Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

Skullface intoned, “We come for your soul, Grigor of the Korolévstvo. Death knows no mercy, only judgment. The scales will balance.”

At those ominous words, Jael heard a stirring from the soldiers at the back of the room. Heartbeats increased, and terror sweat spiked. They’re that frightened of Silence? Her ghastly air might be enough to send them all screaming into the dark.

A Queenslander muttered “Enough chatter. Let’s gut ’em all and go home.”

Grigor’s surviving soldiers reacted even more to that; actual whispers reached his ears. We can’t win. They outnumber us now. Do you see, Death’s come for us all. The Great Bear appeared to hear none of this as he drew his weapon.

“To me, men!”

But apparently they feared his retaliation more than oblivion because they shuffled forward, knives drawn. These men had a taut look, a little unsteady; they’d been drinking liquor instead of water for the past few days, but with some men, it imbued them with greater ferocity and false courage. He reckoned it would still be a battle, but they had the advantage; Jael was calculating probable casualties when Dred held up a hand.

“There’s no need. You want my territory? Come and take it. I challenge you before these witnesses, winner take all. Unless you’re a craven bastard, you’ll take up the gauntlet.”

What the hell. She’s injured. Why’s she doing this? We can win.

Given the size of her opponent and how much she’d already suffered, Jael wouldn’t put credits on her to win this. The watchful crowd rumbled as if in agreement with his judgment. The Great Bear’s men relaxed a bit, pulses slowing now that they had an option that didn’t end in total annihilation. But Grigor’s hairy face broke into a smile, revealing black and broken teeth.

“I accept. Your pride will be the death of you.” He brought up his weapon, a primitive bardiche that could be mistaken for a scythe.

One hit from that thing would cleave her in two. Jael wanted to volunteer to fight in her place, but she’d repudiated him once before. So though it required sinking his teeth into his tongue, he held his silence as she said, “Build a ring.”

The Queenslanders leapt to do her bidding; and soon, they piled enough metal to form a barricade to prevent anyone from interfering with the fight. Dred stepped into the center, head high, as if she couldn’t hear the whispered speculation. And maybe she couldn’t—best that way—occasionally when he fought, everything got still and quiet, so he could focus completely on his foe. But he had advanced senses for that, their pulse giving cues, their sweat, even muscle tics telegraphed their movements, so he could be there before they executed the planned strike.

In a cocky move, Grigor vaulted the stacked metal panels, then spun in the circle as if inviting applause. His men cheered, then he whirled to face Dred, faster than a man his size should move. She stood her ground with chains lashing hand to hand. The bay got quiet, just the sounds of her clanking and Grigor’s footsteps as he rushed her. She dodged his charge and landed a strike, but the pain only enraged him. He let out an awful roar and went at her again. This time she wasn’t quite fast enough and the bardiche sliced into her thigh. Tam muttered beside him, low imprecations that ended with the Great Bear choking on his own vomit.

Damn you, Dred.

She danced back, but her gait was off, and everyone in the room likely thought she was done for. And Jael was the only one who knew the severity of the damage to her ribs. She can’t take much more. Incredibly, she was smiling. She slammed her chains toward the Great Bear, twirling them around his weapon, then she hauled with all her might. On another man, the move might’ve yanked the huge blade away from him, but instead, Grigor used his haft as a lever to haul the Dread Queen to him to drop the finishing blow. As the bardiche sank toward her skull, a slim knife stabbed upward through Grigor’s chin, all the way into his brain. The giant staggered back—and the audience sucked in a collective, disbelieving breath. That was when Jael realized she’d dropped the chains a few seconds before; and when Grigor thought he was spinning her helplessly toward him, in fact, that dance of death was Dred’s, and the measure ended with the clever spike of her hidden blade, the one she kept in her boot.

You didn’t need to be stronger. Or better. Because you’re smarter. Oh, well played, love. Even I doubted that you had a plan. Shouldn’t have. I’ll know better now.

The Great Bear frothed at the mouth, blood pouring out, as he tried to remove the knife. It was madness that the beast wasn’t already dead. Also says something about how much he uses his brain. Dred snagged her chains and slashed Grigor’s feet out from under him, then she put out an imperious hand.

“Tam! Einar’s axe. Now.”

In a single, sweeping stroke, she chopped through the Great Bear’s neck—just as she had with Priest—and for a few seconds, the silence was absolute.

43

Complete Submission

Dred fought the urge to drop to her knees. She had never been so exhausted; it felt like days since she’d slept. Might have been for all I know. Instead, she lashed her chains, giving the impression she could take on the rest of the Great Bear’s army. Grigor’s hairy head tumbled to a stop at her feet. All around her, the men fell silent.

Then the first dropped to his knees. Others followed one by one, prostrate before her. She wanted to tell them not to bow, but it was an affectation Grigor had required from his soldiers, and she couldn’t afford to show a flicker of weakness in this moment. Gradually, she slowed the chains and wrapped them around her forearms. She didn’t look around for Jael; she could feel him behind her, a low hum of connectivity. That was a disturbing and unexpected development—one she’d deal with later. For now, she had two empires to carve up.

“You have three choices,” she called out. “Serve me, serve Silence, or embrace death.”

Options two and three were essentially the same, and by their gaunt, weary faces and hopeless eyes, Grigor’s soldiers knew as much. One lifted his head to speak for the others. “We are your men.”

The others agreed with hesitant nods. Between the Great Bear’s mad confidence and his overweening ambition, they hadn’t expected to lose. Now you’re at the Dread Queen’s mercy. Fortunately for them, she needed bodies to replace those lost in the conflict. Since she recruited the best of the worst, her population had never been among the highest. Yet at this point, she couldn’t afford to be choosy, and these men should be grateful for their lives.