Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)
Page 47“Bullshit. I didn’t imagine Priest’s attack on this place. They killed a mate of mine. Maybe you’re just a fragging coward, eh?”
The second man whipped out a shiv and jammed it against the other’s jugular. “Go on. Say it again.”
Dred strode up before the conflict hit critical mass, thumping a fist between them. “If you have a grievance, then challenge him.”
With an angry snarl, the inmate put away his blade and went back to his breakfast, but his face was dark. Whatever the rules, this wasn’t over. Men like that didn’t forget offenses, and he hadn’t been locked up because he respected law and order. Jael ate, wondering how pervasive the fear was. They didn’t all trust her leadership—that much was evident—but Jael hoped these idiots would pull together long enough to do their jobs.
Dred started to leave, but before she got two meters, a man stood up at another table. He was nearly as big as Einar, with small eyes and a heavy beard. He was grimy, like pretty much all Queenslanders, but that didn’t diminish his menacing air. He had fresh lashes on his back, which meant this must be Lecass. Jael tensed, but the convict didn’t rush her.
Instead, he took a few measured steps and addressed Dred. “Time to die, bitch. I bided my time and choked down your new rules. I let your lackey humble me, but no more. I was Artan’s right-hand man, and I won’t tolerate this shit for another second.”
The words “death match” swept through the watchful crowd. Men who had been bored with their food became avid. This was unexpectedly good entertainment, better than the vegetable mush Cook had prepared. Jael pushed to his feet and stepped up beside Dred. He wasn’t sure about the dynamics, but he did know he could kill this bastard for her.
“I’ll fight as your champion,” he offered.
Artan’s former lieutenant shot him a killing stare. “Step off. This isn’t a normal grudge match. If she wants to hold on to her throne, she has to fight me for it.”
“Which is more respect than you gave Artan.” The bearded man spat at her feet.
Her jaw clenched. “Open combat’s not the only way to power.”
“It’s the only one I respect.”
Einar stomped up, big hands clenched into fists. “Why now, Lecass? You’ve had half a turn to speak your mind, issue a challenge. Why are you doing it right before a major offensive?”
“Tam,” Lecass spat. “The little shit whipped me. Now I’ll make him watch her die.”
“Bullshit,” a man called. “Maybe you’re working for Priest or Grigor, trying to kill the Dread Queen before she has the chance to kick their asses.”
Lecass snarled at the accusations. “I’ll fight you next.”
“You will not,” Dred said softly. “You’ve issued a challenge to me, and you won’t survive it. Let’s have it done.”
This is what I was created for.
But at the same time, he understood that this was a personal challenge. If he won for her, it didn’t demonstrate her strength. It only showed that she could order someone else to do her dirty work. In Perdition especially, delegation made the wrong point.
Einar threw himself into a seat beside Jael, scowling. “If he wins, I’ll kill him myself.”
Right. For a few seconds, he’d forgotten her complicated personal life. While he’d just met Dred, the big man slept with her . . . and he loved her, as much as anybody could in a place like this. Jael wondered if Dred knew his story: of how he’d strangled his faithless wife, killing her unborn child, then started a blood feud with the lover’s family. He had no intention of telling her if she didn’t; it wasn’t like his hands were clean.
“You think that’s a possibility?”
“I don’t know. Artan used Lecass when he wanted to prove a point, but Dred’s tougher than she looks.”
Before he could respond, Tam sat down on his other side. “This is a hell of a mess.”
“Didn’t you see this coming?”
Once the men finished clearing, they moved tables strategically to form a makeshift ring. Dred stood in the center of it, waiting. Lecass tapped a foot impatiently; and from the man’s expression, he expected to finish her quickly. Jael had seen her in action with the chains, however, and he wondered if Lecass possessed an accurate estimation of her abilities.
Better if he doesn’t.
Calypso stood just outside the ring, counting down from five. “Fight!”
Lecass held a blade in each hand. He leapt toward Dred, who was lashing her chains with customary fervor. But Lecass was big enough to take the lash on the shoulder, tough enough not to wince, and he barreled through her defenses. He slashed toward her throat; she spun low, dashing her chains on the ground to snag his ankle, but she didn’t have the physical power to pull him off his feet. In such a tight space, she didn’t have the advantage, either.
“Disarm him!” Einar shouted.
Dred blocked one knife, but Lecass was proficient with his left hand, too, and that one slashed down her rib cage. She gave no sign of the pain, however, merely danced back to regroup. Most Queenslanders cheered for her; some were taking bets as to how long she’d last. Blood streamed from her side as she changed her tactics. The Dread Queen wrapped her arms and knuckles with the chains, apparently deciding those tactics wouldn’t work here. Jael agreed.
She made Lecass take the offensive, and the idiot bit. He charged like a bull with his knives at the ready; she waited until the last possible second so that Jael imagined she felt the scrape of steel on her skin, then she slammed him with two heavy blows as he went by. Dred followed with a kick to his kneecap, not strong enough to pop it, but her boots were bladed, so the spurs bit deep into his flesh. Lecass bit out a pained curse and wheeled on her in a move fast enough that Jael would’ve had trouble countering it even with his enhanced reflexes.