Read Online Fenturi Fate (Spacestalker Saga Book 1) by Bevan Greer - Free Book Online
Authors: Bevan Greer
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Her voice cracked like a whip toward the formidable warrior. She uttered foreign words in rapid staccato—a Fenturi dialect—which made Garen pause in confusion before he gradually resheathed his weapon.
He answered the woman in kind, and Zebram stared at him in shock. “I didn’t know you could speak Fenturi.” He once again felt like the small boy he’d once been, taken with hero-worship for his older sibling.
“I don’t.” Garen scowled. “Or at least, I didn’t.” He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Best you speak quickly,” he ordered Myla in a silky voice that had her laughing again.
The brothers and younger woman only stared at Myla in puzzlement.
“Think you I should be scared of your threats?” she asked. “Bah. I’ve seen far worse than you, and worse than the Ragil Horde.” Her eyes remained on Garen’s face as her lips quirked. “Though I must say I’m quite taken aback to see such a fine Fenturi warrior in his prime.”
Garen flinched as if struck, his body stilling as he stared with hate-filled eyes at the Fenturi witch.
“Don’t like what you are, eh boy?” Myla gave Garen a toothy smile, though Zebram thought her expression gentle, despite the sharp teeth. “Well, we are as we’re made, as the Goddess wills it. Now is not the time for petty hatreds. The Horde will kill everyone and everything, regardless of being. Forget about bloodshed while I tell you where to look, and what to look for, if we are to save ourselves.”
Garen nodded stiffly to Myla to continue.
“Well now, Captain of the Stalkers, as I was telling His Highness the other day, the only hope the System has of surviving the Ragil Horde is a weapon known as the Thrax. But to power the Thrax, you need the Mari.”
“What is that?” Garen asked.
“The Mari is a Fenturi born under the Mari moonlight. There is but one born every generation, and if he or she still exists, which my senses tell me is true, you’ll need to find the Mari and soon. The Horde haven’t forgotten the last battle, and it’s more than just hunger that will have them here this time. It’s revenge as well.” Her lavender eyes glowed as she studied him. “You know all about wanting revenge, don’t you?”
Zebram hadn’t thought Garen would respond to the woman, too angry at her lack of fear to speak.
“Yes,” he answered in a low voice.
“I can see that,” Myla murmured. “But we’ve more at stake. Save your rages for after, is there is an after.” She sighed, and the woman by her side patted her arm. “Thank you, dear. Garen, the Mari can be identified by a mark on the shoulder, a blue image showing two crossed moons above two small circles, each symbolizing the power of the Mari lakes. You’ll sense the Mari,” she spoke directly to Garen. “Your blood, that which you try to deny, is growing in you. And you can’t stop it no matter how much you may long to.
“It’s that blood which makes you the perfect tracker to find our lost Mari. Now, since I know you won’t trust what your ‘alien’ senses tell you,” she said wryly, “I’ll be giving you this.” She handed him a pouch.
“In it is the Fen root and a few other native herbs. Combined, this pouch will weaken and enslave the Mari when placed in close proximity to him or her. But be very careful when you use it, and tell no one about it. This bag is your weakness as well, though in diluted effect due to your Bylaran blood.
“If others know that the Fenturi have this weakness, it will be used against you as well. This I have foreseen.” She seemed not at all disturbed that she’d just given one of her people’s most powerful enemies leverage against them.
Garen’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Then he opened the pouch and peered into it. He took a small sniff and blinked several times before closing the bag tightly.
“You see?”
He nodded.
“May I?” Zebram wanted to see it. Garen reluctantly gave him the bag. He sniffed at the
He answered the woman in kind, and Zebram stared at him in shock. “I didn’t know you could speak Fenturi.” He once again felt like the small boy he’d once been, taken with hero-worship for his older sibling.
“I don’t.” Garen scowled. “Or at least, I didn’t.” He gripped the hilt of his sword. “Best you speak quickly,” he ordered Myla in a silky voice that had her laughing again.
The brothers and younger woman only stared at Myla in puzzlement.
“Think you I should be scared of your threats?” she asked. “Bah. I’ve seen far worse than you, and worse than the Ragil Horde.” Her eyes remained on Garen’s face as her lips quirked. “Though I must say I’m quite taken aback to see such a fine Fenturi warrior in his prime.”
Garen flinched as if struck, his body stilling as he stared with hate-filled eyes at the Fenturi witch.
“Don’t like what you are, eh boy?” Myla gave Garen a toothy smile, though Zebram thought her expression gentle, despite the sharp teeth. “Well, we are as we’re made, as the Goddess wills it. Now is not the time for petty hatreds. The Horde will kill everyone and everything, regardless of being. Forget about bloodshed while I tell you where to look, and what to look for, if we are to save ourselves.”
Garen nodded stiffly to Myla to continue.
“Well now, Captain of the Stalkers, as I was telling His Highness the other day, the only hope the System has of surviving the Ragil Horde is a weapon known as the Thrax. But to power the Thrax, you need the Mari.”
“What is that?” Garen asked.
“The Mari is a Fenturi born under the Mari moonlight. There is but one born every generation, and if he or she still exists, which my senses tell me is true, you’ll need to find the Mari and soon. The Horde haven’t forgotten the last battle, and it’s more than just hunger that will have them here this time. It’s revenge as well.” Her lavender eyes glowed as she studied him. “You know all about wanting revenge, don’t you?”
Zebram hadn’t thought Garen would respond to the woman, too angry at her lack of fear to speak.
“Yes,” he answered in a low voice.
“I can see that,” Myla murmured. “But we’ve more at stake. Save your rages for after, is there is an after.” She sighed, and the woman by her side patted her arm. “Thank you, dear. Garen, the Mari can be identified by a mark on the shoulder, a blue image showing two crossed moons above two small circles, each symbolizing the power of the Mari lakes. You’ll sense the Mari,” she spoke directly to Garen. “Your blood, that which you try to deny, is growing in you. And you can’t stop it no matter how much you may long to.
“It’s that blood which makes you the perfect tracker to find our lost Mari. Now, since I know you won’t trust what your ‘alien’ senses tell you,” she said wryly, “I’ll be giving you this.” She handed him a pouch.
“In it is the Fen root and a few other native herbs. Combined, this pouch will weaken and enslave the Mari when placed in close proximity to him or her. But be very careful when you use it, and tell no one about it. This bag is your weakness as well, though in diluted effect due to your Bylaran blood.
“If others know that the Fenturi have this weakness, it will be used against you as well. This I have foreseen.” She seemed not at all disturbed that she’d just given one of her people’s most powerful enemies leverage against them.
Garen’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Then he opened the pouch and peered into it. He took a small sniff and blinked several times before closing the bag tightly.
“You see?”
He nodded.
“May I?” Zebram wanted to see it. Garen reluctantly gave him the bag. He sniffed at the
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