Ruined Kingdom

by Michelle Marquis

  Nineveh was silent for a long time, digesting her distasteful truths. You don't have control over all of the males like you think you do, do you, Highness? Harlan wondered if the Queen was afraid that there are more Caracullas in the Queendom somewhere. Who knows? Maybe there were. Finally, the Queen looked up with a sympathetic expression. “I’m sorry, Harlan. I really had no idea how bad things had become with him. Khalee should have told me.”

  Now she's trying to blame Khalee.

  This conversation had taken a somber turn and Harlan really needed to discuss getting released. At least it had ended their screaming match. “Khalee was on campaign when it happened. Even if she was there, I wouldn't have told her anyway. No one else knows what happened except my husband, although my stepson Desmond suspects something happened. Look, I don't know if Caraculla would've gone through with it. He was probably just trying to scare me.”

  The female warrior suddenly took a fast, intense step forward. Her pupils were so dilated they seemed to darken her iris. “No. If he said that, he meant to do it. What stopped him?”

  Harlan’s stomach dropped. She wasn't sure who this warrior was, but she was quite obviously more than just a guard or the Queen would have silenced her. Caraculla was already in so much trouble with everyone, she didn't want to cause him anymore. But she didn’t want to lie either. She had to finish the story in hopes that Nineveh would show some mercy and let her go find her family. “Gavin's son, Desmond, showed up at the villa in time to interrupt anything. Caraculla could have easily spit on him and attacked me anyway, but he didn't.”

  The Queen searched Harlan’s face. The intensity of it was very unnerving. Rape was a serious crime in the Queendom. Ranking as high as murder, it was one of the few crimes that could be punishable by death. It was also one of a hundred reasons why Harlan was thankful Caraculla hadn't succeeded in carrying out his threat.

  The Queendom was ruled as a matriarchal society by a Queen, her court of nobles, and her army. Most participants in the court and the military were women. Men were usually not permitted to serve, nor trained to fight, but there were some exceptions. Those that grew up unable to overcome any combative, dominant genetics were considered primal throwbacks and exiled as soon as they were of an age to care for themselves, like Rakon. Not all were exiled, some sought livelihoods in other kingdoms for a variety of reasons.

  Caraculla was one of the few males who'd left of his own volition because he desired a career in the military. Apparently he was always welcome back into the bosom of his birthplace and Harlan knew he was one of Nineveh’s favorites. Were it not for his propensity for drug addiction, he was the perfect Razorback male. Not as passive as the other males, he had a desirable mixture of aggression and submission. Those were rare attributes in a male. Most Razorback females tried to breed for just such a combination.

  Thousands of years ago, the Razorback males were dominant. Not surprisingly, they demanded strength and desired conquest. Feeling they were superior to the other civilized inhabitants of the planet, they eventually turned that arrogance on each other. At some point in their history, Harlan wasn't sure when, the males began to fight each other in an attempt to eradicate the competitive bloodlines they felt were inferior to their own. Fathers were mating with daughters, brothers with sisters, in a misguided attempt to keep their blood pure. The consequences of so much inbred aggression began to take its toll. Consumed with securing their rugged lineage, family patriarchs began slaughtering any offspring they hadn't sired, reminding Harlan of lion prides back on Earth. They were also known to slaughter any of their own sons they felt were weak.

  In most situations, especially primitive ones, a mother's instinct to protect her children reigns supreme in her psyche. The normally docile Razorback females had suffered their fill of inbreeding and child massacres. After months of clandestine meetings and careful planning they took up arms against their males. The bloody rebellion had lasted almost a century and cost the realm hundreds of thousands of lives, but the women were victorious.

  The Razorback women had a few advantages. Although their venom wasn't generally lethal to other Razorbacks, it could still cause some scalding and enough pain to make them rethink any aggression toward their female counterparts. A peculiarity of the venom was that a female's was much more caustic than a male's. In a large concentration, a female could probably kill a male with her venom, but not vice versa.

  The female warrior took a few steps back so she was standing directly next to her Queen. “Caraculla must be held accountable for this outrage. We need to find and take him into custody.”

  “This all happened a while ago,” Harlan said. “At this point, I don't care if he's held accountable. Caraculla is not my concern. All I want to do is find my family or whatever is left of them.”

  “Harlan's right. Caraculla's probably gone to Leviathan’s kingdom and is unreachable for now. I'll deal with him eventually, but not today.” She turned her attention back to Harlan. “Caraculla will be punished for his threat against you. But I have another more pressing matter to address. Righteous or not, the unfortunate side effect of your successful procedure is that it encouraged others to assault some of my males living abroad. A few lucky ones were taken to physicians; some were butchered in the field. These other doctors attempting the procedure didn’t have your skill and their victims are—well, you’ll see for yourself. I am sentencing you to our royal hospital to help those victims who have made it home to us. When you have treated them as best you can, you may go free. Are you agreeable to that?”

  “What about my family? Can they come here too?”

  “Your family is welcome, except your husband.”

  Harlan folded her arms. “You don't have to sentence me to the hospital. I’ll do what I can for those injured. But, I have two conditions of my own. First, I want my family brought here to ensure their safety. And second, I want someone to find out what's happened to my husband.”

  The Queen rose and the female warrior walked up to stand behind Harlan. “I'll see what I can do about your requests.”

  Chapter 20

  Night was falling and with it a thousand tangible fears. It had taken much longer to get to the outpost than they had estimated because Dragon had to walk. His sorcery still wasn’t strong enough to ride a hyperia and levitate Scarlet at the same time. Their progress was agonizingly slow, and the higher the trail climbed the colder it got. But at least they didn’t have to stop every hour. As Gypsy rode in complete silence, her mind was bombarded with conjured images of death and destruction at the hands of Caraculla. Kharon must be mistaken. Caraculla would have never hurt anyone without a good reason.

  When they rode up to the outpost, the scene that greeted them was more horrific than Gypsy had imagined. She stopped at the small building and took in the five bodies stacked outside. The corpses stared blindly with empty sockets. Except for a few bits of dried flesh that clung to the bones, the corpses had been picked clean by scavengers. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air.

  I can’t believe Caraculla did this. “I'll tend to our animals,” she announced as she slid down off her hyperia.

  Gypsy collected everyone's reins as they dismounted and secured the beasts inside the small stable. The smell of tragedy was getting to her. I really, really need to be alone. Kharon came in and grabbed their supplies from the saddles. She wasn’t sure if he read her thoughts or her mood, but he didn’t linger. Instead, he followed the others as they walked inside the outpost.

  Once she relieved the hyperia of their bridles and saddles she pulled off her gloves and dug into a cloth sack of dried meat. Pulling out a large leathery slab, she tore it into six large chunks. After dividing the meat among their ravenous mounts, she blew a few warm breaths into her freezing hands. You have no proof. The thought echoed in her mind. Was she ready for this? Could she face the truth if Kharon was right? Did she even know who Caraculla was anymore?

  Gypsy pulled her gloves back onto her ice-cold hand
s, grabbed a steel bucket, and headed toward the stream. Her breath came out in frosted puffs as she hurried to the water. Thankfully it wasn't frozen over. Even while fetching water she couldn't help but steal looks at the ghastly sight outside the outpost. Caraculla did this. Old blood had pooled beneath the dead in a dark brown stain. These poor guys never had a chance.

  When Gypsy finished tending to their mounts she made her way toward the broken doorway leading into the outpost. She took a moment to glance at the boot prints Kharon had mentioned earlier and his assessment left no doubt. She placed her boot next to one of the prints. I know Caraculla's boot print. He has a certain wear pattern from his right foot which over-pronates. This could only be him...he did this. These victims had parents, probably siblings and maybe even wives and children to support. Caraculla didn't know them nor had they done him any wrong, yet he’d killed them anyway. I hope their deaths were quick. Gypsy stared at the ragged shirts hanging on their rotting bones. In the grimy blue stitching she could read their names. She didn’t recognize any of them but it didn't lessen her sorrow. Caraculla did this. Kharon was right. But why? They were only trying to help others. Was my mom so wrong about you?

  Gypsy's mother had always maintained that Caraculla was sick, not evil. These dead men had probably been medically trained by her. She had provided most of the surrounding kingdoms with dedicated, competent medics. Whenever a warrior was wounded so badly he could no longer be a soldier, champion, or even join the hunters, her mother would offer to give them medical training. She even gave them the option of specializing in battle wounds. Without this option, a disabled male would often end up begging, or being an animal tender or groundskeeper. Both of those latter options paid less than shit. Given the choice, many young males who lacked any other trade or financial prospects gladly accepted.

  The program had become so popular that both young and old were able to seek employment outside the Empire for better pay. It was yet another way her mother tried to improve the lives of the lowborn. There were even young males who would rather be a medic than die in an arena match or a war. Plenty of Harlan’s medics were not even maimed first. Many had wives and young children and they needed a living wage. The medical profession paid well and there was a diminished chance of violent death.

  Of course, there were more traditional males who would rather starve than be in such a soft, feminine profession. Often those types of males killed themselves if they were wounded and couldn’t fight any longer. So in a strange way it helped her father keep males out of the military that were not only unsuited but could not be in the army anymore. Sadly the medic choice was only available for males of common birth. Nobles would never stoop to a wage-earning profession.

  Gypsy thought of Nole Prius, the young nobleman she had attended the academy with. She recalled how he hid behind the facade of a fearless bully, tormenting her at every opportunity. The real problem with his bravado was that he sucked as a warrior. Not only did he lack any fighting skills whatsoever, he was incapable of mastering any weapons. Always graceless and disinterested, she was amazed he had graduated. But his attendance had more to do with his bloodlines than his accomplishments. They would have graduated him no matter what.

  Gypsy made her way into the main outpost building. She focused her attention ahead and ignored the mangled, stinking corpses. All this senseless carnage was so depressing. Once inside, she stepped over broken chairs and a shattered clipboard. Torn bits of paper were everywhere, stained with dark smudges. Dried blood stained the floor and had spattered on all the walls. The mess told a terrible tale of a savage rage. Large, hardened pools of blood discolored the floor and some had surgical instruments sticking out of them. Caraculla did this. She hadn't wanted to believe Kharon, but one look around had obliterated her denial.

  Trembling slightly, Gypsy came to stand next to Kharon as he watched Krull tend to Scarlet. She looked relaxed and asleep as she lay on one of the beds. Dragon was sitting in a nearby chair with his eyes closed. He'd had to levitate Scarlet for hours with no rest. The strain of it showed.

  Gypsy was both curious and wary of her Uncle Dragon’s newfound powers. It left the impression of giving a blast weapon to a lunatic. This, in retrospect, was exactly what it was.

  Ever since she and Desmond had rejoined Dragon and the others she had been watching him, trying to decipher his emotions and intentions, whether good or bad. Never once had she gotten that awful feeling of being a plaything like she did with Titan.

  Dragon's power really seemed rather simple to her. Since he had been conceived as a product of Titan's magic, why wouldn't he have use of it? His madness was the only thing keeping him from exploring what was contained within. On the ride over, Bethara had privately shared with Gypsy that Dragon had stolen some papers from Titan’s castle. Dragon must have known the potential was there.

  Desmond and Krull moved around Scarlet. Desmond slid his hand into hers, interlacing their fingers, even though she was still heavily sedated. Bethara sat on a rolling stool in a corner, holding the sleeping baby. Inspecting the clinic in a way only a child can, Missy roamed the rooms looking in drawers and cabinets, occasionally crinkling her nose at the dried blood.

  Leaning down, Krull began removing the dried, blood-soaked bandage covering Scarlet's belly wound. The doctor’s brow knitted, and without a word he took a step back. Turning, he regarded Dragon with a puzzled look.

  “What’s wrong?” Desmond asked. His tone was both frantic and weary. For a moment Gypsy feared Scarlet was dead.

  Krull shook his head. “Nothing's wrong. It’s just...odd. Scarlet's surgical site is almost healed. See for yourself.”

  Everyone moved over and stared down at the exposed incision site. The stitches were still in place, but the angry red cut had fused leaving only a dark pink line. It was amazing.

  “If nothing changes, I can remove these sutures in another two days,” he said in disbelief.

  All eyes turned to Dragon. He opened his eyes and stared back at them. He appeared as surprised as everyone else.

  “Were you able to do this intentionally?” Krull asked with his usual calm, diagnostic interest.

  Dragon stood up and folded his arms. His gaze roamed and lingered on each of them. “No, I just levitated her. That’s all. I didn't do anything else.”

  Tilting her head in thought, Gypsy revisited her theory on Dragon's magic. Her thoughts merged with Kharon’s and afforded her some unspoken insight. Suddenly she saw things in a completely different reality.

  “I think I get it,” Gypsy said. “The magic that Titan wields isn’t good or evil, it’s just a tool. If you use it for selfish reasons, it demands a negative price, but if you use it for good, the result is the opposite.” She shrugged. “Well, it’s just a theory.”

  Desmond considered this for a moment. “Yeah, but nothing good came of my deal with Titan to free you from your husband. And that deal wasn't struck for selfish reasons.”

  Gypsy glanced at Kharon, who looked uncomfortable. “Not true. When Titan came to free me, I had a busted ankle.” Her husband folded his massive arms and cast his gaze down at the floor. Since Kharon had been the one who broke her ankle, she knew this was part of their history he would rather not revisit.

  “I don’t follow you,” Desmond said.

  She walked over and placed a hand on Kharon’s powerful forearm to reassure him all was forgiven. “When Titan temporarily took away the Primal Fever and freed me, I just assumed he had intentionally healed my ankle...everyone did, even Gavin. But in truth, Titan never mentioned it. I'm not even sure he knew or cared, because he vanished quickly afterward.”

  Desmond seemed to accept her theory. “Well, it makes as much sense as everything else that’s happened.”

  Dragon abruptly walked outside. His boots echoed through the ruined outpost.

  Kharon leaned down and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. Gypsy felt his breath caressing the flesh around her ear. It tickled and caused a sweet, lusty stirr
ing of desire. She marveled at how strong her feelings were for him. How she’d missed him.

  “Go talk to Dragon. This is a lot to take in. He’s been a prisoner his whole life and this power is probably overwhelming.”

  “Why should I go?” she complained.

  “You need to go because you, Desmond, and Missy are his only blood family here. Desmond is busy comforting his wife and I don't think Missy is suited to the task, so that leaves you.” Kharon had that tone he used when she was trying to shirk a responsibility. Exhaling a heavy sigh, she squinted at him to show her disapproval.

  She hesitated.

  Gypsy didn’t want to talk to Dragon because quite frankly, she didn't really know him, and he still creeped her out a bit. It was even more unsettling now that he had his own spooky magic. What was she supposed to say? Kharon left her to go talk with Trajan, which was his way of ending their conversation. After a few more unhappy sighs, she yielded to her husband's prodding and dragged her feet off in the direction Dragon had gone.

  As she entered the waiting room, a wave of foreign energy moved through her entire body, overrunning her thoughts and movements. Gypsy stopped and held her head, inhaling as much air as she could into her lungs. At first she thought it was the Primal Fever rising again, but this feeling had an unnatural, invasive quality, like a rapist in the dark.

  Pulling herself together, she walked outside to find Dragon sitting on a weathered bench near a fire pit filled with black ash. He was only a few yards from the clinic. He watched her with an expression of fearful, tense madness. With a slow, uneasy step she approached, stopping a few paces away from him.

  She ignored the pounding in her temples. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” he said in a voice deep and strained. “Something is happening to me.”

  Fear ignited inside of her, setting all her instincts ablaze. The very air around them felt wrong. It was a strange yet familiar sensation, like spying the bastard child of a nobleman because of a distinctive familial feature. Her apprehension burned hotter the longer she stayed.