by Ann Aguirre
“I’ll take the low ground. Tam, search the upper levels. Jael, see if he’s hiding in his quarters nearby.”
Orders given, she took Martine in her group, along with six others. On the surface, this was less a glorious final battle than a manhunt. But it wasn’t surprising, given the nature of her foe. There was no point in seeking honor here; expecting treachery was the best way to keep your guts inside.
“We need to backtrack a bit,” she said to Martine. “Shaft access isn’t technically part of his territory, but he has some lower levels.”
The other woman nodded. “Let’s find this bastard and kill him. My feet hurt.”
It was such a prosaic complaint that she smiled. “Mine, too. And everything else.”
“You’re not half-bad when you pull that stick out of your ass.” The men laughed. Tam might’ve advised her to admonish Martine for the familiarity, but she let it slide.
“I need it to keep me upright. Come on.”
Her team combed the whole lower level and found only a handful of terrified deserters. Dred played to her squad, letting them choose thumbs-up or thumbs-down on each man’s survival. Damn, she thought, after the last body fell. They’re a bloodthirsty lot. That wasn’t exactly a secret, however.
When she met up with Tam, he shook his head. “Nothing on the upper tiers, either.”
She swore. “Then let’s hope Jael found something. If he didn’t, we might have to scour the entire ship for Grigor.”
And there were so many nooks and crannies, so many places where a desperate man might hide. He could’ve taken it into his head to conscript reinforcements in Shantytown. They were waiting in the ravaged throne room when Jael returned. He was down a man, and by the bloody state of his clothing, he’d found something.
“Report,” she demanded.
“I located him. The men we killed here don’t approach the numbers he’s got guarding him. Grigor’s holed up in the engineering department, lots of gadgets to turn into traps. We nipped at the first wave of defenders, but there were too many. We have to hit him en masse.”
She nodded, then called for the Speaker. “Did you hear?”
“I did, my queen. Death stands ready.”
Silence’s people hadn’t helped with the search, but now that it was time to fight, they clambered quietly to their feet. Their empty eyes were unnerving, but she needed the bodies and blades. With a gesture, she told Jael he should lead the way. The trek carried them past the rooms Grigor’s men squatted in, no dormitories in this part of the ship.
“There’s a long hallway,” Jael said. “At the end, we come to a choke point. There are at least forty men guarding it, and they won’t go down easy. They’re a little drunk, a bit dehydrated, a lot desperate, and completely devoted to the Great Bear.”
If anything, his warning only riled the Queenslanders up further. The men snarled, surging from behind her to charge. She went with a blade, chains wrapped around her arms both for protection and to lend weight to her blows. It was hard to fight under these conditions, between the dark and the press of the crowd. There was no elegance in the mob, only anger and ferocity. She was buffeted from behind, men pushing to break the Great Bear’s line.
With her slim knife, she slashed at a soldier, whose face gleamed with hatred in her mining light. “You’ll never get to him, bitch! Never.”
“I’ll dance on your corpse,” she answered.
Each centimeter took forever to gain because of the sheer volume of bodies surging in the small space. The Queenslanders wore mining helmets and Silence’s people appeared behind the enemy a few seconds before they jammed a blade into the enemy’s back. It was all a blur of shadows and flickering lights, skimming off bloodstained walls as they surged closer to the front, where the Great Bear’s surviving forces tried to hold the line. Men dropped beneath Dred’s boots and sometimes she couldn’t tell who was dying.
She stepped over the corpses, then slammed into the wall as one of Grigor’s men lunged at her. He was an enormous brute with arms the size of her head. There was no room to swing her chains, hardly room to breathe at all, with her own men pressing from behind, Silence’s killers worming toward the front, while the Great Bear’s soldiers pushed back. She’d never been in a mob fight like this one, where she might as easily take a random knife from somebody who was supposed to be on her side. Dred lashed out with a tight kick and broke the brute’s ankle, but the bodies were slammed so close together in the corridor that there was no room for him to fall. She slashed outward then, gasping for air. Her knife carved some room and she shoved forward, stomping over his bloodstained body. Five centimeters closer to the end of the hallway.
Mary. I’ll be trampled if I go down.
Somebody’s helmet went flying, light bouncing down toward their goal. For a few seconds, prisoners scrambled for it, looking for an advantage in the melee. Dred took advantage of the confusion to shove forward farther. Something has to give.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it a moment longer, Silence broke the standoff. When she appeared at the back of the throng, gray hair swirling, looking like a shade from legend, Grigor’s men took a reflexive step back—and that was all they needed. Dred pushed with all her might, and once she had space, she went to work with her blade. Four men wheeled on her, but she didn’t let them surround her. She dove and rolled past them and came up to her feet; before they could charge, she unleashed her chains.
All the rage she’d suppressed over Einar’s death went into the first lash. The beam from her mining helmet showed her the bloody gash that opened on the enemy’s face, but she had too much rage, too much pain, to stop even though he fell back. Her chains twirled until she could hear only them whipping around her, drowning the cries and heavy thumps of bodies dropping around her. With full strength, she slammed the links downward, then wrenched her wrist forward. The man’s neck snapped.
Artan taught me that move. He thought it was funny to show me such things, like I was a pet capable of learning a clever trick.
Two more rushed in to fill the breach, but in the half-light, they didn’t look so confident anymore. With the choke point breached, they had lost their advantage. She ravaged one with a flurry of strikes to his torso; and when he dropped, she kicked him in the face. The barbs on her boots bit into his skin, so he was screaming in pain when he died of the final cut, a kindness with her knife. She looked up to catch Silence’s eye; the other woman smiled. Then the Handmaiden’s garrote bit deep into her victim’s neck. His struggles slowed, slowed, as his air ran out. With her arms around him, Silence made death look almost like a lover’s embrace, and Dred turned away with a shudder.
More Queenslanders surrounded her, driving the enemy away from her. They laid in with shivs and fists, and didn’t stop until every last defender was on the ground. Some of them were still alive, just grievously wounded. The Speaker strode over to her, a great carrion bird of a man, and goose bumps formed on the nape of her neck when he loomed before her, the skull paint highlighted by the beam from her helmet.
“Do we have your permission to reap these souls?”
“Give me one to question,” she answered. “Take the rest.”
Tam and Jael appeared beside her, but the spymaster didn’t interfere, as she pulled a soldier to his feet. He was bleeding profusely from multiple stab wounds, and she didn’t think he had long. That was fine; she only needed to know two things.
“How many men does Grigor have left in the engineering bay?”
The prisoner spat at her. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“Pity. Then I guess I’ll have to tend your wounds.” Her expression was flat and cold, her eyes full of murder, as she jammed her fingers into the slice that had opened his belly.
He screamed, startling the Queenslanders nearby. A few pushed closer to see how far their queen would go. Good. Watch this and mark it well. By the time she curled her fingers, the captive was pleading for mercy. It only took a few seconds to break
him. Her hand was wet with blood when she pulled it free.
If not for Tam and Jael holding him, the inmate would’ve collapsed. “No more than fifty inside, my queen.”
“And are there automated defenses?”
“They’re broken. Or out of ammo. I’m not sure. Grigor was trying to fix them, but I don’t think he got it done before the water dried up, and the power went out.”
“What about Peacemakers?” If Priest had one, the Great Bear might, too.
“We never had one. And Grigor thinks it’s a coward’s solution anyway. He prefers to kill his enemies personally.” The last word devolved into a moan as they let him fall.
“That’s all I needed to know.” She stepped back and gave Jael permission with a nod.
He cut the man’s throat neatly, but with none of the distressing pleasure or intimacy she’d witnessed from Silence. The other woman took so much pleasure in death that it was practically sexual. Grim and nauseated, Dred wiped her palm on her trousers, then beckoned to the rest of the Queenslanders. Tam was quiet, letting her do all the talking, all the planning. She suspected his confidence had been shaken by how badly he’d miscalculated earlier.
“One more push, lads. Do you have it in you?”
“All the way, my queen, until the Korolévstvo is yours!”
“Ours,” she corrected with a look at Silence.
Death stared back from the woman’s impenetrable eyes. In the faint light, she could almost see the smoky arm curled around Silence’s shoulders, a bony hand cupping her shoulder. Dred shivered and shook herself. You’re just tired. Been too long since you slept. And you’re letting imagination get the best of you.
Then she went on, “For every cut they delivered to our man, Einar, let’s give them ten. For every wound we’ve taken, every insult offered, we strike them down a hundred times over. Are you with me, men?”
“Yes, my queen!” they answered as one.
“There’s nowhere he can hide,” Jael growled. “I promise you that. That bastard will pay for what happened to Einar.”
She swept her arm forward in a commanding motion. “Well said. Let’s end this.”
42
The Great Bear
It was like stepping back into the Dark Ages. With the power still out, the Great Bear had resorted to torches; oily rags wrapped metal shards and sent a wreath of smelly smoke into the air ducts. Jael had fought as a merc on a few planets nearly this primitive; those weren’t fond memories. Wonder if the antifire system’s still working. Apparently not, as the ship took no measures to extinguish the flames burning in the room. He listened, counting heartbeats.
“There are forty-seven men just past these doors,” Jael warned Dred.
She slapped a palm against her thigh. “Grigor better be among them.”
Dred broke away from the pack and strode toward the entry to the engineering bay. She was two meters away when it blew off the hinges, showering her in shrapnel. His world shrunk to the sight of her body on the floor, and before anyone else could even take a step, he was there beside her, checking her over.
“How bad’s the damage?”
“My ribs hurt,” she managed. “Son of a bitch. I didn’t ask that asshole about traps.”
“Can you stand?”
“I have to.” The set to her jaw told him she didn’t care if getting up killed her or crippled her for life. He’d never known a woman so impressively stubborn. He braced and pulled her up, moving so the others couldn’t see her flinch as she found her footing. Jael didn’t let go until she gave a quick nod.
Without looking back, she stormed through the gaping doors, a small army at her back. Jael sprinted after her, grateful his speed let him catch up, then pass. He could probably see better in the flickering torchlight, too, despite the smoky miasma and the mechanical smells, like spilled oil and more acrid scents. This was where all the work on the ship used to take place, but now it was just an empty shell, full of metal scrap and piles of broken machinery.
“Show yourself!” Dred shouted. “Or is the Great Bear afraid of a woman?”
“I fear no one!” a deep voice thundered in reply—the sound came from above, echoing in the rafters.
Jael spun, trying to figure out where the forty-seven men were hiding. There might be others, but they had already broken and fled, not a factor in the final confrontation. There. They stood to the back of the chamber, along the far wall. He imagined Grigor had some spectacle in mind, where his men rushed in an unbreakable wall, overwhelming the enemy, but tactics like that only worked in vids, especially with such an undisciplined fighting force.
A man scaled down from the upper level on a set of pulleys and chains. At last Jael got his first glimpse of the Great Bear. He stood two and a quarter meters tall, with arms and shoulders that made Einar look small. His leather armor looked as if it might be human skin and was stained with grease, food, and darker smears, likely blood. Wild brown hair stood upright on his head, defying gravity in a bush so wild that small mammals could live in it. His beard grew nearly up to his eyes and far down his neck, so he seemed more animal than man.
“Finally you face me,” he roared, “after all your coward’s tricks. You knew you couldn’t defeat me in open combat.”
Dred leveled her coldest look on him, one that impressed even Jael. “You must’ve felt the same way, weakling, or you wouldn’t have allied with Priest against me. The Great Bear, brought low by two females?” She gestured at Silence, who flashed her yellow teeth in a terrifying smile while she created terrible patterns with her garrote, wrapping it around and around her fingers until they showed purple.
Skullface intoned, “We come for your soul, Grigor of the Korolévstvo. Death knows no mercy, only judgment. The scales will balance.”
At those ominous words, Jael heard a stirring from the soldiers at the back of the room. Heartbeats increased, and terror sweat spiked. They’re that frightened of Silence? Her ghastly air might be enough to send them all screaming into the dark.
A Queenslander muttered “Enough chatter. Let’s gut ’em all and go home.”
Grigor’s surviving soldiers reacted even more to that; actual whispers reached his ears. We can’t win. They outnumber us now. Do you see, Death’s come for us all. The Great Bear appeared to hear none of this as he drew his weapon.
“To me, men!”
But apparently they feared his retaliation more than oblivion because they shuffled forward, knives drawn. These men had a taut look, a little unsteady; they’d been drinking liquor instead of water for the past few days, but with some men, it imbued them with greater ferocity and false courage. He reckoned it would still be a battle, but they had the advantage; Jael was calculating probable casualties when Dred held up a hand.
“There’s no need. You want my territory? Come and take it. I challenge you before these witnesses, winner take all. Unless you’re a craven bastard, you’ll take up the gauntlet.”
What the hell. She’s injured. Why’s she doing this? We can win.
Given the size of her opponent and how much she’d already suffered, Jael wouldn’t put credits on her to win this. The watchful crowd rumbled as if in agreement with his judgment. The Great Bear’s men relaxed a bit, pulses slowing now that they had an option that didn’t end in total annihilation. But Grigor’s hairy face broke into a smile, revealing black and broken teeth.
“I accept. Your pride will be the death of you.” He brought up his weapon, a primitive bardiche that could be mistaken for a scythe.
One hit from that thing would cleave her in two. Jael wanted to volunteer to fight in her place, but she’d repudiated him once before. So though it required sinking his teeth into his tongue, he held his silence as she said, “Build a ring.”
The Queenslanders leapt to do her bidding; and soon, they piled enough metal to form a barricade to prevent anyone from interfering with the fight. Dred stepped into the center, head high, as if she couldn’t hear the whispered speculation. And maybe
she couldn’t—best that way—occasionally when he fought, everything got still and quiet, so he could focus completely on his foe. But he had advanced senses for that, their pulse giving cues, their sweat, even muscle tics telegraphed their movements, so he could be there before they executed the planned strike.
In a cocky move, Grigor vaulted the stacked metal panels, then spun in the circle as if inviting applause. His men cheered, then he whirled to face Dred, faster than a man his size should move. She stood her ground with chains lashing hand to hand. The bay got quiet, just the sounds of her clanking and Grigor’s footsteps as he rushed her. She dodged his charge and landed a strike, but the pain only enraged him. He let out an awful roar and went at her again. This time she wasn’t quite fast enough and the bardiche sliced into her thigh. Tam muttered beside him, low imprecations that ended with the Great Bear choking on his own vomit.
Damn you, Dred.
She danced back, but her gait was off, and everyone in the room likely thought she was done for. And Jael was the only one who knew the severity of the damage to her ribs. She can’t take much more. Incredibly, she was smiling. She slammed her chains toward the Great Bear, twirling them around his weapon, then she hauled with all her might. On another man, the move might’ve yanked the huge blade away from him, but instead, Grigor used his haft as a lever to haul the Dread Queen to him to drop the finishing blow. As the bardiche sank toward her skull, a slim knife stabbed upward through Grigor’s chin, all the way into his brain. The giant staggered back—and the audience sucked in a collective, disbelieving breath. That was when Jael realized she’d dropped the chains a few seconds before; and when Grigor thought he was spinning her helplessly toward him, in fact, that dance of death was Dred’s, and the measure ended with the clever spike of her hidden blade, the one she kept in her boot.
