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 perished from 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, teeth bared 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.
“Suvesh, please!” the female hissed. She picked up an item from the back of the wagon—Zul could not see what it was—and flung it at the jigging numpties.
The item struck one numpty’s hindquarters and shattered.
The beast bellowed and lurched forward. The other numpty immediately matched its pace.
The hoverwagon floated smoothly behind the racing beasts, leaving behind five dead castrati on the dusty earth.
The driver shoved the reins in the female’s hands and leaped from the wagon.
As soon as his feet touched ground, he scrambled to retrieve one of the fallen pikes.
“I will fight with you,” the castratus promised, his voice surprisingly deep and mellifluous.
“Protect my back,” Zul ordered.
“With my life.”
The remaining three rosvoi charged. The castratus aimed the pike with surprising accuracy and wielded it with unexpected skill as he defended Zul’s blind side while the berserker thrusted and parried and lunged and dodged.
When one of the better skilled rosvoi knocked the sword from his hand, he drew the dagger at his hip and swiped with his claws, horns, and tail.
Using every tool at his command, he finally unleashed the deep rage that burned inside every berserker.
A red film glazed his eyes, giving him access to the infrared spectrum that made blood glow and illuminated weak points with lethal accuracy.
His muscles felt the sizzle of new energy and increased strength, enabling him to move with enhanced speed and precision.
The base of his horns turned cold and hardened, lending additional strength where they were anchored in his skull and contracting the tips to deadly, extra-sharp points.
With a bestial roar pitched to concuss brains and liquefy bowels, he slaughtered the three remaining rosvoi.
The berserker rage retreated when he no longer had a target.
He took deep breaths and blinked away the red haze.
After a moment, he found himself looming over the castratus huddled on the ground in a submissive pose beneath the threat of his dagger.
Zul shook his head to dispel the lingering effects of the berserker rage.
He sheathed the dagger and stepped away to retrieve his sword from the dusty earth.
“You are safe,” he grunted at the shivering castratus.
The hoverwagon’s driver slowly picked himself off the ground and, when standing, dusted himself off with grave dignity despite the spreading stains of blood on his clothes.
His green eyes narrowed as he focused on the ruddy-skinned, black-horned berserker.
He looked around, and what he observed distressed him.
He made a low keening sound in the back of his throat then said, “Fangrys owes you a great debt of gratitude.”
“Where are her mates?” Zul demanded. “How can they allow a female to travel without protection?”
“Prima cen’Vyr does as she wills,” the servant replied.
“Prima?” Zul was appalled.
The servant bowed. “As I said, Fangrys owes you a debt.”
Zul huffed. “That debt will grow, as I will protect the Prima if her warriors will not.”
The driver averted his gaze then said, “They cannot.”
Zul leaned forward, a growl building in his throat. “Has the loss of their Third so besmirched their honor?”
The castratus met his gaze without flinching, a bold and unexpected response. “They are deployed.”
He hissed in disbelief. “Does the government not know—”
“Of course, they know,” the driver snapped. “But it was deemed more important to Uribern to have them fighting on the front lines than to remain here to protect their mate.”
“I don’t understand,” Zul admitted. “The Ogranox retreated.”
“And the Sivuul attacked.”
“What is the date?” Zul demanded. At the castratus’ answer, he clenched his jaws. He’d definitely lost track of time.
“Who are you?” the castratus asked.
“I am Zullar cen’Gyrah, Third of the Uk’khadir Triad.”
The castratus’s eyes widened in recognition then narrowed in suspicion. “The Uk’khadir Triad was killed sixty years ago.”
“I am all that remains,” Zul admitted.
The castratus remained unconvinced, but said nothing of the sort. Instead, he bowed then began walking toward the village.
“Where are you going?” Zul asked as he fell into step beside the castratus.
“To the village. The Prima conducts business there.”
Surprise again compelled Zul to blurt in disbelief and astonishment. “The Prima conducts business?”
With cool dignity and quiet pride, the servant explained, “The Prima is a skilled potter. She sells her ceramics in the village. Her wares are much sought-after.”
Zul then realized what she had thrown at the numpty’s hindquarters and blinked in a weird mixture of admiration and fury.
How dared the Prima ignore her safety and jeopardize the youngling?
His mouth opened, but the words of objection and condemnation remained stuck in his throat.
He decided he would admonish the foolish female himself, because she obviously needed a stronger hand to guide her than the indulgent Fangrys Prime or Second applied.
The idea that, perhaps, it was not his place to scold and chastise another’s mate flashed into his mind and dissipated like a wisp of smoke.
“Return to inform the Fangrys household of what has happened,” Zul declared. “Your wounds must be treated.” He thumped his chest with a massive fist. “I will protect the Prima until her mates return. She and the youngling will come to no danger while I guard them.”
The castratus leveled a speculative gaze at him as the warrior broke into a ground-covering trot and quickly put distance between them. Zul almost thought he heard the servant mutter something insolent like, “Good luck.”