Paladins of the Storm Lord

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Dillon saw the taller of Gale’s buildings first, one of which would be the Paladin Keep, those that walked in the footsteps of his old squad, his pride and joy, and he hoped they’d kept up some of the old traditions. Some captains had been better about it than others.

  Carmichael! He’d get to meet her in person, see if she was as easy to antagonize face-to-face. If she didn’t like doing things his way, he supposed he could replace her, but he didn’t want to do that, didn’t want to come in and start shoving people around, especially if the troops adored her. He wouldn’t take up his old rank as colonel. God was so much better.

  The yafanai would be all over him. He grinned. Better to stay in the temple, then. He’d heard it was pretty opulent, and living in a barracks was something he didn’t miss from the old days.

  They soon came close enough to see the palisade, but the people standing behind it on platforms were still tiny ants.

  “Are you going to march up to the gates and say, ‘Hi, I’m God’?” Lazlo asked.

  Dillon took a deep breath and sent his senses out, reaching for nearby weather systems. “I think a bit of a show is in order, don’t you?”

  Lazlo rubbed his arms as the wind picked up. The air turned sharper, heavy with the scent of rain, and thunder rumbled in the distance. “A few tornados?”

  “Not that dramatic. Keep an eye on my blood pressure, will you?”

  “Thank you so much for the privilege.”

  Dillon laughed, but as he poured more power into the storm, his sinuses clogged, and he felt pain build behind his eyes. Before it could become annoying, the feeling eased. Lazlo again. Dillon kept walking and held his arms out, letting arcs of electricity jump between them. The people above the palisade were scurrying now, and others were pouring out the gate, pointing. He heard the swell of many voices.

  The sky darkened. “Stay close to me, Laz, but don’t touch. I don’t want to catch you in the strikes.”

  He felt Lazlo just behind and kept his power tight to his own body. When he was close enough to the gate, he tried to think of something impressive to say. The citizens of Gale were huddling from the wind, shielding their faces. Well, maybe one more display would be enough, and then he wouldn’t have to say anything.

  He pulled at the clouds, aligned the charged particles just so. Lightning forked down around him, crashing to the earth in five points as Dillon lifted his arms. He made the bolts skitter around him in a circle, tendrils reaching to each other, crisscrossing, filling the air with a white-blue glow.

  The people of Gale fell to their knees, crying out to him, naming him Storm Lord. He smiled and let his lightning dissipate, let the storm settle in.

  At his back, Lazlo coughed. “Well, I don’t know what I was worried about.”

  *

  Carmichael pushed outside the Paladin Keep. The streets were crowded with people asking if the paladins had seen the Storm Lord, if he’d be coming to the keep. Others asked what was happening, and some were just hanging around as if it was a festival day and they had nothing better to do.

  Carmichael ground her teeth and barked at people to get back. Her spotters had reported a godsend, one of the packages from heaven that everyone thought were mystical, but that she knew were drop-and-carry pods from the satellite above. For all she knew, the general populace thought of them as shooting stars, but when the spotter had mentioned how large this one seemed, she’d known it was him, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  “Captain!”

  She looked for the voice and spotted Lieutenant Ross pushing through the crowd. Tall and muscular, she’d always made a good crowd breaker. Carmichael thought to use her to push to the temple, then thought better of it.

  “Ross, hold the fort while I’m gone. Don’t let any of these people inside.”

  “What’s going on, Captain? I heard some people talking. They said the Storm Lord is here.” She laughed as if it had to be a joke, but her expression fell when Carmichael didn’t join in. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Before Ross could lose it, Carmichael grabbed her arm. “We don’t have enough intel. Just hold here until I come back.”

  “But if it’s, I mean, the Storm Lord!”

  “I know who he is, Lieutenant.” And boy, did she ever. “Do your damned job like I told you.”

  That put some starch in her spine. “Yes, Captain.” She took up her post in front of the doors, under the bailey, and barked orders at those around her, whipping them into formation, the better to keep stragglers out. Several leathers reassured the crowd that the Storm Lord wasn’t inside, and Carmichael thought they might believe it. But he had to be in town if the sudden storm and the stir of the populace was any indication. There was one way to make sure this wasn’t a trick. She needed to find the bastard.

  She took alleys and side streets, navigating around the mass of people that grew larger the closer she came to the temple. Luckily, many seemed to know her, from a distance at least, and she used her fame to clear a path to the temple gates. A few yafanai stood in front and shooed people away from bothering God. They gave her a haughty look, but she returned it with blunt hostility.

  For a moment, she thought even that wouldn’t work, but someone in the back of the crowd muttered her name, and the yafanai guards glanced at each other. She leaned close. “I’m told our god wants to see me. Do you want to keep him waiting?”

  That did the trick, and she had to wonder if this was the last time having a god would be useful.

  She passed the gates, took a few short turns, and she was in his presence. He was a little older than she’d imagined, grayer around the temples, but still good-looking. His gray eyes would have made her look twice if she didn’t know what a prick he was.

  The yafanai had dressed him in golden robes, and she wondered what they did to the fabric that made it shine. With all the embroidery, it reminded her of a fancy tablecloth, but she didn’t say that, wondered if she dared think it, wondered how great his power was. The storm that rumbled outside suggested great power indeed.

  “Storm Lord,” she said. When he stared blankly, she realized he’d never seen her either, but he hadn’t been looking for her. Still, if he didn’t know her at once, it meant he couldn’t read her mind. “I’m Captain Carmichael.”

  He snapped his fingers and gestured for everyone to leave. They did so, giving her jealous looks that nearly made her laugh. “You’re different than I pictured,” he said.

  His voice was the same, at least, testifying that he wasn’t some yafanai trick. He had the same subtle accent she was used to, though they spoke the same language. The words had no doubt shifted from what their ancestors had spoken on Earth, but the Storm Lord had kept up with them.

  “For most of my life,” she said, “I pictured you as a god.”

  He held out his arms, and the sleeves of the robe swept the floor. “I do what I can.”

  Nope, still a man with pretty powers and a terrible attitude, proof that a nice face didn’t equal big brains. “Is there something we can do for you, Storm Lord?”

  He gave her a wry smile. “As if I just dropped by to borrow something? I’m here to stay, Captain.”

  She tried to keep a neutral expression, but some of her disappointment had to be creeping out. “I see.”

  He took a step. “Are you going to ask me why?”

  She didn’t move away, even when the hair on her arms stood up. It was a good threat, and he no doubt wanted to know if she was going to reveal his humanness by asking the wrong questions at the wrong time. “Not my business.”

  “Good. Very good, Captain. There are going to be some changes around here, but there’s no reason your position should be one of them.”

  She didn’t know what to say, but she wasn’t going to give up her captaincy without a fight. He didn’t respond to that thought, and no one came bursting in. So, the other yafanai weren’t telepathically eavesdropping around their god. They probably thought he’d sense it. That was very u
seful information.

  “How did it go in the swamp?” he asked. “How’s my research station?”

  “Everyone’s dead.”

  He froze for a second. “Shame. And the swamp creatures?”

  “Boggins, Storm Lord. They’re loose. They’re a threat.” She took a deep breath. “I’m handling it.”

  The Storm Lord took a long pull out of an ornate cup and licked his lips. “I’m going to love it here.” When she didn’t respond, he smiled again, and she knew he was delighting in the fact that she feared mouthing off. “What say we pay a little visit to the Paladin Keep, eh? Can’t keep the public waiting.”

  She put on a slight smile, eager to see what he did with a crowd, and if there was anyone obvious that could be turned against him, should the need arise.

  *

  Lazlo had fought not to frown while Dillon basked in the Galeans’ adoration. When they’d first come to the Yafanai Temple, he’d wondered if there was a corner he could hide in, a place to curl up, bemoan his fate, and think about how unfair life was.

  But Dillon had kept him close, waving away those who tried to touch him, pushing people back when they came too close. Lazlo’s heart had pounded so hard he could count the beats in his ears. He’d been so close to panicking many times, and only Dillon’s strong presence had kept it at bay.

  At last, in the temple, Dillon had hidden him in a small room. “Laz, just breathe.”

  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  Dillon’s strong fingers had dug into his shoulders. “Deep breaths, one after another. Listen, I have to go back out there, but I want you to stay in here and find your calm, yeah?”

  “Yes.” And then he’d shut the door, and Lazlo had never been so happy to be alone. When Dillon had come back dressed in golden robes, they’d laughed together. Dillon had offered to find him something equally ridiculous, but Lazlo had wanted to keep his green flight suit, one of the many he’d had for a long time.

  Dillon had shaken his head. “You need to fit in if you want to avoid attention, buddy.”

  True, but he’d still picked something plain and light blue, very soothing. He’d thought he could get a slow handle on things as long as he could be alone with Dillon nearby.

  Now, Dillon came back into the small room, and Lazlo sensed his agitation. “Captain Carmichael’s here. We’re going to take a trip to the Paladin Keep with some of the yafanai.”

  Lazlo’s fear came rushing back. “Now?”

  “Just stay here, Laz. I’ll be back for you.”

  “No!” He hated the panicked animal sound in his voice, but he couldn’t help it. Everything was happening too quickly. “I want to go with you.”

  “You sure? There’ll be a lot of people.” Genuine concern radiated from him. Lazlo could have bathed in it.

  “I’m sure.”

  Dillon gave him a proud smile and led him into a room full of yafanai. Everyone had this adoring look on their faces except one woman who stood near the wall, scowling. She was dressed as plainly as he was, and a quick scan revealed that she had no extraordinary powers. Her short hair was iron gray, and her green eyes pinned him to the spot. She was the same light brown as most of Gale’s inhabitants, and her build was slight but muscled. She looked as if she could take care of herself, and he envied her so much in that moment.

  “People,” Dillon said. “This is Lazlo. You, you, and you, you’re going to walk next to him on our way to the keep. Make sure he doesn’t get lost or trampled. Captain Carmichael is going to lead the way.”

  The stern woman nodded and shot Lazlo a curious look before she led the way out, Dillon just behind her. The three yafanai Dillon had selected surrounded Lazlo and kept him in Dillon’s wake. He tried not to think of them as babysitters. They were shields. Dillon was protecting him. He repeated it over and over as they walked down hallways of dull stone instead of gleaming metal. He stared at Dillon’s back and made himself breathe.

  When they emerged into bright sunshine and the roar of the crowd, Lazlo’s knees nearly crumpled. How did Dillon stand it all? People were clamoring around him, kept off by Captain Carmichael, a host of yafanai, and now some armored figures who appeared out of the crowd as if by magic, Dillon’s famous paladins.

  Lazlo felt his gorge rise and used his power to soothe himself, trying to recall if he’d been this bad on Earth. His anxiety disorder had always been pretty crippling. Why else had he volunteered for a small colony job on a backwater planet?

  But this was the wrong planet, and while it had been small at one time, it wasn’t any longer.

  “Are you all right?” one of his escorts asked.

  “I’m…”

  She moved, and he pulled back, thinking she meant to take his hand, but she offered her arm instead, leaving the choice to him. He took her elbow and looked into a pair of dark, kind eyes.

  She was a little shorter than him, with dark hair the same shade as her eyes and a soft smile. She looked young, maybe early twenties, but many of the people on the Atlas had looked young. She didn’t have the same air, though, with the experience of centuries and the petty cruelty that came from a small number of people locked up together for so long.

  “My brother had trouble with crowds,” she said. “He used to get terribly anxious, had to go home more often than not. You’re doing well.”

  He laughed and knew it sounded breathless. “Thank you.”

  “Your name is Lazlo, right?”

  “Yes.” The crowd roared, and he jumped.

  She stepped so that her face was in front of him again, and he had to focus on her. “Just Lazlo?”

  “Um, Simon Lazlo. But everyone calls me Lazlo or…” He was about to say doctor, but he didn’t even know if they used that word anymore. He only knew their language because Dillon had him keep up with the changes they made, the better to communicate his research to them.

  She laughed lightly. “Only paladins call each other by their last names, Simon. You don’t seem the paladin type.” When he blinked at her, she winked. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Don’t like soldiers?”

  She shrugged. “My name is Samira Zaidi.”

  “Zaidi?” And just like that, he was back on the Atlas’s bridge, before the crash, chatting with the real bridge doctor, the one who was supposed to help people. Lazlo could still picture his green flight suit, the name Zaidi stitched across the breast. He’d mentioned that his children were among the colonists, a boy and a girl, grown up now and on their first mission. And here was one of their descendants, far removed.

  “Please, call me Samira. I’m not a paladin, either.”

  “No, I just knew someone named Zaidi once.”

  “But you’ve been with the Storm Lord in heaven, right? The unwinking star?”

  Right, the cover story. “Well, you see, when humans came here, he…became a god—”

  “And my ancestors were here on the planet. Were you watching over them?” She looked excited by the prospect of a personal guardian angel, but Lazlo’s stomach shrank.

  Maybe Dr. Zaidi’s children had assumed he’d died when the pods landed. Or maybe they’d thought that his pod had been one of those that the Atlas had to space. Lazlo wondered what Dillon had told his followers about that and was ashamed that he’d never given it much thought.

  Samira’s gaze flicked to the Storm Lord, and she spoke softly. “We thought you might be his servant, but are you a god, too?”

  “No! Absolutely not, and I’m not a servant, either. I just handle some things for him. Like the yafanai.” He winced. Dillon was supposed to have created the yafanai, not Lazlo. “I mean…”

  She continued to watch him, but he didn’t want to dig himself in any deeper.

  “I’m a healer,” he tried.

  She nodded slowly, but he wondered if she’d let it go.

  Dillon pushed toward them. “I have to go inside the keep, Laz, and it’s getting pretty rowdy out here. I need you to stay.”

 
“What? Can’t I—”

  Dillon bent close to his ear. “Use your power and keep the crowd calm. There’s something I need to do.” He led Lazlo and the entourage closer to the keep, clapped Lazlo on the shoulder once more, and pushed his way inside.

  Lazlo turned to the crowd, barred from the keep and not loving that. There were angry mutterings, the beginnings of frowns. Lazlo focused on their many minds, coaxing out endorphins and dopamine, but in small amounts, enough for the crowd to sigh in bliss without realizing they’d been tampered with.

  Samira whistled softly. “Wow. Was that you?”

  He scanned her quickly, finding macro-psychokinetic abilities. “Hopefully, most people won’t realize anything happened at all.”

  “Very subtle. You’re not just a healer, Simon. I think you might be the healer.”

  He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Nettle stared at the latest dead body. Step by step, her people had been pushed to the center of their territory, chased by chanuka whose numbers were greater than seeds scattered in a high wind. One at a time, they were no match for a drushka, but they attacked in hordes now, mixtures of large chanuka who clawed and bit while their smaller brethren threw spears. Not so long ago, they had been timid creatures, their weapons nothing more than found sticks, but now they seemed to take care crafting sharper spears, shaping them so they could be thrown. And they worked together as never before, charging from the water in packs, grabbing drushka and forcing them under. They crept through the undergrowth and hacked at ankles and knees. Whatever the humans had done to them had turned them into masters of the kill.

  A brown root snaked up from the soil and dragged the dead drushka under, making her one with the planet again. Nettle held out an arm, and another root coiled around her. She felt her queen’s sorrow through that connection, felt the worry for their people. Nettle shared the feelings, but what could they do?

  Pool sent a picture of Sa Cordelia in her metal skin. Chanuka spears could not pierce a metal body. But would the humans help, even if the chanuka were a problem they had created? And if the humans ventured into the swamp in great numbers, would they leave again willingly? What would they want in exchange for their aid?