When it had been time to give someone else a turn, Cordelia wandered toward the front of the keep, her mind whirling. With powered armor, the paladins had even less to fear from Calamity. Nothing could stop them, not the swamp, not the Sun-Moon worshipers. She’d spotted her uncle lingering at the edge of the crowd that waited peacefully for the Storm Lord to reemerge.
When she’d asked the reason for his frown, he said, “Questions, Delia. Use your head. Why is he here now? How did he get here? Where has he been?” He frowned harder. “And what need will Gale have for a mayor with their god around?”
She’d rolled her eyes, asking why the Storm Lord should want his job. She’d mentioned that Carmichael was as disappointed as he seemed to be, and his gaze had gotten shrewd again. Before he left, he gave her a long look and told her to keep questioning everything.
“I know a showman when I see one,” he’d said.
As she stared at the palisade now, she decided it didn’t matter. So what if it took Carmichael and Paul a little time to get used to things. Cordelia knew what her god wanted from her. He wanted her to do her job, and he’d given her an easier way to do it.
“Go around,” Liam said as he caught up to her. “Don’t show off. You’re like a kid with a new toy.”
She grinned anew. “How are you not freaking out about this armor?”
“When we’re out in the field, go nuts. What if you squashed someone now?”
She snorted a laugh but did as he said, waiting until they were in the field before running, her armor propelling her faster than she could ever go before, doing most of the work for her so she didn’t get tired easily. They split up for long patrol, once around the city, but they caught up to each other long before they would have in the past.
“Want to take another lap?” she asked.
He shrugged. “We could turn it in early, go to the pub.”
“You can if you want. I’ll finish the sweep.”
“The one we just did?”
“We’re supposed to go carefully.”
He sighed but started around again. She went slower this time, scanning the distant tree line. They were supposed to be looking for boggins or old drushka. Whatever had happened to the boggins, she knew they were going to come calling sooner or later. Or maybe the old drushka would come pick a fight. Something had to come now that she had powered armor. Otherwise, she might just explode.
Movement among the trees caught her attention. She lowered her visor, and her vision zeroed in on that point as if she’d gone flying across the field. She staggered even though she wasn’t moving. A clump of underbrush rustled, and Higaroshi tumbled out, followed by Nettle and Shiv.
Cordelia put her visor up and ran, scanning the ground for obstacles. She imagined falling head over heels at top speed and then rolling to a stop at Nettle’s feet, the epitome of grace.
They turned her way, and she raised a hand, calling out. Instead of answering, they ran toward her, and she wondered if something was chasing them. The thought made her grin even harder.
She slid to a stop, and Higaroshi barreled into her, his sweaty face tight with panic. “Ambassador,” she asked, “what is it?”
He shook his head. “There were just so many.”
“We must speak to your leaders and to Reach,” Nettle said. Her smile seemed almost shy, a contrast to her words. Maybe she was just distracted. “There are too many chanuka. The queen is in danger. We all are.”
Cordelia looked to Higaroshi, but he didn’t seem confused by Nettle’s choice of words. That particular secret must have gotten loose. “You’re in luck. We’ve got the leader of leaders available. The Storm Lord is here.”
Higaroshi gaped. Shiv and Nettle sucked their teeth. “The god who lives in the sky?”
“I’ll explain on our way to the keep.”
*
Carmichael glared at her closed door, imagining she could see the man on the other side. She’d never had an assistant. She’d never wanted an aide. If anything needed saying to her people, she would say it, but now this bastard had shown up on her doorstep.
Marcus. She could almost see his patronizing smile. “The Storm Lord commanded me to assist you,” he’d said.
Oh, she just bet he had. He might as well have used the word spy. The Storm Lord didn’t trust her. He didn’t need telepathy; she couldn’t keep her disdain in check. For once, she wished she was a better actor.
She tried to keep her surface thoughts generically antagonistic. The law forbade telepaths from prying into heads at random. She remembered hearing once that untrained telepaths developed shields to keep from being bombarded by the surface thoughts of others, and after they learned, they always kept those shields in place. And digging into someone’s head, actively using their powers, produced a feeling in some targets, a tingle in the head. If Marcus wanted to pry into her head, maybe she would know, but she’d never felt the tingle before. She didn’t know any telepaths. If she did feel it, though, she could take his ass into custody.
And then what? Arrest God? Haul him before a judge? Maybe the mayor would side with her. She hadn’t seen Paul since she’d sent Lieutenant Ross into the swamp. Maybe it was time for another meeting, just to see if he was as happy about the Storm Lord’s presence as…
“Shit.” She forced the thoughts away. This far from other people, Marcus could probably lower his shields enough to hear her, and she hadn’t felt anything. She couldn’t even think to herself anymore! She stomped to the door and jerked it open.
Marcus jumped to his feet. The drawers of the desk were half-open, as if he’d been rummaging through them. “Captain?”
“You’re fired.”
“What? The Storm Lord said—”
“Close your mouth, follow me downstairs, and then keep going out the front door. Unless you’d like to be helped out?”
She started down the stairs without waiting. For a few steps, she heard nothing, then his footfalls echoed behind her. When they reached the main floor, she turned, and Marcus gave her a confused glance before he left.
Carmichael let out a breath. Now what? Would the Storm Lord come himself or send a lackey? And would she admit her disobedience or try to lie and smooth things over? Would he strike her down?
She snorted a laugh and surprised herself with how much the thought didn’t scare her. Let him take her out in front of her people and see where that got him. He was their god, but the paladins wouldn’t stand for that, not without some words, at least. He’d always encouraged them to be loyal to one another. Now he’d have to deal with that.
Raised voices from the courtyard caught her attention. Lieutenant Ross was leading two drushka and the human ambassador through the main doors, collecting a small crowd of paladins as they went.
Carmichael shoved forward. “Report.”
Ross saluted. “Captain, the boggins have attacked the drushka.”
Good thing she’d already started planning for any boggin trouble. The Storm Lord would have to wait. “Put them in the meeting room on the second floor.” They headed off, and she summoned a leather from the pack. “Go to the mayor’s house. Tell him we need him and Ambassador Reach for a problem with the drushka. Keep it quiet.” She pointed at everyone gathered around. “That goes for all of you.”
After they murmured assent, she took the stairs to the second floor two at a time. Maybe they could get something going before the Storm Lord even heard about Marcus. Then when he came calling, she’d be off dealing with real problems.
Halfway to the meeting room, she noticed that Liam had trailed her from the ground floor. “Weren’t you on patrol with Ross?”
“We split up to do the rounds. I saw her come in with the drushka.”
“The attractive drushka?”
He didn’t even have the sense to look sheepish. “What’s up?”
“Find Sergeant Preston and Brown and Lea. Tell them to double-time it up to the meeting room.”
To his credit, he didn’t argu
e, though he did cast one wistful glance at the closed door. She resisted the urge to kick him in the ass. He’d be in that room later whether she wanted him or not.
All chatter ceased when she opened the door. She strode around the long table and sat at the head. “Report, in detail this time.”
The ambassador licked his lips, and a smile wobbled into life on his face. “I’m Higaroshi Roya, Captain. The ambassador to the drushka? We met when—”
“I remember.”
“Well, these are Nettle and Shiv, and they, well, perhaps they should…”
Nettle laid a hand against Higaroshi’s chest and pushed him gently into his chair. She perched on the edge of hers as if ready to leap to her feet. “The chanuka have attacked our home, hunt leader. We drove them away, but many drushka are dead. Our leader thinks we may not survive another attack, not now that the chanuka have seen every way we can fight. They are too smart, made that way by you, we believe, and now we ask for your help with the trouble you have wrought.”
Carmichael stood to pace. Higaroshi stared at the table, but Ross and the other drushka kept their gazes on her, Ross expectant and the drushka with a steady, unreadable stare.
“The trouble we’ve wrought?” Carmichael asked.
“You know of what we speak. Our leader thought that Sa Cordelia was ignorant, but you, the hunt leader?”
Carmichael’s lips quirked up. “Well.” But how could she just admit it, even when they knew, and they wouldn’t let her worm her way out of it? “We’ll help you. I was already planning on it.”
It was as good as an admission. Ross looked away, and Carmichael knew she was ashamed. Well, why shouldn’t she be? There was enough shame to go around.
“Why did you tamper with the chanuka?” Shiv asked, eyes bright with confusion or anger. “Did you wish us dead? Did you wish your own kind dead?”
“Of course not!”
“Then why? Or should we wait for Reach, and you will tell her?”
Carmichael sighed. “You understand orders, yes?”
Ross crossed her arms, and Carmichael saw much of herself in those broader shoulders. “The Storm Lord didn’t order this.”
And if Carmichael argued, how much would it look as if she was passing the blame? “You’ll have to make up your own mind, Ross.”
The door opened, framing Paul Ross in the dimness of the hall. “I didn’t realize you’d borrowed my brain, Captain.”
She had to smile, even with everything. “Mayor.” She nodded past him to Reach. “Ambassador. Sit. We have a lot to talk about.”
But how much to tell them? Whatever was needed to kill the boggins, she supposed. After that, she had her troops and her town to think of. She hadn’t forgotten the Storm Lord’s threat to keep his story quiet. If it got out, she didn’t think he’d keep the casualties to her. And what good would it do if anyone found out he was human? It could tear apart everything they’d built. Circumstances weren’t dire enough to risk that. Yet.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dillon leaned back on a pile of cushions. This was the life. He’d been a soldier since he turned eighteen. His old man had been a soldier, and his mom, though he barely remembered her, and his old man had kept their lives sparse, befitting Pross Co. grunts, with plenty of vids to make up for what they didn’t have.
Dillon snuggled deeper into the cushions and bit into the soft flesh of a piece of fruit. “To hell with vids when you can have this.” He pushed off his slippers and rubbed his toes together. Maybe he could wrangle a foot massage out of someone.
“Did you say something?”
Dillon glanced over to where Lazlo sat beside a pile of books and papers. He didn’t use the cushions but a hard-backed chair, and all he’d done since they’d come back to the temple was read. He didn’t look up from his work but kept messing with his face as if adjusting glasses that weren’t there.
“Why don’t you relax, Laz? Have some fruit.”
“How much of this did you know?”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“These people recorded everything from the first landing, on computers at first, until someone realized no new power cells were coming, and then they copied their words onto whatever paper they had, like the margins of this old novel. Who even thought to bring something like that?”
Probably someone like Lazlo, but Dillon didn’t mention that.
“Then they used cloth until they figured out paper, which was hit or miss. Some used clay tablets. Clay tablets!” He stared as if they were having a revelation.
“And?”
Lazlo shook his head. “The colonists landed with practically nothing. They had a whole infrastructure waiting at the target planet, everything they’d ever need. All that was lacking was them. And then they were stranded on a planet with some hostile alien species, and they had to dig up some pretty ancient ideas, had to learn to make paper all over again. And every time they made another leap in technology, they were careful to copy what they’d learned so it couldn’t get lost again.”
Dillon nodded slowly. “Impressive.”
“Extraordinary. And all while having no clue what might happen to them. They hoped for rescue.” He waved one book and then set it aside. “They thought they were going to be wiped out.” He held up another. “With dying transmitters, they shouted into the dark.”
“We answered when we could.”
“I didn’t. I hid in the botanical habitat and put the planet out of my mind.” He hung his head a bit. “I’m ashamed of that.”
Dillon turned his head so his eye roll would go unnoticed. “We couldn’t talk to them until we’d gotten the knack of our abilities, until we’d gotten our stories straight.” He stood and crossed to read over Lazlo’s shoulder. “If you admire them so much, go out and talk to some of them.”
Lazlo snorted. “I almost gave the game away last time. Maybe I’m just not cut out to live in Dillontown.”
Dillon barked a laugh. “Talk to them about their wondrous history. I’m sure they’d love the opportunity to brag. And you could tell them about you, just not all that you’ve done for them. It’s a thin line, but you can walk it.”
One deep sigh later, Dillon knew he’d caved, but he still sat there, bringing down the room.
“Start small, Laz. Walk around the temple. Say hello to people.” And maybe pick his spirits up for once.
Lazlo stood, clutching the table as if afraid he’d drown without it. “I guess I could.”
“Or maybe just go for a walk.”
“Okay, all right, I’m going.”
As Lazlo opened the door to leave, Dillon added, “And see if anyone around here gives foot massages.”
Lazlo paused, shoulders tight, and Dillon thought he might have a sarcastic retort, but he hurried through the door. Maybe he was just tired.
Or still angry. Sometimes, it took him a while to get over things. Well, being around others would help that, give him something to occupy his mind. Lazlo didn’t like talking to people, but he’d never learn to like it if he didn’t get out and fucking do it.
And babysitting him all the time was getting exhausting. But he was scared, and he’d get even more scared if Dillon started pushing him away. Dillon looked to the door, ready to call Lazlo back, tell him to hide in the room and read. Maybe he’d take his own advice and meet some new faces. There were some lovely ladies in the temple. The whole city held untold bounty.
A tentative knock came from the door. Dillon smiled. “Come on back, Laz, I—” Marcus walked in, and Dillon shut his mouth with a snap. “Didn’t I send you to Carmichael?”
“She threw me out, Storm Lord, threatened me if I didn’t go.”
Dillon clenched his fist, and a tingle ran through his body as he bottled his power. “She what?” When Marcus opened his mouth again, Dillon sliced a hand through the air. “I heard you.” A spark leapt from his skin and singed the wall.
Marcus fell to his knees. “Forgive me, Storm Lo
rd!”
Dillon blinked at him, so surprised that his power shut off like a switch. “Get up, man! I’m not angry with you.” Marcus sagged, and Dillon didn’t know whether to yell at him or pat his head. “Just go. I’ll sort this out. Get yourself together.”
Marcus fled. Dillon took a deep breath. He’d have to be more careful with his power. He hadn’t realized he could terrify them so easily. Well, some of them. Carmichael had fired Marcus even after she’d known who’d sent him. It was almost as bad as telling Dillon off in person. He even admired her for it. After the breachies had come at him sideways, such a blatant fuck-you was refreshing.
It still had to be dealt with, and her position made it tricky. On the one hand, he couldn’t let her get away with anything. On the other, he didn’t want to punish her too harshly, at least in the public eye. The troops respected if not liked her. He’d seen that during armor training. They hopped when she said hop, and none of them had cast hateful, mutinous glances when her back was turned. If he stripped her title, they might turn on him, but if he let her skate on petty shit, they might think they could do the same.
“Fuck.” If this had been any of his old commands, he would have given her such a tearing down that the rest of the unit would have been trembling. Maybe that was what was needed, a bit of a tear-down, something that would make her fuckup known, that would teach the rest of the soldiers to toe the line, but not make them lose all respect for her.
And he’d thought Lazlo had a thin line to walk.
Step one, change out of the goddamned gold robes. They were impressive, but for a dressing-down he wanted something a little more down to, well, Earth.
*
It was the foot massage comment that made Lazlo want to punch the wall. That was so Dillon. So much on Calamity to wonder about, to think through, and Dillon focused on his freaking feet.
And that after he’d practically muscled Lazlo from the room so his relaxation time wouldn’t get muddied with something as trivial as history. Lazlo should have known this would happen, should have known that all of Dillon’s promises to look out for him would fade in the middle of these enamored people.
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