Warrior (33 page)

Riane and her furry partner harried a Xeran. Frieka had apparently taught the Warfem to fight like a wolf, because she danced in and out like one, her axe describing deadly silver arcs.

The Xeran roared in frustration. Every time he tried to close with her, Frieka charged in to bite and snap. Finally the distracted man's foot slipped in a puddle of blood, and he fell to one knee. The two Enforcers pounced. Jess looked away, wincing.

But it was Galar who kept drawing her eye in the chaos, magnet to her steel.

She'd seen him as tender lover, patient teacher, cool-eyed leader. But Galar in battle was another man entirely, his face set, almost expressionless, in stark contrast to the red
riaat
blaze of his eyes that gave him a faintly demonic air. His big body didn't so much move as flow through the patterns of attack and defense, seemingly without any effort at all.

Her artist's eye was fascinated by the bunch and play of muscle under his skintight armor as he and the Xeran fought. There was something almost erotic about the battle, about the two men so utterly focused on each other, about the ring of steel and the grunts of effort.

One of them was going to die today. And unless Galar was lucky as well as good, it might just be the man she loved. A chill spun over her, and she looked away.

Right into Charlotte Holt's desperate, pleading gaze.
Help us!
The woman's mental voice rang in her mind, borne on a wave of power from the T'lir.

Jess snapped to attention as she took in the situation. Frieka and Riane, having dispatched their first opponent, were trying to rescue the three women. Only two men guarded the captives now; the other Xerans had joined the battle with the Enforcers.

Now the wolf was attempting to draw the pair away so Riane could shepherd the women to safety.

Jess's eyes narrowed. Maybe there was something she could do after all. . . .

Riaat
burned in Galar's veins, a hot, furious storm of power and rage. He ached for revenge—for Jiri, for Ando, and most of all, for Jess.

The Xeran spun, swinging the quantum sword right at Galar's face with vicious speed. Galar thrust his shield into the path of the blade, deflecting it, as he came around with his own axe. The Xeran leapt back, a snarl flashing dimly through the visor of his black faceplate. “This time you die, Warlord dog!” he spat.

Galar ignored the insult as he scanned for an opening, in no mood to bandy words with the bastard. He suspected this was the same man who'd taken the quantum sword from him before, the one who seemed to be the leader of this crowd.

Which made the Xeran a very choice target, indeed.

Narrow-eyed, Galar circled with the warrior, testing him in the course of attack and counterattack, in the deadly, circling dance of axe, sword, and shield. The bastard was good, Galar had to give him that. He might be shorter, less powerfully built, but he was fast and agile, as well as astonishingly skilled.

Maybe even better with a blade than Galar himself.

The Warlord's senses sharpened as time seemed to slow to a honeyed crawl. He was aware in a distant way of the other Enforcers battling the Xerans: the chiming ring of quantum blades, the heavier clunk of axes, the gasps and grunts of effort and pain.

Once he glimpsed the hostages, huddled in a terrified knot by the rear counter. A Xeran with a sword had one fist wrapped in the hair of the older, plumper of the three women. He was trying to force Riane and Frieka to keep their distance, but the two kept trying to snake past his guard. One feinted at him as the other attempted to snatch his hostage to safety. The warrior raised his sword threateningly over the woman's head, and the two Enforcers reluctantly retreated.

But the sight that made Galar's blood run cold was Jessica, edging along the wall toward the Xeran's back, an expression of mingled terror and determination on her face.

What the fuck was she doing? He'd told her to Jump for home the moment she'd guided them in!

Seven blazing Hells, she was going to get herself killed trying to rescue those damned fuzzy aliens of hers. . . .

18

Jess licked her lips as she edged along the wall to
ward the Xeran who held Vanja's hair fisted in his hand. The woman—that was what she appeared to be, anyway— knelt on the floor, one hand wrapped around the warrior's thick wrist as she tried to relieve the pressure on her hair. Charlotte and Ethini hovered nearby, unable to flee with their leader in danger.

Dammit, don't just stand there,
Jess thought furiously,
do something!

Charlotte's gaze flicked to hers. She could sense the angry, helpless frustration boiling off the other woman.
There's nothing I can do.

Charlotte lifted one shoulder in a tiny, helpless shrug. Jess growled.
All right, dammit, then I'll do something. I have no idea what, but
I'm
not just going to stand around and wait for someone to kill you.

She wasn't sure, but she thought Charlotte winced.

Jess stared at the three hostages, eyes narrow and grim. If she could just get her hands on them, she could Jump all three to safety. (And why the hell hadn't Charlotte or the Sela already done that? They were just as capable of Jumping as she was. What was going on with them, anyway? Had the Xerans blocked their powers somehow?)

Without the hostages to worry about, Galar and his Enforcers could mop up the Xerans.

She badly wanted to simply blast both Xeran bastards the way she had that battleborg, but the T'lir wouldn't allow its power to be used to take a life. Which was damned stupid of it.

On the other hand, she might be able to use the power indirectly.

Jess looked around for something to use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on a shelf just above her head. Kitschy snow globes stood there in a line, each with dangling price tags attached. Apparently the shop sold tourist junk along with caffeine fixes.

Jess scooped one of the globes off the shelf, reached into the core of energy buzzing in her mind, and shot it into the globe. Then she wound up like a fastball pitcher and sent the little orb sailing toward the Xeran's helmeted head.

The power blast detonated as it hit him, shattering his helmet and knocking him sideways. He lost his grip on Vanja, and Riane and Frieka leaped on him. The Warfem's axe rose and fell.

Jess shot across the room and grabbed Charlotte's wrist. Vanja scrambled to take her free hand. Jess turned toward Ethini, but instead of joining them, the wiry Sela ran right past her.

Confused, Jessica whirled. The woman sprinted for the shelf of snow globes.

“Ethini!” Vanja cried. Her friend ignored her, reaching for one of the globes.

From the corner of one eye, Jess saw a Xeran warrior charging toward them, Galar at his heels. With a surge of effort, Galar shoved him aside and ducked between him and the women. But even as the Warlord threw up his shield to protect them, the Xeran spun like a bullfighter, danced forward, and swung his sword.

And cut Ethini in two.

She came apart in mid-stride, blood flying like a dark rain, wetting the walls, her killer, and Galar himself. Half her torso slammed into the shelf, which tumbled off its brackets, spilling the globes to smash on the floor.

The alien's chest landed on the limp tangle of her lower half with its too many legs, a small, profoundly alien creature, the illusion of humanity shattered. More blood welled from the sundered halves, not red, but a kind of dark blue vaguely reminiscent of blueberry syrup.

Vanja screeched. It was a piercingly high, profoundly alien sound, heard not so much with the ears as with the soul. A shattering psychic cry that flayed the spirit, made the breath catch, the eyes tear.

Between one blink and the next, Vanja's human form vanished, replaced by something dark and quick that skittered over the floor to crouch over her friend's pitiful little corpse. The sound she made raked at Jessica's mind with claws of pure, wrenching pain.

And Jess found herself standing over her mother's body as it lay wasted and small in the hospital bed, mouth gaped open, eyes staring, flesh pulled thin over stark bones. Grief exploded through her, just as fresh as it had been the day cancer had taken Tina Kelly a year ago. A grief not just for her mother, but for the closeness they'd never had. A grief at the bitter knowledge that her mother had never truly loved her.

Jess keened as she crashed to her knees, the sound echoing Vanja's screech.

And the pain got worse. And worse.
And worse.
Growing with every instant, increasing into a crushing spiritual pressure, unendurable and black.

Distantly, she heard other voices crying out, some deep and masculine, some female, all ringing with that terrible pain. Even the wolf howled.

“Noooo!” Galar bellowed, the anguish in his voice chilling Jess to the marrow.

Over the cries, over the anguish, she heard the Xeran laugh. “Weaklings,” he sneered.

What's happening?
Jess wondered in desperation. With an effort, she turned her head to look at Charlotte. Charlotte knew the Sela better than anyone. She would know.

Psychic . . . feedback,
Charlotte told her, mind to mind.
The Sela are mentally linked. The death of one . . . devastates the others. And anyone else in range. The pain of one feeds the pain of the others, so it grows.
She stopped to pant, her eyes glassy.

Oh, sweet Christ,
Jess thought in horror. It was going to get worse, the grief and anguish increasing with every passing second like a microphone feedback screech. So intense, so severe, that not even hardened warriors like the Enforcers could resist.

The Xerans were moving between their fallen opponents, swaggering as they gazed down at them in contempt.

Why are those bastards immune?
Jess wondered suddenly.

Their helmets block Vanja's cry,
Charlotte explained.
Took us . . . months to develop the technology. The first time one of the priests killed a Sela, the effect almost killed him.

The Xeran leader knew,
Jess realized.
He knew what killing Ethini would do to Vanja. He intended to render us helpless.

The killer moved to stand over Jess and Charlotte, who still clutched her hand. He raised his sword over their heads. “Tell me where the T'lir is, and I will kill you now, cleanly,” he told Charlotte, “and the pain will end.”

But it wouldn't end. Jess knew that. It would just keep getting bigger and darker and more all-consuming, feeding off Vanja's horrible grief and that of those around her.

“Vanja,” Jess croaked aloud in desperation, “stop!”

But the Sela didn't seem to hear the plea over her own keening. Each rising uluation drove through Jess's head like a spike.

Helpless. They were helpless, delivered into the hands of the Xerans, who would kill them all and take the T'lir, and with it, the secret of the Sela's power.

Unless . . .

Emotion.
The key was emotion.

With a vast effort, Jess turned her head. Galar lay beside her, cut down where he'd tried to shield them from the Xeran. His eyes were lost, wide as he relived whatever horror Vanja's powers had brought crashing over him.

Jess licked dry lips and crept her fingers toward his face. Her hand felt like a chunk of solid lead, but somehow she forced it across the inches separating them. Touched his cheek. He jolted, blinked, seemed to swim up out of the nightmare. His helpless gaze met hers.

“Emotion,” she rasped. “Use your comp. Stop the . . . emotion.”

Galar's eyes widened
as he immediately grasped what she meant. They were all drowning in defeat and despair and choking grief. But they didn't have to.
Computer, blank all emotional reactions.

Instantly, a blessed numb coolness spread over him as the dreadful pain eased.
It's the emotions!
He broadcast on the Enforcers' communication frequency.
Shut them off!

Galar's hand closed tight around the axe he still held. His eyes narrowed on the Xeran who crouched over Charlotte Holt, trying to force her to give up the location of the T'lir.

Silently, Galar rolled to his feet, took a deep, hard breath, and spun, swinging the axe with both hands. The jolt of impact rolled up the length of his arms.

And the Xeran's head sailed across the room.

The bastard's body collapsed in a boneless sprawl of arms and legs, blood pooling from its severed neck. Just like the poor little Sela he'd killed.

A Xeran shouted in shock and rage. Galar turned to see the man racing toward him, sword lifted. Dona rose behind the Xeran like a ghost, took one step forward, and cleaved both his helmet and head in two. There was no expression at all on her face as she watched him fall.

The other Enforcers were up, too, springing at their foes with implacable ferocity. Feeling nothing whatsoever, Galar strode across the room to join in.

Dazed, Jess watched
as the Enforcers fell on the Xerans with a cold ferocity. Two of the enemy went down in that first hard rush, but the others recovered quickly.

Galar fought in a blur of male power and overwhelming strength, his axe flashing around him, his shield blocking the Xerans' swords.

Behind him, a Xeran wheeled toward him, saw his back was turned, and charged, lips pulled back in a soundless snarl. Embroiled in another fight, Galar didn't seem to see the man coming.

Jess rolled over and scrabbled through the shattered glass from the fallen shelf, found the one intact snow globe, and started to send her power pouring into it.

And froze, staring at it in shock. Santa's red-nosed face grinned back at her through the glass.