Queen For The Alien Primal

Chapter 1

Josham

         Petitions.

         I swear to Krodo the Shaper, there are days when I want to curse whatever Drokan came up with the word. Or the concept. Or the paper that such petitions are written on.

         Every week, for one long, entire day, it seems as if every resident of my city, Allend, turns out to complain to me.

         Not that I blame them, to be honest.

         Life in the desert is hard, even for us Drokan who have lived here for a long time. The sands have no pity, the dunes never weep, as they say. Allend is the outermost city of the Desert Kingdom. As such, our lives are built around careful planning and sacrifice.

         What many in the Mountain and definitely in the Lakes regions would take for granted, we must give deliberate thought. Water supplies. Cleaning. Cooling. Food. Travel.

         Being isolated in the desert means relying on complex shipping routes for many supplies. Which means expensive import and export fees. Which also means not relying as much on crystal-powered tech, including hovercraft and misivs. Which, again, means a new level of planning and…

         Rolling your eyes, yet? Imagine how I, as King, must feel.

         On the other hand, as my father always said, ‘There’s worse things to do for a living.’

         At least I’m not suffering alone. I glance to the right of my throne, where Kurn, the commander of my forces, stands at parade rest. At least I get a seat. And can weigh in on the conversation. Kurn must simply stand and listen, the tough old goat. He has no time for the people. But I make him attend to remind him that there are real, complicated lives that he protects. Still, I half imagine he’s found a way to sleep standing up with his eyes open.

         To my left, there is Baylet. My chief advisor. He’s the youngest person on my staff. He rose through the bureaucracy like he was riding a Grikon whose heart pulsed lightning. He took all of us by surprise. A slight Drokan, olive-skinned, but with a cunning mind. I suspect that is to make up for the injury he sustained as a boy, when one of his wings was clipped half-off.

         Drokan males are proud of their wingspans. He must have undergone terrible bullying as a lad. A person responds in one of two ways to that sort of thing. They become mean. Or they become clever.

         Baylet seems to be the only one who enjoys hearing these demands. Though he enjoys my solutions to them much less. He thinks I’m soft. He may be right.

         But these are my people. We have limited resources, but what I have I will gladly give to them if it means more of us prosper.

         Case in point, the old woman before me.

         “Please slow down, old mother,” I say warmly to her. She’s on one bended knee, speaking a mile-a-minute, nearly causing herself to hyperventilate. “And you may rise. I’m your King, not Krodo Himself.”

         “’Pologies,” she mutters, thankfully standing up straight. “Never spoken to royalty before. Never had the need.”

         “Then I envy you,” I say with a smile. “I had to speak to my father the King every day of my life until we lost him.”

         “And he’s still mourned, Your Majesty,” the old mother says, bowing her head.

         “Thank you. Now, your complaint.”

         “Skuyr.” She literally spits after saying the word. Then quickly apologies and tries to mop the sputum off the floor with the hem of her dress. “Y’see, Majesty, given the recent water shortage, I had to bring my herd of nylars to a different oasis. Skuyr raided me in the night! Took half the flock. Three younglings and six mature! I got nothin’ to sell, now. Means no money. Means no food. And times being lean as they are, already…”

         The old woman looks ready to cry. I lean forward in my throne. “What is your name, mother?” I ask.

         “Peytra.”

         “Peytra, I am glad you have come to me. My herd of nylars have recently had their young. We shall gift you five. They cannot replace all of what you have lost. But the younglings should be enough to stake a loan against, which may help you through these lean times.”

         “Yes! Yes, Your Majesty! Bless you!”

         I glance over at Baylet, nodding at him to confirm my words. He makes a note in his pad. He’s clearly not happy with my decision, yet again. I wonder if he will ever learn the importance of benevolence? If he’s not careful, his attitude might be his doom.

         I’ll talk with him later, I decide. As Peytra dissolves into the crowd, my final petition seen to at last, I now rise from my throne. There’s one more important thing to take care of.

         The Skuyr. Half of all the petitions that came before me today involved those menaces. The scaley, horned bastards refuse to integrate into society. Instead, they pillage and ransack and murder. At least the humans keep to themselves.

         The Skuyr have been attacking the oases that lie throughout the local desert. It’s a desperate, bold move. Kurn had suggested a military strike two weeks ago. I’d hoped this brazenness on the part of the Skuyr was temporary. I’ve been sadly mistaken. My hesitancy was a mistake.

         One I intend to correct right now.

         “Listen, all of you,” I announce to the room. The bureaucrats, bourgeois, advisors and hangers-on sprinkled throughout my audience chamber fall silent. “This Skuyr scourge has gone on too long. My commanders have brought me recent news of the Skuyr holding up at Cambrick Oasis, due west of here. It is time to send these Skuyr a message. They cannot act with impunity.”

         Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kurn perk up. We discussed possible strategies before the audience session began this morning, but I’d left him hanging as to my decision.

         “I plan to ride out immediately with an attack force and reclaim the Oasis. This is my promise to all of you, and to Allend City.”

         A round of applause greets my comments.

         I swirl around behind my throne and head through the door to my offices. Kurn and Baylet are hot on my heels.

         “Excellent, Your Majesty, most bravely said,” Baylet coos.

         “About damn time,” Kurn tells me.

         “And do not worry,” Baylet goes on, “I shall see that all in the palace operate smoothly while you’re away.”

         “I’ve no doubt,” I assure him. He’s so eager to please. Sometimes it’s almost cloying. But I suppose better that than having an advisor who is apathetic. Still, it is not a good look for a royal advisor to have.

Yes, I should definitely take some time to council the boy. Perhaps when I get back from teaching the Skuyr a lesson.