by Tana Stone
Punished—A Sci-Fi Alien Warrior Romance
Raider Warlords of the Vandar #5
Tana Stone
Broadmoor Books
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Also by Tana Stone
About the Author
This book is dedicated to Kathy Brinkley and her amazing editing skills!
Chapter One
Corvak
“Tvek,” I muttered to myself as I stepped outside the door to my dwelling, bumping my head on the low doorframe and then straightening once I was beyond it. I inhaled the morning air that was already arid. Soon the two suns would be high in the sky and the heat would be intense, but for now it was bearable.
Curious faces that had been poking from windows and peering through cracks in doors popped inside once I appeared. I let out a low growl. As a Vandar raider, I was still a curiosity on the planet of Kimithion III. Not only was I the only Vandar on the planet, I was there because I’d been exiled by my horde. The Kimitherians and humans who populated the pre-warp planet had agreed to accept me into their community because the Vandar Raas I’d defied had rewarded them handsomely.
My exasperation at the curious Kimitherians morphed into a flush of humiliation as I thought of the series of actions that had landed me on the alien planet. I curled my hands into fists as I stomped down the narrow dirt pathway that wound around the stone mountains—dust kicking up around my boots—and passed the many dwellings cut into them. Curtains fluttered in triangular windows as I walked by quickly without looking right or left, even though the savory scents of breakfast foods wafted out and made my nose twitch.
Not long ago, I’d been the battle chief of a horde of the Vandar raiders, living and flying in a black-hulled warbird that moved invisibly through the galaxy. I’d led my fellow warriors into valiant battle against our enemy, the Zagrath Empire, our attacks punctuated by drinking and fucking on the occasional pleasure planet. It had been a life I’d relished, and a job at which I’d excelled. Nothing stoked my inner fire like a battle, whether with ships or with battle axes.
I rested my hand on the hilt of the circular battle axe that hung at my side. At least they had not taken that from me when they’d expelled me from the horde. My face heated as I thought back to having to trudge down the ramp of the warbird and set foot onto the alien planet. It had taken every bit of self-control I possessed not to rush back into the belly of the ship and beg for mercy. But I would never have shamed myself or the Raas by begging, even though I would have preferred to be executed than exiled. Raas Bron thought he was showing me mercy by exiling me instead of putting me out an airlock, but I would have much preferred a quick death in space than languishing on this alien wasteland.
I raised a hand to shield my eyes from the rising suns as they crested the sharp mountain spires that jutted into the air and encircled expansive turquoise shallows. Many would have considered the stark landscape beautiful, but to me it was only a reminder that I was not on a Vandar ship. The light that turned the sky violet was too bright for a warrior used to the shadows and iron of a horde ship. And for a Vandar warrior, there was nothing worse than not being on a raider ship.
“You have no one to blame but yourself,” I said aloud, not caring if the locals who were watching me could hear or not.
It was true. Even though a part of me hated the Raas for dumping me on Kimithion III, another part of me knew I’d given him little choice. I’d defied the horde’s warlord and then challenged him to a duel, which I’d lost. It didn’t matter that I’d done it because I believed the horde to be in danger. I’d taken the human female that Raas Bron had claimed—a female I still believed was not who she said she was—and tried to extract the truth from her. She hadn’t told me anything, and the Raas had been livid when he’d discovered what I’d done.
I did not regret my actions. I maintained that the female was a danger to the horde, and it was my duty as battle chief to protect the Vandar from all enemies. But I also understood why Bron could not allow my disloyalty to go unpunished. In a Vandar horde, the Raas ruled with ultimate power. Challenging that power and losing meant death. I accepted that. What I did not accept was the shame of exile.
I growled low and scraped a hand through my long hair as I reached the end of the steep path that brought me to the open square of the village. Wide paving stones were smeared with dust, and a central obelisk rose not much higher than my own head. The few shops and vendors circling the square—their doors and windows also cut into the stone of the mountain—were barely unshuttering their windows and propping open their doors.
Since arriving, I’d spent most of my time in the quarters I’d been assigned, but I’d noticed the village when I’d arrived since going through it was the only way to reach the cliffside residences. It reminded me of many primitive villages I’d seen before—quaint shops selling provisions ranging from food to clothing to tools, a cafe offering simple meals and drinks, and even a reading room stocked with books printed on nearly transparent sheets of seaweed. There was a free-standing school building for the village children—the only structure that appeared to be made from wood—and a cluster of open-air stalls for residents to see their wares. A few children played in front of the school with sticks and hoops, their laughter cutting through the quiet. It was all orderly and peaceful, with residents going about their business in apparent harmony. It made me want to hit something.
Why did my exile have to be here? Although they were not fully primitive, with running water and power along with basic technology to facilitate off-world trading and communication, the residents of Kimithion III did not possess ships capable of light speed or any significant weaponry. They engaged in limited trade with other planets, primarily because they had little of unique value to exchange. The land wasn’t arable enough for large-scale farming, and their planet’s core contained no valuable minerals. They did have rich waters from which they harvested sea creatures and water plants for food and medicinal purposes, but that wasn’t something other planets valued as much as the planet’s natives did.
From what I’d learned, they managed to do enough of a trade in kelp and seaweed powders to acquire the grains and other supplies they didn’t produce, but residents didn’t enjoy much in the way of luxury. Clothes were basic, personal ornamentation was not favored, and the dwellings cut into the cliff face were simply furnished. The flip side was that they held nothing of value to attract the empire’s notice, which was why they’d been allowed to live without Zagrath interference. That, and they were a tiny planet, with only a few pockets of residents gathered around the planet’s wide seas, which they called the shallows. The empire paid little attention to such an insignificant planet with nothing to mine for profit.
Which was one of the reasons why I was there, living
in the largest of the planet’s villages. No imperial soldiers to notice me or for me to attack. I grunted. At this point I’d be thrilled to see an imperial soldier to save me from the boredom of the rudimentary society.
The alien planet might not be a total wasteland, but compared to the sophisticated technology of the Vandar ships, it felt like living with barbarians. I understood the irony of that thought because since I’d arrived, most of the natives had been eyeing me like I was the barbarian. It probably didn’t help that—like all Vandar raiders—I wore only a leather battle kilt and my boots with an occasional strap around my chest. Everyone else on the planet wore cloaks that covered them from head to toe or hooded jackets and long pants to protect them from the dust and heat.
A Kimitherian stepped from one of the shops, his iridescent, greenish-blue scales flashing at me from beneath his hooded cloak. He raised a webbed hand when he saw me, and I nodded in return, reminding myself that growling at everyone would not make my tenure on the planet any easier.
He ducked back into his shop, then returned moments later holding out a cup. When he crossed to me, he held it out. “Kimithion tea.”
Even though he spoke the universal tongue, his words were staccato. I’d heard the native language, and it wasn’t more than a series of sharp clicks that were nothing like Vandar or the universal tongue. He held out the cup without blinking, vertical pupils in his yellow eyes holding mine.
I considered waving him off, but I didn’t want to be rude. After all, I was stuck here for the foreseeable future.
“Thank you.” I took the cup and gave him a small bow of my head.
His wide, green lips stretched into his version of a smile as he watched me take a tentative sip and then freeze. “It is made with algae from the shallows.” His grin became a chuckle as I choked on the pungent beverage. “It will make you live forever.”
“I don’t think it’s the tea that does that,” I said, as he turned and hurried back to his shop, his ivory cloak snapping around his bare, webbed feet.
Although the drink did taste of murky seawater, the warmth of the liquid filled my belly, so I finished it while I considered what he’d said.
His words had been in jest. The tea didn’t make the people on the planet live forever—at least I didn’t think it was the strange beverage—but, the fact was, the residents of Kimithion III did have unnaturally long life.
My first evening on the planet, I’d been visited by a representative from the Kimitherians and one from the humans. The two males had explained to me that the planet contained some sort of energy that granted its inhabitants lifespans that lasted hundreds of solar rotations. It wasn’t that they were immortal. They could be killed by accident or violence, but they did not age noticeably once they reached maturity.
I swallowed the last tangy dregs of the tea, shaking my head both from the taste and the unbelievable story they’d told me. At first, I’d been skeptical, but they had no reason to lie to me. Not only that, but their population also contained no aged residents, and I myself had experienced a strange phenomenon I couldn’t explain away.
I raised a hand to my face, my fingers going instinctively to the scar that cut across my cheek. The one I’d gotten in a particularly bloody battle with the Zagrath. While it hadn’t vanished, it had become thinner over the days. Now instead of a bumpy slash, it was a raised seam.
Taking long strides to the tables the Kimitherian was placing outside his shop door, I handed him back his earthenware cup. “Thank you for the tea. What do I owe you?”
The alien waved his hands, the heavy sleeves of his cloak flapping. “It is we who owe you for training our young males.”
I almost groaned at the reminder. Another part of the visit from the community representatives had been their impassioned plea that I help them train a militia so they could defend themselves against the imperial incursion they were convinced was coming. Although the Zagrath were not yet aware of the incredible property of the planet, as soon as they were, the planet was in danger. Living forever was something the empire couldn’t resist, and something they wouldn’t allow the primitive Kimitherians and humans to possess. The people of the planet would find themselves removed and dumped onto another planet while the Zagrath built up Kimithion III for their own people and solidified their power over the galaxy as immortals.
I gritted my teeth. It was something I would never allow to happen. But it meant that the planet did need to have some sort of defenses. And a population that knew how to fight.
“Today is the first day of training,” I told him. “I am supposed to meet the trainees outside the square in the amphitheater. Can you tell me where that is?”
“The amphitheater, yes. It has been a few moons since we held a performance there, but I am glad it is getting use today.” The alien’s yellow eyes didn’t blink as he cut them to the side. “Walk out of the square toward the shallows until you pass through two high pillars. You will see the livestock pens to one side and the stone amphitheater to the other.”
I thanked him again, walking where he’d indicated. In the distance, the bright turquoise water of the expansive shallow pools was easy to spot, small boats skimming across the surface. As was indicated by the tea, the planet took much of its bounty from the unusual waters, and most of the food and drink I’d had so far had come from it. As a Vandar who’d been used to plenty of red meat and ale, I had not yet adapted to a diet high in algae and kelp.
“Raas Bron had better hope he does not see me again,” I muttered to myself, thinking again about the Vandar life I was missing.
The square was no longer empty as I walked through it, as residents came down from the cave dwellings above and moved around me in a flutter of cloaks. They gave me a wide berth, but I felt their eyes on me, nonetheless.
“Corvak, there you are.”
The voice made me stop and turn. I recognized the human male who’d come to my quarters the night I first arrived and the Kimitherian who’d been with him. They were both ministers for the planet and had been the ones to rope me into teaching their males to fight. I didn’t know if I was glad to see them, or wished to draw my blade.
“Terel,” I greeted the human, turning fully toward them both and squaring my shoulders. Then I nodded to the alien with blue-green scales. “Kerl.”
They smiled at me, although the Kimitherian smile looked more strained.
“You are ready to teach our males how to be Vandar warriors?” Terel asked, holding his cloaked hands together so there was no skin showing.
I didn’t tell him that it would take more time than I planned to spend on the planet to teach untrained males to fight like Vandar. Since we were trained to wield a blade almost as soon as we could stand and our youth joined raider hordes as apprentices, the Vandar had thousands of hours of battle practice before we ever met an opponent. That would not be the case here. I did not intend to spend the rest of my life on Kimithion III, no matter what the people on the planet thought or Raas Bron had intended.
“I am ready to begin,” I said. “Becoming as skilled as a Vandar will take a long time.”
“Of course,” Kerl said. “We understand.”
“But we do have all the time in the world.” Terel opened his arms wide. “And the longer you remain on the planet, the longer you will live, as well.”
My stomach tightened. The idea of forever on a rudimentary planet away from my fellow Vandar and away from battle made bile rise up in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard, telling myself that this was not permanent. I would find a way back to my people—exile or not.
Kerl cocked his head at me, his yellow eyes unblinking. “He is not used to the idea of so much time.”
“I am focused on the task at hand,” I said. “And if you truly believe the Zagrath are an imminent danger, we do not have all the time in the world.”
Terel and Kerl exchanged a worried look, then the human leader nodded. “You’re right, of course. We sometimes forget that the rest of
the universe moves faster than we do.”
I bit my tongue. I really wanted to ask them how, if they’d lived so long, they hadn’t bothered to develop better weaponry or planetary defenses or even better tea, but I reminded myself that I was a guest. Until I got the hell off.
I cleared my throat, aware of many furtive glances darting my way. “I should get to the amphitheater and start my work.”
The two males stepped aside and watched me go. I had a feeling most of the aliens in the square were watching me. After all, I did stand a head above the tallest of them.
I hadn’t reached the far end of the square when there was a flutter of movement close to me and someone was pressing something warm into my hand. I jumped at the touch, but the person had melted into the crowd by the time I turned around. When I glanced down at the loosely wrapped bundle in my palm and inhaled the scent drifting up from it, I nearly moaned out loud. It was a roll of bread—fresh, yeasty bread—without a trace of green or algae in it.
Without hesitating another second, I jammed the entire thing in my mouth as I scanned the cloaks behind me. I had no idea who had done it, but I wished I could thank them. I hadn’t had decent bread since I’d arrived. With the added energy of the roll, I spun around and strode toward the amphitheater.
It was time to teach the males of Kimithion III how to fight like the Vandar. If that was even possible.