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They were both out of breath by the time they reached the bottom, but Kalen still managed to ball up his fist and punch Dartan in the arm. “Damn it, you could have killed us both!”
Then they were out of options as the fight raging on the upper decks suddenly spilled down onto the stairs where they’d been standing. Several tall, pale men with wild dark hair swarmed into the passageway, dressed in strange clothing, with strips of cloth wrapped around their heads. Were these pirates? They looked unlike any Nilaniums or Drex Kalen had ever seen.
Kalen pulled desperately on Dartan’s arm to move him down the passageway, but Dartan shook him off and turned to face the intruders, blocking Kalen’s body with his own.
One of the intruders shouted something that sounded oddly familiar, and for a moment, Kalen froze. The words had sounded vaguely Lorian. Then the pirate lifted his disruptor and fired it directly at Dartan’s chest. His friend gave a soft cry, almost a sigh, like a tired child, and he reeled backward and fell at Kalen’s feet.
The disruptor the pirate was holding was pointing directly at Kalen. It was an oddly shaped one and again, unlike anything Kalen had ever seen. Disruptors caused damage by exciting the molecular bonds of their targets, and they could maim or cause death instantly. Charges from a disruptor, even one set on stun, hit their victims with great force and had been known to break bones when they didn’t kill outright. More frequently, the victims didn’t live to complain about it.
All of this raced through Kalen’s mind as he stared down the barrel of the disruptor, but he didn’t have time to do anything but react. He dropped to the floor as the shot zinged over his head and saw that he was right next to Dartan’s alarmingly unmoving body, his disruptor still clutched in his hand.
Kalen lunged for it.
Chapter Twelve
The pirates, whose ships Mikol didn’t recognize, attacked without warning, dropping their cloaking shields and showing themselves only as they were coming alongside, far too late for evasive action. The bastards had the gall to send messages threatening to blow them out of the sky if they didn’t surrender, so Mikol had given the order to do so. And he waited for them to come alongside and board. The pirates stormed in, disruptors blazing and were met with…savage resistance. Obviously, Tygerian resistance was something they either hadn’t expected or been prepared for, because they died quickly.
Few people knew about Tygerians in close combat, because there had been few left to tell the tale. Transformations into their tygers were so swift and terrifying that opponents were sometimes stunned into literal immobility—until it was far too late.
The first ones to come onto his ship had barely known what hit them and they had died in a red haze of blood, teeth and claws. It was mostsatisfyingto Mikol to see their bodies heaped up on the bridge. He had to admit he hated the idea of pirates almost as much as King Davos did. All except for Rhaegar and his men, of course. He had a certain fondness for Rhaegar’s crew, unlike his father and Davos, especially now that they were trying hard to limit their activities to actual trading and not thievery. But not these bastards, who had dared to try to storm onboard his ship.
It was over almost too soon, in fact, giving him little time to enjoy the carnage. It wasn’t that he was particularly bloodthirsty—well, he was, but that was beside the point. He knew only too well what those bastards would have done to him and his men if they’d succeeded in taking over his ship. Not to mention hisnobyo. It made him feel—primitive and barbaric.
His nobyo–suddenly the realization hit him like an unexpected blow, and it was then that the cries coming from the lower decks finally broke through his blood rage to fully register on him. Some of the pirates had avoided being eviscerated by his men or blown away by their superior weapons and had managed to escape below—a few, at least. They had somehow slipped into the staircases, leaving in the same direction as Prince Kalen and his friend Dartan had, only minutes before.
It suddenly struck him with icy certainty that Kalen and Dartan wouldn’t have had any chance at all to reach the safety of their cabins before the attack.
He couldn’t breathe properly, and he never knew afterward how he managed to run so fast to get to Kalen, bitterly castigating himself for not going to him immediately, as he flung himself down the stairs. He was vaguely aware of Florin behind him, but little else, as he was still partially shifted, his mind filled with savage images of ripping bodies apart.
He’d been angry and irritated with Kalen when he’d left so abruptly, after all the trouble he’d gone to with the food he’d had specially ordered to please him. When he got up to leave before they’d even had a chance to bring out the dessert he’d arranged—a cake that was one of Kalen’s favorites, according to what he’d been able to find out from his captain—he’d had to remind himself sternly that it wouldn’t be a good idea to pick the spoiled princeling up, throw him down on his back on the table, and toss up the hem of his robe to show him exactly who handled things onboard this ship. He would then remind him over and over again until he had it fixed firmly in his mind and until Mikol had him firmly in hand. Then Kalen would know not to trouble himself to second guess him again.
All of that faded to nothingness as he hurtled down the steep stairs, leaping down them until he finally reached Kalen’s deck. What he saw stunned him.
Dartan’s unmoving body was stretched out on the floor, facedown, with Kalen lying over him, guarding his friend with his own body. His face was fierce, as he snarled and shouted something in his own language at the pirate running down the passageway to get away from him, taking careful aim at him as he discharged his weapon and watched the man’s head disintegrate in a spray of red. In his hand he held the still-smoking disruptor, and two more pirates were dead on the floor beside him.
Florin fell beside Dartan, turning him over to examine his wound. Kalen whirled around, still lost in battle lust and turned his weapon on Florin, but Mikol leaped for the disruptor, twisting it from Kalen’s hand. He grabbed Kalen’s shoulders and forced him to look directly at him.
“Kalen, stop. It’s all right. It’s over!”
Recognition finally blossomed in his eyes, and he shuddered as he glanced back over at Florin, who was gathering Dartan in his arms.
“He’s alive,” Florin said, his voice the only indication of his strong emotion. “But he’s barely breathing. I have to get him to the infirmary.”
Kalen cried out, reaching for his friend, but Florin was already on his feet and striding down the passageway with him in his arms.
“Where’s he taking him? Is he still alive?”
“He is. You saved your friend and yourself. It was very brave.” He pulled Kalen into his arms, feeling suddenly overcome by the idea of what he could have lost.
“I-I need to go see about him,” Kalen said, though he was still clinging tightly to Mikol, his face buried in the hollow next to his throat.
“We will. Let the doctors check him—there were other men wounded as well, so the infirmary will be chaos for a few minutes, and we’ll only be in the way.” Mikol said against Kalen’s hair. “I imagine Florin is already causing a great deal of turmoil in there already.”
Kalen pulled away and looked up at him. “Will he make him a priority? I mean, not put him in front of the others who were hurt, but at least to get him into triage. Does he... do you think he has feelings for my friend?”
“I do, yes.”
Kalen only nodded and sighed, laying his head back on Mikol’s shoulder. “Then he’ll take care of him. I feel a little tired all of a sudden.”
