Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

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.