Chapter 27 Venim
Well.
That didn’t go quite as planned.
I assumed the Hassaith would be lying in wait, ready to spring some sort of trap. That’s why I sent Grindal down the tunnel ahead of me. What I did not expect was that Grindal would disturb the scuttlers so close to the surface.
The hive has obviously grown considerably since the last time I was here.
The Hassaith didn’t realize those creatures were infesting this place, otherwise he never would have brought the female down here to hide.
An honest mistake. Scuttlers only congregate around areas rife with ore, and considering this mine is long abandoned, one would assume there is no ore left, and therefore no bugs.
They would be wrong.
I have been on Ul long enough to remember when this particular mine was still operational.
I also remember the day it got shut down.
It wasn’t because the ore ran out. Quite the contrary.
When the miners broke through a wall near the bottom, they unearthed a massive vein of the stuff.
They also unearthed a massive scuttler hive.
The lower levels were overrun in a matter of kethars.
Only one miner survived to tell the tale, and he expired a few days later from his wounds.
The mine was abandoned, and it has remained so ever since.
The Hassaith hasn’t been on Ul long enough to know that. He is young yet. Young and inexperienced.
But still deadly.
Four dead caravanners and five dead ashmaws by my count, not to mention the numerous scuttlers he just blasted. I am glad when my men finally arrive and start to bind him. It gives me a chance to study the other captive without any fear of interruption.
The female.
I have found her.
I do not need to lick her to know she is the one I tasted amid the ruins of the Scarlet Ship. The stale, subterranean air is saturated with her scent. I’ve been experiencing it ever since I first set foot inside the mine a few kethars ago. It’s been playing havoc with my brain chemistry.
My member strains beneath my armor, burning with animal desire.
I want so badly to sheathe it inside her, to quench the fire of my lust the way a swordsmith quenches a glowing-hot blade in water.
I want to tear off her clothing, throw her down into the piles of quivering scuttler guts, and breed her until there isn’t a drop of seed left in my body—and not one molecule of unseeded cunt left within hers.
Then I want to seal her, so no other male may defile her with his fluid.
But I do none of those things. I mustn’t.
I have my orders.
Instead, I merely look at her, the soft little creature hanging from my outstretched hands. The light down here is scant—just the electric lamp the Hassaith dropped, and the wriggling glowgrub torches held by my own men—but it is enough.
Indeed, I am thankful there is not more of it. I do not think I could handle the human’s beauty fully lit.
Her mane is nearly as long as my own, and it pours around her neck and shoulders like liquid gold.
Beneath the transparent panel of her breathing mask, her skin is a gentle shade of pink, and her wet eyes contain two perfect rings of agate, blue-gray and deeply striated.
Her lips are the color of raw ore. They tremble uncontrollably.
She fears me. She should.
I lower my gaze to examine her body, and a runnel of preseed races down my leg.
Blessed Monad, she is soft and round in all the right ways, many of which I did not know were right until now.
Her mammalian breasts should not have any effect on a member of my milkless species, yet I find myself desperately wishing to suckle the taut little nipples which are visibly lifting the skin-tight fabric of her suit.
It is a strange and foreign desire—yet oddly familiar at the same time.
I know from glimpses that her backside is even more sumptuous than her chest, and I am tempted to turn her round to examine it more closely. Tempted to bend her. To taste. To—
Clonk!
I am so distracted by the female’s shape, I fail to notice the telltale motion of her leg until it is too late.
One of her feet lashes out, and the tip of her boot connects with my codpiece.
Ordinarily, my chitin armor would provide ample protection against such a feeble strike, but at the moment, my swollen cock is far more sensitive than usual.
Pain stabs through my groin. My grip loosens. The female drops from my hands and starts to run.
She does not get far.
One of my men catches her and pulls her close. A multi-limbed Drel. The female screams.
“Not so fast, girlie,” the Drel sneers.
The sight of another male putting his hands on the female sets my blood ablaze.
The pain from her kick is gone in a flash.
My fist jabs the Drel’s face, cracking his nose.
A second, crossing punch drops him. I pull the female away from him as he falls.
It all happens in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
“Garf!” the Drel groans, wiping at his bleeding snout. “Wud you do that vor, Venib? I’z only drying to keeb her frob geddig away!”
“Shut up!” I snarl. “Get your ass topside now.”
The Drel cuts me a resentful look, but he knows better than to challenge me outright. He lurches to his feet and staggers off down the tunnel, grumbling under his breath.
I keep a firm grip on the female as I turn and face the others.
They have finally finished securing the Hassaith. He’s come round enough that he’s able to kneel without falling over. His hands are bound behind his back with rusty shackles, and an equally rusty chain has been looped to a collar around his neck.
“I know ’im,” one of my men says, chuckling. “Scythro’s ’is name. Hangs around the depot, selling ’is ass for ore.”
The Hassaith’s mouth twists into an expression halfway between a wince of pain and a smirk.
“I sell my cock too, darling. You ought to know. You’ve paid for it more than once.”
The taunt earns him a blow to the face.
The female shouts in response. Her language is foreign, but her mask translates it into words I can understand.
“Leave him alone!”
A quick glance at her face reveals an expression of pain and fury, almost as if she were the one who had been punched and not the Hassaith.
So, she cares for him. Deeply. This revelation stirs conflicting emotions within me. Part of me wishes to draw my glazeblade and split the Hassaith straight down the middle.
Another part wishes to spare the female the pain that would obviously cause her.
For the time being, the latter impulse wins.
“Knock it off,” I hiss, catching the enforcer’s wrist before he can land another punch.
He gives me a quizzical look. I am not known for my mercy.
“It’s a coward who beats a bound man,” I say. “Besides, I’ll likely want to interrogate him later. I’ll need his brain intact.”
It is not merely an excuse. I will interrogate him. Then I’ll take him back to Pharod to answer for the caravanners he killed. Poor bastard. When that happens, he’ll be wishing the scuttlers had eaten him instead.
I gesture to my men.
“You and you, get the whore on his feet and take him topside. The rest of you, gather some of these scuttler guts and carry them up for the thrumwings to eat. We’ll rest in this place for a few draleths, then we’ll set out for Mount Bolguz.”
“What about this thing, boss?”
One of the men scoops a tiny figure off the floor and holds it out for me to inspect.
I palm the little figure’s rounded skull and hold it up to get a better look.
It is a small android, designed to resemble a living thing.
Its naked body is covered in a synthetic skin that matches the color of the female’s own, but its face is partially torn away, revealing the metal understructure beneath.
A pair of lifeless, white wings droop from the android’s back.
That explains the feather I found earlier. The one covered in the female’s scent.
This is obviously the female’s companion. Every concubine I’ve encountered over the past few days has had one. I destroyed all of them, for the safety of myself and my men, but this one looks as if it’s already been disabled.
As I’m preparing to toss it aside, the female cries out.
“Wait!”
I turn to look at her. Her eyes are brimming with tears, and her pretty features are twisted into an expression that looks like pain.
“Let me take him,” she begs. “Please.”
I look from the female to the little android dangling from my palm, then back to the human again.
“This thing is broken, human. It won’t do you any good anymore.”
“Please…”
There is something in her voice, something brittle and sharp, that pricks my heart like a splinter of glass. Blessed Monad. A horde of scuttlers could not so much as touch me, yet this fragile little female can wound me with her voice. I must be getting soft.
“What is your name?” I ask.
The female hesitates, as if unwilling to answer me. There are some species who believe that to give someone your name is to give them power over you. Perhaps humans fall among this lot. Perhaps they are not wrong.
“You want your toy?” I ask.
She nods.
“Then give me your name.”
This time there is no hesitation.
“Jean,” she says. “My name is Jean.”
“Jean,” I repeat, weighing the single strange syllable on my tongue.
“Very well. I will grant you this one request. I will not grant you another. I know what you are, Jean. You are a concubine. A wife of the Emperor, accustomed to being waited upon hand and foot, accustomed to being spoiled. But you’re on Ul now, and Ul is not some pleasure garden where you can always get your way.
Ul is a prison, and those who dwell here are prisoners one and all, including you.
The sooner you accept that fact, the better. ”
The female’s face is red behind her mask. Her eyes are dripping rage. She is trembling. I hand over her stupid little doll. Then I sling her over my shoulder and carry her from the mine as a hunter carries prey.
Great Monad. I am getting soft, aren’t I? That’s a problem. A big one.
Ul is no place for soft things.