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7
We arrive at Azlan’s pride home as dusk is spreading across the great plains. His world is wide and flat and covered in grasses which bend and sway beneath the ship as we skim low in toward a series of homes designed not to break the landscape too greatly. My first thought is that these were made to blend into the landscape for a sort of eco-appeal, but given we are flying into war, I wonder if they are actually camouflaged.
Azlan is issuing commands to his brothers as we descend. I was nervous as to the reception I might receive, but as we land and disembark, it quickly becomes apparent that it’s not going to be an issue, because we have landed amid absolute chaos and carnage.
Signs of a battle are everywhere. There are wounded Leonids being tended by other, slightly less wounded Leonids. There are gluts of blood on the ground, seeping into the sandy ground between the dry grasses. I can smell death and the beginnings of decay. The dead have been collected, but the scent of their loss of life remains in the air. It is cool now, but I can tell it was a hot day, the sort of day in which a body begins to turn in a matter of hours.
“Azlan!” A Leonid warrior rushes up to the ship’s gangway, clutching a bandage to a nasty wound. “Leonidas staged a raid. He took the women. Every female of every age is gone, and we have lost half of the male warriors. We need medical help.”
“Stay in the ship,” Azlan orders me, almost without thinking as he heads out into the fray.
“I can help,” I tell him, following close on his heels. “And you need help.”
“Fine,” he says. He does not have time to argue with me, and he knows I am right. This is an all hands on deck situation.
There is much to be done. Nyan has gathered the ships’ combined medical supplies and is wheeling them out on a trolley. Skol is with him, taking similar action. Azlan is out moving among his warriors, gathering information.
I attach myself to Skol and Nyan, following them and offering help where I can. I know how to tend the wounds of animals and of people. Many are injured, and many are dying. I help those I can, and I comfort those I cannot.
“Where are your doctors? Your nurses?” I ask my most conscious patient.
“They killed them first. It was a coordinated raid. They knew who they were coming for and what they were going to do.”
“Fuck. Me,” I curse under my breath. I had gathered that Leonidas was ruthless, but this level of cruelty seems unnecessary. In human society, it would be a war crime. On the Leonid world, I do not think there is any concept of a war crime. Leonidas is brutal and callous and…
The worst is yet to come.
I continue to tend the wounds I can tend, listening to Azlan’s brothers as they begin to bicker, guilt driving their desire to find some reason why this is not their fault, even though it is clearly not their fault.
“We were too late in returning,” Kain says. “He took advantage of our departure.”
“Perhaps all three of us did not need to leave the entire population unguarded,” Skol says with a dry bitterness that suggests it was not his idea for them all to leave.
“What would one of us have done against Leonidas’ armies? What would all of us done against his shock troops?”
“We could have stood between him and the women. We could have stopped…”
“We couldn’t have stopped fucking anything,” Kain says, bitter. “Leonidas has all the war tech, as well as warriors that outfight the peaceful males who live here.”
He sayspeacefullike it is a slur.
I finish doing what I can for the wounded Leonid male I am working on and lift my head to look around for the next wounded creature. I do not have to look far. I see a pair of small, fuzzy ears sticking out from behind a rock.
My heart sinks. They are not big enough to belong to an adult Leonid. I remember what Azlan said about what happens to cubs when a new alpha enters the picture.
“No. No. Please…” I am whispering to myself as I approach the rock.
“Hey there, little guy.” I make my voice soft and gentle. “Are you alright? Let me help you.”
A pair of big blue eyes slowly becomes visible over the line of the rock. I am not good at telling how old Leonids are, but I’d guess somewhere around eight to ten or so, if he were human.
“Is he gone?” he asks the question in a whisper.
“He’s gone,” I assure him. “Don’t worry. Azlan’s here now. Come on. Let me help you.”
“Help my friends first,” he says in a soft but brave tone.
“Your friends?”
