Mated to the alien warlo.., p.1
Mated to the Alien Warlord: Warlords of Thyre, page 1
Copyright © 2023 Bella Blair All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ASIN: B0CJ8CY7K5
ISBN: 9798864950999
Cover design by: Miblart
Edited by: Owl Eyes Proofs & Edits and Chrisandra's Corrections
Printed in the United States of America
Nothing compared to walking through my camp on the eve of a battle. Anticipation hung thickly in the air. Tomorrow, males would learn what they were made of. It didn't matter if this was their first or hundredth battle, each one challenged a male differently, taught a warrior what true bravery was.
Tomorrow would be no exception.
It was impossible to predict who would react how. The youngling sitting by the campfire with the green tinge to his face? He might be the one saving the day with his bravery, and Forgore, the older warrior who just smacked him upside the head, might be the one running. Not that I thought Forgore to be a runner, not for a moment, but I had seen it happen to others.
"The warriors seem in good spirits." Myrca, my second-in-command, observed.
"They know tomorrow's victory will be ours," I asserted.
"What is Fionbyr thinking, rebelling against our khazar?" Myrca shook his head. "Many good males will die tomorrow, and for what?"
"The greed in a male's heart is for him alone to know," I stated one of our proven proverbs, but agreed with Myrca. Many males would uselessly die tomorrow. They wouldn't die to defend Thyre from the threat of Udruns from the inland or Vandalls from the sea. Nyck, they would die fighting for their warlord's greed to become khazar. A title Fionbyr had no claim to.
And yet, he dared challenge Khazar Gryck. He had sowed unrest in his domain and his neighbor's by claiming his mother was a descendant of the great Khazar Domuryx, a claim he could not support with anything other than the dying words of an old lady whose mind had been addled by fever.
As if my thoughts had summoned him, Gryck emerged from his tent, his eyes searching the groups of warriors until they met mine. He raised a hand in greeting.
"Looks like our khazar wants a word." I nudged Myrca and together we made our way over the trampled grass and followed Gryck as he retreated into his tent.
A dirty, exhausted looking warrior stood by a fire basin, warming the hand not holding a cup of grog—hot water with strong alcohol and honey. In a corner sat, to my surprise, a human. The man was older and dressed in finery but appeared as road weary as the warrior.
During wartimes like these, formalities to our khazar fell mostly to the wayside. It was impractical to salute our khazar every time we saw him, which had been often during the past weeks. Instead, I bowed my head slightly in deference. "Khazar?"
Gryck ran his hand over his long, black hair, which was held together like all of ours by a thick braid, the symbol of a khazar and a warlord. "This scout just brought dire news," Gryck explained, waving his hand between the Thyre warrior and the human.
I inclined my head, indicating I was listening, while my body tensed. News, especially dire news on the eve of a battle, was never a good sign.
"King Helmut of the human outpost Steppenfort," the scout pointed at the human. He didn't need to shake his head for me to gather what he thought of the audacious human calling himself a king on our lands. Not even us warlords, who would have been within our rights to call ourselves kings, did so. It was an affront to our khazar.
Steppenfort was the largest human outpost on Thyre, having grown between the boundaries of Warlords Fionbyr's and Grobhan's domains into a rich trading post. So large that it was nearly as big as our main cities.
King Helmut rose. He was tall for a human and well-muscled, not a match for a Thyre, but he would give any Thyre warrior a good fight.
"I owe tythe—taxes—to Warlord Fionbyr," he began. "He offered to let me bring a war party to the battle tomorrow in exchange for three years' worth of tythe."
Myrca whistled low between his teeth. Three years' worth of tythe was a lot of credits and resources. If King Helmut was to keep those for himself, his settlement could grow exponentially.
"You are siding with a traitor then?" Myrca spat. "Don't forget you owe tythe to Khazar Gryck as well, he is your khazar too."
"Not if Fionbyr wins the day tomorrow," Helmut said slyly.
"How many warriors did you bring?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
"It doesn't matter, humans are no match for Thyres," Myrca bragged.
He was right, but given Gryck's solemn face and Helmut's postering, I sensed he brought more to the table than Myrca could imagine. Even a flock of birds could change the outcome of a battle if one could strategically employ them. A hundred human warriors could create enough of a distraction to cause our warriors to lose.
Helmut's gaze met mine, ignoring Myrca, having already shrewdly assessed that I was the warlord, not Myrca, even though Gryck hadn't introduced us. "Five hundred warriors and horses," Helmut stated without glowering.
Myrca was too much of a warrior to pale at the news, but he was visibly shaken by it.
Five hundred warriors could indeed make a big enough difference tomorrow, no matter if they were mere humans.
"Then why are you here?" I asked. "And not at your camp, celebrating your coming victory?"
Helmut put his cup down and sighed wearily. "As you pointed out before, Khazar Gryck is our khazar as well, and we swore fealty to him just like we did to Fionbyr."
"If you are conflicted in your loyalties, there is your khazar," I pointed out, because when it came to loyalty, our khazar stood on the top rung. It was him this human owed fealty to, not Fionbyr.
"My loyalties are to Thyre, just like yours," Helmut said somewhat defiantly, and my respect for the human grew. Besides having accomplished the feat of building the largest human outpost and maintaining it, calling five hundred warriors to a battle was impressive.
"But," Helmut spread his fingers deferentially, "I also owe Steppenfort. As its king, it's my responsibility to ensure my subjects' safety."
"Which you couldn't do if you sided with us and Fionbyr won the battle tomorrow," I concluded.
"Precisely." Helmut nodded. "Fionbyr has been extorting Steppenfort for years. The tythes he demands have increased with each year, and I'm sure Khazar Gryck has seen none of it."
Fionbyr was within his rights to do so, but none of us warlords did, at least not that I was aware of.
After the first humans landed so many generations ago, contracts had been drawn up, which laid out precisely how much tythe was expected each season and who it was to be paid to. The humans paid all of it to us warlords and we passed the portion owed to our khazar to him, making the transaction easier for all parties involved. Over the generations, many warlords had tried to cheat the system, as had human leaders, but they had all paid the price for their betrayal.
A warlord becoming greedy and demanding more from the humans wasn't unheard, but most of the time, the humans took their grievance to the khazar, and the matter was taken care of. I wasn't sure why Helmut had put up with Fionbyr's extortion instead of coming to Gryck. But I was sure I would find out soon enough.
"Our lands lay between Warlords Fionbyr's and Grobhan's domains, and with both of them conspiring against Khazar Gryck, it seemed wiser to just pay the tythe and use the wait and see approach," Helmut explained.
"Shrewd, but it could also be misconstrued as treason," Gryck stated dryly.
Helmut bowed his head. "Yes, Khazar, I understand. But I beg you to understand my position."
"So why are you here?" I cut to the chase, done with these long explanations.
"As I said, us humans feel we owe fealty to our khazar first, but we also need the assurance that we will be safe from Fionbyr's and Grobhan's retaliation."
"So you are offering some kind of deal to fight for us in the morning instead of Fionbyr'?" I summarized.
"He has," Gryck nodded, and I didn't like the tone of his voice or the look he gave me.
"King Helmut is not going to be merely satisfied with my word that I will keep Steppenfort safe," Gryck said and Myrca inhaled sharply at the affront of doubting our khazar's word.
"If he doesn't trust our khazar's word, then I don't understand what it will take for him to trust any of ours," I argued.
Helmut turned his gaze straight at me. "Unfortunately, my only son fell off his horse and broke his neck a month ago, leaving me without a male heir."
I didn't like where this was going and turned my gaze to Gryck, whose grin I liked even less.
"I could appoint an heir," Helmut said, "but as you probably understand, I much prefer to keep Steppenfort in the family. I have a daughter eligible for marriage. If she were to marry a warlord, that would ensure Steppenfort's safety as well as keeping my line alive."
"You want me to marry your daughter?" Aghast, I stared at him before I turned my head to my khazar. "You want me to mate a human? Dilute my bloodline to ensure the win of a battle tomorrow?"
"I wouldn't ask if the situation wasn't dire." Gryck supported Helmut's proposal. "I'm not only asking
for myself. What do you think will happen to Wyrkymburg, your domain, if Fionbyr becomes khazar?"
This was unbelievable. "Then have Myrca marry the kallini—woman," I argued. "Myrca is my second-in-command, surely—"
"Only a warlord will do," Helmut stated with determination.
"Fine, get Kendryx or Brogan to do it then." I stared at Gryck.
Gryck sighed. "You are the only warlord present, and Helmut demands the deed done tonight."
"What?" I exploded.
"I've been telling you and the others for years you need to find a kallini and beget heirs," Gryck argued.
"As far as I know, you are an eligible bachelor as well," I mused, but even as I said the words, I knew this would never happen. A warlord mating a human kallini was outrageous enough, but a khazar? Never!
It wasn't that I thought the humans were a lesser species than us, nyck, not at all, it had happened before. But a warlord mated to advance his domain, or because he had found his czira—soulmate—not… I sighed, not to ensure his khazar's victory.
As much as I didn't like it, Gryck was right. Mating the human kallini would benefit me as much as him. Besides ensuring the survival of my domain, Wyrkymburg, it would eventually add Steppenfort to my holdings, a sizable prize. I would have a foothold between Slotenburg and Acklymburg, enabling me to keep an eye on the most querulous domains under Gryck's demesne.
"Alright, where is she?" I gave in.
"She is at my camp. We won't have time to go fetch her, so you will have to sign the contract, and I will take your word and signature as warlord that you will honor it," Helmut offered.
I ground my teeth. I wasn't sure what I hoped to accomplish by seeing my bride first, and consoled myself with the thought that it didn't matter what she looked like. This was a contract, nothing more, nothing less, and by the end of the day, I had enriched my domain and obligated Gryck to me. Not bad for a day's work.
Then why did I feel as if I had just stepped into quicksand and was slowly sinking?
I paced the large tent impatiently, not at all happy about my father's plan to marry me off to a Thyre Warlord. At least it's not Fionbyr or Grobhan, the two warlords bordering our lands who had been exploiting us for years, I tried to soothe myself.
That didn't mean I liked the idea though. Adrian had been the one supposed to carry the burden of our father's kingship, not me. Damn him anyway, I cursed my dead brother, riding off and breaking his neck was just like him. He probably got himself killed just to spite me, I added, because it was much easier to be mad at him than succumbing to the incredible sorrow I felt inside at his death.
Adrian had been my everything. My big brother, my protector, my confidant. He had always been there from the moment I was born until he died. Six years older than me, he had been my hero, the boy my life revolved around. And now he was gone.
Leaving a hole in my heart so large, I didn't think it would ever mend.
The wind was howling forebodingly outside, as if it, too, was mourning Adrian or crying over my uncertain future.
Who would be the warlord I was to marry?
Besides Fionbyr and Grobhan, there were three others: Brogan, the Warlord of Grymburg, Vandor of Wyrkymburg, and Kendryx of Dokkymburg.
That all five warlords were unmated and without heirs was unusual. I was an avid study of Thyre's history and hadn't found one time period where this had ever happened before.
If anybody had asked me, I didn't have a preference for any of the three warlords. Their strongholds had been built along the coastline of Thyre to keep invading Vandalls at bay, while Fionbyr's and Grobhan's were the only two sitting inland to defend against our other native enemies, the Udruns, a nomadic people who had never liked Thyres taking root and building cities. They liked humans even less, or maybe they simply attacked our outposts more because we made easier targets than the Thyres.
I was born in Steppenfort, loved the River Dunway that ran through our lands, nourishing the dirt so we could grow crops to feed our horses, our main source of trade with the Thyres. But that didn't mean I didn't yearn to see something besides the wide-open steppe that gave Steppenfort its name.
I had lost count of how many times I had stared at the mountains far off in the distance and wondered what it would be like to explore them. Or the forests on the other side.
Reading had been my one source of escape from the endless winds and open space surrounding Steppenfort, and now the thought of leaving and seeing the Dark Sea by which the warlords lived enticed me. Even if it meant having to marry one of them.
As my father's daughter, I had always known that one day I would marry somebody not of my choosing. In my mind, it had always been some rich horse breeder though, not a warlord.
Thyres loved our horses and paid outrageous amounts of credits to buy them. Horses had not been native to this planet, but when our ancestors brought them here, the Thyres had quickly learned the advantages of these magnificent animals.
They tried to breed them on their own, but for some reason failed, leaving us humans to feed the endless demand for more horses, enriching breeders and outposts.
From my history books I gathered, the horses we used now were very different from those of our ancestors. They were bred to be bigger and stronger to be able to carry a heavy Thyre into battle. Even their hooves had been altered and turned into weapons to spear enemies.
I looked up from the book I was studying—an old Thyre account of the Slotenburg family—when noises reached my ears. I tilted my head to hear better, but a guard's appearance at the entrance to my tent warned me that something terrible was about to happen.
"Princess, come quickly, we're under—" Whatever he was going to say was cut short as first crimson blood and then the tip of a bloodied sword broke through the tunic on his chest.
I screamed in fright, throwing the book I had been reading into the air as I jumped to my feet.
The blade retreated, the guard's body was discarded, and a mountain of a Thyre entered my tent. He was so tall, he was forced to duck underneath the flap, but that didn't make him appear less frightening.
"Princess Damaris, I presume?" he guessed.
My hand flew to my throat, and I stared at him, unable to utter a word, spellbound by his appearance and the sword dripping blood in his hand.
He held out a hand. "Come."
I looked around frantically, but the expansive space of my tent didn't lend any means of escape. The only entrance and exit were blocked by the Thyre, still holding out his hand, still entering, filling the rather large space with his form, dwarfing me and everything inside.
"I don't have patience for games, Princess, move it." His fingers wiggled, beckoning me impatiently.
"What… what do you want from me?"
"Your father played my liege lord wrong, and you will pay the price, Princess," he said, jumping unexpectedly forward and grabbing my wrist to pull me out of the tent.
I screamed again, but I was no match for this cruel monster. He pulled me out into our camp, where a brutal battle raged. Horsed Thyres rode through the rows of tents, setting fires to the leather sides and cutting warriors down where they encountered them. The sun rising in the sky made me realize that morning was approaching and that I had once again read the night away, but that thought was only fleeting, as the carnage around me took my full attention.
"Is that her?" a man on a horse asked, and I tried to shrink back from the massive animal, with its rolling eyes and pinned back ears. The Thyre warrior kept a tight hold of the reins, but it still danced from leg to leg, agitated and filled with nervous energy, making me fear it would rear up any moment and take my head off.
"Princess Damaris, just as Warlord Fionbyr requested," the warrior holding my wrist confirmed, pulling me further forward and pushing me toward the rider, who held his arm out for me.
When my captor's hands encircled my waist, I finally realized that I was about to be abducted and tried to kick out, but the long hem of my dress made the attempt futile. As if I weighed nothing, the man holding me tossed me up, and the rider caught me, laying me facedown over the side of his horse in front of him.
My abductor kicked his feet into his steed's flanks, and it took off in a full gallop, leaving the blazing encampment behind and pushing the air out of me as the horse took off and my stomach was painfully catapulted up and down over the beast's neck.
