Marvel's Guardians of the Galaxy

by David McDonald

  It was not all one sided, though, and Quill saw one of the dark riders carve his way through a dozen of the insectoids with a fiery sword before Drax grabbed its wrist and tore its arm from its body—then beat it to the ground with the limb itself. The dark riders were also using their mounts to their advantage. Whatever they were, they were rearing and lashing out with their hooves, while their riders slashed out with their swords. A number of the insectoids went down before they changed tactics and started targeting the steeds rather than riders, cutting their legs out from underneath them. It was brutal and it was cruel, but Quill had to admit it was effective.

  With the nomads essentially destroyed as a cohesive fighting force, the Duke bellowed new orders at his men, forming them up into lines. There was an awkward moment when he came face to face with Barak and tried to order him to form up his axeman. For a moment Quill thought that Barak would refuse, but Rocket leaned down from his perch on Groot’s shoulder and whispered in the big man’s ear. Barak frowned, but then nodded curtly, and turned to his men.

  “You heard the Duke, form up into a line. Let’s not say that we were the weak link here today.”

  The Duke stared after him for a moment, and then gave Rocket and Groot a considering look before turning and walking back over to Quill.

  “You certainly have some interesting friends, Lord Quill,” the Duke said. “After this is over, if we are still alive, I will be very interested to learn more about them.”

  “First things first, sire,” Quill replied. “Right now, don’t you think we should go to the aid of those who are dying to defeat our enemies?”

  “You’re right, Lord Quill. I don’t know what those . . . creatures are, but no one can fault their courage.” He turned to the soldiers lined up behind him. “Men, you have already done more than anyone could fairly ask of you. You’ve bled for the realm, and your comrades have died. But there is still one more battle to fight. Will you follow me and wipe away this stain forever?”

  “Yes!” The shout echoed from hundreds of throats as if they had but one great voice.

  “Then, onwards!”

  The Duke’s men charged across the battlefield and crashed into the dark riders’ flank. They had been watching the way the insectoids fought and attempted to follow suit. Swords slashed at the mounts’ legs and many of them fell screaming. But the fiery swords also bit deep, and the Duke’s men fell back, flesh and blood unable to stand against the unnatural strength and weapons of the invaders. The woodcutters had more luck—used to working in teams, they treated the riders like a particularly dangerous type of tree, taking turns with their axe strokes and cutting several down. But they, too, suffered under those terrible swords. Quill saw Edric topple backwards, sliced almost in half with one blow.

  Despite their losses, the charge served its purpose. The attack had distracted the riders from the insectoids long enough for Drax and his subjects to regroup and seize the advantage. It was not long before the last of the dark riders was mere pieces scattered over the battlefield, and the last of their steeds put out of its screaming misery. The two armies met in the middle of the field and halted, lined up in rows and staring suspiciously at each other. Quill could hear soldiers talking behind him.

  “What are those things? Are we going to have to fight them next?” one whispered far too loudly.

  “I hope not, they look like tough buggers. And they did help us,” his comrade replied.

  “So? Look at them? Bugs are meant to be squashed.”

  “Silence!” the Duke roared. “No more talk like that or I will have you flogged, and that goes for anyone else. We’d all be dead—and the nomads would be looting the castle as we speak—if it weren’t for them.”

  Quill was relieved. Blood was still running hot from the battle, and things had a way of getting out of hand at times like these. None of the other soldiers seemed to sympathize with the one who had drawn the Duke’s ire, and most looked too exhausted to care about anything.

  The Duke gestured to Quill, and together they walked out to the ground between the two armies, where Drax stood waiting. Quill reached out and clasped arms with him, wincing at the strength in the other man’s grip.

  “Thank you, Drax, you came through for us,” Quill said. He turned to the Duke. “Let me make some introductions. Sire, this is Drax the Destroyer; Drax, this is the Duke of Vylara.”

  The two men gave each other measuring looks, but both must have approved of what they saw, and nodded in approval.

  “The Empire owes you a debt of gratitude,” the Duke said. “I thought that I was simply leading my men in a glorious but futile last stand, but you and your . . . men turned this into a victory that will be sung of for centuries.”

  “I do not abandon my friends, no matter what disagreements we might have had,” Drax rumbled. “Your men fought bravely, but I am sorry I robbed you of the chance to die in glorious battle.”

  The Duke blinked in surprise at that, but Quill was used to Drax’s strange notions.

  “I think we can forgive you, Drax,” Quill said. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  “It felt wrong letting you go off without my help,” Drax replied. “I thought long and hard about what was the honorable thing to do, and I had resolved to follow you on my own, as I didn’t feel right bringing my subjects to a war that was none of their concern. But when my advisors heard my plan, they wouldn’t allow it, claiming that would dishonor them—and that where their king went, they went.”

  “And what is a man . . . or anyone, without honor?” the Duke said.

  “Exactly! A man after my own heart,” Drax said. “So we came to an agreement. If they helped my friends, I would abdicate the throne.”

  “You gave up your throne for us?” Quill asked, shocked. “I’m sorry, Drax.”

  Drax laughed. “Don’t be, you know I was a reluctant king. I was not willing to give up the throne in the past because I felt it would devalue it to do so, but what is more valuable than honor and friendship? It seemed a fair price. Honor has been satisfied on both sides.”

  Quill shook his head. He was sure it made complete sense to Drax, but Quill knew he would never really understand.

  “So, what now?” the Duke asked him. “How can I reward you?”

  “All I would ask is that you recognize the sovereignty of my people, and sign a treaty with my successor pledging friendship and non-interference,” Drax said. “They simply want to be left alone.”

  Quill could see the insectoid who had fought Drax standing in the front row. It seemed that it had got its wish, after all.

  “It would be my pleasure,” the Duke said. “It is the least that I can do. And, what about you?”

  “I think it is time I rejoined my friends,” Drax said.

  “I’m happy to hear that, Drax,” Quill said. “Rocket and Groot are here, and Gamora will join us soon. I don’t know what comes next—we’re still stranded—but I’m convinced we’re better off together.”

  “You will always have a place in my castle, Lord Quill. All of you,” the Duke said. “That includes you, Lord Drax.”

  Drax bowed his head in thanks.

  “Quill, we may not be as stranded as we thought,” Drax said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have a look at the remains of the enemy.”

  Quill hurried over to the nearest corpse, bracing himself for the smells of death, but instead there were only the faint odors of ozone and hot metal. He pulled open the enemy’s robe, and his mouth dropped open in shock. There was no blood—not even any flesh—just metal and plastics. Despite the fact that they had been pounded into fragments, he could make out the delicate tracery of high-end circuit boards.

  “They’re machines,” Quill whispered. He knew what this meant, as did Drax.

  “Where there is techno
logy like this, there is likely to be more,” Drax said. “We may very well find what we need to repair our ship.”

  “Rocket! Groot! Get over here,” Quill yelled.

  Rocket was soon poking and prodding the corpses, looking for answers in their ruined workmanship.

  “You know what? This is very advanced technology,” Rocket said. “This sort of thing requires fabricators and refitting equipment. If we can find their base, I think we have a real chance of using it to repair the ship. I’ll see if I can work out where they come from.”

  The Duke might not have understood much about the technology itself, but he was a long way from stupid.

  “There will be survivors from the nomad army,” he said. “I will make sure that they tell you everything they know.”

  “I suspect I have an idea of what they’ll tell us,” said Quill. He turned to Rocket. “I’m pretty sure we already know where they came from, along with that EMP.”

  “The shielded zone!” Rocket exclaimed. “Of course! If it isn’t a natural phenomenon, it in itself is a sign of some pretty high-level tech.”

  “The problem is that we have no idea what we’ll be walking into,” Quill said grimly. “It possesses technology we don’t, and it’s deeply hostile to us and everything else on this planet.”

  Drax was the only one who seemed happy. “It should be fun!”

  Chapter 17

  “You can all go to hell.”

  The nomad spat on the floor in front of him, indifferent to the splendor of the Duke’s audience chamber. The guard next to him turned and casually drove his fist into the captive’s stomach, leaving him gasping for air.

  “That will be enough of that,” the Duke said. “There is no need for this to be difficult. We just want you to answer a few questions, and then you’ll be sent back to the steppes.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.” The prisoner was a nondescript man, not particularly big, with a ratty beard. It was hard to believe he was one of the nomads that had almost brought the Empire to its knees. “I am no coward who spills his guts to the enemy.”

  “There is no point being stubborn. You can cling to your pride all you like, but you did surrender to us rather than die, so it all seems a bit empty.”

  That only made the prisoner glower even more, and the Duke sighed.

  “I see this is useless. Take him away.”

  Quill cleared his throat. “If I may, sire?”

  The Duke nodded and the guards dragged the captive back in front of the dais where the Duke and his council were seated. Quill gestured for Rocket to join him.

  “Look ferocious, and whatever I say, don’t say a word, okay?” he whispered.

  “What?” Rocket hissed back.

  “Just do it.” Quill turned back to the prisoner. “See this creature? Do you remember what happened on the battlefield? Did you see his vicious bloodlust?”

  The prisoner nodded, his face going white. Rocket shot Quill a dirty look and then snarled at the prisoner, baring his teeth in an exaggerated grimace.

  “He has a taste for human flesh now, and we haven’t fed him today,” Quill continued. “So, here’s the deal. You’re going to tell us everything we want to know, or . . .”

  “Or?” the prisoner asked reluctantly.

  “I’m going to get a really big sack, and then I’m going to bundle you and my pet here in it—and then we’re going to whack it with sticks to get him all riled up.” Rocket was snarling at Quill, who went on. “Or even more riled up.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “Guard, fetch me a sack!”

  “No! I’ll talk! Ask me anything.”

  Quill waved the guard away and leaned forward. “Tell me about the dark riders.”

  “About a year ago, a hooded figure visited my chieftain. We never saw his face—no one wanted to with the creepy way he talked and the way his eyes glowed red. But he impressed the chieftain when he easily killed our champion, and even more so when he brought gifts of armor and bows that fired faster and farther than anything we’d seen before. Then he started talking about invading the Empire and all the treasure we’d claim for ourselves. At first the chieftain said no, he didn’t think we could win, but the stranger promised him an army and all the weapons we would need. He said all he wanted in return was to see the Empire knocked back to the Stone Age, whatever that means. It took a lot of persuading, as we knew that you had more soldiers and more weapons than we did, but he was extremely convincing.”

  The prisoner was stammering with fear and nerves by the time he trailed off.

  “And where did he come from? Do you know?” Quill asked.

  “Out of the Forbidden Lands. That’s all I know, I swear!”

  “The Forbidden Lands?”

  “They are farther east. No one who goes in comes out.”

  Quill asked the man a few more questions, and then waved to the guards, who carried him almost weeping with relief from the hall.

  As soon as he was gone, Quill started laughing and didn’t stop until Rocket kicked him in the shins.

  “You son of a . . .” Rocket said. “Your pet? A sack?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Quill said grinning.

  “You’re an evil man, Quill.”

  “Well done, Lord Quill,” the Duke said. “Very sly. At least we know that the nomads are no threat to us on their own. I hope that we broke this mysterious enemy’s strength in the last battle. But, we must deal with this forbidden place and make sure that it is no longer a threat.”

  “Sire, with all due respect, I think that you should leave that to my friends and me. It’s more our specialty.”

  The Duke frowned. “I suppose that you have proved yourselves, but I don’t like letting others fight my battles for me.”

  “Sire, we have our reasons to go there, too.”

  “So be it.” The Duke signaled to his guards. “And now to the next order of business. Bring in the woodcutter, Barak.”

  Barak was not exactly a captive like the nomad, so his hands were unbound, but the two guards to either side of him kept their hands on the hilts of their swords.

  “Sire.” Barak barely inclined his head to bow, but the Duke ignored this.

  “The realm is grateful for the bravery of you and your fellow woodcutters,” the Duke said. “But the fact remains that you are poachers and outlaws, which leaves me with a dilemma. The laws regarding the forest are not just about protecting my resources and keeping them for myself. We have a treaty with another race, and my family is honor bound to protect them.”

  “We know that now.” Barak’s eyes slid to Groot and Rocket. “We’ve seen things that have convinced us. But it doesn’t matter anymore. There is a giant wall around the forest and there is . . . something living in there, and none of my men will go near it.”

  “But you did in the past. You defied my authority.”

  “Yes, we did,” Barak said, anger in his voice. “And I am not ashamed. I have a family to feed, and so do all my men. We just want a fair go.”

  Before the Duke could reply, Rocket broke in. “Sire, if I can speak?”

  At the Duke’s nod, he went on. “When you needed them, the woodcutters marched to your aid, even though they had seen many of their friends and comrades executed. All they asked in return was a fresh start, and rightly or wrongly we promised them amnesty. Not carte blanche to do whatever they wanted going forward—Groot would be very unhappy to see them cutting down those sentient trees—but a clean slate.”

  “You had no right to promise anything,” the Duke said angrily.

  Rocket didn’t flinch at his tone, instead just met his gaze unblinkingly.

  “Perhaps. But the fact is that we saved you, and I think you owe us for that—and you owe Barak and his men. What’s more
important, the good of your realm or your pride?”

  Quill could see that Rocket had found the Duke’s weakness, and that his words had hit home.

  “I am not so closed minded as to not recognize truth when I see it. Here is my decision. Barak, you are hereby named captain of my new Forest Guard, and given the rank of earl along with its requisite incomes. You are to recruit a force of men to uphold the treaty and protect the forest, and to serve the realm in times of war. Each man will be paid twice the average wage of a woodcutter. Do you accept this charge?”

  “Y-yes, sire,” Barak stammered.

  “Know this—I reward good service. But if you take up this responsibility, I will expect you to be worthy of it. I will declare an amnesty for all those who poached wood, but from now on, anyone caught doing so will face the headsman. Is that fair?”

  “More than fair, sire,” Barak said. “I will wield the axe myself.” He grinned.

  The Duke didn’t smile. “You’ve been given a great opportunity here. I trust you will be worthy.”

  Barak recognized a dismissal when he heard it, and this time he bowed before turning and leaving the audience chamber.

  “I think that was well done, sire,” Marius said. The Master of Arms had been gravely injured in the battle, and his head was swathed in bandages. But he had refused to rest, and had insisted on being at the audience.

  “Perhaps, but where will we find the coin?” Tremas asked. He, too, had been injured. Quill had been surprised to hear that the older man had single-handedly killed half a dozen nomads, but he supposed you could never tell what a man was capable of.

  “We will have many challenges over the next year,” the Duke said. “There is much to be repaired and rebuilt. We will just have to do our best.”