Liam’s jaw tightened as they passed under the bailey. “First you give up Gale without a fight and now your weapons?” he muttered to Cordelia. “What, you have a near-death experience and you’re not you anymore?”
Was he blind that he didn’t see the danger they were in, how much the people beyond the palisade needed them to keep their cool? Or was vengeance just so blinding? She remembered how she’d felt after that boggin had almost killed him and tried not to judge him too harshly. “Technology didn’t protect my parents. Being in Gale didn’t keep my uncle safe, and armor didn’t protect your mom.”
“And leaving without a fight? What’s that about?”
“It’s about making sure this isn’t over.”
He gave her a curious look and seemed to see the crowd for the first time. He seemed surprised when the soldiers who’d given up their weapons passed the gate to join the gathering of humans and drushka. Cordelia paused, turning to Brown and Lea. She offered her hand, and they took it, Brown’s expression calling them foolish and Lea’s not giving them anything at all.
“Watch your backs,” Lea said.
Brown flashed a grin. “Fuck off, hooligans.”
“Fuck off yourself, Lieutenant,” Cordelia said.
A host of other people and baggage waited under Pool’s branches along with two sheet-wrapped bodies. Reach had brought Paul, and someone had evidently found Carmichael. Cordelia laid a hand on both of them before Pool took everyone and everything into her branches, some of the humans letting out little squeals that turned to cries of joy as the tree moved around Gale.
Cordelia looked back to the burnt patches of the city, easy to see from the high branches of Pool’s tree. Around her, everyone was staring at the place they’d called home, a place that now seemed foreign. Cordelia had lived there all her life, and she couldn’t imagine staying.
Beside her, Liam dashed tears from his cheeks, and she didn’t know if they were for Gale or for his mother, but she put her arm around him anyway. He leaned into her touch then stiffened, looking past Gale.
“What is it?”
He pointed, and she looked into the sky. Three bright lights stood out against the blue. All through the branches, humans and drushka were pointing, wondering what it could mean, but Cordelia remembered sitting in her uncle’s house as his housekeeper told them of a bright light in the south, just before the Storm Lord’s arrival. She thought of the Sun-Moon worshipers and wondered what was coming for Calamity now.
*
Dillon paced, stopping every so often to perch on the edge of a chair and sink his teeth into his thumb. He tried to watch every corner of the room, but Lessan was never where he looked. He sensed her, caught a flash of her every now and again from the corner of his eye.
“Enough games,” he said at last, hearing the roughness in his voice. “Show yourself, motherfucker.”
She ignored him, flitting at the edges of his vision. He jerked his door open, grabbed the first person he saw, and dragged him inside.
“Storm Lord?” the man asked.
Dillon gave him a hard punch to the mouth and then shook him at the room. “I’m going to kill someone. That’s what gets you off, right? Come out and watch.” He put his hands around the man’s neck, thumbs over the windpipe, and squeezed.
The man wheezed, trying to breathe through bloody lips. He clawed at Dillon’s hands.
“Don’t make this worse,” Dillon said and didn’t quite know who he was talking to. Fear bubbled through his anger, making his face feel tighter than it should.
She appeared without warning, and he jumped. Her mouth opened wider than it had the right to, and she laughed and laughed, the noise coming from all around him as he stared down her rotting throat.
Dillon dropped the frightened man and kicked him out the door. Lessan grinned, and her right eye bulged, swelling larger and larger until it burst, filling the room with rot. Dillon covered his nose and backed away. Blood slithered down her body from the empty hole to gather in her palm like a living thing.
“What the fuck?”
Her features blurred, and Lessan’s short figure and lean face became Dué’s tall frame and rounded cheeks. Her hair stuck out as if she hadn’t combed it in months.
Anger burned through Dillon’s temples. “I should have known. I’m not crazy, no thanks to you. You’ve been dicking me around from orbit.” She had a subtle hand. Every time she’d invaded his mind, he’d blamed any tingling on his anger, his fear. “Every single time I thought of her, was that you?”
“No. Sometimes, she was me.” But her mouth didn’t move. She strolled around the room, examining the furniture, but she was projecting herself in his mind. Her clothing wavered between the old flight uniform and a black evening gown sown with stars.
“Why?”
She rolled the remains of her eye into a glowing ball and smiled.
“Answer me, Dué.”
She placed the glowing ball in her socket, and the light grew to fill the room like a miniature sun. “I thought you were happy to have me on your side. Don’t worry, sugar. There will be plenty of time to visit now that I’m alone. We’re going to be great friends.”
“What do you mean alone?” He had to look away, blinking away stars. When the light dimmed, she was gone, not even a flicker in the corner of his eye.
“What the fuck?” he muttered again. Maybe she’d killed everyone else on the satellite. No great loss. Or maybe not. The Atlas had more drop pods, enough to get everyone to the surface if they were tired of waiting around for immortality.
Oh, that was all he needed.
*
Lazlo threw some things in a bag. He hadn’t acquired much since coming to Gale, but he wanted to make sure he had food and water so he could contribute to the stores. His own bubbling happiness surprised him. The biggest hurdle to leaving had always been that he’d have to be alone and that he didn’t know where to go. But now he’d solved both those problems and made peace with leaving Dillon. Even after all the carnage of the night before, he had so many reasons to be happy.
When Samira knocked on his open door, he beamed at her.
“Did you hear that a group of people left Gale?” she asked. “What did I miss?” He pulled her inside and gave her the short version. She listened with wide, exhaustion-bruised eyes. “And you’re going now?”
“I wanted to say good-bye to you first. I’ve already said good-bye to Dillon, the Storm Lord, don’t want to do that again.”
“And Horace went, too?” She smiled a little.
“I’m going for more reasons than that.”
“The romantic in me will never lose hope.”
“There’s one more thing I have to do.” He hurried down the hall, making for Natalya’s room, but she wasn’t there, wasn’t in the temple, according to anyone he asked.
“I haven’t seen her,” Samira said. “Several people said she was out last night with the Storm Lord’s group.”
Lazlo scrubbed his hand down his face. “I hope she didn’t die.”
“We could search the city.”
Lazlo shook his head. “I’ll just have to tell Horace and hope he understands. Maybe someone less conspicuous can come back to check for her.”
“Like me.”
“If you’d like to look for her, I’d appreciate it. Maybe you could get word to us somehow.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard since I’m coming with you.”
Lazlo gawked. “You’re not!”
“Oh yes, I am.”
“Samira…”
“Simon.” She stepped close and whispered, “I don’t want to stay here with a murderer any more than you do. Unless you don’t want me to come?”
“No, no! I’d be delighted. It’s just, well, I thought you were saying you wanted to go just because I was going.”
“Maybe they should call you Dr. Ego.” She winked, and he laughed. “Just let me grab some things.”
Before they got far, a small woman st
epped from a hallway, a packed bag hanging from one shoulder. “Lydia?” Samira asked. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re leaving, and I’m coming with you.”
Lazlo looked back and forth between them.
“Did you foresee something?” Samira asked.
“Yes, I saw you leaving, and me coming with you.”
“But why?”
Lazlo nodded slowly. “You’re a prophet.”
“I can’t stay here, Samira. This is where Freddie died.” She looked as if she might weep but couldn’t quite manage it. Lazlo soothed her with his power as Samira hugged her tightly.
“Lydia, I’m so sorry. Please, come with us.”
Lydia laughed, but it had no humor in it. “I already know I will. I’ll meet you at the gates.”
“Weird,” Lazlo said after she’d walked away. But the only other prophet he’d ever known was the queen of weird. “Come on.” He could sense Dillon in the temple, and he wanted to be gone before Dillon came looking, cowardly as he knew that was. He couldn’t get their awkward kiss out of his mind and wouldn’t repeat it for anything in the world.
*
Dillon tracked Lazlo to a woman’s room, of all places. He burst in on them, the better to see what they were up to. When he saw their bags, he knew it was worse than he thought.
“So. This is it.” Dillon tried to keep the emotion out of his voice, but too much had happened, and he knew he sounded angry and bitter.
“Samira, give us a minute,” Lazlo said.
Dillon watched her walk out, the sway of her dark hair, legs that went on and on.
“Stop ogling her,” Lazlo said as the door shut behind her.
“I never thought you’d leave me for a woman.”
“You’re hilarious.”
“I’m not here to fight. I wanted to warn you. I think the others from the Atlas are on their way down. I had my suspicions, and then I got a message from the keep. They’ve spotted what they call a godsend, and since no one up there would be sending us anything good…”
“It must be them.” Lazlo sank onto the bed, staring at nothing.
“You have to stay here now, Laz.”
“No.”
“If they get hold of you, they’ll make you a slave, force you to regenerate them. As much as you hate me right now, I never made you do anything, did I?”
Lazlo rolled his eyes. “I don’t hate you.”
Dillon knelt by his side, sensing his weakness. He searched his memory, came up empty, and took a stab in the dark. “Look, Stephen, I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye—”
Lazlo laughed, the sound a bit crazed. “What?”
He was staring so hard, Dillon looked over his shoulder, certain Dué had reappeared, but there was nothing. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Did you call me Stephen?”
“I know I’ve been saying Laz for a long time, but if you’d quit interrupting—”
“Simon!” It was a hysterical-sounding whisper, like someone naming a murderer.
“What?”
Lazlo stood, nearly bowling Dillon over. “My name is Simon! Hundreds of fucking years together, and you don’t even know my name?” A vein stood out in his temple, outracing even his ability to calm himself.
Dillon stood slowly. Spittle flecked Lazlo’s lips, and he was red as blood. “Holy shit, Laz. I’m sorry. Really.” He could barely speak beyond real shame, too much to blame on someone else.
Lazlo took in a large, shuddering breath that he let out after a count of ten. He nodded, acknowledging the apology but not accepting it. “Get out of the way.”
Dillon held up a hand and knew this was the end, that he’d done this. If he didn’t let Lazlo go now, they might be saying good-bye forever and not just until Lazlo recovered his senses. “Let me go first and tell them to leave you alone. Then you can sneak out while they’re occupied.”
Lazlo eyed him warily. “You’re going to kill them.”
If he could. “I want you to be safe, Laz.” And he did, truly. He owed him that after calling him the wrong fucking name.
“All right.” But his gaze shifted away as if he was thinking of a different plan. Dillon wished he was a telepath. Lazlo hadn’t hatched many plans in the past, but he’d come up with some doozies lately. Fine. Whatever kept him away from Christian and Marlowe.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
As he strode through the fields south of Gale, Dillon hoped the Sun-Moon and their cronies were ready for a fight. He’d had a lot of death and destruction the night before, but too much had gone wrong since, and he wanted to fry someone, Lessan-Dué be damned. He’d borrowed a suit of powered armor from the Paladin Keep, just in case. The Sun-Moon would get their hands on Lazlo over his dead body. He bet none of them knew Laz’s first name either.
They were staggering around in a rocky meadow when he arrived, trying to breathe. When Marie Martin spotted him, she shrieked, and tingles rippled over his scalp just before pain stabbed him in the eye: a telepathic attack.
Anger burned through him, and he launched a bolt, throwing her across the meadow; a red emergency blanket fell from her smoldering carcass, and Lessan-Dué laughed in Dillon’s mind. He resisted the urge to whoop.
Marlowe threw a boulder in Dillon’s direction, and he ducked behind a larger rock, working his way over a rise, out of sight. His scalp prickled as they searched for him, and he tried to stay on the move, harder to find. He tried to think of himself in the third person, confusing them more. All the minds present had to be fucking with their mojo, but the rock where he’d been hiding blew to pieces, a few of the shards bouncing off his armor.
He caught a glimpse of someone trying to follow him, drew his sidearm, and fired, winging them. After the night before, Gale couldn’t afford to lose many bullets, but he promised to make every one count. The grass behind him burst into flame. They were trying to smoke him out.
He grinned. “Just giving me cover, baby.”
Another boulder exploded off to his left. He moved from hiding place to hiding place, trying to circle them. He’d managed to pull last night’s storm back around, and now he could poach the lightning from it. In the field, they’d be fish in a barrel.
*
Cordelia watched the horizon, Nettle, Pool, and Liam beside her. They’d seen the lightning, heard the boom of combat and the crack of a gun. With so many humans aboard the tree, Pool had been moving slowly, and when the lightning started, everyone had gone to the ground, the tree lying down with them.
“Is the Storm Lord following us?” Liam asked. His frown said he wanted that to happen more than anything. “Does this have something to do with the lights?”
Cordelia nudged Nettle. “Up for a look?”
“Take shawness Horace,” Pool said. “In case of injury.”
“And me,” Liam said.
“The fewer targets, the better.” Cordelia gave him a warning look. She just wanted to see what the Storm Lord was up to and then move out. She didn’t need anyone going off half-cocked.
He rolled his eyes. “Just be safe, okay? Your oneness with the universe, or whatever the hell, won’t save you from a gunshot.”
After they collected Horace, they hurried on their way, staying low. When they came to the edge of a hill, they crawled through the grass on their bellies. The Storm Lord hid along the slope of a hill and fought with a group of people scattered through a bowl-shaped meadow. The ground exploded in several places, making everyone duck.
Horace whistled softly. “That’s a lot of power down there. Lots of psychic tendrils.”
The Storm Lord laughed as he fired at one of the others, making them jump for cover.
“They can’t get to him on that side of the hill,” Cordelia said.
“He seems happy.”
“Let’s sneak back, let them fight it out.”
Horace grabbed her arm. “Simon!”
The man who’d healed her was walking up the hill behind the Sto
rm Lord. Behind him, two women waited by a clump of rocks.
“He said he was going to follow us,” Horace said. “He must not realize what’s going on.”
“Shit,” Cordelia muttered. “Can’t he feel it? What the hell is he doing?”
“Perhaps if I run—” Nettle started.
Horace grabbed her, too. “Wait, he’s shut off their powers.”
The explosions stopped, and all the people in the bowl were staring around, calling to each other. The Storm Lord turned to Simon and gestured wildly.
“Let’s get a little closer, hear what they’re saying,” Cordelia said.
They slithered through the grass, and Cordelia knew they should get away while they could, but having a healer who was strong enough to shut off the Storm Lord’s power was too good to pass up. After he was done saying his piece, they’d grab him and be on their way.
As she watched him, a hazy memory tugged at her. He looked familiar, and not just from her experience outside Gale. Her uncle’s house? He was the man who’d said her uncle had been killed by the poleaxe. She narrowed her eyes as they stopped, close enough to listen as the group of newcomers joined the Storm Lord, all of them speaking to Simon in rapid voices, their strange accents hard to parse.
“—I help you here,” Simon was saying, “you won’t need me anymore.”
“You’ve developed something new?” a pair of people said, speaking in sync. The robes of the Sun-Moons, the way the pairs moved together, flashed through her mind, and her mouth went dry.
“And after I do it, no more fighting? Agreed? We all go our separate ways?” Simon asked.
The newcomers conferred. “Agreed,” the pair said. But their wary stances said they had doubts.
The Storm Lord hesitated, nodding after a long look from Simon.
Simon’s gaze shifted to the side, looking straight at Cordelia’s hiding place. No doubt he could feel her, or maybe it was Horace he was feeling.
“Good, this saves me some trouble.” Simon closed his eyes, and everyone around him sighed with looks of contented bliss.
“He’s strengthening them in some way,” Horace whispered.
For what purpose? One of the many things she’d ask him after she found out what he knew about her uncle. The living might be more important than the dead, but honesty was plenty important, too.
Paladins of the Storm Lord Page 32