Storm Unbound

by Leo Hull

  “What does ‘accelerator coolant reserve’ mean?” Tristan wondered, eyeing the fading painted letters by the door Lydia led him to.

  “No idea,” Lydia said, uninterested in her surroundings. Tristan wonder if this level of Fallen relics were common in this part of the world. “They’re basically right on top of where Nessa is. The main stairs are further down the hall and around the corner. No doors or anything so they were probably planning on taking those.” Lydia’s shadowy figured turn and Tristan imagined the pout on her face. “Can I please stay and help?”

  “No. This is going to get violent and it would be too easy to corner you here.” Tristan softened. “Besides, if we went back on our word Serana would never cook for either of us again. That’s a risk I’m not willing to take. Can I trust you to make your way out like we agreed? Serana is worried sick about you.”

  “I know,” Lydia sighed. She faded into view, her lithe body already advancing to wrap her arms around Tristan and a bittersweet look in her eyes. “Come back to us.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  Lydia frowned. “You should be thanking Serana. You rescued her and I wanted to abandon you.”

  “You were scared.” Tristan shrugged away Lydia’s concern. “And you showed me where Annik was. I have no regrets about how things turned out.”

  “I don’t either.” Lydia shyly blushed, but kept her grey eyes tilted up to look at Tristan.

  “You just want my cock and the conduit to Serana,” Tristan joked. Lydia chewed her lip and looked away but pressed herself tighter against Tristan. Guilt flashed through him at making light of her feelings. “Sorry.”

  “Just come back safe.” Lydia wriggled from his grasp and vanished into the shadows. “Give me ten minutes.”

  Her shade moved to the stairs and was gone. Tristan sighed, disappointed with how he had handled that. Lydia’s sudden clinginess was unexpected, especially since the first two times they met had involved her holding a knife against him. She’d then tried to abandon him only to again become his Bound. If he was being honest with himself, Tristan was totally lost, and not just because he was stranded in a far-off land.

  Between training as a Bolstered and training himself to drink, Tristan had never bothered with any relationship more meaningful than paying extra to spend the night rather than stumble back to the dorm. He had been dragged on an expedition by a woman he was starting to suspect had carried a torch for him for years and was now trying to save a different woman that felt like his soulmate. If those weren’t enough, his connection with Serana and Lydia strengthened with every step he took towards saving Nessa.

  Tristan ran a hand through his hair, then sat to put his shoes on. They were still wet, and he shuddered at the sensation of forcing his feet into the damp leather.

  He couldn’t make sense of how things had gotten to this point and the only thing to do was keep moving forward. If there was one thing Annik had showed him it was that he was capable. If he kept his eyes on the future, he could escape the bogs of self-pity that had trapped him for so long.

  He felt Nessa’s growing excitement but tried to ignore that and focus on her rock-solid confidence that had never wavered from the moment their bond had been restored. How she could trust him so completely baffled Tristan, but she wasn’t the only one that had seen something in him, so Tristan ignored the quiet, nagging voice of self-doubt and began checking the arsenal of steel strapped to his body.

  Bolstered were mainly concerned with direct confrontation, but Lydia had helpfully secured a dizzying array of sharp knives about his body in addition to the twin swords strapped across his back. With time to spare, he warmed up a bit, stretching and loosening his joints. Serana had made sure he was well fed and she even cajoled Merouda into staying up late cooking in anticipation of Tristan returning with a need to fuel his Gift.

  Tristan didn’t dwell on the possibility of injury or failure that might require extra feeding. Perran had set an ambush but Tristan was going to turn it back on him.

  After judging he had waited long enough, Tristan eased the door open. It was obvious where Perran and his men were stationed. Light spilled from the room into the hall and it sounded as if Perran’s crew was holding a party. A man spoke, his words incomprehensible above the din of laughter.

  Tristan didn’t even bother to hide his approach.

  There were six men in the room, two sitting on chairs with their backs to the door and four more across a solid oak table scattered with cards, dice, and drink. They wore mismatched clothes and no insignia and clearly were the type found in rougher areas of town rather than Talek’s finest. Perran wasn’t with them, but Tristan was committed. No one could escape to raise the alarm.

  He was two steps into the room with his sword flashing downwards before a laugh turned to a strangled warning cry. Tristan’s sword fell, catching a turning man in the side of the head and flinging blood and gore across the game of chance.

  The guards tried to rise, but Tristan had caught them so unaware that most didn’t have weapons at hand. Someone tossed a flagon of beer at his head, but Tristan had already spun to the side, his blade whirling to bite into a rising guard’s arm, severing it before wedging into the man’s chest. Tristan shoved the screaming man away, and rather than reach for another sword, he grabbed the heavy wooden table and powered it across the room, his legs driving as he channeled every bit of helplessness over the past days into this effort.

  The remaining guards, halfway from their seats, stood no chance of keeping their balance or stopping his assault. They slammed into the wall, an older man’s head snapping back and cracking against the wall with a crunch. The others had the breath driven from their lungs and by the time they had recovered Tristan had his other sword free and a knife in his offhand.

  He stood panting, the ferocity of his assault and the bodies bleeding out behind him enough to discourage any further attempts at resisting. Seconds ago, they had been carousing and now half their number lay dead or dying.

  “Where is he?” Tristan asked, not bothering to name Perran. The conscious thugs sagged in their chairs, pinned, bruised, and humiliated. One of them licked his lips, glared at his compatriots, and then set his jaw defiantly. Tristan was surprised at their resistance. They looked to be the type that talked a big game but fled at the first sign it might be their lives in the balance. “You really want to die for Perran? You can either tell me where he went, or I can kill you all and wait for him to return.”

  “He went—” the youngest of the men started before being cuffed into silence.

  Tristan’s arm flicked out, the tip of his sword grazing the neck of the apparent leader. He’d sharpened the blade himself and barely felt a tug as a thin red line gaped into a yawning, bloody smile.

  “You were saying,” Tristan suggested.

  “Downstairs to the Spark. He likes to check on her,” the youngest said quickly, his face ashen.

  “Don’t suppose there’s another key to her cage?”

  “Just the one on his neck.”

  Tristan snorted. Just his bad luck to time his attack when Perran wasn’t with his men. Except for Perran’s absence, the plan was working flawlessly. Sneaking in had been even easier than expected.

  Tristan considered his options.

  He could still kill these two and wait here for Perran, but he might grow suspicious at the sudden quiet. Relief could also arrive, and Tristan didn’t want to try another ambush with such long odds. Even if he survived, it’d be near impossible to stop them from fleeing to raise the alarm.

  Better to go to Perran. The fool had even helpfully taken the key right where it needed to go. The room Nessa was in had only one exit and a token guard. Perran was trapped, his plan reversed. Nessa was there and the two could make a quick escape and eliminate the Ground at the same time.

  Tristan retrieved his sword then gave one last hard glare at the two men pinned by the table. They wouldn’t meet his eye. Neither of the survivors spoke as he
pulled the door shut behind him and locked it.

  He moved towards the stairs Perran would use, careful to keep his steps soft in case Perran was on his way back. Catching him alone in the stairs would be ideal. Tristan had no such luck, and after a few tense minutes peered around the corner at the guards outside Nessa’s room. The closer of the two had his back turned, looking in the room where Perran spoke softly.

  The other happened to look right at Tristan and his eyes widened to saucers.

  “He’s here!”

  Tristan cursed and sprinted down the hall, drawing his sword as the guards mirrored him. Unlike the ruffians hidden in the room a floor up, these two reacted with obvious training. The first guard ducked into the room rather than try to turn, while the one that had raised the alarm stepped forward to meet Tristan. They both wore matching leather armor with a red triangle emblazoned on the left shoulder. The man met Tristan’s blade confidently, gracefully absorbing the blow and trying to twist past to flank.

  Tristan’s attack was no normal blow. His body swelled as he unleashed every bit of his Bolstered Gift to push past the limits of any normal human. Tendons, ligaments, and muscles pulled, taut to the point that all the kept Tristan’s bones from breaking was the constant use of his Gift. It was a risky move that would weaken his ability to deal with future injuries if he didn’t end it quickly, but he had Perran trapped. It was worth the risk to end this here and now.

  The opponent’s twisting parry should have absorbed the blow while letting his momentum carry him past Tristan, but such was Tristan’s strength that the man instead staggered into the wall, bleeding from a cut above the eye where his own sword had been knocked back into him.

  Tristan didn’t have time to press his advantage, because the first guard emerged, lunging forward with the point of his sword leading the way. Tristan swept the attack to the side, stepping inside the man’s guard and bringing a knee up to slam into his gut hard enough to lift him from the ground. Tristan quickly shoved himself backwards, a blade whistling where he had been.

  Tristan’s back slammed into the other guard. He grabbed the arm of his attacker, dropping his sword so he could grip a bicep and forearm. He pulled, using his own shoulder as a fulcrum and man’s elbow pulled free like when yanking the drumstick from a chicken, only accompanied by a horrid scream.

  And then Perran was there, sword flashing forward and yelling wordlessly. He had a wild look to his eyes and moved recklessly. Tristan rushed him, heedless of the blades swinging at him.

  His wet boot slipped, stalling his momentum and leaving him caught in the open in an awkward half-split.

  The uninjured guard’s sword bit into hip, but the indulgence on the fancy outfit proved worthwhile. The clothes performed as they did during that vixen’s demonstration. The guard’s blow clubbed at him, slicing into his flesh but tangling in the fabric before catastrophic injury could occur. It hurt like hell, but he still had his leg.

  Tristan roared and knocked the guard to the side like an annoyance. The key dangled from Perran’s neck and Tristan yanked it free, the force of his tugging sending Perran tumbling back towards the stair.

  Tristan stood, grinning and panting and reached for his second sword. Perran was already scrambling towards the stairs yelling at the top of his lungs while his man guarded their retreat.

  “Shit,” Tristan muttered, refocusing his Gift to his wounded hip. He grabbed a dagger and tried to bring Perran down, but he’d never been the best at knife throwing and Perran was dozens of strides away already. His hip was healing fast, but it would take minutes before he had a chance of running them down and by that time, they would have summoned help.

  “Tristan!” Nessa cried with joy, pulling Tristan’s attention into the door he had just cleared. “You came!”

  His silver-haired beauty beamed at him from inside a double-walled cage, as breathtaking as he remembered. Despite her confinement, she glowed radiantly, and Tristan’s battle-blood retreated before the implacable advance of joy along their bond. Dimly he felt echoes of his delight from Lydia and Serana, but at this distance they seemed like a candle against the heat of Nessa’s sun.

  “Did you doubt me?” Tristan asked, unable to keep the grin off of his face as he gave one last look at the retreating guard then moved towards Nessa.

  “No. I knew you’d come even if I hadn’t been able to goad Perran into trying to lure you. Sorry about the trap, but I figured you could handle it.”

  “So far, but it’s about to get a lot tougher. There are more downstairs, and we still have to get out of here.” The lock clicked and Tristan barely had time to step back before Nessa was leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around him.

  Despite their circumstances, Tristan cupped her body and met her kiss with abandon. He was keyed up from the fight, and his body rerouted every bit of adrenaline from fight or flight to a different sort of primal urge. He had her against the wall and was fumbling between them when she giggled and pulled away.

  “Maybe we should escape first,” Nessa teased, though she didn’t sound very convinced.

  Tristan smirked at her, moments away from plunging into her when the first shouts and clatter of boots reached them.

  “Fuck.” Tristan sighed regretfully then let Nessa slide to the ground. “Come on.”

  He pulled her out of the room and towards the locked stairwell they could escape through, but once inside they were greeted with the sounds of hard boots clattering up the stairs towards them.

  Their escape route was cut off.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tristan slowed to let Nessa recover from their hurried ascent. The sounds of their hunters had faded, but that did little to ease Tristan’s unease. The alarm had been raised and Perran could take his time advancing upwards, clearing each floor until finding Nessa. With Nessa free they might’ve been able to fight their way out if it weren’t for Perran’s presence.

  “You’re in too good of shape,” Nessa wheezed, bent over and breathing heavy. Sweat ran down her lithe form, taunting Tristan with the way the beads traced her curves. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. Tristan knew he should focus on a plan, but her breasts threatened to spill from her shirt, and he couldn’t drag his eyes away.

  “Sorry, it’s my Gift. We can go slower now. They know we’re up here somewhere with nowhere else to run.” Tristan leaned out over the banister and stared upwards into darkness. “Maybe we can hide in a room and they’ll pass us by.”

  He unlocked the door of their floor then locked it behind them to hide their passage. The hall here was strange. Unlike the lower floors, they came out in the middle a sweeping arc that curved away in both directions. There were no doors in sight, so one direction was as good as the other. As they walked, he noticed empty sconces and hooks where torches and lamps could be placed, a stark difference from the rest of the ship’s glowing tubes.

  They must have travelled halfway around the Fallen’s ship before they found a pair of double doors that stood open. There was carpet coming from the other direction, faded in the center from repeated wear. Tristan looked in, startled at the sense of recognition that flooded him. The room was filled with the same dull metal as where he’d received his Bolstered Gift.

  This room made the small cave where Aeol accepted the Fallen’s Gift seem like a quaint mountain shack. The chamber was circular and took up the entirety of this floor, the ceiling a dome that was lost in shadows. A tube of seamless metal big enough across that he could have crawled into it formed an inner circle away from the wall. The air hummed with energy and there were a few pale bars of light on the wall that flickered unnaturally, blinking on and off at random in the still air.

  “This is where Saeli makes Sparks,” Nessa said with awe, eyes wide as she stepped in and gazed upwards. “We’re not supposed to be here. Only the priests and the attendants that help with the children can come here.”

  Tristan eyed a section of the wall where the dark metal had been stripped aw
ay, leaving jagged edges and bundles of colorful fibers that were thicker than yarn but appeared smooth. “And whoever makes the Slivers. What happens when they run out of metal here? Will they even be able to receive any more Gifts?”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem for a long time.” Nessa gestured at the expansive room. Only a few feet of metal had been removed and the Slivers could be reused. It was like a dozen glasses of water against the vastness of a river. “Come on, let’s hide in here.”

  Nessa skipped away before Tristan could suggest finding someplace with more spots to hide and more paths to escape by. He sighed and followed, clambering over the thick pipe and trying to control his need at the sight of Nessa’s thighs spread where she straddled the metal. The center of the room was barren, an expanse of metal floor that seemed like an incredible waste of space.

  “Maybe we should find a floor with more nooks and crannies. We don’t stand a chance if they catch us here. Only bottle-neck is the doors and once they break through that they can surround us.”

  Nessa ignored him, scampering ahead until she stood in the center of the room. She stared upwards, her head tilted back and silver hair cascading around her shoulders. Tristan moved next to her, basking in her contented awe. Nessa intertwined her fingers in his.

  “Can you feel that?” Nessa whispered, closing her eyes and shuddering.

  Tristan closed his as well, focusing on the unseen. It felt like her electric energy flowed into him—not pushed by her will or pulled by his but drawn as if their union simply was the natural state of their beings. The current of their bond had never flowed stronger. It no longer felt like he sensed a small part of her but that two had immersed and mixed themselves completely. The Sliver at his neck pulsed with heat in time with his heart.