Raised to Kill (Kindred Tales)

“Oh, they’re all used goods, they are, at this auction.” The Uvian waved one scaly green, two-fingered hand dismissively. “So I hope you ain’t in the market for a virgin—you probably won’t find one here.”

“Virginity isn’t that important to my people.” The Tasi’teer relaxed visibly his skin releasing the scent of apples. “I just want a girl to warm my bed and cook and clean for me on long missions. And I’ve heard the Q’ess females are remarkably submissive.”

“So they are, so they are…” The Uvian nodded his great, scaly head. “So submissive, they climb right into the stewpot when you tells ‘em to.” He gave a great, croaking laugh that made heads turn.

“You don’t really mean to buy a Q’ess girl to eat, do you?” The Tasi’teer turned pale, his large pores exuding a scent that reminded Brand very much of an Earth animal called a “skunk.”

“Why not? Q’ess flesh is a delicacy on my planet. I aim to find the juiciest girl in the auction and buy her to cook up propper. You can’t pay too high a price for a really good cut of meat, right?”

“Uh…right.” The Tasi’teer edged away from the other alien, still exuding the scent of skunk, which caused some complaints from the other males in the crowd.

Brand said nothing but kept an eye on the crocodilian Uvian. If that bastard tried to buy Allara…

Just at that moment, a loud voice shouted, “The Space Port Bride Auction is about to begin! Get ready to place your bids!”

The shouter turned out to be a powerful-looking Q’ess woman leading a long line of blindfolded Q’ess girls out onto the wooden stage. They were all grasping a length of rope and stumbling after the woman as best they could. This clearly wasn’t easy, since they all had their hands tied behind their backs and none of them could see where they were going.

Brand scanned the line of girls anxiously. Where is she? Where is she? Oh please, Goddess—let her be here! Let me be able to get her back!

And then, near the end of the line, he spotted her, still wearing the stained and bloody nightgown she’d had on the night before—Allara.

Forty-Two

Allara waited blindly as the girls in front of her were placed on the block and bid on. She couldn’t see anything but she could hear strange, rough male voices in the crowd—none of them sounded very nice.

The Song Mistress acted as the auctioneer, moving the proceedings along with brisk efficiency. She began each auction with a quick mention of a girl’s past and her faults and then started the bidding at what she thought was an appropriate sum. Most of the girls went quickly so that it seemed no time at all before it was Allara’s turn.

“Come, girl,” the Song Mistress said roughly, gripping her by the arm and half shoving-half hoisting her onto the auction block. “Hurry yourself up—I don’t have all day!”

Allara climbed obediently onto the block, though she was shivering with fear and cold. She was still wearing only the thin nightgown she’d put on the night before and a cold wind was cutting through the outdoor auction area, making her wish she could pull her arms free from their bindings and hug herself for warmth.

“Now, then,” the Song Mistress said in a bored voice. “This is Allara Ke’ta’nu, formerly of the Seventh Great House but no more. She has been cast out due to disobedience and impertinence according to her aunt. Also, she’s been married before so she’s used goods—don’t expect virginity from this one. But she does have a nice pedigree and a fine, full figure. Now then, what am I bid?”

“Two hundred credits!” shouted a male voice.

“Two hundred and fifty!” a croaking voice responded.

“Very good, two-fifty from the Uvian gentleman,” the Song Mistress called. “And do I hear three?”

A Uvian? Allara thought, feeling sick. Weren’t they those aliens with thick, scaly skin who liked to eat humanoids? Especially females?

Then a deep, growling voice like thunder cried out, “Five hundred credits!”

“Very good, the Havoc gentleman in black ups the bid,” the Song Mistress went on. “Will anyone give me Five-fifty?”

“I will,” croaked the Uvian’s voice. “Five hundred and fifty credits! A tender morsel she looks—I’ve a mind to have her for my stewpot.”

Stewpot? Allara felt as though she’d just swallowed a fist-size lump of ice. Was the Uvian really going to eat her?

Well, not if the male with the deep, growling voice had a say in it.

“A thousand,” he snapped.

“Two thousand,” croaked the Uvian.

“Well, this little baggage seems to have inspired a bidding war for some reason,” the Song Mistress said. “Do I hear three thousand?”

“Five thousand,” the deep voice growled and then continued, “Hear me, Uvian, you don’t want to deprive me of my prize. If you try to take the girl I’ll get a pair of pliers and pluck out every last one of your snaggle-teeth and strip you of every single one of your scales. Let’s see if you can eat her when you’re as toothless and naked as a mewling babe!”