Dekkir (Galaxy Alien Warriors #1)(15)
I held the image of her in my head: small, dark, and smooth-skinned, with those enormous eyes and hair like a thundercloud. Just thinking of her left me forcing down a surge of desire. Grace . . . voluptuous little alien . . . most unlikely and most perfect of mates. I’ll win you yet. I just hope it doesn’t take me too long, or I may go mad.
Morion went on. “The girl sent an image of the high chieftain to her superiors at the base. We don’t yet know if one of them was responsible for the order to assassinate or whether someone on the base intercepted the communication and attempted it individually. Whatever the case, providing that image is the one thing she can be held responsible for. She has already expressed the desire to make amends. She is uninterested in being returned to her base or making any contact with her fellow humans at this point. She is just as shocked as we about the attack, if not more.”
More muttering. Some of the tension left the room. Even Brax looked a bit calmer. Told you so, idiot. But I was too tactful to gloat aloud.
“It is our recommendation that she be taken on the pilgrimage to the Seeress Neyilla, who holds our best hope of healing the high chieftain. Grace’s experience with human technology and medicine should be useful, and we predict her presence will be required. She will act as an assistant to the healer until such time as Dorin recovers or dies.” Morion lifted his chin officiously.
I looked around and saw heads nodding. “Who else is to go on the pilgrimage?”
“Neyilla has specifically asked that you accompany the caravan, War Chief. Our prescients have confirmed the necessity. You must go, sir.”
Wait, what? “What about my duties here?”
“It is suggested you choose a proxy for the interim, as you cannot be expected to maintain your duties from a distance.”
I looked around at the other chiefs and then nodded, standing again to address them. Fine. “Decisions of war and security will be made by general council vote until my return. Chief Morion, I ask you to handle domestic matters in Highfort for now.” I fought the urge to laugh as I saw Brax deflate visibly. “Are there further questions or statements before we adjourn?”
There were none, so I ended the meeting. As the others walked away, Morion walked up and spoke quietly. “You are not well, War Chief.”
I hate mind readers sometimes. “I am well enough to perform my duties.”
“Your performance is not being questioned. But it seems you suffer from being mated to a woman of their kind.” He gazed at me and then spoke quietly again. “Tell Neyilla. If any of us can determine a way to assist you in your affliction, it will be her.”
I nodded distractedly, thanking him for his advice. I did not know why the healer had called for me to accompany the caravan, but at least it meant Grace and I would not be separated. I suspected if that happened, I would become even sicker.
*
In the morning, after breaking our fasts, I led Grace down to the courtyard, doing my best, as usual, to ignore how her jumpsuit clung to her curves. A familiar caravan waited for us at the gate. The sight of it, and the slim woman standing beside the burden-beasts at its head, made me smile through my headache as we approached.
Hello again.
It had been a quarter of a year since I had seen Elorie last, but nothing had changed. She was almost as slight as a human, her clothes the plain leathers of a gatherer, and she still kept her dark-gold hair cut to shoulder length. I remembered gripping that hair by the roots as I pinned her against a wall and her cries of delight—and hoped meeting Grace wouldn’t be too awkward for her.
Grace gasped as she saw the creatures hunkering obediently beside the caravan master. “What are those?”
“Those are Grogs. Did your mentor not tell you about them?”
“Only a little. I expected them to be four-legged, but they’re more like giant apes. Are they intelligent?”
“Somewhat. Our Rilleen are cleverer, but Grogs are more obedient. They will bear the caravan through the jungle for us.
She nodded, staring at them with one arm looped delightfully through mine. She had stuck very close to me since her trial, which made me feel a bit better.
I raised a hand in greeting. “Elorie!”
The caravan master grinned as she saw me. “Well, there you are. I almost left without you,” she teased. “Who’s this?” Her gaze fell on Grace, who nodded distractedly and went back to staring at the Grogs.
What is it with you and animals, little one? I may have to get you a pet. “Elorie, this is Grace, my intended. She is also the human liaison. There’s been—”
Elorie held up a hand. “I’ve been filled in on all the rumors.” She gave Grace a small smile. “Hi. Like the Grogs, huh?”
Grace smiled back. “They’re awesome.”
“Glad you think so. I love the big fuzzies. I’ll introduce you once we get to the Retreat.” Her expression sobered. “I know you’ve never been on a caravan like this before, so let me just go over the rules before we mount up. All right?”
Grace tore her gaze from the beasts and nodded. “Sure. I’m interested to know how you guys travel safely in that homicidal salad you call a forest.”
As the two of them spoke, my gaze slipped past Elorie to rest on the three cargo sedans the Grogs would be carrying. They were enormous, with wooden sides and arch-framed hide roofs. Bench seats for the guards poked out from the front, sides, and back of each. The middle sedan held my father’s makeshift infirmary, where two local healers would tend to him on the journey. The front one would be used as a bunkroom, where we would sleep in shifts as we traveled. The third held cargo and our gear.