Fated to the Alien Chieftain (The Klendathian Cycle #3)

17. Roxanne

Chapter 17

Roxanne

Arrival

T he two warriors circle each other as the crowd taunt and jeers mere inches away. Blue and yellow eyes mist, sending wisps of color into the dimly lit hall.

Yet another crack of the whip, followed by Ziroth’s muffled cries, serves as a perverse sort of bell as Noroth charges towards Vethios like a raging bull. Vethios nimbly steps aside, delivering lightning-fast jabs into the side of his opponent’s head.

Noroth is thrown off balance and collides into the crowd, knocking some down as others push him back into the makeshift ring of heckling spectators. Despite my initial protests, I’m captivated by the brutal contest, hoping for Noroth to prevail because Vethios did, in fact, insult him. But unfortunately, Vethios appears to be the better fighter.

Noroth spits green blood from his mouth, before swinging wildly at Vethios with blows, which look like they could punch through walls. Vethios belies his lanky, muscular frame, moving as neatly as a seasoned dancer. With every skillful dodge and duck, he punishes Noroth with quick, efficient strikes about his face and ribs, releasing grunts from him. The hits against Noroth’s flat face sound shocking, like someone slapping pudding.

“He does block with his face!” Xandor exclaims, drawing raucous laughter from the crowd. Does this mean Xandor and Noroth will have to fight now? I wonder if this clan meeting will ever end at this rate.

Rylar’s voice cuts through the laughter, “Gods have mercy, Noroth, don’t stand toe to toe! Use your strength!” He implores.

Noroth seems to heed Rylar’s advice, as he switches to charging at Vethios once more, this time almost catching his opponent off guard. Vethios barely escapes the attack, wrapping his arm around the bowed head of Noroth. I watch, fearing Vethios will strangle Noroth in a headlock, but it’s then I notice only Noroth’s face is covered as he tucks his chin to protect his bull-like neck.

The others must have also noticed as a hushed silence falls over the crowd. Vethios grunts, desperately trying to wedge his arm down and around Noroth’s neck, but he’s getting nowhere. Noroth roars defiantly, his eyes blazing bright blue and his thick muscles bulging, grasping Vethios around his waist, picking him up in a monstrous display of strength before slamming Vethios against the hardwood floor with a resounding thud.

“Yes!” I find myself cheering, my voice lost amidst the crowds as my blood rushes in excitement. Vethios, dazed, tries to scramble to his feet, but Noroth is on him in an instant, sitting atop him, delivering brutal headbutts and savage elbows into his opponent’s head. Not long ago, such a gruesome sight would have turned my stomach, but now I watch on, captivated like the rest of the warriors.

“Noroth is the victor!” Krogoth declares, as the hall erupts into cheering and stamping feet. With calls of congratulations and commendations for Noroth. “Honor to the victor. Honor to Noroth!” Krogoth’s voice rings out, as others pick up the chant, me included.

Noroth stands triumphantly over his unconscious foe, panting heavily, his face bruised and bloodied, beaming with joy. He points towards Xandor, “Who cares what blocks what? As long as I’m the last warrior standing!” He spits out blood with his chin raised proudly.

Xandor to my surprise, nods his head respectfully and performs the Klendathian military salute towards Noroth. “You owe me one hundred credits, Xandor,” Krogoth interjects, his laughter echoing through the hall.

Xandor chuckles “Fine...I’ll be eating rations for a week,” before activating his wrist console.

Krogoth turns his attention to the area of the hall where Ziroth and Morios are. “Ah, I see you are done?” He asks inquisitively. I gasp, seeing poor Ziroth slumped against the wall, his leather coat and shirt rendered to ribbons revealing a bloody torn back underneath.

“He has learned his lesson, I reckon,” Morios replies loudly, his gaze fixed on the crumpled pathetic form of Ziroth.

“I counted three licks of the scourge. Very merciful,” Krogoth remarks, rubbing his chin before continuing. “Morios the merciful!” He declares, prompting the hall to echo in laughter and chants of “Morios the Merciful!”

I look on in amazement, wondering how someone can whip another person with a scourge and then be named ‘the merciful.’ Then, as if to confuse me even further, I see Noroth, helping Vethios to his feet, both men laughing and patting each other on the back like long-lost friends reunited. Albeit friends with bloody faces and broken teeth.

Only moments ago, they were prepared to kill each other. Now look at them! Was the contest just for entertainment? What was the point of it? If Vethios had won, what would that have mattered? My mind is buzzing with questions, wondering if I’ll ever understand the Klendathian honor system, which could stand for Klendathians’ craziness system at this point.

Now Morios is giving Ziroth a slip from a horn and helping him to his feet! Is this the result of a society without women? No calming influence from minds not overcome with bluster and the need to prove themselves through violence? Although this hall existed long before the Klendathian females were stolen... They probably were just as crazy as the men. I sigh, determined to understand so I can help Krogoth and be a good Chieftainess for him.

Krogoth approaches me with a smile. “This has been a fine meeting so far, such honor on display. Thanks to your help, Pebbles, these disputes will be trivial.”

“Glad I can help,” I reply absently, my mind still trying to process it all.

“Make yourself comfortable for this next part,” Krogoth whispers in my ear as he places a hand on the small of my back. “It’s voiding tedious.” He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll take tedious,” I say, slowly getting my wilts about me, “Yeah, tedious sounds good right now, Krogoth.”

Krogoth laughs. “Careful what you wish for.” He turns to address the crowd, who have mostly settled down now.

“That brings a close to the disputes for this meeting,” Krogoth takes a deep breath. I could swear a flicker of a wince crosses his face as he continues. “Now I invite Crenix to enlighten us with stock and logistics.”

His words draw a collective groan from the audience, as Krogoth rises placating hands. “This information, while monotonous, is important,” he stresses weakly, as if he doesn’t believe it himself.

“I’m going for a piss,” Xandor announces bluntly, drawing a few amused chuckles from those nearby as he makes his exit.

Krogoth doesn’t appear to care as he gestures to the smallest Klendathian I’ve ever seen. Couldn’t be much over six feet tall. He comes up onto the platform, bowing respectfully to Krogoth and me, before acknowledging the indifferent crowd, many of which are already engaged in their own conversations.

What follows is a dreary and overly detailed account of food, wood, Elerium and whatever other resource you can imagine, down to the tiniest minute detail. Just when I think it’s coming to a close, Crenix describes how all of this is going to be divided up and given to the war effort, fifty percent handed over to be shipped off. Such an outrageous amount.

I rest my head on my hands, trying to focus and pay attention, to be a good Chieftainess, setting a good example. But it’s so hard, like every boring meeting at work back on Earth rolled into one ultra long meeting.

Krogoth almost appears asleep, slumped as he is on his massive throne. I probe his mind out of curiosity and boredom, finding only annoyance and impatience and a little touch of fear simmering at the back. Wonder if he’s still worrying about the War Chieftain?

Next, Crenix’s monotone voice lists the stock with another ten percent reduction for tribute to the Chieftain and explains how this will be used for the betterment of the community. Which pricks my ears up momentarily, until he then moves on to discuss trade deals with other clans and aliens, almost putting me to sleep once again.

Eventually I’ve given up listening, unable to take any more. I entertain myself playing with my necklace and cloak, probing the occasional mind of my fellow bored attendees.

“Chieftain?” A monotone voice repeats, “Chieftain? Chieftain?”

Krogoth startles upright, his response brimming with surprise. “Yes? What is it?” His abrupt reaction prompts a suppressed giggle from me as I observe his flustered demeanor. “Oh Crenix, you’re done. Thank you for your dedicated service to the Clan,” he says, as he leaps from his seat, stretching his massive limbs.

Crenix bows before leaving the platform. My heart goes out to the old Klendathian, performing such a thankless task, but bloody hell, it’s boring.

Krogoth claps his hands loudly, snapping half the crowd out of their private conversations. “Right onto the last order of business for this meeting,” he says after everyone is silent.

“Aw, did I miss the Quartermaster’s report again?” Xandor returns smirking, carrying a horn in his hand.

“Miss the next one, Xandor and you’ll be giving the reports from now, sparing poor Crenix the trouble.” Krogoth glares over at Xandor, who has the good sense to hold his tongue for once.

“Listen, now, because this is a serious matter,” Krogoth says, as he gives me a knowing look before speaking again. “The Chieftainess and I believe the War Chieftain may return to Klendathor soon,” he announces, causing a collective gasp to ripple through the audience.

My heart races at the mention of the War Chieftain. Not since our meeting with Harkus have we addressed it, like an open festering wound. Both of us dare not touch it in fear of learning how fatal it might be.

“What’s the plan, Chieftain?” Xandor inquires, as he eyes his claws like he’s relishing a fight.

“I will challenge him,” Krogoth states flatly. His words cause my breath to quicken. Why does he rush to throw his life away? After we’ve found each other, I don’t understand. The thought of losing him twists my heart with sorrow.

Krogoth, as if sensing my despair, turns to me before speaking. “If he refuses to listen.” He then addresses the crowd loudly. “It is no secret I seek to remove the War Chieftain, but I’d prefer to do it peacefully, with the consensus of the other Chieftains.”

The hall erupts into passionate discussion, as I feel a tiny flicker of hope that maybe this War Chieftain will not seek revenge on Krogoth, but with the title of ‘War Chieftain’ I judge it’s very unlikely. Even the others look doubtful at the idea. I can’t lose him, not now, not after everything we’ve been through.

Adrenaline roars in my ears as I struggle to breathe. I gaze across the hall among the audience. Many hang their heads, concern and doubt carved on their faces. No one thinks he can beat him. Not even Krogoth believes it!

I find myself stepping forward to speak, my desperation driving me. “Someone say something!” I exclaim, glaring heatedly at the crowd. None meet my eyes, even Rylar and Xandor avert their gaze.

“You would let your Chieftain die!” I scream at them, anguish seeping into my voice. “Please, someone, anyone, convince him not to do this!” Turning to Krogoth, I find him looking at me, his bearing proud but his eyes betraying a hint of sorrow. “Don’t do this,” I implore, my voice cracking with emotion. “We can leave this place, come back to Earth with me. Live, Krogoth, I beg of you.”

“I can’t,” Krogoth says gently, moving to console me.

My heart sinks as I recoil back, shaking my head in disbelief. “This is madness, Krogoth. Our love, our future together. You’d throw it all away.” This can’t be happening!

“You shame him Chieftainess,” Rylar interjects, “Honor demands he does not flee.”

I turn on Rylar with all my burning anger, my torrential sorrow directed towards him. “What good is honor, if it costs him his life?” I demand, tears moistening my eyes.

“It means everything to us,” Xandor says, his face sympathetic. “That’s all we leave behind.”

Even him too? “What about the pain to your friends and loved ones? Do they not matter to your precious honor?” I round on him heatedly. “They just have to pick up the pieces?”

Rylar shakes the stump of his arm. “We have endured enough pain for the entire universe,” he says, his voice growing more heated. “Who has suffered more than us? No one!” He roars, his fervor surprising me. “We pick up our own pieces, Chieftainess. Friends, brothers, their bodies broken, their eyes lifeless. No family to remember how they lived, how they died, but us, their war brothers.” He punches his chest, as do many of the others in the crowd.

It’s not the same. I love him as my Mortakin-Kai, not as a war brother. “If you were his brother, you would not let him do this,” I say, soft as a whisper.

“It’s because he’s our brother. We do not stop him,” Xandor adds softly. “You should understand, Chieftainess. It’s why I prepared you for the Proving, and why you survived it.”

Sorrow rips my heart apart. They do not understand and never will. I look at Xandor with weary resignation, knowing my words will not reach them. “No, Xandor I fought to save his life, not for anyone’s honor, ” I spit the last word like it’s a curse.

“Stop this, Roxanne,” Krogoth intones, moving closer to me, pain etched on his face. “Enough,” He whispers as he embraces me, his massive arms a comfort over my shoulders that shake from uncontrollable sobs.

I look down at my trembling hands as tears stream down my face. Struggling to breathe, I fall to my knees, defeated. I can’t change their minds. This is who they are. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you, Krogoth.”

“Should I die, I’ll be waiting for you amongst our ancestors,” Krogoth says softly, his words doing nothing to mend my shattered soul. Time blurs as I cry until there are no more tears left, while Krogoth consoles me with gentle words and touches. The hall grows slightly darker, and an excited commotion catches our attention as we both turn round to see Xandor marching towards us, his face stern.

“The Ravager’s Ruin obscures the sun, Krogoth,” Xandor says, glancing between us. “War Chieftain Gorexius has arrived.”