Barbarian Prince

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

  Monica looked irritated—as if Noelle had unnerved her and she felt like it had been a false alarm. She grunted but since she had leaned down to set her equipment down Noelle wasn’t sure if that was a comment or just an expression of exertion. She settled her tote full of specimen containers on the ground and looked around.

  She didn’t see anything that would account for her reaction. They hadn’t moved more than a few yards beyond the main gate. She could already hear a few muttered complaints from some of the others that they weren’t far enough from the colony to make it likely they were going to catch any specimens that could run.

  The botanists were already busy, however.

  Noelle was in no great hurry to follow suit and chase bugs. Instead, she studied her surroundings for many moments, trying to decide what her primal instincts had been trying to warn her about—if there really was some threat or if it was purely a reaction to the alien environment. After thoroughly examining everything around her, she finally decided it was the latter. All of her senses were screaming at the strangeness of her surroundings.

  The force field that protected the colony allowed them to see through it. Sounds could also penetrate it, but nothing else. She hadn’t, she realized abruptly, truly experienced the new world before now. The sights and sounds of the busy colony itself prevented her from really seeing or hearing the world beyond it and the smells they’d captured with their specimens had been corrupted over time with the chemical preservatives and even scents from their own environment.

  She was so bombarded so abruptly by everything of an alien nature she was just stunned that no one else seemed as effected as she was. Even the warmth of the alien sun felt completely different.

  And yet, she could see living proof all around her of panspermia.

  Which had been accepted as scientific fact at least a decade earlier, but she didn’t think she’d fully appreciated what it meant until now.

  Because as alien as everything seemed in some ways, it was also familiar in others.

  Gemini certainly wasn’t Earth’s identical twin, but it was close enough to be a sibling, or maybe a half sister? The bottom line was that everything about their new home was close enough to make the place suitable for them—for Earth life—and, because of panspermia and predictable factors in the evolution of living things, and Gemini’s similarity to Earth much of the life they’d discovered on Gemini was also similar to life forms on earth.

  That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be dangerous deviations, unfortunately. There were also bound to be things that simply didn’t seem logical.

  The higher life forms, for instance.

  No one had been able to come up with a solid theory as to why the natives were androgynous or at least seemed to be.

  Or even why they appeared to be fairly primitive.

  Gemini, as far as they had been able to determine, had been around at least as long as Earth had—and some speculated that it was a good deal older.

  Of course the appearance and development of a species of higher intelligence could have come at any time. Maybe, despite the age of the solar system/planet, the species had emerged far later than humans? Maybe they’d experienced more catastrophes and those had forced the species to start over, building from the bottom up repeatedly? Or maybe there’d been an earlier civilization that had been wiped out completely and the current natives had arisen since?

  That didn’t seem to hold water, though. There didn’t seem to be enough time for that possibility to be likely.

  Humans had been brought to the brink of extinction several times by natural disasters on Earth. There was no reason to think that might not be the case on other planets. The universe was a dangerous, unpredictable place—likened more than once by cosmologists to a cosmic shooting gallery.

  Shaking her thoughts finally with the reflection that she wasn’t going to figure it out without some data, Noelle turned her attention to trying to find a specimen of something they hadn’t already examined since she hadn’t been particularly intrigued by anything their probes had brought them.

  And, in any case, most of them had already been snatched up as pet projects of the senior biologists in the group.

  She’d just crouched down to examine what she’d first dismissed as a rock covered in something like lichen when a noise she’d only been vaguely conscious of finally reached an identifiable level.

  It sounded like a herd of something heavy coming their way!

  Noelle shot to her feet, glancing quickly around to try to identify the direction of the threat. Despite her focus in trying to identify a threat and the direction of it, around her, she was dimly aware that some of the other scientists had also looked up, although she was the only one who seemed alarmed enough to have abandoned her pursuit of specimens. Regardless, and somewhat insensibly since no one knew what was making the noise or if it was a threat or not, she felt her adrenaline kick up to a higher level of alarm when she saw that the sounds had also caught the attention of the others.

  Just as Noelle was beginning to feel the discomfort of the suspicion that she might have reacted to a threat that didn’t exist, a scream—a human scream—abruptly rent the air around them. It sent a shockwave through everyone on the plane and, hard on the heels of that, blind panic. Unfortunately, most of them were so shocked they were paralyzed and those not paralyzed with fear seemed confused as to whether they should run or not since no one else seemed inclined to run.

  “Open the gates! Open the gates!” the man in the lead bellowed as he came into view.

  “Run!” the man behind him yelled when he spotted the group gaping at them.

  Both screamed orders, Noelle discovered, came from the delegation barreling toward them at the best speed they could manage—the delegation that had left days ago to hike over to the nearest village to try to negotiate a treaty with the natives.

  And directly on their heels was an army of Amazons, who abruptly began screaming like banshees the moment they spotted the group, Noelle’s group, just beyond the safety of the colony!

  The screams released some from their indecisive paralysis.

  It had the opposite effect on Noelle.

  For a space of critical heartbeats, Noelle merely stared wide-eyed with mouth agape at the barbarian horde heading straight for them from the path through the forest that edged the plain where they’d built their colony.

  Monica, who’d already whirled to charge toward the gate and safety, spotted Noelle and changed directions abruptly. Charging toward her, she slammed into Noelle in her efforts to grab her. Their feet tangled, and both of them sprawled out.

  Monica hit the dirt like she was spring loaded. Completely unfazed from her collision with the ground, she grabbed Noelle’s arm on her rebound and yanked her to her feet.

  It was enough to throw off Noelle’s shock and jog her sense of self-preservation. She ran. She ran so fast she outran Monica and began dragging her.

  She ran so fast she didn’t know what the hell happened when she was abruptly slammed against the ground. She thought for several moments that Monica had tripped and fallen on her.

  Until she was hauled up and tossed over a broad shoulder that knocked the breath out of her and made her black out.

  Chapter Two

  “Can you believe those stupid bastards led the damned Amazons back to the colony and got us captured?” Monica burst out angrily.

  Noelle still had a headache—from being carried with her head hanging down, she thought. “Did I get hit on the head?”

  Monica’s anger subsided abruptly and she moved toward Noelle, examining her head carefully. “I don’t see anything. Whiplash probably,” she diagnosed, “from being body slammed on the ground by that bitch.”

  Drak stared out at the drifts of snow that were gradually growing higher, his expression a cross between disgust and plain out anger. But it had very little to do with the weather conditions outside that were more miserable than usual. He had hated this time of year si
nce he’d been a boy. And the fact that a forced peace lay over the lands due to conditions that no sane man would tackle for glory or riches had little to do with it, directly, at any rate. It reminded him of his losses, filled him with fresh pain that he had hoped every year would not visit him with his memories.

  The distance of time didn’t seem to have helped a great deal.

  He considered that for a moment. How many anums had passed?

  He had been four anums when his sister had been born. He recalled the birth. He would not have recalled the age he had been—didn’t—but he did recall that his mother had said that he was four years older and that he was certainly old enough to be his young sister’s protector.

  Except he hadn’t been competent enough to protect her and no amount of practice or skills acquired since that time could make up for the lack he had had when it had been needed.

  That was what tormented him, he realized, far more than the losses.

  It had been his fault—all the way around.

  His father, Drak the Dark, had broken centuries of tradition when he had decided to keep his woman until she delivered his son—his heir. He had ignored his advisors when they had pointed out that it was always possible to determine his seed from the others—a Flaxen always knew his get by scent—knew the scent of the woman they’d impregnated. Even if it transpired that the child favored his mother rather than his father—a rare thing!—he would know the offspring by scent!

  There were reasons for the traditions! And refusing to honor age old traditions was just asking for trouble!

  The advisors hadn’t lost their heads for pointing that out to their Prince, but it had been a near thing.

  He, of everyone, even his closest friends, knew why his father had ignored tradition and kept his woman.

  In the beginning it had been because, despite the myths to the contrary, a man did not always know his child—sometimes, yes, but there was no absolute certainty except when the child looked like a copy of the father. It rarely mattered, however, and that was why most men were content to adhere to the centuries old tradition. Unless a man had valuable possessions or property that he wanted to ensure passed to his son, there was no reason to be concerned.

  His father was not actually the son of Drak the Red, however, as he was first believed to be and he had suffered for his father’s ‘mistake’. Until the day he died, Drak the Red had searched for his ‘true’ son, determined to usurp the changeling that was his namesake and replace him with the true heir. Drak the Dark refused to take a chance that he might repeat that mistake and bring another man’s son to his throne.

  So he had taken the woman and she had born a son for him—and then a daughter—and still he would not return her to her people because he had become enthralled with her long before she had born his first child. It hadn’t been until she had become pregnant a third time that Drak the Dark had begun to feel some concern that his son and heir might be weakened by the presence and influence of a female.

  And that anxiety had been compounded by the worry that his woman might produce a second heir who could create a split in the realm if the younger son should decide not to accept his elder brother as high Prince.

  That decision had pitched all of them into a nightmare. For although he had hated his father ever afterwards for his decision that had cost him his beloved mother and sister, he hadn’t been so blinded by his hate that he wasn’t aware that it had created a hellish existence for his father for his final years, as well.

  Occasionally, he wondered what his life would have been like if his father hadn’t thumbed his nose at tradition, but he didn’t like to travel that road because he was fairly certain his mother would still be alive if his father hadn’t kept her, hadn’t become obsessed with her.

  That was the danger of keeping a woman! A man could lose his head over a woman. It would warp his judgment and distract him and that would make him dangerous on the battlefield.

  Uneasiness slithered through him at the last thought, but he dismissed it.

  He would not make the same mistake his father had!

  The approach of his second in command distracted him from his dark thoughts. He straightened, studying the older man as he moved briskly across the great hall. Kulle bowed respectfully when he reached him. “Lord, the ship is prepared.”

  Drak felt his belly tighten. It was much the same reaction he had to imminent battle—the thrill of the fight, the fear of defeat and death—anticipation and dread rolled together in an unidentifiable rock in his belly.

  There was more fear and dread in this, however, than anticipation. “And Moden—is he confident that that rusting contraption will make another voyage and back again?”

  Kulle released a snort that was part amusement and part disgust. “Likely your order would have worked with anyone else, Lord. But that one became witless the moment I suggested he would be sailing with us if he was so confident in it. He has not had a woman before.”

  Drak rolled his eyes. “A miscalculation, that! Well, we will all know before long if it will make the journey there and back.”

  Kulle frowned, glanced around uneasily, and moved a little closer to where Drak stood in the window embrasure. “I am not concerned that it will hold together for the voyage,” he muttered in a growling whisper. “It is the speed—or lack of it—that concerns me. If it will not make the trip there and back swiftly, it will not make it at all and then you would be trapped in that dread, dark sea forever! For you would not catch our world or its sister before you ran out of supplies.”

  Drak shrugged. “There is always that risk. There has always been that risk. But they will not come to us and if we do not go while the two worlds are closest there is no chance of catching our prey.”

  They had always been inclined, in point of fact, to consider that the gods favored their voyage/endeavor. For the one time of year that the sister worlds were closest was in the dead of winter when the weather was far too foul for hunting or warring, making it the perfect time to turn their attentions to mating. And the second closest approach was just before spring thaw. This circumstance made it just possible to take them back to the more benign of the two sisters for their delicate term of gestation and return in time to prepare for war.

  Not that there was always a war to return to. Historically speaking, war was actually fairly rare. There was likely to be a skirmish or two between rival clans over some dispute, however—which made it absolutely necessary to make and repair weapons and polish their fighting skills—but they had not had all out war with another clan since he’d been a boy.

  That war had broken out when his mother had tried to escape with him and his sister to prevent his father, Drak the Dark, from separating her from her son.

  He had made treaty with their enemies after the death of his father in battle. It had not been a popular decision since their enemies had killed the ruling Prince in battle—earning him the sobriquet of Drak the Fair—but he had considered his father as responsible for his mother’s death as he had the man who’d captured her—or more. After ten years of war and the death of all parties initially involved in the dispute, he had figured it was time to make peace between their two clans.

  “Well I am too old for such things, Lord. I am happy enough to wait here by the fire,” Kulle commented with a touch of amusement, “while you strapping young lads pursue the vixens.”

  Drak uttered a derisive snort. “You do not have enough anums on me to consider yourself old,” he retorted. “And I am beyond the thrill of capture myself, if it comes to that. I would not be going if it was not my duty to the men and to the realm.”

  Kulle’s amusement waned. “Will you be taking young Prince Terl on this raid?”

  Drak’s own humor vanished. “I have said that I will not,” he responded tightly. “When he is old enough to lead a raid he may do so with my blessing. Until then, he is my heir and will do his duty to the realm and stay here.”

  Kulle nodded quickly and b
acked away. “I will tell the men to prepare themselves quickly for the voyage. You will be leaving at first light?”

  “Aye. Make certain my sons are there to bid me farewell.”

  “Well that didn’t work worth a damn!” Monica said irritably.

  She had hatched an escape plan after their third miserable night in the wooden cage where they were being held prisoner by the alien women they’d dubbed the Amazon warrior women because their society seemed strongly reminiscent of those mythological warrior women of Earth. She’d talked Noelle into helping her ‘jump’ the elderly woman that usually brought their food in the evenings and then they were going to lock the woman in the cage, sneak out of the village with the help of the cover of darkness, and find their way back to the colony—a half a day’s walk roughly South East of their current position.

  As simple as the plan had seemed, the execution hadn’t gone down quite the way they’d envisioned it would. And the problem hadn’t been the one that Noelle had been most worried about—facing the darkness and their new home world’s night predators on the long walk back to the colony.

  As planned, Monica had leapt onto the woman’s back as soon as she’d leaned over to set the pot she’d brought down. On cue, Noelle dove at the woman’s legs, trying to knock her off balance so that the two of them could quickly overcome her. Despite doubts she’d harbored but not voiced, she had actually succeeded in that goal.

  And then everything had gone completely wrong! Both Monica and the older woman had landed on top of her, pinning her at the bottom of the pile where she was unable to lend Monica a hand in subduing the alien woman. Before they could scramble to their feet and make another attempt to overcome the old woman, three more Amazon women had piled into the cage—because the old woman was screaming her head off—and they’d been subdued in a matter of moments and tied hand and foot.

  As if they hadn’t been miserable enough before the damn women had decided to tie them up!