Page 26 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

If I’m going to be with these three, I’m going to have to get used to being around the huge aliens. I gulp, summon my courage, and walk forward to where Ra’al is sitting in the pilot’s seat with a clear view. He never takes his eyes off the front window, and as I approach, I see rows and rows of information displayed holographically in the air in front of him. It’s all in Aurelian, but even if it was in the Common tongue I’m not sure I could read it all.

How does he pay attention to all that and still pilot?

Through the reinforced glass viewing pane are the dozens of villages that surround the Royal City. Some are untouched, as if protected by an angelic force. Others are gone. One small village, one that had a few dozen families, is completely covered by a Scorp Org-Ship. I pray some of them survived, or that they had time to run before the hive engulfed them.

The air is filled with smoke, hazy, and on the horizon I see more black curls of thick smoke rising up. That was where the city of Sea-Guard sat on the coast. Black Reavers are zooming towards it. I hope it’s to defend it and not to drive out Scorp that have already decimated it.

Ra’al takes the ship higher, and we pass over the huge walls of the Royal City as if they are part of a sandcastle made by children. The palace is gleaming and white, but one of the five spires is on fire. A black Reaver flies over it, dropping a grey, sandy substance that suffocates the fire. I look down at the city. Some areas are untouched, but others burn.

The destruction was not caused only by Scorp and Reavers. It was caused by the panicked populace.

On the main road of the city, that cuts the city in half, from the front gates to the city square in front of the castle, I see shapes moving, triads of Aurelians surrounding Scorp and finishing them off. A triad runs out of a burning building, and I see an immobile shape in their arms, some man or woman caught in the fires. There is a Reaver in the street with its side doors open, and they rush the wounded person into it.

A mass of green Scorp burst out of the window of a building, and I gasp in terror as they overwhelm a triad of Aurelians. No matter how fierce the alien species is, even they must feel fear. A Reaver flies over them, hovering, and the side doors open. Three more Aurelians dive out in their black robes, their Orb-Beams glinting as they activate and join the fray.

“Why don’t the Reavers fire?” My voice cracks as I watch the attack ships flying over the city, dropping fire repellent, their las-cannons quiet.

“To spare the buildings and those seeking shelter inside,” states Ra’al.

“How many died?”

“We do not have the tally. We arrived just in time to stop calamity, but many died before we could get here. Your species panicked. Men killed men, instead of readying their defenses.” His voice drips with scorn. I take my eyes off the terrible sights and look to him.

From this close, the lines of his hard face are apparent. His hair is in a military cut, short on the sides, longer at the top, obsidian black flitted with grey. He’s experienced, and I wonder just how old he is. Aurelians mark years in centuries, not decades like humans. His skin is like stone, marble, with wrinkles by his eyes that look as if they were carved by a master stone-crafter. It’s so strange to see his skin move as he pilots. It looks like he should be petrified, a statue designed to show power and leadership.

Even sitting in his chair, he is taller than me, a massive alien who I cannot think of as human. Aurelians live centuries, sometimes eons, and this one has spent ten times my life span on the battlefield. I cannot fathom his mind.

The one thing I am certain about him is that he is a ruler. Not by birth. He is a ruler by the strength of his sword, and the power that calls men to follow him into battle.

His eyes, normally so sharp and focused, glaze over, and the Reaver’s nose dips downwards. I reach out, to his shoulder, nervous, but squeeze his powerful muscles. A shiver rushes through my body as his eyes refocus, and he grunts, a sound that could almost be a thanks.

Ra’al takes the ship in expertly towards the Royal Palace, as if the lapse in focus never happened.

I’m not sure how to take his moment of weakness. Can I call it weakness? For a quick moment, it was as if he was staring out of the viewing glass and seeing nothing. The sharp nose of the Reaver started to dip, and I brought him back to reality.

The palace rears up, the spires touching the clouds, and Ra’al lands us softly in the courtyard. I barely feel the ship touching the ground.

He lifts himself up from his chair, and I step back. There’s no weakness or hesitation to be found in his hard gaze, and I wonder if I imagined his flash of unknowing. He waves towards the door that leads to the hallway. Kat goes first, but the door doesn’t open until Kriz and Orr get up, striding forward. The doors seem to be linked to their DNA, because the hallway opens before us.

I take a moment to scan the layout of the ship. The hallway goes down the center of the ship. On either side, there are doors that must lead into living quarters, a kitchen, and a bathroom. The ship is spacious, seeming more made for long journeys than short bouts of combat. Everything is crisp and clean, except for the muddy tracks down the formerly pristine white floor, booted tracks that I could stand both of my feet in. Ra’al is close behind me. I can hear his steady breathing as I follow the other two of his triad out of the ship, the side doors opening to the courtyard.

It seems so much bigger when it’s not packed with the suffocating mass of people. I was here once before, moving as if in a river, unable to stop or turn. Again, I am here not by my own choice, but by forces that seem bigger than me.

But that’s a lie, isn’t it? I chose to trade myself. I put myself here.

The last time I stared up at the proud castle, it was with awe. I’d never seen anything so powerful, a gleaming beacon of hope and safety that rose above the city. I’d often watched it from Brianna’s window, staring at the glittering spires on clear days. Strangely enough, even on the clearest day, the highest spire would always be shrouded by clouds. I had to imagine its peak.

Now the white stone is covered in the grimy, grey-black anti-flammable substance the Reavers dropped on the buildings of the cities. One of the proud four outer spires is still smoky, adding to the oppressive haze that hangs over the city.

The blue and yellow flag is gone. A new flag runs up the flagpole in the front courtyard, as an Aurelian flexes his biceps with each hard pull on the cord. It is a pure black flag, and yet despite being unicolor, somehow I can see two black half-circles that match the brand in the center. The half-circles, the sign of Obsidian, glimmer and glow, sucking up the light around them and reflecting an eerie glow. They are blacker than black, as if black holes were tamed for his flag, just like how the symbol of Obsidian is visible on the front of the jet-black Reavers.

The castle itself is a mixture of ancient, Old-Earth architecture and modern innovation. There are four circular spires on each corner of the castle, built up with anti-gravity fields that let them nearly touch the sky. In the centre of the palace is the Royal Spire, where at the top, far above even the clouds, the Queen and King live.

Lived.

They’re still alive, but they’re far away, traveling through space towards Aurelian Empire-controlled sectors while their subjects were left to die. They probably put themselves into cryo-sleep, so they don’t lose any months of their precious lives while their staff ages, piloting them towards safety they don’t deserve.

In front of the main gates are four triads of Aurelians. Ra’al takes the lead, striding down the stone pathway towards them. I note that none of the triads have the second marks on their foreheads, unlike the brutal triad who demanded I be punished back in the estate. They’re maybe ten years younger than General’s triad’s age, and though Aurelians are hard to read, I can see the recognition and respect on their faces as they stand in front of their leaders.

---