As they neared the village, more and more homes were built on the ground and in the trees, the homes made of stone quarried from a nearby hillside and carried by hand. The structures in the trees were of wood, crafted from thick branches. Reklin could still recall the bark digging into his shoulders and the strain on his muscles as he’d carried them up the trail.

  The age gap in the dakorian clan was noticeable. Dakorians joined the Empire’s military at the age of thirty, and served for fifty years. Most returned then to find a mate and have children, but some, like Reklin, continued to serve. Others allowed a House to buy their contract, and sent funds to the clan. Every time Reklin returned to Rebor, he wondered if he should have just ended his contract and returned to be a father.

  He felt a nudge at the corner of his mind, not unlike being poked through the ear. He flinched and looked to the source, and found Siena staring at him in exasperation. The nudge came again, and this time he heard faint words enter his consciousness.

  Can you hear me?

  Reklin realized the girl was attempting to use her mind augment to speak into his thoughts. Would the girl ever be satisfied with what she’d learned? He inwardly chuckled at that. Dakorians were never satisfied with their level of ability, so why should he expect a human to stop growing?

  I can, he ventured.

  I didn’t want to speak out loud. Siena sounded relieved. But I can hear those older dakorians talking. They sound angry with you.

  Reklin received a mental image of two grayhorns standing next to a nearby house. Lacking walls, the open-air structure sat beneath a sprawling structure in the trees. Next to the house were three pits, all with roasting korgs. The piglike animals smelled heavenly, but the two elders looked disgusted.

  Technically Reklin was an elder. He was certainly old enough. But elders were those who lived on Rebor and were not under contract. They spoke for the family at clan councils, managed family finances, and led combat training for children.

  What are they talking about? Reklin asked.

  He had no qualms with asking Siena to use her augments to help. She could heighten and focus her hearing, allowing her to overhear the conversation. He’d probably know their thoughts soon enough anyway. Dakorians were not known for intrigue. But Reklin preferred to be prepared, and Siena could give him an idea of the family’s situation.

  They’re worried about a scattering, Siena said, continuing to use the mental link. What’s a scattering?

  When the clan council decides a family cannot sustain itself, Reklin replied, they step in and divide the family members among other families in the clan. If that is what they are worried about, then the situation is more dire than I thought.

  Can we stop it?

  Reklin gave the girl a sidelong look, surprised at her response. The girl was a slave to House Bright’Lor, but didn’t hesitate in wanting help him protect his family. It was disconcerting to have a slave be worried about dakorian. Noticing his look, she flushed and spoke aloud.

  “What?”

  “I’ve never met a human that would protect a dakorian,” Reklin said.

  She looked at him like he was stupid. “I’ve been on Rebor for less than an hour and seen more of a family than I’ve had in my entire life.”

  “So?”

  Her expression tightened. “I’ve seen too many families get torn apart. I don’t want to see it again.”

  Reklin chuckled wryly. Would the girl ever not surprise him? Normally he would have dismissed a slave’s offer of aid as absurd, but Siena had proven herself quite capable. And her willingness to defend his family gave him an idea.

  “Kevent,” he called.

  The dakorian, walking several paces behind, advanced to walk at his side. “Elder?”

  Reklin appreciated his use of the title, even if it wasn’t exactly accurate. “Has the clan council ordered a Sovereign Crucible?”

  Kevent scanned the near vicinity, but the children—with the exception of Mora—had listened to an elder who sent them to prepare the evening meal. Most had hurried on, leaving them momentarily alone.

  “Not yet,” Kevent murmured. “But our friends on the clan council are gradually turning against us. It’s only a matter of time until they do.”

  Reklin nodded. “Send word to the council. I’ll complete the Sovereign Crucible now.”

  Kevent’s eyes widened and then a fierce smile split his young features. “As you order.”

  He hurried ahead, disappearing into an all-stone structure that looked thousands of years old, yet housed one of the few Gates in the village. A flicker of light appeared in the doorway, indicating Kevent had departed.

  “What’s a Sovereign Crucible?” Siena asked.

  “A test,” Reklin said. “It determines if a family deserves to retain its independence. Defeat means the family is scattered. Victory means the family cannot be scattered for a time.”

  “You gain a reprieve,” Siena said, nodding. “It will give your family time to find a Bloodwall.”

  “Yes,” Reklin said. “But of all the currently serving dakorians from my family, none are likely to be selected. I still have to become a Bloodwall.”

  “I be Bloodwall,” Mora said proudly, puffing out her chest. “Best Bloodwall in clan.”

  “I have no doubt,” Reklin said with a smile.

  Mora darted behind Siena and grabbed a spike of bone on Reklin’s knee. Using it as a handhold, she climbed the other bone spikes and hopped onto Reklin’s shoulder, where she held the stub of one of his horns.

  “You teach me be Bloodwall. I fight. I kill Empire enemies. I fight like grandfather. Like all family . . .”

  Reklin grinned as the girl chattered away, describing all her victories and triumphs. It made him feel like a father and made him miss Sheklin. The pang was sharpened when they passed through the outer ring of the village structures and came to the arena.

  Recessed into the ground, the arena was uneven, with the ground warped by tree roots, boulders, and small ledges. Older whelps, commonly called naifblades, fought in the sprawling arena, battling and dueling with an assortment of weapons. Hundreds of bodies, laboring on the very ground where Reklin had learned from his father.

  A warmaster, marked by the silver rings on his horns, barked an order, and the youths paused in their training to greet Reklin. They raised their weapons and he inclined his head. He knew the older ones from his last visit, but they had been tiny, some so little their horns were just nubs. The younger ones he knew only from vids his family had sent.

  “You’ve greeted our returning elder,” the warmaster barked. “Now back to training.”

  “Are dakorians always training?” Siena asked.

  “Always,” Mora said with a sigh that was so dejected that both Siena and Reklin laughed.

  “What would you rather be doing?” Siena asked.

  “Play in holochamber!” she squealed.

  “We have a holochamber?” Reklin asked in surprise. “I thought Lavana refused.”

  “I convinced the elders to let us install one.”

  Reklin turned to find a female dakorian approaching. She was tall and slender, with silver horns that swept back from her skull, giving her an elegant look. He smiled and closed the gap to embrace her tight enough the spikes on her shoulders dug into his.

  “Inary,” he said, “it’s been too long.”

  “That would be your fault, brother.”

  She retreated with a grin and reached up to tap her horns. “So it is true.”

  “I had to cut them to complete an assignment,” he said.

  “They don’t grow back,” she chastised.

  “They will if I become a Bloodwall.”

  “You still think they’ll pick an old grayhorn?”

  “Only because they can’t pick you,” he replied.

  She laughed, the sound easy and pleasant. Of all his siblings and family, Reklin missed Inary the most. She’d completed her initial contract with the Empire and refused dozens of offers from Houses to return to Rebor. Aside from Reklin, she’d been the closest of the family to becoming a Bloodwall. But she’d never wanted the rank.

  “Mora,” Inary said, “you need to get back to training. You can play with the holochamber later.”

  “I stay with Seena.” She pouted.

  “Siena,” the girl corrected.

  “So you did bring a human.” Inary reached up and tried to grab Mora by a horn, but she dropped down and jumped onto Siena’s back. The girl wobbled but managed to stay on her feet. Giggling, Mora jumped away and sprinted into the trees.

  “You catch meeeee!”

  “That girl will drive me to madness,” Inary growled.

  “Yours?” Reklin asked in surprise.

  “Like I said,” Inary said, “you’ve been gone too long.”

  “She’s adorable,” Siena said.

  Inary cocked her head to the side and examined Siena with curious eyes. “Are you always so vocal?”

  “Always,” Reklin said, and Siena glared at him. “But she grows on you.”

  “We have no need for a slave,” Inary said. “But she can eat with the korgs.”

  “I prefer to eat with my mouth,” Siena retorted.

  Surprise flashed across Inary’s face, and then amusement. “You talk like an exiled or earless, but your earring marks you as House Bright’Lor.”

  “Siena is different,” Reklin said.

  Inary grunted in agreement. “If you can get Mora to come to dinner, you can sit at the table.”

  Siena gave a smile that was a shade too smug. “Done.”

  She turned and sprinted after Mora, who’d paused at the trees. She squealed and tried to run. Even at her young age she should have outstripped a human girl with ease, but Siena caught her five steps into the tree line. Grabbing her by a horn, she dragged her back and handed her to her mother.

  “What’s for dinner?” Siena asked.

  Inary began to laugh. “You are certainly one to keep.”

  “Seena sit by me,” Mora insisted.

  “As you will,” Inary said, and motioned them towards a house at the edge of the circle overlooking the arena. “The korg has been roasting since yesterday. I’m sure you’re hungry.”

  Reklin, oddly pleased that Siena had earned a measure of respect from his sister, circled the arena to his ancestral home. Many called out in greeting, but just as before, the older generation looked on in disgust.

  The house was stone on the ground level, with several huts mounted in the trees. Stairs connected the two, also built out of wood. There were no railings, and Reklin had fond memories of jumping from twenty feet when a meal was called. Reklin brushed his hand across the stone door as he entered, relishing the texture.

  The interior of the house was wide and open, with a massive stone table that could seat over forty, and large chairs. Smaller tables for children were set against the wall, where young dakorians were expected to eat apart from the adults. When they became naifblades they were given a seat at the main table, an honor that signaled their approach to adulthood.

  Whelps were busy placing platters next to bottles of selvin milk. Others added shavings of runel nut to the cups. The scent of roasting korg wafted through the window, heavy with spices. Dakorians clans did not export the meat, so the only way to partake was to come home. Roasted vegetables were pulled from steaming pots over a fire in the corner, and bowls of spiked fruit added to the table. Whelps of every gender learned to cook, clean, and fight together. It wasn’t until they joined the Empire that they had slaves perform such menial tasks. Reklin privately thought that many dakorians did not return because they’d gotten too comfortable with the ease of living with human slaves.

  “The korg is ready,” an elder barked as groups of adults carried the steaming platters and placed them around the edge of the main table.

  “I get to sit with the human!”

  “I saw her first!”

  “I already got her food!”

  “My Seena,” Mora growled.

  Other whelps tried to claim Siena, but Mora fended them off with a fierceness that belied her small frame. She insisted the human girl sit at the head of the children’s table. Casting Reklin an uncertain look, Siena allowed herself to be dragged away.

  “You respect the human,” Inary said as adults claimed chairs. “Why?”

  “She deserves it.” Reklin watched the girl take the uncertain situation with the other children, and bring them to awed silence by spinning a platter on its edge.

  “Family,” Lavana said, the word bringing silence to everybody except Mora, who continued to speak so quickly it was hard to discern the words. Lavana caught her eye and scowled, and Mora shut her mouth.

  “I not talking.”

  A smattering of chuckles came from the room, and Reklin basked in the sights. Yeven, with his missing left horn, was smiling at his mate, Jorane. Hew stood with his long-horned daughter. His wife was currently contracted in House Eter’Quen, but her contract would be completed by the end of the year. Wallia, Ollo, Preny, and on it went. Brothers, sisters, their children, their grandchildren, even great-grandchildren.

  “Today we are honored by Reklin’s return,” Lavana was saying. “Do try not to see his hornless status as an outcast. Horns or no horns, this will always be his home.”

  There were nods of approval from everyone in the room, bringing emotion into Reklin’s throat. He’d feared his status upon his return, but in their eyes he saw only respect. He needn’t have feared.

  “Reklin,” Lavana called, “it is to you I offer the first bite.”

  Reklin joined his mother to accept the honor, but as he reached for the fork, a rumble sent a shudder through the house. He frowned, his eyes lifting upward. A gravity drive? He was close to the door, so he was the third outside. The sun was just beginning to set, highlighting the two moons, one crescent, one full. A sleek Rogue-class starship was descending into the arena, a blatant disregard for family authority.

  “What’s happening?” Siena was at Reklin’s side, Mora clinging to her waist.

  The belly of the ship opened and a dakorian dropped into the arena. He landed with ease, his massive body uncoiling to rise to his full height of fourteen feet. He was the largest dakorian Reklin had ever seen, with horns that swept in tight circles, looping back over his ears and turning forward. Kevent dropped from the ship and landed at his side, looking like a whelp in comparison.

  “Your request has been approved,” the giant dakorian rumbled. “I am Olgor, and I have volunteered for the Crucible of Sovereignty. I will return in three days’ time to fight your champion.”

  He motioned to the starship and a gravity well lifted him back inside, leaving Kevent alone at the base of the arena. The starship rose into the air and departed, the burst of air swirling across the stunned village.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lavana whirled to Reklin, her eyes blazing. “What have you done?”

  “What I’ve always done,” Reklin said softly. “I protected the family.”

  Lavana’s features contorted in agony. “You’ve doomed us all.”

  “The council would have initiated the Crucible of Sovereignty soon,” Reklin said. “This way I can be here to fight.”

  “And you think you’re so strong,” she snarled, closing the gap in a rush, “that you’re the only one that can fight? You have your father’s talent but not his brains.”

  “What else would you have done?” Reklin asked, aware that others were watching.

  “We had our allies on the council,” she insisted. “They would protect us.”

  “For how long?” Kevent asked, stepping out of the arena. “Even our allies consider us weak.”

  “Of course you would help him.” Lavana reached out and struck him, knocking him backward.

  Kevent wiped the blood from his lip and shook his head. “This is the only way our family stays together.”

  “This is the way we die,” Worrek snapped. The elder approached, his expression black with anger. “But I expect nothing less from a hornless.”

  “He cut his horns to become a Bloodwall,” Siena shouted.

  “Silence,” the elder barked. “Humans are meant to serve, not speak.”

  He tried to backhand Siena, but she easily evaded.

  Reklin stepped in before Siena could hurt the elder. “This was my doing,” he said.

  “Your doing?” the elder scoffed. “You’ve failed us, just as your father did before you.”

  Reklin stepped in and wrapped a hand around the elder’s throat. In two steps he slammed him against the house, driving him into the stone. Anger burst across Reklin’s frame like a flood, surging into his veins and voice.

  “Sheklin did not fail us,” he snarled. “The Empire failed our family.”

  Worrek tried to pull free but Reklin was larger and stronger. “Your blame your failures on the Empire?” he snarled, the words distorted by his face against the stone. “You dishonor yourself.”

  Reklin yanked him from the wall and threw him to the ground. Reklin rotated in place, his chest heaving, his eyes flashing. Others had drifted forward, but his brothers and sisters stepped in front. Yet beneath the anger and judgment in his family members was a deeper emotion.

  Desperation.

  “Our family was once the strongest on Rebor,” Reklin shouted. “Now look at us, begging for scraps from the council. Have you forgotten our past? How our ancestors were granted these islands because of our valor? We’re not going to lose them without a fight.”

  “You are just hornless.” Worrek spat blood on the ground. “Why should we listen to you?”

  “Because I’m here with an offer,” Reklin said. “From House Bright’Lor.”

  “We don’t need contracts,” Lavana said, having recovered from her shock. “We need Bloodwalls to protect us, and fathers to find mates. You have done neither.”

  Reklin flinched at her words. “I can defeat Olgor.”

  “No,” Lavana said coldly, “you can’t. Olgor is in his prime, and more than a match for you. He’s never been defeated in single combat.”

  “He’s not a Bloodwall,” Reklin countered.

 

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