by Ann Aguirre
And they say I’m the inhuman one.
Einar reached him as he whittled the five men on him down to two. The big man grabbed one and chucked him into men fighting nearby. A Rodeisian turned, its furry face livid, and stomped the man into paste with his big feet. Quick as a snake, Jael snagged a fallen blade, wickedly curved, and opened the last man’s throat. Grateful for the breathing space, he let Einar yank him to his feet.
“How many of yours are left?” he asked.
“Twenty or so. You?”
He skimmed the room, then answered, “Eight or so, I think. Have you seen Dred?”
“There she is.” Einar pointed across the devastated hall.
“Just in time, too.”
She had more men than they did, but it wasn’t enough to conquer all of Priest’s territory. They would be hard-pressed to hold this room. Pure wrath rose in him. If Silence set us up to fail, so she could get her hands on me, I’ll strangle the crazy bitch with my bare hands. Dred lifted an arm in a victory sign, but he could see by her pale, strained face that she was on her last legs. A lesser individual wouldn’t have had the grit to get out of bed at all after the wounds he’d healed. Not that Jael felt the best, either. It took a while to regenerate that much blood. He’d be dizzy and light-headed for weeks.
Worth it.
For a few seconds, it looked like her men might be enough to turn the tide. He spun his knife and braced himself for another bloody round. Then more of Priest’s men surged in, trapping them from all sides.
“What the hell,” he said. “Ready to do some killing?”
Einar pulled out his axe, created from two soldered pieces of metal and some fabric braided around the haft for a makeshift grip. The thing was huge, like he could behead three people in a single swing. Jael took a wary step back. Though he believed he and the big man were on good terms, that thing could totally kill him. And as it turned out, he wasn’t ready to go.
“If it ends here, it does,” Einar said with a shrug. “I’ll die with a blade in my hand. Could be worse.”
“Could be better. Like on top of a pretty girl.”
For some reason, the big man laughed so hard at that, he almost dropped his weapon. “Ask Dred about that, why don’t you? Get her take on it. Provided we survive.”
Before he could ask—and he wanted to—the next wave was on him. Dred’s men weighed in, but they were just so damned outnumbered, even with the ferocity of Katur’s small contingent. The aliens were furious about something, but he had no idea what. It wasn’t like the Rodeisian was in the mood to chat as he dropped an enemy on his head. A tentacled thing was actually eating one of Priest’s men, and that actually made a dent in the fanatics’ stoic assault. A few of them stumbled backward, giving Jael the opening he needed.
He swept in, slicing hamstrings in a low roll, then he came up on the other side to spike knives into their chests. Neat placement, too. They died, but it wrenched the blades out of his hands when they fell. That’s the problem with elegance. Stop showing off. There were just too many enemies to be particular about how they died.
Across the room, Dred swung her chains like a dervish, opening great gashes wherever they landed. Her men had the sense to give her plenty of room, and Priest’s people were unable to penetrate her guard. But he could see as her gaze met his across the room that she knew—it was a lost cause, a hopeless fight, and yet she did not lay her weapons down as more of Priest’s people poured in behind the others, a seemingly endless stream.
Nearby, Einar chopped off a man’s head. It bounced across the floor, tripping another, and Jael kicked him in the chest as he went down. The blow was fierce enough to crush his sternum, not a clean death, so he found a shiv, poorly made, but good enough to take the zealot’s life. He didn’t watch the light leave the other man’s eyes—too many other souls to serve.
He was tiring, though. There are too many. We can’t hold.
Though he hadn’t been here long, he understood there could be no surrender. No quarter asked or granted. Which was why the territories usually limited themselves to skirmishes, not full-scale raids. The potential for devastation and annihilation was too probable to make war a wise endeavor. But the alliance between Grigor and Priest was diabolical and inexorable.
Sometimes, with a desperate gamble, you lose.
Five Queenslanders dropped, thinning the numbers. More of Priest’s men surrounded Dred, for now stymied by the brutal whirl of her chains. But she was weary, too; the fight to get this far had probably taken a lot out of her. Einar seemed to notice at the same time, and, with a nod, they fought toward her as one. For a few seconds during that quiet look, it was like he could read the big man’s mind—and Einar wanted nothing more than to die at the Dread Queen’s side.
At first, Jael was too busy fighting for his life . . . and carving a path toward Dred to notice the jaws of the trap had closed. With us as bait. He didn’t see or hear them arrive—not surprising with the confusion of the battle and the constant cries—but Silence’s killers were slicing the enemy from behind, as promised. They were quiet and brutal, and the Abaddon faithful had no hope. They fell between the desperation of the Dread Queen’s men, and the quiet, lethal cuts driven by Silence’s followers. He had never seen such efficient killing, as though these mute prisoners knew exactly where to place a blade, down to the millimeter.
The battle took mere moments after that. Even the faithful lost heart when they realized they were fighting on two fronts. Jael fought on alongside Einar, and by the time the last of Abaddon’s defenders fell, he was standing beside the Dread Queen, with the big man on her other side. Neither of them reached to steady her.
She planted her feet and waited as the Speaker came toward her. “The compact has been honored. Now we will search this whole territory and find that cowardly Priest.”
Dred nodded. “Please convey our compliments to Silence. Her plan worked.”
Not without some heinous casualties from the Queenslanders. But Jael imagined that Death’s Handmaiden wasn’t overly concerned with body count. In fact, she might have planned in order to sacrifice more souls for her master’s glory.
“I’ll lead my own search party,” Einar said then.
Dred nodded, but she didn’t offer to go with the teams. Instead she propped herself against the wall, looking unconcerned by the carnage. He was supposed to believe she was stone-cold, unmoved by her losses or the gobbets of meat, the huge puddles of blood, and all the bodies. Tam would be proud of her iron face, but Jael recognized the truth of her. She wasn’t the Dread Queen at her core.
An hour later, a short man with gray hair stumbled into the ruined hall, guided by Einar’s palm on the back of his neck. He wore red robes that were stained nearly black in places, tattered at the hem. And his eyes, his eyes shone with pure madness, etched in evil. Jael had seen some crazy bad shit in his day, but this man? Mary.
“You cannot kill me,” Priest was babbling. “I’m a god. I’m immortal. I will rise.”
The big man glanced at the princess in chains for permission, hefting his axe suggestively. Jael expected her to nod and give him the go-ahead to serve as her executioner. Instead, she put out a hand and took the weapon from him. Her green eyes were like chips of jade in her pale, bloody countenance. This was the face of the Dread Queen.
“Kneel,” she commanded, and the command had an inexorable weight.
Not only did Priest drop to his knees, so did other men in the vicinity; two belonged to Silence. The Speaker frowned at this.
In a single swing, she took her enemy’s head. The crowd roared.
And Jael fell a little in love.
29
The Spoils of War
It would take weeks of work to make this place habitable. Dred eyed the evidence of Priest’s rituals with sheer disgust, then she turned back to the Speaker. He appeared unmoved by the carnage, but with the skull painted over his features, it was hard to tell. She beckoned him away from the others; to her s
urprise, he followed.
“Do we wait until the offensive is complete to begin dividing up gear and property?”
The Speaker shook his head. “You receive immediate possession of Priest’s property and holdings. The Handmaiden will wait until Grigor has been conquered to claim her reward.”
On the surface, that seemed like a generous offer, but Dred knew Grigor had more space in addition to having the largest standing army in Perdition. She wasn’t clear on what defenses Grigor had, as nobody had ever pushed far enough past his borders to check them out. Earlier, she’d learned that the rumors about Priest’s Peacemaker units had been nothing but bullshit, stories circulated to keep invaders away. It was a good tactic until somebody was brave—or stupid enough—to find out for himself. She had been so relieved when Tam came back to report there were a lot of enemies between her and the inner sanctum but no heavy weapons. Still, cutting so many men down took time, and she’d nearly been too late.
So was Silence. She left her sneak attack until the last possible moment.
But her expression gave away none of her thoughts as she replied, “That’s satisfactory.”
Then she turned to Tam, dismissing the Speaker. “Head back to the hall and check on things for me. Make sure Ike and Wills are holding down the fort.”
Dred didn’t tell him she was worried about an attack while their home front was so weak; she didn’t need to. Tam only nodded and slipped out of Abaddon. Queensland, now. As usual, he went alone. If he spotted trouble, he would slip around it. She had never known anyone who moved like he did, the shadow of the wind.
As she turned, she caught a few concise gestures from the Speaker, aimed at Silence’s quiet killers. As one, they formed up behind the skull-faced man and departed, leaving the mess for her to deal with. With so much blood, spilled entrails, and hacked-off limbs, it was impossible to judge the potential of this place. With a faint sigh, she went over to Einar.
“Take half the men back to Queensland. I’m putting you in charge of internal defense until I get back.”
“You’re supervising the inventory and cleanup?” the big man asked.
She nodded. “I can’t imagine you’re interested in such housework.”
“I love you, but no.”
She joked back, “So there are limits to your devotion.”
“And you’ve found them.”
Einar boomed out, “Sound off in ones and twos, you stupid gits! That’s presuming you can count that high.” Sometimes he sounded so military. The men complied, then he shouted, “Odd ducks, come with me. The rest of you stay with the Dread Queen. You get to haul off the corpses and spit-shine this place.”
A chorus of groans met the announcement, but the even-numbered Queenslanders went over to Dred. The group included Jael; they clustered around her waiting for instructions as the rest of the men moved out. At this point, Katur’s aliens decided they needed to move out, as they were definitely in the minority, and this cease-fire might not last. She also suspected they would carry word about the alliance between Queensland and Entropy, but as long as they stayed in the Warrens, Dred didn’t care what they knew. They had served their purpose, just as Tam predicted; the man was positively Machiavellian. The day after her recovery, he’d told her about his scheme, a brainstorm resulting from a chance encounter in the ducts. Dred had to admit, it had paid off beautifully.
Smiling wearily, she gave concise orders, tasking the men to haul all the bodies to the chutes, then find cleaning supplies. Dred found a chair, not so much because she was above menial labor—though Tam would counsel her against it for the sake of appearances—but mostly because her knees felt like they were filled with water. Her head spun; hopefully, nobody could tell just how weak she was or how much the battle had taken out of her. The weight of her chains made her arms ache, the first time she could remember being conscious of them in that way.
A few minutes later, Jael joined her. She didn’t chastise him for not participating in the work crew. He’d earned a place at her side as her champion. Dred inclined her head as he sat.
“You fight like a gladiator,” she said.
“Tried that. I didn’t much care for it. Too much depends on the emperor’s whim.”
She was never sure when this man was being facetious. “How’re you feeling?”
“I ought to be asking you that, but I can tell by looking.” His blue gaze swept her critically from head to toe.
“Do you think the others suspect?” The question slipped out before she could quell it.
“I doubt it. They don’t look at you with appraising eyes. They’re blinded by all the impossible things they believe you can do.”
“It’s the Dread Queen mythos,” she said.
“That must be exhausting.”
She pushed out a quiet sigh and leaned her head against the back of her chair, legs stretched out. The posture looked feline, relaxed, but the truth was, she lacked the energy to get up at the moment. “You have no idea.”
“How do you feel about Einar?” That was the last question she expected to hear from Jael, mostly because it was so personal.
“He’s steady, mostly. Reliable, though he’s got a nasty temper. He can be a brute when he’s properly riled.”
From his expression, that wasn’t the response he was looking for. But he didn’t say anything more about it. Instead, he watched the men hauling the bodies. They were irreverent about it, forcing the dead into undignified poses, or dragging a body by its hair. Dred didn’t chastise them; they were entitled to their small pleasures after such an impossible victory. For a few minutes, she’d thought this would be their last stand, the end of Queensland.
“I thought Grigor might hit Silence’s people. Then we would’ve had a proper dustup.”
A shiver ran through her, though Dred tried to conceal it. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation. These tactics won’t work a second time, and we don’t have the numbers to mount a frontal assault on Grigor. Mary only knows how Silence thinks we’ll defeat him.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jael said. “Enjoy the breathing room for now . . . and it might give him pause about coming at you, now that his alliance is defunct.”
“We have to neutralize the threat.” There was no way around the necessity, as she’d promised the Great Bear’s territory to Silence in payment for her aid.
Jael probably knew as much. “Not today.”
“This place will be very different with four of us in power. Lots more space.”
“It can’t be much longer before the supply ship arrives with fresh fish. Don’t let Grigor bolster his numbers.”
Dred had thought of that. “I’m aware.”
It took several hours to clear away all the corpses. By that point, she was feeling stronger, so she put Calypso in charge of supervising the cleanup. She noticed how Jael watched the other woman, and when he turned back to her, she raised her brows.
“She’s one of five survivors,” he said quietly. “Of the fifty men sent with me.”
“Damn.” Regret cascaded through her.
He shrugged. “I’ve run ops where I was the only one who walked away. But it’s harder when you’re giving the orders.”
“It speaks well of you that you feel that way. Some people have no trouble sending others to die on their behalf, and it doesn’t bother them at all.”
“I’m a prince, right enough. What’s next on the agenda?” It seemed he had appointed himself the Dread Queen’s bodyguard—or maybe he had instructions from Tam or Einar. That wouldn’t surprise her at all.
“While they’re scrubbing up from the battle, we need to walk through Abaddon and take stock of what we’ve gained.”
“Ah, time to count our shiny new toys?”
Dred laughed. “Exactly.”
Some of the rooms were beyond disgusting. The smell alone defied description, a combination of decaying flesh and rotting meat. She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to keep her breakfast dow
n. Everyone had heard stories about Abaddon, but even the worst didn’t do the atrocities justice. If she could have, she’d have chopped Priest’s head off all over again.
“I was too quick,” she said, coldly furious. “Too merciful.”
When she turned to Jael, his mouth was pressed into a tight, pale line. “Turns ago, I thought the Farwan labs were the worst place in the universe. I mean, it was hell . . . the things they did to us. But this . . . this is worse. Because however wrong I think they were, those scientists had a reason for the experiments. They were working with purpose.”
“Whereas this is torture for its own sake.”
There were four different places in Abaddon that seemed to have been devoted to torment and anguish. For the first time, Dred closed her eyes to see if the rooms had absorbed the pain and despair of those murdered within the walls. The area throbbed with red energy, echoes of madness. Stunned, she staggered back, and Jael steadied her with a hand in the small of her back.
“What?” he asked.
Softly, she told him.
He drew her away. “Have these rooms cleaned, then sealed. Give it time to fade.” He hesitated, scanning her face. Whatever he saw made him add, “I’d keep the men out. I don’t know how much I believe that atmosphere can drive people to do twisted things, but it just doesn’t seem wise to tempt fate.”
“I know what you mean. And Queenslanders are just as susceptible to violent impulses as anyone in Perdition. That’s why we’re all here.”
To her relief, the rest of the inventory went smoother. She cracked open a case and gazed at Jael, eyes wide. “This is full of paste. I guess I know where all of the food supplies ended up.”
Another carton yielded actual medicine. It made no sense that Priest would hoard such things, but maybe he’d had some insane religious justification for it. They also found a stockpile of ammo for the turret as well as rudimentary magnetic sensor bracelets. Jael snapped one on his wrist and beckoned her with a jerk of his chin.
She wasn’t used to taking orders anymore, but Dred didn’t make him explain. In some ways, it was a relief to spend time with someone who didn’t expect her to be scary, awe-inspiring, and unknowable all the time. Tam and Einar offered a break from playing a constant role; and to a lesser degree, so did Ike and Wills. She didn’t feel as close to them, however, possibly because of the power exchange she’d experienced with Jael.