Lord of the Storm

by Justine Davis

  “When I was . . . recalled here, they said the rebels—They said you had somehow gotten a fusion cannon.”

  Dare’s brows lifted. He looked at Glendar. The older man spoke hastily. “We don’t really have one.” He smiled. “But it’s nice to know they thought we did. That means it worked.”

  “What worked?” Shaylah asked, forehead creasing. “I saw the readouts, and the disturbance in the energy field was the exact type and frequency caused by a fusion cannon.”

  “And that’s all it was.” Glendar shrugged. “A disturbance in the energy field.” His gaze went to Dare’s face. “Remember old Paraclon and his experiments?”

  Dare grinned. “I remember that they never worked.”

  “Well, this one didn’t, either. At least, not the way he wanted. He was trying to build an antigravity lift that could convert directly to horizontal energy.”

  “An airspeeder with no power source necessary?”

  Glendar nodded, smiling. “You always were quick, boy. Anyway, as usual, it didn’t work, but it did have one interesting side effect.”

  “Let me guess,” Shaylah said, amazement widening her eyes. “It produced a ripple in the energy field that reads like a fusion cannon.”

  “Exactly,” Glendar said, for some reason looking as pleased with her as he had with Dare.

  “My God,” Shaylah murmured, unconsciously adopting the now familiar words native to Trios.

  Dare wore an odd expression, his eyes gone vaguely distant, as if he were deep in thought.

  “What is it?” Glendar asked. “I recognize that look, Dare. You’re up to something.”

  “I wonder,” Dare answered slowly. “Is this thing of Paraclon’s transportable?”

  Glendar looked puzzled, but nodded. “It’s up in one of the side caves a few miles from here. We didn’t want it too close, in case they were able to pinpoint the source of the ripple. It’s not that big at all. Two men could carry it easily. Why?”

  “If you could move it around fast enough . . . and activate it from many different places, just long enough for it to register . . .”

  Shaylah guessed his plan immediately and let out a low, compressed breath. “They’d think you had a squad of them,” she said, staring at Dare. Pride filled her. Her idea had been merely borrowed; his had come from the quick and agile mind she’d always known he possessed.

  “But we have no transport of that kind,” said the stocky woman who had been silently listening.

  “Perhaps we do,” Dare said, looking at Shaylah.

  It took her a moment. “The small shuttle,” she breathed. “It’s quick and maneuverable . . . You could take it anywhere.”

  “Ingenious,” Glendar crowed in triumph. “We’ll have them so busy chasing phantom cannons, they won’t know what to do!”

  “More important,” Dare said, “they won’t pay as much attention to the arrival of an unexpected Coalition vessel.”

  He bent over the map, along with Glendar, to begin planning the stops for the shuttle.

  “Wolf?” The name she held in her heart slipped out despite her resolution to change. The others looked at her oddly, then with surprise as Dare answered without lifting his head.

  “What?”

  “You will need two pilots,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said absently, still intent on the map.

  “They will do a voice print before they will let the Sunbird into the Darkstar’s docking bay. I will have to be aboard her.”

  He still didn’t look up. “I assumed as much.”

  “The shuttle has . . . some eccentricities. I will need to teach whoever is to fly it.”

  His head came up then. “What makes you think I won’t fly it myself?”

  Shaylah stared at him. “But . . . that would leave the Sunbird to me.”

  “Are you saying I cannot trust you, Shaylah?”

  She colored fiercely. “I know you can. I did not think you knew it.”

  Something soft, warm, and wonderfully intimate came into his eyes then. “I know it,” he said quietly. “But I will be with you, nevertheless. I will take that much satisfaction for myself, to meet face-to-face the man who destroyed my life and my world. Glendar can fly the shuttle, can’t you, Uncle? I will allow time for some instruction.”

  The older man sniffed. “I’ve not forgotten everything, you know. Of course I can.” He cast Shaylah a smile. “With your assistance, Cap—Shaylah. If I may call you that?”

  “Of course,” she said instantly. She had come to like this man, for his own sake as well as his love for Dare. And his words were a passage of sorts for her, the official abandonment of her rank. It hurt—not the loss of the title, but the acknowledgment that a great part of her life had been not the glorious adventure she’d thought it, but years spent in support of an evil sham.

  The planning went on into the night. Unlike the commanders of the Coalition, Dare solicited the suggestions of his people and deferred to a better idea when it was raised. He detailed the timing down to milliseconds, knowing that it was essential.

  “They must be so wrapped up in tracking down the source of the fusion reading that they aren’t as security conscious aboard the flagship, yet we must not delay too long, or they might find the shuttle and discover the trap.”

  At last the mission was set, and Dare ordered all those involved to their quarters for rest. It would begin in the darkness after midnight, giving another slight advantage to the Triotians, who knew the terrain so well.

  “You are quiet,” Dare remarked to Shaylah as they retired to the chamber Glendar had set up as a shrine, never thinking the rightful occupant would inhabit it.

  She shrugged. “I always am, before a mission.” She did not want him to know what was truly on her mind: the grim knowledge that the end was rapidly approaching. No matter what happened. The possibility that they would be killed was very real; there was no guarantee that the ruse would work. And if they were captured, her fate would be the same; she would be put to death for treason. Even if they succeeded, if by some miracle this ragged little band could take on the Coalition and win, her time with Dare was ticking away.

  She knew he had nothing more to offer her than what they had now; as Renclan had said, Brielle had been his choice. And she knew as well that she could not settle for this even if he asked; knowing she only had a small part of him, that she was forever his second choice, would drain the life out of her as surely as a direct hit to the heart.

  When he slid into bed beside her and pulled her to him, she turned, as always, to begin the slow, sweet stroking that aroused him and so pleased her, her fingers tingling as they touched him. But this time he stilled her hands.

  “I am sorry, Shaylah,” he said, the weariness she’d seen in his face echoing in his voice. “I don’t think I can.” She stiffened. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired.”

  Her heart seemed to melt and run warm and liquid inside her, spreading the ache of compassion until she nearly cried at the force of it. She had wanted him, on this night that could be their last, but nothing mattered now except lightening the burden he carried.

  She slipped her arms around him and cradled his head against her shoulder. The thick mane of his hair slid over her breasts, teasing her sensitive nipples. She moved one hand to gently stroke the thick, heavy silk of it, savoring the feel of it as it slid over her fingers.

  “They all lean on you so much,” she said softly.

  “They have a right,” he told her, stifling a yawn. “They have given my family the gift of power and authority for generations. It is little enough that in return I should carry as much of the burden as I can.”

  “But you’ve carried so much already.” She pressed a kiss against his hair. “And I can’t help but wonder how they survived when they thought you d
ead.”

  “Glendar held them together. He’s a tough old man.”

  Shaylah smiled. “I quite like him.”

  “The feeling is mutual. He likes you, too.” He must have felt her start of surprise, for he added, through another yawn, “Called you a woman of rare intelligence and courage, and he is not a man to hand out praise lightly. Believe me, I know. I tried hard enough to earn it from him as a boy.”

  She told him then of the cinefilm she’d seen as a child. He chuckled ruefully. “You’re right. It was the last place I wanted to be, and all dressed up in that royal garb. I had just gotten my first airspeeder, and . . . well, you can guess the rest.”

  He yawned again, and Shaylah resumed her stroking of his hair. It always seemed to relax him, and tonight was no different; he soon slipped into sleep. She was glad that she had held back all the questions burning within her, questions of the future. If they died tomorrow, then at least she could die without having forced him to tell her the truth. She could die believing there had been a chance for them. And if it was a coward’s approach, she no longer cared.

  In the still of the night she dreamed, as usual, of Dare turning to her, caressing her first with those strong, gentle hands, then the fiery heat of his mouth. She moaned softly in her sleep, twisting as the heat built in her, even dreaming that she spread her legs for him, urging him to join them this one last time.

  “Wake up, Shaylah.”

  His voice came hot and thick in her ear, and she raised eyelids heavy with sleep and passion. In the instant her eyes met his and focused, he slid his swollen erection into her to the hilt.

  Shaylah gasped out his name in sudden, fierce delight. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into the taut curve of his buttocks as she held him to her. Her legs came up, clamping around his narrow hips, as if she wanted to hold him within her forever. He urged her on with hot, deep strokes, grinding his hips against her as if he thought to climb inside her.

  There was something different this time, in his urgency, in the soft, sweet words he whispered to her. And when it ended, in a firestorm of heat and light, and he collapsed atop her with a low moan of her name, she knew what it was. When at last he lifted his head to look at her, he didn’t deny the knowledge he saw in her eyes.

  “I know,” he said softly. “I wanted it, too . . . just in case.”

  Before she could speak, before she could give in to the urge to once more declare her love, Glendar’s voice came through the closed door, telling them it was time.

  SHAYLAH WAS grateful for the task of flying; it distracted her from the incredible vision that stood beside her.

  It had been a long trip back to the Sunbird, although it seemed shorter than the trip to the caves had been. She had given Glendar a quick course in the foibles of the small shuttle; he had been quick to understand. She had wished him a sincere good luck, and he had returned the sentiment. Then, unexpectedly, he had taken her hand in his.

  “Whatever may happen,” he said solemnly, “I am thankful you are with him. You will keep him from being too rash.”

  “And how am I to accomplish that?” she had muttered as the older man walked toward the shuttle to begin his mission.

  They had waited then, the ten hand-picked men who accompanied them looking over the Sunbird with a sort of awe, and at her with a new respect. Dare, having taken the rather mysterious package he’d brought along to her quarters, had paced the conroom as the minutes on his timetable ticked by.

  The time came. Dare picked up the communicator he’d brought—one of those taken from the raided station she’d heard about on the Darkstar, Shaylah guessed—and had called Glendar. The older man had answered, rather gleefully, that all was well.

  “They should be going just about crazy by now.”

  “Then it begins.” Dare shut off the communicator and ordered his men to secure themselves for takeoff.

  He had been true to his word and lifted the Sunbird out of the chasm as easily as if she were half her actual size. Once clear of the mountains, he put her at full thrust to get quickly out of range of the Coalition scanners, which were, he hoped, already occupied with Glendar’s diversion. When they were out of local airspace, he had turned the con back to Shaylah, telling her to set her own course to intercept the Darkstar and handle the approach as she would any other time. Then he had disappeared until just a few moments ago.

  Shaylah slid him another sideways glance now; she still couldn’t believe it. He caught her look and grimaced.

  “It was Glendar’s idea,” he said ruefully. “He thought I should . . . look the part.”

  “Well, you certainly do.” She looked him up and down. He wore the black boots, pants, and shirt, with the emblems of his nobility gleaming golden against the dark cloth. At his lean waist was a heavy belt, with a gold buckle that repeated the emblem. Suspended from it, at his left side, was a golden ceremonial sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt. An heirloom of the royal family handed down for centuries, he explained.

  But for Shaylah, the crowning touch was the rich, full sweep of the cape that swung from his shoulders, softly sumptuous in black velvet lined with some matching polished cloth and trimmed as well with the golden royal crest. It fell nearly to his heels, making him look even bigger, stronger, and undeniably regal. He might joke, she thought, but he did look every bit the part. She had to drag her eyes away from the imposing sight and turn her attention back to the con.

  “It must be working,” she said after a moment. “They should have challenged us by now.”

  “Stay on course.”

  She nodded. “I’ll come in fast, as if it’s urgent.”

  She had already told him her ruse would be a pressing message for General Corling. Since the Coalition often wanted no official record of its most outrageous orders—trying to maintain the illusion of its glory, she supposed—a message by personal courier wasn’t unfeasible. She hoped her reputation—which had little time left—would decide them.

  They were well within firing range when at last the general’s flagship hailed them; the Sunbird could have blasted him out of the sky, if that had been their wish. And been flamed in return, she thought, all too aware of the squadron of vessels that always accompanied the general.

  In the end, the docking went so smoothly Shaylah almost forgot to remind the men to stay put until she signaled them on the communicator. She had drawn a rough sketch of the Darkstar, labeling the general’s grand quarters, where he would be awaiting this urgent message.

  She nearly forgot how to breathe when she stepped out of the Sunbird to find the general—and his retinue—barely ten feet away. Damn, why did the man have to vary his routine this time? She sucked in a breath, then hailed him loudly, making sure her voice carried back to the ship.

  “I’m on my way to Legion Command, Captain, so make it quick. What is this all about?”

  Shaylah’s mind raced. “I’m afraid it is for your ears only, sir.” The respectful tone nearly choked her, but she got it out.

  “Really, Captain—”

  “I’m sorry, sir. Legion Command was quite adamant.”

  A gleam came into the man’s dark, malicious eyes. “Have they finally realized that I’m right? That the only way to end this farce is to blow this place to Hades?”

  Nausea churned in her; she managed to turn it into a half smile that she hoped would make him think he was right. “I’m afraid I can’t say, sir.” She looked pointedly at the group of armed men behind the general. “The message was to be delivered only to you.” She gestured at the Sunbird, toward the blackened scar of the damaged hull. “As you can see, I was ordered not to stop even for repairs.”

  “Oh, very well.” He turned to the men. “Go. I will send for you when I’m finished here.” They seemed reluctant to leave, but slowly shuffled out.

  “If you l
ike, sir,” Shaylah said politely, “you may view the message aboard the Sunbird. It would save you time.”

  “Hmph. I suppose. Better than lugging it to my quarters, if it’s so damn confidential. Lead on, Captain.”

  God, she hoped they were ready inside; she hadn’t really expected him to take the bait. This had been the last alternative plan they had made, never dreaming that the man would be foolish enough to leave himself unguarded.

  She heard the faint sound of footsteps as she neared the open hatch. A quick glance as she stepped inside assured her they had heard and were out of sight. She stepped aside as if to usher the general in with all expected respect and ritual, while in actuality she was counting the seconds before she slammed the hatch shut after him. When she did, he turned to look at her, brows lowered.

  “Well?” he snapped. “Let’s see this damned message. If it’s not what it had better be, then I have things to do.”

  Shaylah couldn’t hold back the question. “You expect to be given permission to destroy Trios completely?”

  “I do. It should have been done five years ago. I told them that.” He waved a hand impatiently. “Play the message.”

  “No.” Satisfaction warmed her at his look of shock. “This is a message that must be delivered personally.”

  She looked toward the back of the conroom, a small smile curving her lips. Corling gaped at her, dumbstruck, then automatically followed the direction of her gaze.

  Dare strode into the room with a swirl of the black cape, a living image of male pride and power, of natural-born royalty. Shaylah’s heart swelled; he’d lived the part of the wolf, when he’d had to stay alive, but now he was every inch the royal lion, and the lion was free at last.

  “What is going on here?” Corling sputtered, gaping at Dare. “Who are you?”

  Dare came to a stop before the astonished officer, who seemed to shrink by comparison. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me, Corling,” he said coldly. “The last time you saw me, your men had beaten me so badly that my own mother wouldn’t recognize me. Of course, that didn’t matter, since your men had already raped her and driven her to suicide.”