If the tiger riders were in control of their mental abilities, they should be able to read my mind. Despite the language barrier, my intent should radiate. JC says strong emotions do so. Fledgling telepaths these people have to be. The stones enhance natural abilities and even the shaman lacks training to control his own mind enough to read thoughts.
The parrot-sized dragon continues to flutter above its master.
Reynard remembers reading about such creatures. Some branch of the IMC created them in a lab as children’s pets. There was an outrage over enslaving thinking creatures. Even with a law against such a practice doesn’t mean the IMC didn’t continue, and a gift of such a creature would open up bargaining for the mineral rights on this planet. The Halcary pain sticks could also be leverage to secure a mining station. Useless information. He won’t give these primitives the two Mokarran rifles back on the Dragon. The only weapons he has suitable for humanoids of this size.
Guards shove three nearly naked humanoids across smooth stone floor. Their bathrobe-style coverings have become soaked in their own blood. With shreds of clothing Reynard wonders if Australia deduces what origination these three represent.
The heavy set man on the right has deep lacerations over his chest and abdomen. The woman in the middle bears two holes in her abdomen where her ovaries once were. The third man’s tattoos indicate he was military. The man bleeds from between his legs as his scrotum hangs torn open.
They hover close together, never making eye contact with Reynard’s team. They seem afraid to speak as tiger riders cut Joe from his bonds.
••••••
THE TIGER RIDERS dump the three alien humanoids from their mounts. Reynard and his crew are allowed to slide from the saddles, confusing him as to their difference in treatment.
Torment prevents these people from speaking. Reynard wants to protest that they are being shoved from the trail across a field toward exposed bedrock. A tiger rider extends his arm, leveling his weapon to keep Reynard’s group behind him.
As the three approach the halfway point to the arched cave entrance, the woman flails out her arms to halt both males. She slumps to a knee nearly falling over. Her fingers clean the mud and gunk from faded symbols carved in the dark stone. “Someone did this as a warning line.”
The woman’s speaking sends the tiger riders into frenzy. Reynard doubts they are able to translate her words. Her speaking offends them, but none of them will approach the scorched rock.
“Abandon all hope!” she screams to Reynard’s team. “No one has ever made it to the cave’s entrance.”
Why aren’t there any bodies? Reynard questions the scene before questioning himself. He went through the training. He’s learned to pilot. He studied under master combatants. He lacks experience to save his crew.
Joe motions his bottom right hand at his sword brother as if he knows of the uncertainty. He signals a warning not to let the tiger riders sense his reservation.
Energy pulse shoots out from the cave and tears through the tattooed male’s lower left leg disintegrating it. In the seconds it takes him to bleed out, he thrashes, causing a second blast to incinerate his body into streams of red mist.
The impact of the blast startles the tiger mounts as well as their riders who barely prevent a stampede. Reynard notes they fear the power of the beam weapon, but knew of its existence from their position well out of the range of scorched ground.
The weapon hangs acquiring its next target. In those seconds Reynard assesses the tactics of defeating the weapon. Efficient as it is, age has slowed the device, but not enough for the panicked pair to notice. The woman screams as she races back to the safe zone.
She doesn’t reach it.
The third male lives for the few seconds it takes the cannon to acquire a target lock. The beam misses his midsection due to him tripping in the millisecond before the energy beam discharges.
The high branches of a tree behind the tiger riders disappear. The tigers growl, twirling to break free of their reins and flee. Even these cultured warriors panic. Reynard guesses they fear an enemy without a mind for their shaman to focus on.
The cannon finishes its task.
Once their mounts are back under control, the king waves his hand. Reynard and JC are driven forward, expected to defuse the weapon.
Reynard runs his fingers in the carved symbols of the black rock path. “It’s a warning.”
“But to what?”
“Old temples are full of them.” Reynard shifts into a terrible Bela Lugosi accent: “Enter and you shall be cursed.”
“No one has made it to the entrance.”
“It wouldn’t be the first trap we’ve seen coded to the DNA of a specific species.”
“And we know why there are no bodies surrounding this place.”
“But Ki-Ton just waltzed right in.”
“How do you know?”
Reynard rolls some cloth between his fingers. “Michelle’s. I found it hooked on a branch as we rode by. They came this way.”
Reynard remains on one knee. He taps the earpiece, “Aus, you receiving this?”
Aus had slipped on her headset and eyepiece during the tiger skittering. The warriors seem to take less of an interest in her. “The view screen image is mostly snow.”
“Sounds like a Missouri weather forecast because it’s bright and sunny.”
“Not a time for Osirian jokes I don’t understand.”
“They never could predict the weather correctly where I grew up. A call for warm and sunny could yield a blizzard.”
“They just march people to the entrance to die?” Australia’s question crackles in his ear. “A beam weapon still working after a few hundred thousand years
