On a Barbarian World (3 page)

Shit
. Some of the radiation had made it through the shields. It must have been slowly eating away at her systems all this time.

Her mind raced. Turn around to the convoy or head for B1?

She looked up and saw the planet was getting close. She’d never make it back to the
Sky Nomad
. B1 was it.

She adjusted course, then frantically set to work, trying to fix her failing systems. “Come on, sweetheart.” Nothing worked. She kicked the bottom of the console and winced.

Get to the planet
.
Set off her emergency beacon and let Dare and the others know where she was.
“
Sky Nomad
, this is the
Ariel
. I have a problem—”

“Communication systems are not functioning.” The computer again.

“Dammit!” She slammed a fist against the console.

“Environmental systems are down to fifty percent. Engine power has been compromised.”

Great
. She swallowed, trying to stay calm. At fifty percent enviro, she could still breathe. And even if she had to limp along at a slow speed, she could still make it to the planet. Landing might be a bit rough, but she’d make it.

A chime. “Shields are now offline.”

Aurina froze. No shields was not good. She eyed the distance to the planet again. Still, it wasn’t far and while her ship might get a bit battered on landing, it should be fine.

Suddenly, something whizzed past the viewscreen. Her muscles tensed, and she leaned forward. Another object whizzed by, headed for the planet.

Dread curdled in her gut.

Two more objects streamed past.

Oh, God.
The meteor shower.

With her systems down, she hadn’t detected it, and now, with her shields down, she was in real danger.

She touched her controls, her hands moving in a frantic dance. “Come on, baby. Just a little bit more speed. Let’s get out of here.”

But the
Ariel
didn’t respond.

Aurina sat back in her seat and checked that her harness was tight. The planet loomed ahead, filling the viewscreen.

But as more meteors whizzed past, turning into a dangerous rainstorm of rock, she could barely breathe from the tension.

There was a loud crash and alarms shrieked in a chaotic chorus.

“Impact,” the computer said. “A foreign object has impacted the ship.”

“Wow, I would never have guessed,” Aurina muttered. There was another crash and her fingers dug into her armrest.

“Environmental systems are failing, and engines have been damaged.”

The
Ariel
hit the atmosphere, flames flaring up over the ship. Aurina heard metal tear and groan. The ship was tossed sideways, and she was thrown against her harness.

She was going to die.

She dragged air into her tight lungs. She’d always thought death would be peaceful. A calm acceptance of what was coming, and being thankful for the life she’d had.

But dammit, she didn’t want to die. She wanted to live. She wanted…more.

More alarms beeped, and Aurina 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, and pain tearing 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.

Kavon 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. And 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.”

Kavon slid his huge sword back into the leather scabbard on his back. “This is an argument you’ve waged many times before, Colm. You know the importance of what I’m working toward.”

“I’m just worried you’ll achieve your plan and find you’ve sacrificed too damned much for it.” His friend sighed. “You’ll join us for an ale, though?”

“Of course. Ale and food.”

Colm’s brows rose. “And maybe a woman? That’s the only pleasure you’ll allow yourself. I saw you take that lovely little dancer to your rooms after dinner last night. I would have thought plowing yourself between those supple thighs would have eased your tension.”

Kavon grunted. Any enjoyment from the brief interlude hadn’t lasted long past emptying his seed. He raked a hand through his hair. “You know I’m preoccupied with finding Durendal.”

Colm released a long breath. “It is a worthy quest, Kavon. One that would give glory to the Mal Dor name…but it’s a myth. A legend from the beginning of our people. I’m not sure anyone can find it.”

Kavon’s mouth firmed. “I will.”

Colm shook his head. “I’ve known you since we were boys, and I recognize that look. You’ll give it everything you have. And that is how the legend of the great warrior, Kavon Mal Dor, has spread across Markaria. And will continue to do so, like his father before him.” Colm inclined his head. “I’ll see that the girls are returned to their families.”

Kavon mirrored the nod. “Thank you.”

After his friend had left, Kavon lifted his gaze. The stars overhead were bright now, and the first of Markaria’s moons was just pulling itself over the horizon.

By the warrior, Kavon missed his father.

Colan Mal Dor had been a big man with a gregarious nature and a booming laugh who could also be deadly and unyielding in a fight. He’d run his land with a firm but gentle hand, building up the farming, and providing a home for anyone who wanted to join Clan Mal Dor.

But one cowardly act had stolen Colan away from all of them and forever tarnished their family name.

By instinct, Kavon’s gaze moved south. He saw the distant twinkle of lights.

The home of Drog Mal Sull—all-around bastard, and the murderer of Kavon’s father.

Kavon’s hands tightened on the reins, and his hargon shifted restlessly. “Easy, Tarm.”

Drog’s family had always been bitter rivals with Kavon’s. A feud so old, its origins were murky. Some said it started with their great-great grandparents, caused by a slain brother, or a kidnapped sister who’d been returned round with child.

Whatever had started the feud, and despite Kavon’s father making many attempts to defuse it, it was still alive and well.

And now it was also fueled by the blood of Kavon’s father.

Drog had lured Colan away with talks of peace, and killed him in a way dishonorable to any warrior. Of course, Drog had crowed wide and far that he’d killed the great Colan Mal Dor in a fair fight. But Kavon, only nineteen years old at the time and still in training, had recognized that his father had been stabbed in the back by more than one weapon.

Kavon’s knuckles turned white. It had been no honorable warrior’s fight. Drog had ambushed his father.

The death of a warrior in a challenge casts a weak light on the family name. After Colan’s death, other warrior families had distanced themselves from Kavon’s. It had meant few would do business with Clan Mal Dor. Villagers had defected, searching for a stronger family to claim protection from. The farms had suffered, their livelihood had died away, and his mother and young sister had suffered. Just thinking of them made his chest tighten.

Over the last fourteen years, he’d worked hard to rebuild the Mal Dor name. To be the family people wanted to do business with—for foodstuffs, for minerals—and to claim protection from.

He’d become the best warrior he could be. He’d led many battles for their king, and gained his favor. But Kavon still needed one last thing to seal the honor his family deserved—his father deserved.

Kavon needed to find the legendary sword, Durendal.

He imagined presenting the historic blade to King Corant Mal Rann, King of Markaria, and his chest swelled.

A few months back, Kavon had celebrated his thirty-third birthday. In the Way of the Warrior, his tempestuous age of boiling emotions and temper had passed. He was now an experienced warrior, disciplined and controlled. He’d learned to control and direct his nanami—was one with them. In turn, they granted him speed, strength, and enhanced senses.

His biggest problem right now was that he had no idea where Durendal might rest. He had a team of scholars working on the problem, day and night. He’d sent warriors to search many locations, but they still hadn’t found it, and were out of promising options.

Ahead, the protective walls of his estate rose. He lifted a hand to the warriors guarding the gates and directed Tarm inside, the beast’s sharp hooves clattering on the cobblestone street.

Something in the sky caught his attention and he slowed Tarm. Falling stars were filling the vast emptiness.

The strange showers had started a day ago. Sometimes they were just a few streaks across the sky, or like now, a rain of them. Kavon hoped it was the Great Warrior’s way of giving his support for Kavon’s quest for Durendal.

Kavon heard voices ahead, and saw some of his clan spilling out of the great house. Farther down in the village, he saw people standing outside their homes, also joining others to watch the show in the sky.

Near him, he saw a young couple—a tall warrior-in-training with his arm around a pretty girl. She nestled into him, and the young man rested his face against her dark hair.

The tableau was an unwelcome reminder of the final thing he needed to gain favor with the king and bring honor to his family name. He needed to find a wife.

He needed to marry the daughter of one of the powerful warlord families and make an alliance. Kavon released a long breath. He had no interest in a wife. He liked sampling all the luscious women available to him when it suited him. Besides, the few warlord daughters he’d met so far were spoiled and pampered creatures. Not one had made his nanami sing. But it was a necessary piece of his plan and he’d allow nothing to get in his way.