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The Drex were also traders of a sort—though King Davos called them filthy pirates who were no better than cutthroats and thieves. They often engaged in illegal activities, and their ships were smaller, faster and more agile than the ones they “traded” with. Eventually, the group had settled on a planet they called Tresaria, and elected their own leader, who called himself the Pirate King. This man was none other than Rhaegar, Mikol’s colorful and notorious uncle. Rhaegar was Drex only because he’d been adopted by one, his stepfather having been a Drex trader. His real father had been a Lycan, and his mother was Leerian. Really, if you thought about it, Rhaegar never stood much of a chance of being honest. Or so Mikol thought.
In his own way, Rhaegar was a gentleman though, and undeniably brave. Mikol couldn’t help but like him. He had saved Blake, Derrick and Egan’s lives during their adventures on Vokaria, and he’d heard the story many times. Mikos was unimpressed, however. He said they had only been in danger in the first place because of Rhaegar.
But if these new and vicious pirates weren’t Rhaegar’s Drex, then who were they? Who was backing them? Mikol had been charged by his father with finding out.
Rhaegar had been cooperative, seeing as how his mate was Prince Derrick, King Davos’s fourth son. Derrick had been terribly distraught over almost losing his father, and Rhaegar would do a great deal to keep his handsome mate happy and worry free. When Mikol arrived on Nevos 4, Rhaegar had been there to meet him, telling him what he knew—which was very little actually. But he asked Mikol for more time to investigate a rumor he’d heard about a new group, known to the other pirates as the Rothafari, more commonly known as the Roth, operating out of some planet or obscure moon somewhere in the eastern quadrant. Mikol had agreed, asking only that he be kept informed. They’d had a few drinks and parted on good terms, with Mikol sending love to his uncle, and Rhaegar promising, with a roguish wink, to be sure to deliver the message.
Mikol left afterward for Arkaan 673, but on the way, the commander of the ship, Captain Florin, who was also Mikol’s longtime friend, stepped up beside him on the bridge. “You know our course will take us very close to Belline.”
Florin, who come to think of it was Mikol’s only unmarried friend, turned and raised one eyebrow. “We’ve had a few good times on Belline over the years.”
“You mean we’ve had a lot of fights there.”
Florin lifted one shoulder and smiled. “Same thing.”
“I was thinking… We do have a little time to kill before I have to be on Arkaan 673. An odd name, by the way. Why is the space station named such a thing? What the hell is an Arkaan? And why are there 672 others?”
Florin shook his head. “I don’t know, but Lycans named the station, I believe. Need I say more?”
“No, that’s all the answer I need. What do you say we swing by Belline on the way to the station for old times’ sake? Since I’m on my way to more than likely sign betrothal papers, this might be my last chance to…what is it Blake always calls it?Cut loose. I believe that’s what he says.”
“Ah yes, human slang. I’ve heard the phrase. Doesn’t that also mean to free yourself from some tie you don’t want? Could it be you’re having some second thoughts about this betrothal?”
“Secondandthird. But I’ve agreed tomeetthis Lorian prince, and that’s all.” He let out a long breath. “However, I’ve been reminded several times recently of my duty.”
“I’m sure you have. Well then, all the more reason to visit Belline—have a few drinks, or maybe more than a few. What was it your grandfather accused your uncle Derrick of doing in that bar on Belline years ago?”
“Fighting his way in and fucking his way out.”
Florin laughed softly. “Sounds like a damn good time to me. I’ve heard the authorities on Lycanus 2 have cleaned the place up in recent years, though. I wonder if such a thing is still possible?”
Mikol turned to look at him. “Only one way to find out.”
“Indeed,” Florin agreed, “Helmsman, set a course for Belline.”
****
From the time Kalen arrived on Belline, almost nothing had gone to plan. First of all, Kalen hadn’t expected his uncle’s guards to put up a fuss about the detour, and he’d had to assert his authority strongly on them to keep them in line. When one of them had the temerity to threaten to report it to his uncle, Dartan had threatened the man by holding a knife to his throat.
“How dare you speak to His Highness that way? One more word and I’ll cut your throat. See how well you ‘report this’ to the Regent then, you bastard.”
The guard quickly backed off before Kalen had to intervene, but after they boarded, Kalen heard him muttering to his friends in the rear of the shuttle as it took off on the way to Belline. Fuck them all and fuck his murderous uncle too. With any luck, he’d be rid of them soon and back on his way to the space station.
Not that they wouldn’t eventually follow, but it would take them a few days, with any luck.
Besides, he’d heard stories about this moon all his life. How Belline offered up all things desirable and illegal to those who sought them, and how one night on Belline could change a man’s life and his fortune forever.
His initial plan was to stay for only an hour or so and then catch a shuttle out of there, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay a bit longer and see what all the stories were about.
Within an hour after arriving on Belline, they had wandered over to the docks and located the Plaza, complete with warning signs at the entrance to the square, put up by order of the Lycan police.
At first glance, the Plaza didn’t look like much. It was almost dark outside, so a few people were beginning to appear on the patchy sidewalks and wander down the narrow, dingy streets. The sound of raucous music came from a number of different bars, all blending into one cacophonous sound. It was best to tune it out altogether, and that’s what Kalen tried to do as he walked at the head of his own small group of four guards, his uncle’s additional six men bringing up the rear.
At the end of street, they had to turn left, being hemmed in by a long row of shabby buildings. Since it made little difference to him which bar or brothel they settled on, Kalen chose the first he came to on that narrow passage. The faded sign by the doorway, leaning drunkenly to one side, proclaimed the place to be called theStarlight.
From the moment they walked inside, Kalen knew what this place was—a brothel first and foremost, but one that served cheap, rotgut liquor and dubious food as well. Kalen found a table for himself and his men, waving his uncle’s men to a table in the far part of the room. However, in the spirit of getting the men drunk, he ordered a round of Cygnarral for their whole damn table, with another one to be delivered after that. Once they were drunk enough, Kalen thought he and his own men could slip out and ditch them there.
An hour or so later, when Kalen was working on the third round, he began to wonder why he was in such a hurry to leave this congenial place. In fact, it might even help relieve his stress levels to stick around a while and perhaps find a companion for the evening. Like all the brothels on Belline, this one had a menu not only of food and beverages, but it also had available prostitutes for hire, both female and male. That menu advertising their “wares” looked better the more Cygnarral he drank.
