Perdition (Dred Chronicles 1)

“Go. Get some rest, or you’ll be useless later.” It was a practical suggestion, not an order, so she didn’t bristle.

Sighing, she pushed away from the table. “Very well. Einar will probably be crashed out, too, so at least I’ll have company.”

“There is that.” Tam nodded in farewell.

She turned and strode toward the corridor leading to the dormitories. Queensland would become difficult to hold, too much territory and not enough bodies to guard it, unless something shifted between now and the end of the conflict with Grigor. Maybe the supply ship will return soon. I could bolster our numbers that way. But unlike Artan, she didn’t recruit en masse, taking everyone capable of stumbling after her. If a man didn’t hold up to close scrutiny, she let him be; it made Queensland easier to govern. Slowly, she had been weeding out Artan’s original recruits, subtly encouraging them to challenge one another during the blood-sport matches.

Between Priest and Grigor, we haven’t needed them lately to keep the men in check.

She was deep in thought as she rounded the corner toward her quarters. Consequently, her reflexes were slow—and the bastard nearly sank his knife into her spine. She wheeled on the traitor, livid, as his blade skimmed sideways over her ribs. Blood welled, but she could tell it was a shallow cut, just another scar for the collection. There was no time to unlash her chains, but even with a knife in his hands, she thought she was a match for him.

Evidently, he agreed because he turned to run. Dred came at his back, snapping a kick that rocked him forward onto his knees. Then she slammed a spiked boot into the back of his thigh, effectively crippling him. She backhanded him across the face, and while he was still dazed, she dragged him back to the hall, leaving a blood trail behind. It was impossible that she didn’t even know this man’s name, but he was a relative newcomer to her territory, fresh off the ship just before Jael’s arrival.

“Who knows this scum?” she called in furious tones.

Tentatively, a young man came forward. It took her a few seconds, but she placed him. Zediah, who worked as much as possible in the gardens. “His name’s Niles, my queen.”

“Well, Niles just tried to assassinate me.”

“Dumb shit,” someone muttered.

Another shook his head. “Imagine, trying to take the Dread Queen on your own.”

“On your knees,” she bit out.

The scrape across her back was burning like mad. If the cowardly piece of shit poisoned me—She cut the thought. Regardless, he had to die in spectacular fashion, and this time, she didn’t look for Tam. She’d killed enough men to know how to make a show of it.

“Shall we see what a traitor’s blood looks like?” she asked the Queenslanders.

“Aye!” they roared back.

Taking the man’s knife, she bent, held him by the hair like an animal to be slaughtered, and gutted him, so a red pool spread beneath. The men howled their approval as the body fell. By the time Tam made his way over to her, she had dropped the weapon.

“Einar didn’t wake?”

“I wasn’t close enough to the dormitories for him to hear. Though Niles was a cowardly dog, he chose a good, isolated spot to strike.”

Wills joined them a few moments later. “You ferreted him out, my queen. Well done.”

Relief spread through her. The traitor he’s been predicting all along, unmasked at last. Part of her had feared it would be Jael.

“I did little enough. He simply wasn’t as skilled as he thought.”

“Still,” Tam said, “it means we can proceed with no impediments.”

She nodded. “Time to finish this.”

38

Dying of the Light

“You positive you know where we’re going?” Jael asked Tam.

“Reasonably sure.”

They were trying a two-pronged attack—tainted water and full darkness—against Grigor. Jael’s team was heading down into the bowels of the ship for some prelim work; he hoped they didn’t run afoul of Katur’s aliens. The last thing Queensland needed was another conflict, just before this one was about to be settled. Tam seemed to think as long as they were respectful, there should be no problems.

“Why are we taking such a small party?”

“Because we’re not staying to kill. Once we accomplish our task down below, we’re regrouping to join Dred for the final assault.”

Ah, got it.

Their goal was quiet efficiency, not mass slaughter. Once they cut the power, the mayhem would begin. Jael followed as the others went to the shafts and headed down. Tam and Martine, along with Jael, made up the team. The other two were quiet as they climbed, none of Martine’s usual wit. The enemy had to be feeling the pressure of constant watches, constant patrols, by now, and the Great Bear wouldn’t take such strikes lying down; if he could muster any soldiers fit to fight, they’d soon be knocking at Queensland’s figurative gates.

“Tam, why did she pick us for this?” Martine wanted to know.

“Because we have the best chance of surviving it.”

Now that’s reassuring.

The other man went on, “And you apparently told her you want more responsibility.”

Jael laughed at that. “That’ll teach you to volunteer, bright eyes.”

“Shut up,” Martine muttered.

The rest of the way, they skulked in the shadows, cautious not to engage other patrols. Tam was an expert at finding places to hide, then barely seeming to breathe while enemies tromped past. Martine wasn’t bad either, which made Jael curious. She cut him a look over one shoulder that she wasn’t interested in conversation.

Just as well, stick to business.

He heard the sibilant sounds of an alien tongue long before they stepped into normal auditory range. From what he could tell, a group from the Warren was headed this way. Jael glanced at Tam, whispering, “How do you want to handle it?”

“This way,” the spymaster said.

They had just dodged around the corner and stepped into a storage closet when he detected the sound of pursuit. Martine cocked her head. “They’re saying they can smell us.”

“You speak the language?” he asked, impressed.

“Enough to get by. It’s helpful when you travel a lot . . . though not so much lately.”

Jael lifted his chin and smiled to indicate he thought that was funny. So many inmates had let incarceration steal their senses of humor—or maybe they just never had one. Tam raised a hand, quieting them, and he stilled in response, head tilted to catch any movements nearby. Surely Dred didn’t want us to delay the mission inevitably. But the spymaster wouldn’t permit them to kill a single soul down in the Warren, which made traversing it difficult.