Paladins of the Storm Lord

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Other hands fumbled with the straps of her armor, but she shook them off. Removing it would take too long, and they might drop some plates in the process. She knew metal wasn’t worth another person’s life, but this was hers, and she’d be damned before she’d leave a suit of armor at the bottom of the swamp. The drushka began to push her while others towed her, leading her toward something large and dark, a tree trunk.

  She trudged through the mud while the drushka dove like fishing birds, feeding her air after she exhaled streams of bubbles. She thought only of one step after another, telling herself she could do this. She would not panic. She would not break, nor would she stop. She was not her parents. She would find a way out.

  Finally, she reached the trunk, and the drushka pulled her upward while she clung to the slippery bark. When her head broke the surface, she sucked in breath after breath, and when they pulled her onto a wide branch, they collapsed together, all of them gasping. The drushka held tight to her as if afraid she’d fall again. Shiv smiled, wrinkling her nose, and Cordelia saw a milky, nictitating membrane covering her half-closed eyes.

  Cordelia felt for her sidearm. Right in its holster. She must have stowed it from memory. Even underwater, even after a prog had tried to eat her, she’d remembered her training. It made her want to laugh. Dimly, she thought some people might have wept, but fuck that.

  Nettle leaned into view, hair plastered to her face, and her brow wrinkled in concern. A drop of water slid down her cheek like a caress before it dropped to Cordelia’s chin. “Are you well?”

  “No.” She reached for another drop before it could fall, and it rolled down her palm. “That was the closest I’ve ever come to dying.” But she hadn’t died. She thought of her parents again. Maybe they should have tried harder.

  “Give her some air,” Higaroshi called from beyond the sprawl.

  Nettle looked that way, and Cordelia watched the drops slide down her graceful neck. The drushka stood together, hauling her upright.

  Even if she fell again, she would survive. Fucking swamp couldn’t kill her. “Do you think your people could get the bullets I fired?”

  Nettle wrinkled her nose and held them out. “Did you think we would not know how precious metal is to your kind? Must I remind you of drushkan memories again?”

  “Thanks,” Cordelia said. “Everybody, thanks.”

  They patted her armored shoulders. “And thank you for helping me,” Higaroshi said.

  “I lost your shoe.”

  “One of the drushka grabbed it. There’s little they miss.”

  “Thank the Storm Lord for that.”

  As they walked for the rest of the day, Cordelia’s mood swung like a pendulum, elated and victorious to moody and depressed. She didn’t think she’d been in the grip of so many damned feelings since she was a teenager. When they reached solid ground as night fell, she almost whooped in delight.

  Higaroshi called it the drushkan enclave, a close gathering of trees holding small wooden houses, a true gift from the Storm Lord. As other drushka swarmed around the returning band, Cordelia followed Higaroshi to his little house, stripped off her armor, and passed out on his floor, too tired to even think about the day, let alone talk with anyone.

  In the morning, she groaned as she climbed down the tree. She’d never worn armor from sunup to sundown for days in a row. It didn’t help that she’d had a few obvious bad dreams: drowning, monsters, scary big teeth. But when she woke, she forced herself to try to be happy about the fact that she was alive. Everything else could wait until she wasn’t in the damned swamp anymore.

  Nettle reclined against the trunk below, her arms above her head. Cordelia’s gaze wandered along the sinewy line of her thighs. She’d factored into a few other dreams, her muscular body shrouded in shadow, but Cordelia had known she was naked, bright eyes inviting. The sight of her now made Cordelia tense in a good way, but it only served as a reminder that her entire body felt like one big knot.

  “Our leader is not far, an hour at most,” Nettle said. “My band will remain here while I escort you.”

  “An hour at your speed or mine?”

  She smiled, but the look evaporated when Shiv approached them.

  “Hunt leader,” Shiv said. “I am ready.”

  “I have told you, young one, only Sa Ross and I will go.”

  Shiv tossed her head. “And I have chosen not to listen to you.”

  Cordelia looked from one to the other as they stared each other down. Shiv’s fingers twitched, and Nettle’s open hand shot out and struck her stomach. Shiv grunted, reaching for her carved knife, but Nettle’s fist arced out and caught her in the jaw.

  Shiv fought to rise but slid to the ground. She wiped a golden trickle of blood from her mouth and grinned. “You hit like a tree, hunt leader.”

  Nettle chuckled. “If you live long enough, you will make a fine queen.”

  Cordelia lifted her eyebrows, frozen between the desire to reach for a weapon and stay the hell out of this. “Um?”

  Shiv walked away, and the drushka continued about their day as if one of their hunt leaders and someone who might one day be a queen—and what the fuck was that about—didn’t just have a fistfight.

  “Are you ready to leave?” Nettle asked.

  “Is there an answer that might get me punched?”

  “If you say you are ready to leave, we will go. If you are not, I will wait.” She spread her hands. “If you were to say, ‘I will be ready to leave once I am punched,’ ahya, I would help you. But I would think it very strange.”

  Cordelia had to laugh. “Well, if I ever need a punch, I know who to turn to.” Late-night, drunken street brawls with Liam at her side flashed through her mind, but she shook them away. “Lead on.”

  Nettle walked beside her on the firm ground, this haven of packed earth in the middle of the swamp. They traveled without conversation, and Cordelia let herself enjoy the sounds of nature without the clatter of voices. When she sighed, Nettle glanced at her. They shared a smile, one that lingered, and Cordelia recalled the water rolling down Nettle’s neck. In one of her dreams, she’d chased it with her tongue.

  “Have you ever thought about—”

  Nettle’s eyes widened. “Down!” She hauled on Cordelia’s arm, and a spear sailed through the air where their heads had been.

  Boggin howls rang through the trees. Cordelia drew her blade as hordes of the little bastards swarmed out of the underbrush, too many to count. She’d never seen a pack so large, so armed, and since when did they throw their spears?

  Nettle pulled her two daggers. “Run!”

  Cordelia drove her blade into a boggin’s neck and kicked it out of the way. She and Nettle turned in circles as they hurried through the trees, trying to watch each other’s backs.

  “They should not have gotten this close without us hearing,” Nettle said.

  “How much farther?”

  “My people are just over that rise.”

  “Run for help.”

  “You will be killed!”

  “Not with my armor!” If they pulled her down, got to her face, she’d be in trouble, but she could keep them off for a few moments. “You’re faster than I am!” A boggin flung itself at her, and she stabbed it in the belly, but it caught her blade in its claws and clung on. She kicked to keep the others at bay, but the impaled boggin weighed her down. Hefting the blade in both hands, she swung hard, sending the dying boggin to crash into its fellows.

  “Watch out!”

  Cordelia stumbled as Nettle shoved her. A spear glanced off Nettle’s forehead and slid across her temple. She fell to her knees as golden blood gushed from the wound. Her daggers hung from her wrists by wooden tendrils, clinging to her as she slumped to the side.

  “Fuck! I told you not to worry about me!” But that spear would have hit her face, a weakness she’d hoped the boggins hadn’t figured out yet. She sheathed her blade and hauled Nettle’s limp body over one shoulder. As she struggled for the ridg
e, she freed her sidearm and pulled the trigger as fast as she could.

  Two boggins died, and the others scattered. She jogged, Nettle thumping against her back. She shot another boggin that dove from the pack, making the rest scramble behind one another. She crested the ridge, imagining a hollow full of drushka ready for a fight.

  No one waited there, no encampment, no sign that there had ever been one. The boggins had scoured Nettle’s people from the face of the planet.

  A boggin crashed into her before her heart had time to sink. She staggered, and her sidearm flew from her hand. Nettle pitched over her shoulder to roll down the hill. Cordelia whipped out her blade and cut the boggin’s arm off before stumbling after her.

  The ground shuddered as long brown vines broke the surface, undulating like dancing snakes. Horror shuddered down Cordelia’s spine as the vines curled over Nettle, wrapping her limbs and tugging her downward. Cordelia leapt, grabbed Nettle’s arm, and lifted her blade high, aiming for the vines.

  One shot from the rest and grabbed her arm. Another wrestled the blade from her hand. Cordelia held tight to Nettle, but that didn’t stop the vines, and Cordelia had to let go or they’d both be buried alive.

  “No!” Cordelia spotted her sidearm and lunged for it, but the vines grabbed it, too, and now one curled around her free arm and another around her leg. “Fuck you!”

  They pulled her down, and visions of the prog’s teeth reared within her, but there was nothing she could do, no strategies that would help. The boggins huddled along the ridge, watching, chattering. “Fuck you, too!” she yelled.

  She pictured some monstrous creature below waiting to eat her and Nettle both. But her blade and sidearm were down there, too. All she had to do was get to them, and she could go down swinging.

  Cordelia took a few deep breaths, made her body go slack, and gave herself up to the hungry earth.

  *

  B46 watched the tall creatures sink into the ground and chittered her rage. She’d known this would happen. Every time her people attacked this spot, the roots had stolen her prey. She scratched in the dirt and rested on her haunches. Beside her, C28 grunted and patted the ground.

  His aggravated scent stung her nose, but she waved his reaction away and flicked her hands toward the trees. They would have to come back later. At least they now knew more about the tall creatures’ weapons: sharp ones, like short spears, and a small thing that roared and killed her children in an instant. More knowing could only help them now, even if some of the duller children had to die for it.

  B46 caressed C28’s arm, and he yawned, calmed. He yipped at the others, and they melted back into the trees. The younglings that had just hatched, laid just after her freedom, were such beauties; they grew far faster than her young in the before times, though they were still small. They had a knowing, too, though not as great as hers, not as great as those who ate the sticky grit.

  As she climbed among them, she patted her lower belly. She would lay again soon, as would many of the others, and these new younglings would be even smarter, faster. They all laid quickly now, another gift of the grit. A feeling grew in her, as strong as the rage, but just as sweet. Happiness, something to savor. The tall creatures could never escape her, not truly. Soon, she would have enough younglings to cover the ground, and no corner, under or over it, would be beyond her reach.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Dillon ran his fingers along the cool hallway wall, pressing down hard enough to make his skin squeal against the metal. Life aboard the Atlas had been more boring than usual the past few days. Ever since Marie had finagled Christian and Marlowe on to her side, everyone had given him a wide berth, even the ladies. He’d had sex with nearly every woman on the satellite—all but Marlowe and Dué—but they were staying away now no matter how much fun they’d had in the past. That was Marie’s doing, too, he was sure. Maybe he shouldn’t have made that crack about her worshipers, never mind that it was fucking true.

  And Carmichael hadn’t contacted him since he’d hung up on her. He wanted to know how the swamp expedition went, if she’d even sent one. He bet it was muggy in there, hot as hell, but freeing in a way. He’d been on different planet-side missions in the past, could acutely recall the feel of powered armor around his body, a weapon in his hands, and soldiers at his command. It sounded like fucking paradise now, even with the bugs and the sweat and the drugs he’d have to pound down so he didn’t get some alien parasite.

  Anything would be better than these sterile hallways and petty fights and school-like bullshit. There were drop pods in the hangar designed to get a person to the planet. He could leave, but then he’d age and die like any regular chump, just like his worshipers, who might not be too happy to find out he was as human as they were.

  Now, if he could get Lazlo to come with him… He snorted. Lazlo lived for this sealed environment. He didn’t even like people touching him, most of the time. He’d freak out if a bug jumped on him or some stranger wanted to have a conversation. No, he would definitely prefer to remain here, where everything always stayed the same.

  Like Lessan, floating out there in space.

  Dillon wandered to the lift, heading for the botanical habitat. When the lift doors opened on the habitat level, Dillon paused. Voices. In Lazlo’s lair? And more than one, so Lazlo wasn’t talking to himself. Dillon crept to the doorway and peeked through.

  Christian and Marlowe stood side by side, like always, hands touching, but they were always touching. His blond head and her dark one moved in sync as Lazlo gestured toward the wall.

  “I don’t need much,” Lazlo said, “just a nook here. Some of the new growth needs to stay separate from the others.”

  Dillon craned his neck and spotted the yafanai-making plants where they usually were, where anyone could see them, but the lieutenants wouldn’t know what they were, just as no one else knew. But Lazlo’s fucking console was live, so anyone who wandered over might see what he was working on if he’d left it open.

  Dillon took a deep breath and told himself not to worry. If they wanted to snoop, the lieutenants wouldn’t need computers, and they wouldn’t need to run experiments on a handful of plants. They’d just dig around in heads. With his powers, Lazlo might be able to stop them, but few others could. Dué probably, but not Dillon. Goddammit, no one was supposed to be snooping. They’d made a fucking pact!

  Dillon took a deep breath and made himself calm down again. After all, it seemed as if Lazlo had invited them.

  The lieutenants nodded to Lazlo, and the walls glowed as Christian poured power into them, heating them until Marlowe could stretch and bend them. They formed a bubble in the wall, and Marlowe lifted a section of glass with her mind. With Christian’s heat, they molded it into shape and melted it to the metal, making a new room with one clear wall. They burned a door into the new room, and Lazlo smiled, thanking them. Heat billowed up the stairs, carrying the stink of hot metal.

  Dillon pressed his nose to his sleeve. Fuck, but they were good. They could do the whole station like this, make it look like the Taj Mahal if they wanted to. If it came to it, how could he fight them? Maybe he could suggest they practice against each other, like some kind of gym or a gladiatorial arena where they could test their powers. Marlowe might be able to knock aside a bolt of lightning and give Christian the chance to fry him. He’d have to surprise them with a little jolt that they’d both feel, and while they staggered, he’d hit them with a bigger bolt.

  Then he’d lose control like with Lessan.

  The lieutenants climbed the steps. “Waiting for us?”

  “I don’t need anything redecorated, thanks.”

  They passed him, one on each side, and it gave him a shiver, as if their connection ghosted through him. “Can’t find something useful to do with your time?” they asked.

  “Oh, piss off, the both of you.” He waited until they’d gotten on the lift before he crossed into the habitat.

  “You didn’t have to skulk in the doorway,” La
zlo said.

  “Didn’t want to intrude with your new friends.”

  “Oh, tell me you’re jealous.”

  “You wish.”

  Lazlo’s eyes crinkled a bit as if the comment pained him. Great, one of his sensitive days.

  “What’s the new space for?” Dillon asked.

  “What do you think? Your new schemes, your new plants. You, you, you.”

  Dillon winked. “Gives you something to do.”

  “Why do you have to tamper with the planet all the time?”

  “Gives me something to do.”

  “I should just tell everyone I made it possible for your people to have abilities via the plants, and then their people can all have powers, too.”

  For fuck’s sake, it was a very sensitive day. “And why would you do that?”

  Lazlo shuffled things around, not looking at him. Lazlo had never made a true pass at Dillon, but sometimes he acted as if they were married. Dillon resisted the urge to sigh. There was a reason he’d never gotten married, a good one. This one. But he’d had enough angry girlfriends to know how to fix this. He put his hand on Lazlo’s shoulders, digging in his thumbs.

  “I know you like to test yourself, Laz, to see just how much you can accomplish. Hell, you studied our brains and made a fucking drug that can replicate what we do. You’re a genius. And that’s not even your greatest accomplishment. Without you, we wouldn’t have coffee.”

  Lazlo snorted a laugh, still not looking at him.

  Dillon rubbed harder. “And you work with me because I may be a dick, but on this boat, I’m the least of the evils.” He thought for a moment. “Unless you count Dué. I don’t know if she’s evil, but she’s definitely nuts.”

  Lazlo moved out from beneath his hands, shuffled a few more plants around, but he didn’t seem angry anymore. “With her around, we’re all going to wake up as throw pillows one day.”

  “Well, at least it’ll be interesting.” Dillon toyed with something’s leaves a moment. “Have you ever thought about going down to the planet?”