Page 23 of Broken Triad

“I can help…”Wrong approach.“I can’t get you into your best fighting shape, if you don’t tell me.”

Krazak reaches down, and opens the top of his robe, above the belt where the hilt of his Orb-Blade rests. The black robes falls to his waist, uncovering his chest, and I can’t suppress my gasp.

He’s five hundred pounds of pure muscle, but the slabs of his chest have a long, red rend down the right side of his chest, under his brand and slicing all the way to his abs. A Scorp must have raked him, and an inch deeper, and it would have tore him open. He washed it when he showered, and filled it with some kind of white plaster, sloppily pressed in the cut to stop the bleeding. There’s still traces of dirt in it.

“You need a med-bay. That’s going to fester,” I say, as blood drips down from the edge of his cut, a drop that runs through his abs.

He grunts. I hiss in annoyance. These damned aliens think they’re invulnerable. “Krazak, this wound is going to rot. I know your species has med-bays in every one of your Reavers. Call one to you.”

“We did not arrive fast enough. Many humans were grievously wounded. Others need med-bays more than I.”

My brows furrow. That, I wasn’t expecting. The way he spoke down to Rachel, I thought he had only contempt for my species. I didn’t think he would put priority on a random human over a warrior.

“You know a lot of our ships’ specifications,” states Khra from behind, and I wince.

“I learned about the Aurelian Empire because I wanted to go there some day,” I say. “But I’m not working for them, or the Queen. I’m all alone here. Look, if you’re too stubborn to call a ship, I’ve got something that will help. But it’s going to hurt, bad. I swear it’s not poison.”

Bolden barks something out in Aurelian, his voice raspy. It’s a question. I can’t understand the words, but I can understand the tone.

He doesn’t trust me, or my medicine.

Krazak grunts. “If it will heal me, do it. My sword arm is stiff.”

I take a deep breath in, and open my pouch, taking out the glass container that is a brilliant, fiery red inside from the crushed petals that I prepared while holding my breath in the kitchen. My eyes still sting from preparing it. I open the container, then use a small cloth, dabbing it in the red paste.

I can’t stop my hand from shaking. Will the burning sensation make him think I’m poisoning him?

“This flower can kill rot, but it—”

He grabs my wrist and forces my hand against his wound. His breath hisses at the burn, and then he releases. I rub the ground petals into his open cut at the edges where the plaster isn’t filled in.

When I got the flower on my fingers, it was like holding onto stinging bees, until I doused my hand in the bird bath, my teeth clenching on the branch while I whimpered in pain. Krazak is enduring the refined paste in an open wound. Sweat drips down his brow.

Krazak grits his teeth together, his jaw clenching, his powerful jaw muscles flexing as his face contorts in pain.

He doubles over, groaning, and I see his back. I caught a glimpse of the triad’s whip marks in the garden. Now I see the lines up close. The whip bit in deep, digging into his skin. He’s crisscrossed with hard white lines that will never heal on their own, though I know the high-tech alien med-bays could erase the wounds and restore his flawless skin.

He choose to keep them.Why?

“Where did you get those scars?” I try to get him to focus on anything but the pain, to distract his mind.

Krazak sits up straight, instantly, his face becoming blank as he forces down the pain, not wanting to show me his weakness. “Never ask me that again.” His voice is ice-cold despite the sweat running down his from his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I say, quickly. These men are like quicksilver, with raw, deep emotions that bubble up to the surface with one wrong word.

“You said you need us to save your father. Speak.” He’s trying to keep his voice cold and logical, but his tone gets growly as the burning petals work their way deeper into his wound, searing bacteria.

I swallow, and wipe my nose with a cloth, the spicy sting of the poultice making it run. “My dad’s a miner. He’s in the mountains up north, past the last border town. He’s two days by foot north of Ridgetown.”

Krazak looks down. There’s remorse in his eyes. “I’m sorry,Lola.Those mining towns were lost. I’ve seen the reports. Your planet had no anti-air batteries allocated to defend them. We came too late.” He adds a certain emphasis to my name as he speaks, as if he’s tasting the unfamiliar syllables.

I don’t let his words hurt me. He doesn’t know my dad, or the resourcefulness of the miners. I force down a surge of anger at the remorse in his eyes. These men hate me one moment, then pretend to care the next.

“He’s not dead. He taught me everything about Scorp. They come to the north mines, and the miners hide. One miner survived three months in the dark. Scorp live down in the depths from past attacks, but he was able to stay alive because he kept silent. I know General Ra’al won’t send anyone to save them. At least, the Royal City never cared about miners, and he won’t, either. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Ra’al cares more than you think,” states Krazak, slowly. “You do not know what he has endured.”

“There are many cities to send Reavers to, and there was a rebel attack earlier tonight. The General’s resources are stretched thin,” comes Khra’s voice from the doorway. “If he could help you, he would.”

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