by Travis Peck
She had been a dutiful and obedient daughter to her mother, the queen, for centuries. She believed in what her mother was striving for, and she had begged her for a chance to help. After enough pestering, the queen had at last relented and allowed her firstborn to embark on something the ravinor species had never dared to undertake before: colonize another land. She had rightfully drawn the most important target, as was proper as First; her other two sisters, equally chaffing to get out from under their mother’s shadow, were given responsibility for making in-roads into Rhyllia and the far off land of Abin-Lin.
The three daughters of the queen had each left in her own respective ship to their destinations—though at different times. First Daughter was the last to leave the stronghold in Styr, but she was more of a planner than her two younger sisters.
Three years ago, she had embarked on this mission. First Daughter, along with her dozen underlings, had created a stronghold of their own on the shores of northern Zhurak. The natural sea cave had been expanded and improved—she had brought along four builders for just that purpose. The short, stocky ravinor breed had claws that could dig and scrape through the hardest stone, and they excreted a substance that hardened walls and ceilings as they were excavated, ensuring that her stronghold would last every bit as long as her mother’s in Styr. The queen’s throne room in her most-favored stronghold had been created by builders, and First Daughter hoped to emulate that room in her new fortress. Except here, it was her throne room.
First Daughter shivered, equal parts from the chill in the night air and her anticipation for the vessel that should be arriving directly. Unlike her short-sighted younger siblings who had brought along mostly wretches to infect humans, she preferred to make her foothold in secrecy, and then launch her attack on an unsuspecting and ill-prepared foe.
With her builders, her scout, four soldiers, a twinning, and even a mock—she had to beg and plead for days before her mother agreed that she could take one with her—her forces were few but highly specialized and exceedingly effective. Not a single wretch was aboard her ship bound for Zhurak. She had brought the best of the ravinors to learn of their new enemy and prepare for the next phase of her plan against the sultanate. And that next phase was aboard her first resupply ship from home in three years.
“There it is,” First Daughter informed the twinning, each twin flanking her a few yards back to give her privacy. As always, the process of twinning created a male and female, and as always, her mother had named them in the ridiculous fashion of Styric twins with two nearly identical names. This twinning was her favorite pair, one that had been with her since as far back as she could remember.
Aka and Ana drew closer after sighting the ship approaching in the distance. The sea was calm and the night was clear and cooling, so the vessel should have no trouble making a landing on the sandy beach near the entrance of her sea-cave stronghold. First Daughter did not dare to build a proper dock yet; the inconvenience was well worth being safe from discovery by the humans of this land.
“Get the others. All of them,” First Daughter ordered the twinning. Twinnings never left one another if they could avoid it; a fact she had for many years taken advantage of—much to her pleasure within her bedchamber. They both turned and left to fetch more strong arms to help haul the cargo vessel ashore and out of view from any other ships that happened by. Though there was no dock here, the way had been prepared to allow a vessel to be dragged up the portion of the rockless beach—a great deal of work for this one vessel but worth the price. There would be more ships. Many more.
The twinning had returned with the others carrying long coils of thick rope. The vessel was close now, only a few hundred yards from the beach, and First Daughter could hardly contain her excitement. Three years she had been in Zhurak preparing for this moment. The breeding vats had been constructed by the builders nearly a full year ago, as had the birthing chambers—the air in the stronghold was at the ideal temperature and humidity after much design and testing. All was in readiness now but for the imminently arriving cargo needed to start her own following. On her own continent.
The ship anchored nearly a hundred yards out. Two boats were dropped from the sides, a coil of thick rope loaded onto each skiff with one side still secured to the mother ship. Each skiff had two colossi working the oars and a trueborn at the helm directing them. With the powerful ravinors pulling, the skiffs scudded onto shore in short order. Her ravinors met them on the beach and secured their own ropes to the leads. She was glad the colossi were there. Her builders were quite strong but their earth-digging claws would make it impossible for them to hold on tightly enough to the rope without shredding it—such a mistake at this crucial moment could destroy her precious cargo and her plans for Zhurak along with it.
The ship crept forward until enough momentum had built up to tow the vessel ashore. At last, the ship ground to a halt on the beach in front of First Daughter. Two of her builders set to work uncovering the hull-shaped trench they had dug and coated so the ship would slide smoothly without damaging her timbers. The ship slid much easier now that it was in its special trench and was quickly pulled into an area hidden by rocks and out of reach from high tide. Her builders rushed to put the gangplank they had made over the railing of the ship. The ramp had small steps and two railings of its own to keep the ponderous cargo from damage.
First Daughter’s breath quickened, and her pulse beat faster as she at last laid eyes on her cargo. A sudden heat and ache of need in her loins made her shudder slightly as she finally beheld what she had waited on for so long. The cargo itself was repulsive to behold, but what she could do with it—them—she found incredibly stimulating.
The first ponderously bloated wretch shuffled down the gangplank, moving slowly as it desperately clutched at the railing with wide, frightened eyes. A trueborn coaxed each one forward gently. She felt pity for the unintelligent creature who had no idea of the sacrifice it would soon make or how important it was to the cause of the queen and their entire race.
“Please escort our honored breeders to their chambers,” First Daughter bade the twinning. “I shall be down directly with the last breeder, and then we shall begin.” She smiled widely, and the twins returned it. The twinning cooed softly to the obese waddling wretches to keep them moving into the sea cave and down to their chambers.
While the breeders were slowly being cajoled down the modified gangplank, the ship’s crane was unloading her other precious cargo, but nothing so dear to her as the breeders. Weapons, armor, oil, and other sorely needed supplies were making there way into the sea cave. They did not have the numbers yet to need all of what had been brought, but they soon would.
First Daughter laughed at the thought of what she would soon unleash upon the humans of Zhurak. She decided then and there to take the twinning into her bedchamber after her work was completed for the night—for a different manner of celebration. Perhaps one of the colossi, as well, she mused as she studied the thickly muscled specimens. Perhaps both of them, she thought archly.
The crew was efficient at their task and as the last breeder lumbered down the gangplank, the ship was ready to make sail once more. She did not want to risk it being spotted. That would raise unwanted attention to her sea cave at a critical point of her plan. So the ship readied to depart, her followers hauling the ship back out to water deep enough for her to make her own headway. Without the breeders, the pair of colossi, the handful of trueborns, and her supplies aboard, it rode much lighter with only enough crew to sail her back to the queen’s hidden port on the southern coast of Styr, one of three the ravinors had managed to secret about the empire.
First Daughter walked with the last breeder. The reek of the foul wretch was nearly enough to turn her stomach, but she knew it would get worse before she was done this night. She put an encouraging arm around the shoulder of the poor creature and hummed a lullaby her own mother had sung to her when she was quite young. The wretch looked up with black eyes and First
Daughter felt tears form in her own at the innocence she saw within. She chastised herself in her mind for her complaint of the gorge-raising smell and the corpulent nature of the life-giving and nurturing sacrifice that walked placidly beside her.
The moment, however genuine, was short-lived. Once the breeder was within the burgeoning stronghold, First Daughter gestured, and the trueborn guards pulled on ropes looped through a series of pulleys and gears to shut the heavy iron door. A deep thud followed by a resounding metallic reverberation indicated the door had closed behind and the bar locked into place. A dozen colossi could not force that door open, she thought, satisfied.
A candle later of slogging along at their slow pace, First Daughter and the last breeder made it to the breeding vats far beneath the surface. The cavern had been hollowed out and three rectangular holes had been excavated and sealed with the builders’ excretions. Each pool was ten spans in length, seven spans wide, and ten spans deep. The depth was the most crucial dimension in constructing a proper breeding vat.
Next to the vats, in a paddock that had been constructed with readily available stone—wood was scarce in Zhurak—dirty and frightened humans cowered in the presence of so many ravinors. Unlike her mother’s lair with her docile chattel, her humans were only first generation. They had been snatched away from their old lives and were constantly crying out and lamenting their fate. But soon their voices would be silenced, and she would finally have peace from their sniveling cries. She preferred to breed the humans but did not have the time or the space yet to accommodate the necessary numbers needed to sustain her and her followers.
One hundred breeders. First Daughter shivered. She would sacrifice half this very night. And the others would be used for a special foray into the nearest city, the result of which would gain ravinors a permanent foothold into the most heavily populated nation in the world.
Breeders, though not pleasant to be around, were a precious member of ravinor society. Not every wretch had the capacity to be a breeder, and when one was discovered in the wild, immediate action was taken. Word would be sent to the nearest stronghold and an escort would be ordered to bring the precious breeder back to safety.
Without the breeders, there would be no builders, no colossi, and no twinnings—to name but a few. And without the life-giving contents of a mature and ripe breeder’s stomach there would also be no…experimentation, either. Each of the one hundred breeders that made the voyage to the Zhurak coast had been fed and fattened for years before enough of the necessary fluids had built up within them for their sacrifice to be useful.
Not wanting to waste another moment, she looked once more into the breeder’s eyes who stood beside her. She gave the wretch a light kiss on each cheek. Then, faster than a human eye could detect, she slashed open the distended belly of the breeder with her sharp nails and shoved it over the edge of the nearest breeding vat. Foul liquid sloshed out from the flailing and gurgling breeder as the precious contents of its stomach were released into the pool. Tears of joy ran down First Daughter’s unblemished porcelain-white skin. She gestured over to a trueborn to bring her the next breeder.
The chattel were screaming now within their paddock as they witnessed something no human had ever lived to see. These would be no exceptions. The next breeder, devoid of any intelligence, stupidly waddled toward her like a cow to slaughter. Once more, First Daughter performed the sacred sacrifice, and the liquid-spewing corpse flopped into the steadily filling pool. This time, when the humans screamed in terror, she did not let the noise bother her. Those screams would get louder before the end, then they too would join the breeders in the pool.
The only question now was which breed of ravinor First Daughter would create. Which breed would help her fulfill her deeply held wish of a ravinor kingdom of her own? A smile full of pristine, sharp white teeth came to her face as she waved for the next breeder. More human screams echoed within the chamber as each disembowelment brought her that much closer to her goal.
***
Lerius and the other ragged survivors from the savage attack on Lord Geryn’s estate stumbled alongside wagons overburdened with their wounded and hastily packed supplies. Lerius managed to clean off the bone jutting out from his forearm and force it back into place before they had to leave the manor for good. He had lost consciousness, but thankfully only for a short time, so that he could return to helping as many of his fellow defenders as he could before their hasty departure. They had staggered onward throughout the night of the attack. They hadn’t stopped to break their fast, nor did they for lunch. The exiled men, women, and children ate as they traveled, mainly chewing on dried venison and stale bread and cheese. And they were grateful for what they had.
The estate of the wealthiest man on the continent was gone. To Lerius, it was a terrible shame for such a beautiful place to be destroyed, but for those that had lived there and worked there for their whole lives… The young healer pitied the survivors, just as he pitied Hossen who had lost his own home. The destruction the ravinors had wrought had been brought to completion by the fires that raged through Lord Geryn’s once fertile and prosperous land. They at least had time to gather some supplies for their trek to Aerilyn—an exodus of sorts, shrouded with hopelessness and cloaked by their collective grief.
The healer walked numbly beside one of the slowly rolling wagons, more of a cart really, that was harnessed to two of Lord Geryn’s prized stallions—a task that would have given any equestrian within the empire apoplexy in less dangerous times. Inside this cart were some foodstuffs, and lying unconscious on a bed of straw, his stalwart companion, Hossen. He was struggling against a fever, as were all the survivors who had been injured during the attack on the manor. Two-score men and women of varying ages and professions were the few lucky ones who had made it through the battle without being infected.
Lerius checked on his friend once again, placing his palm on the stricken innkeeper’s forehead. He was burning up. Pulling up an eyelid, he was relieved to see that Hossen’s eyes were not yet staring back at him with the sanguine stare of a newly turned ravinor. But he knew that soon enough, unless by the Giver’s mercy, his friend’s eyes would turn red, then black, as the transformation from human to ravinor ran its course.
He was not the only survivor who was walking next to a wagon with concern gnawing from within. Lord Geryn walked beside a carriage like a man who had nothing left to live for. Or soon he would not. His daughter, Moira, was comatose within the conveyance. She had been found in a state of deep sleep on the floor of her room, undisturbed by the fighting that had raged outside. They had tried to rouse her. Lerius had exhausted any herbs and medicines he had access to that were known to bring people out of such states, but with no success. The only hope was that the lord’s daughter did not have a fever like so many others, little solace indeed if she never woke up. All they could do was feed her small spoonfuls of broth to keep her alive. And pray.
To add to Lord Geryn’s misery, he had happened upon his wife in her study after the battle. She had hanged herself with the help of her maid, Lara. The lady was swinging slowly back and forth from a beam when the lord had discovered her. The maid had assisted her mistress and confidante then had slit her own throat at her Ladyship’s swinging feet. A ghastly find. Lord Geryn had walked from his late wife’s room to his daughter’s and had received another shock.
Lerius pitied Lord Geryn. All of their lives had been irrevocably changed, but none more so than the Giver-blessed lord’s had.
The wagons and carts continued to roll down the road toward the capital of Kharisk. Daeris, along with Prayg’s sons, rode tirelessly ahead scouting out the area to ensure that the remaining ravinors did not seek to finish off the few survivors. A handful of guardsmen, who had made it through the battle uninfected, were doing their best to look alert and capable amongst the others. To Lerius’s eyes, though, they appeared just as confounded and hopeless as everyone else.
The cart next to him bounced sharply ove
r a rock and Hossen gave a groan. Lerius checked on his friend. He was unchanged. Still clinging to his human life. A fighter to the end. Blinking away tears that had nothing to do with his own badly broken arm, Lerius moved down the line of bedraggled refugees. So far, none of the infected had fought free of their fever, nor had they succumbed to it. Nightfall was only a short time away, and Lerius knew that before the morning, they would lose some to the infection. Then he would have to give the sweet mercy of death to those who could no longer fight off their cruel fate.
The sad wagon train continued to trundle down the road. Their mutual despair clung to them like a blanket that provided no comfort but one that they could not bring themselves to remove.
***
Far to the northwest, another group of displaced humans were making their way to Styr, though this group was buoyed by their recent victory against long odds and had come out of it surprisingly unscathed. Garet’s aching head had finally ceased making him swoon in the saddle with dizziness, but that did little to temper his elation. His family—of which he counted his old sergeant a member—was safe. His mastiffs were enthusiastically ranging ahead of the group after being cooped up for so many days and would give them warning if they detected any ravinors. Encountering more of the creatures was a distinct possibility, but even with that, and the fact that his home for nearly a decade smoldered behind them, Garet could not feel anything but great joy.
While unconscious, he had experienced terrible dreams of ravinors killing, or worse, turning his loved ones. He had woken up instead to find them all well, not to mention the unlooked for, but timely, assistance from Private Mozz, Sergeant Mozz, he corrected himself. He could scarcely believe that the notorious troublemaker from his old cohort had been promoted to his new position. The good-natured man had always been quick—too quick—with a joke or some prank, but for all his faults, he had turned into a fine soldier. Garet owed each member of the sergeant’s squad more than he could ever repay.