beyond our world.
I closed my eyes briefly, willing the memories of my captivity to stay buried. The pain, the humiliation, the endless suns-rises under Uri's control. These were thoughts I did not want to entertain.
When I opened my eyes again, the vast emptiness of space filled the viewport. Somewhere out there were more of our people, more humans, more beings from countless worlds. All taken against their will.
Brunnex’s voice was unexpectedly quiet. “The Gorken… I am sorry that happened to you.” The words were stiff, unused to sympathy for a Huren. I met his gaze, surprised by the lack of malice.
“And I, for your clansmen who perished when the Gretolics destroyed your home in the Jurigon Mountains.”
A tense silence settled before Truxxet spoke, his eyes fixed on the viewport. “My brother was taken from the Trisess Forest. One suns-rise, he just vanished. I pray to the Spirits he is on that Lizordian ship and on the way back to Valose.”
For the first time, I saw not rival warriors, but males hollowed out by the same darkness that had consumed me.
"It would seem the stars have aligned us against a common enemy," I said quietly. “The Gretolics, the Natookie, the Gorken... they've all taken something from each of us. Our homes. Our clansmen.”
My fingers unconsciously traced the faded scar at my throat where Uri's control collar had once burned. “Whatever blood feuds existed between our clans pale against what these alien races have inflicted upon our kind.”
Brunnex nodded, his expression grim. "I never thought I'd fight alongside Huren or Trisess, but after I witnessed the Gretolic craft destroy my home with a beam of light, and then those Mayrans in the Jagot cells..." He trailed off, his scales flickering with remembered rage.
"What lies beyond the clouds of Valose is larger and more dangerous than we ever imagined," I said. "And we are small indeed if we remain divided."
Brunnex opened his mouth, but didn’t get the chance to respond.
The ship jerked beneath us, slamming me hard against my seat’s restraints, a shock that drove the air from my lungs and left my vision strobing white at the edges.
My head snapped forward, then back, the world pitching sideways as the vessel groaned and shuddered beneath the assault.
My eyes whipped to the viewport, and my breath caught at the sight beyond.