Chapter 5
Grayris clambered into the Skiff, took a look at her waiting Winterlings, and growled, "Out. All of you. Now."
They moved on pure instinct and perhaps a touch of fear. They were followers. All they needed was someone to issue orders. The only ones to show any sort of resistance were the pilots, and even then it was a close thing.
"My Baron?" The lead pilot asked. "What of us?"
"Nama." She waved them back into the cockpit. "I still have need of you. Remain."
"As you decree." They scampered back inside, throwing suspicious glances the human's way. Grayris called out. "Azilis!"
The Marauder climbed aboard. "My Baron?"
"Gather what warriors and scouts you can and bring them here. Tell the other Skiffs to remain. The humans have offered us sanctuary and supplies, and we will take advantage of that, but..." She growled and looked at nothing in particular. "We must do their bidding."
"Human-bidding?" Azilis muttered unhappily.
"I have given you instructions. Go."
"Of course, Baron." And he disappeared back outside, into the hanger.
Once he was out of sight, Grayris expelled a great lungful of air and leaned against the hull of the Skiff's hold. Her arm felt like it was on fire, and her head... she was tired. So tired.
Grayris watched as the Crow-human nestled into a crook in the hold's corner and drew its dark cloak around itself. Herself. It had a gender. And a name.
"Anzani," Grayris muttered, just to taste the foreign vowels and blunt consonants. A strange name.
The Crow looked her way. "Baron Grayris," she replied in her soft human language. Her teeth flashed briefly in either a grimace or a smile - squared and short, unsuited to anything save ruminating on tender foods. Her eyes were too few, and her skin - her skin! - danced with rays of unnatural magic. Greenish-yellow irises met Grayris's own gaze in alien insubordination.
Grayris crouched down opposite the Crow and hissed through clenched teeth. "Your Kell is dead."
The Crow stiffened. Rage flushed her cyan cheeks a faint purple. "As is yours."
Draksis. Mara. Both dead. Both gone. Nothing left but dust and memory. "So he is. Dead by his own doing. One does not strike against those more powerful than themselves and expect to emerge unscathed."
"My Queen is wise, she is-"
"Dead."
The Crow flinched. Her expression hardened, making her all the more difficult to read. Then, inexplicably, relaxed into dull disinterest. "Did you love your Kell?"
Grayris gave a start. "Love?"
"Yes."
"... No."
"I loved my Queen. We all did. We all do."
"Who is your Kell now?"
"No one."
"What of this Regent Commander?"
The Crow didn't answer. Grayris, satisfied, straightened up. "You know where Herculina is, human?"
"I do."
"Then you will lead us to this stolen Ketch."
"Was it not earned by Eliksni law?"
"Not to me."
"So you'll steal it back."
"Reclaim," Grayris corrected. She didn't know why she even bothered; humans were tedious, irrational creatures. They focused entirely on the wrong topics, even when there was so much at stake.
"Steal," the Crow insisted. "That's what your kind do, isn't it?"
A barb. Fascinating. The Awoken-human showed its teeth. Grayris didn't bite back. Not in the proper way, with dagger and duel. The bait was too obvious. Too... childish. But not something she could ignore. "What of your kind? What do you do? Scream at a universe that simply does not care?"
The Crow glowered. So intensely that even Grayris could decipher the alien expression. But no harsh words were exchanged. No insults fielded. Satisfied, Grayris straightened up and pointed to the front of the Skiff. "Give us the coordinates, little spy, and we will leave each other's company all the quicker."
Anzani reluctantly dislodged herself from her little nest and stiffly climbed ahead. Grayris waited until she disappeared... and almost collapsed into a sitting position. One of her dominant hands snaked across her chest to feel for her injured arm, but even the slightest touch caused it to flare with sudden and intense agony. Voidburn was the worst. Even a glancing bite was severe enough to drop a warrior.
Drop her.
No. Nama. She couldn't drop. Her House was ripped to shreds and all that remained were a few rags hanging by a thread. She couldn't let them disappear. Couldn't let them drop away.
For the umpteenth time that very day, Grayris cursed Draksis's name. He'd grasped at the past, so convinced that they had the upper hand, and beckoned forth the wrath of the God-thieves. It was his fault they were depleted. His fault their leadership crumbled away - who cared for Aksor?! That embarrassment of an Archon was useless! They should have appointed new nobles, ordained new priests, but no.
No.
They all had to suffer for Craask's lost gamble, even a full local century after.
And they left her to pick up the pieces.
Grayris choked on a pained growl. She couldn't let it loose, couldn't let it overwhelm her - the pilots and that damned human would hear. She pressed her helmet against the hull, focusing on the pressure to take her mind off the pain and stress.
Then she stood up, donning a confidence she didn't feel.
Regret viciously ate at her insides - Draksis had been her friend. Spitting on his memory was shameful, hurtful, self-defeating. He had been foolish, but he had been brave too. His pride had been his downfall, even though it was that pride that saw them through the Long Drift and arriving upon Sol - upon their second chance at life.
She had that same pride. Grayris imagined pulling it out of her own chest and crushing it in her hand like an overripe yaviirsi fig. Pride had no place among Winter. Not anymore. Not with the demon-king eating up their crews and spitting them out again, warped to his twisted designs.
The Ketch hung in open space, like a wicked knife caught in an invisible web. The singular primary thruster sputtered and spat, but it did not go any further. The lights arrayed along the vessel's lancing prong were out, dimmed and dark. It looked, for all intents and purposes, abandoned. Not quite scuttled, but certainly on its way. The hanger under its belly was gaping open, like a ragged gut wound.
"Engage them," Grayris muttered.
One of her pilots activated the short-band radio inbuilt into the Skiff's flight console. "Endriks-Fel? I repeat, Endriks-Fel? This is the Syrota-17, under the command of Grayris, Baroness of Winter. Respond."
Static roared back. That was telling enough.
"Radio operators never leave their stations," Azilis murmured. He stood behind the human, blades half-drawn. Just because Variks sent her, it didn't mean Grayris would trust the little Crow; if anything, it made her all the more suspicious. "Not willingly."
"Not unless death takes them. Or threatens to take them." Grayris checked the Skiff's radar. "Our surroundings are empty. The Hive must have found worthier prey on Herculina."
"Twin-souls." Azilis glanced at the Crow. Little Anzani furrowed her... what was it called? A brow?
"That does not concern me," Grayris growled. She pointed to the derelict Ketch. "What we find there is what concerns me."
"Hive?"
"Perhaps." She turned to the pilots. "Bring us inside. Remain cloaked."
The Skiff swam forth with familiar grace. Had they been within a planet's gravity well then she would have feared that whatever lay inside the ship might have heard their approach, but Herculina lay on the edge of the Reef's patchwork atmosphere, and the Ketch just outside.
"If there are Wolves hiding inside," one of the pilots began, "should we not inform them of our approach?"
"Nama." Grayris checked her launcher - she still had ammunition left. "They are no friends of ours."
Her Winterlings chittered and snarled with discontent. None of them liked being there. Neither did she. But a chance to get to Craask, Last of the Kells? Grayris sucked in a breath through clenched fangs. It was worth it. Particularly if it meant claiming a Ketch for their own in the process.
As long as they survived to reap their rewards.
"Can we not return to Judgement?" Azilis whispered. "What need have we to go further?"
"I want this Ketch," Grayris grunted. "This ship belongs to us, no matter who scurries throughout its innards."
"My Baron-"
"Quiet. You will follow me."
"If there are Hive..."
"Then we will retreat." She clicked her claws before the human's face, just shy of touching its soft flesh. The creature scowled. "You will accompany us inside, yes?"
Anzani looked up. Her two eyes were narrowed. "Yes."
"Turn on us and I will have my Dregs tear you limb from limb and leave what remains to the Hive."
"You've made your point. No need to drag it out."
Grayris harrumphed. "The emphasis is for your own benefit."
"If you say so."
"I do." Grayris turned her attention back to the frontal viewport. The Ketch's vehicle bay looked all the more ragged and dire up close. Crates and equipment floated around the chamber, leaving the place in a complete disarray. Three Skiffs were inside, but one of them had broken its clamps and drifted its way up to the ceiling. There were no Eliksni - alive or dead.
"Land us." Grayris ducked back into the Skiff's hold and barked to what few fighters were present. The best her crews could offer was a meagre collection of thin Vandals and desperate Dregs. Only Azilis stood as a warrior of any calibre. And, ironically, the frail-looking Crow. "Fix rebreathers."
Helmets and battlemasks were donned. Visors were slipped on. Grayris checked the patching Krandak had threaded over the break in her biosuit and injury. Confident it was properly sealed, she drew her shrapnel launcher and brushed past her underlings to reach the rear of the vessel.
There was a dull clang as the docking clamps engaged. The lights within the hold brightened mere moments later - and the Skiff's hatches unlocked while the door to the cockpit clicked shut. There was a whoosh as all the air within the chamber was sucked out. Gravity lost all control. Grayris clambered through and gripped onto the Skiff's tail, warily glancing about. Nothing leapt out at her and her warriors; they could very well have been entirely alone in the Ketch.
Ah, but that was overly hopeful, wasn't it? Grayris didn't believe it for a second.
Azilis and the Crow hopped down beside her. The human clutched a weapon of bone-coloured steel and patterned blue cloth, with touches of silver and gold throughout. It was more art than tool of war. Azilis, though, hefted classical swords and an unpainted wire rifle - a testament to the loss of... well, everything. Art, culture, society. All of it save the scraps of salvage they clung to like life-rafts. The other Vandals - all five of them - followed them out. The seven Dregs came last, clumsy with hunger and desperation. They should have stayed. What did they hope to prove? That they could serve her well as enforcers of her will? Reckless. It would only get them killed.
Grayris shook her head with a growl. It didn't matter. None of it. None save taking the Ketch - taking back a birthright.
She pushed from the Skiff to the hanger floor, catching a handhold built for this exact situation, wherein the hangar bay doors malfunctioned. Her people were nothing if not practical. Grayris looked for the next and reached for it, beginning the climb to where a pair of closed sliding doors separated the hanger from the rest of the ship. "Follow," she ordered into her helm's mic.
Her underlings followed suit. The human was, oddly enough, the most proficient - but it wasn't unsurprising. Awoken lived their entire lives in asteroids and derelict colony ships, didn't they? Gravity systems shorting out mustn't have been a foreign concept to them. Not to mention all the external repairs said habitats would have required. Space-walks were likely second nature to them - as they were to her own people, before they'd arrived in the ravaged territories of Sol.
They must have been good technicians, in that case. Their habitat-cities were testament to that much. Perhaps, when the Ketch was hers, she could hire a few as workers.
There was a thought.
Grayris reached the doors and looked them over. Scratches from unfamiliar claws had bored into the steel, but they'd held all the same - much to her dismay. They were locked. She would have to pry them open - so pry she did, digging in between the doors with the digits of her primary arms. The doors fought against her, of course, and her muscles burned with effort, but in the end she found enough progress to hold them open for everyone behind her. Eliksni filed past, human tagging along, and Grayris forced herself through, letting go only once she was clear. The doors slammed shut - leaving them in the dark of a malfunctioning airlock.
Azilis tapped away at a terminal by the next set of doors. The lights in the ceiling above flickered - was the Ketch running on reserve power? There was a whistling flush as gas and air suddenly squeezed in with them and gravity reasserted itself. Grayris dropped into a crouch - beside the human. Anzani glanced back and up at her through a dark-visored helmet, unreadable.
"If we run into trouble, coming back this way could trap us," the Crow reported.
Grayris hummed. She felt tempted to ignore the human entirely, but the point was a valid one. Operating the doors would prove difficult if they ran into living obstacles. "Then we will jettison ourselves out another way."
"You trust your pilots to come for us?"
"If they leave and I yet live, their lives are forfeit. They know this. They will be there."
Anzani turned away. She said no more.
They made their way through the habitation-wing of the Ketch. There were no bodies but plenty of signs of battle. More marks in the walls spoke of fights between Arcarm-wielding Eliksni and a force of sharp-clawed foes. Thrall, maybe. Most likely, actually. Azilis sent her a pointed look. Grayris ignored him and marched on. The way was dark, but the fire of her shrapnel launcher lit the way. It was enough for her.
The first corpse they found was of a Dreg lying across the middle of a hallway, suit punctured and throat a mess. There was a burning scent around it. Spellcraft, Grayris gathered. Witch-work. Soulfire.
Hive, then.
"We should leave," a Vandal whispered.
Grayris yet carried on. Her rage was building. These were the same creatures that puppeteered the shadows from before. The same that took her crew from her. And the Ketch! Oh, the Ketch - it tickled her ambitions. Offered her salvation from a doomed existence. A Skiff was vulnerable, but a Ketch?
Her gaze drifted back to the dead Dreg. Decidedly less vulnerable. The Hive scent kept her from making bolder claims.
A presence attached itself to her side, moving with wraith-like grace. It was no Eliksni. "We have our confirmation, don't we?"
Grayris scowled. "There is more to be done, human."
"Not now. Not yet."
"I cannot leave this place to become a breeding ground."
"Neither will the Regent Commander." Anzani hesitated, but her eyes were hard. Focused. "Your kind suffer because of your impatience and ambitions. It's what held you back every single time your people tried to grab the Traveler, the Reef, any scrap of power to catch your eye."
"You insult us."
"I'm speaking the truth and you know it. You're injured. Your crew is scared. Hive are here - and our purpose is done."
Grayris's claws curled into her palms. Her furious breath frosted up the inside of her helmet. "You know nothing."
"I know you're being greedy and selfish. We're going to die the moment they realize we're onboard with them."
"We will fight."
"And we'll still die."
Grayris glanced at her warriors. They... were not her original crew. They were thin. Hungry. Their eyes bulged with terror. Had she seen them in any other house colours, she would have written them off as easy-pickings. Now they were her easy-pickings. "... Fine." She deflated. "So be it."
"Baron?" Azilis asked.
"Back to the Skiffs," Grayris ordered tiredly. "We are done he-"
A shriek echoed down the corridor. Something flew for them. Grayris acted automatically, snatching the Wizard out of the air with her talons and slamming it down onto the floor before it release its wicked incantations. She thrusted her launcher's barrel into the witch's face and pulled the trigger. The creature's Solar wards imploded. It burned away to glowing ash, chitin and all.
But, judging from the sudden storm of growls and snarls up ahead, its spawn were on their way. Grayris lifted her shrapnel launcher and fired into the darkness of the Ketch. "Back to the Skiffs!" she bellowed.
Her underlings bolted. Only Azilis and the Crow bothered to make a fighting retreat with her, firing with shock rifle and Awoken bullet-spitter. Rounds, both Arc and steel, bit into the mass of incoming chitin-covered monsters. The charge buckled under the barrage, but the Hive advanced all the same - uncaring for all the bodies left in their wake. They didn't fear death; pain neither.
She couldn't let the same befall her people - her crew.
Not again.
Grayris roared. She fired and fired into the mass, injured arm and lack of reinforcements forgotten. For a moment she even considered throwing herself against the horde of three-eyed beasts, but a small high-pitched alien voice needled through her red-misted rage.
"-e have to run, now!" the Crow cried out.
Grayris heard something bellow down the corridor of the Ketch. Something big, bestial, rivaling her own warcry - and threaded through with hungry pain. An Ogre. The Hive had an Ogre.
"We run," Grayris breathed out, wrath dissipating. Oh, she was angry, she was furious, but an Ogre-
Without cover.
Without adequate firepower, and a single open corridor to shoot down - the Ogre was death.
She fired some more, cutting a couple more swathes in oncoming throngs of Thrall, but... she ran, in the end. Azilis bounded ahead of her, his form half-hidden beneath his extended shimmercloak generator. The Crow, though, had not the dexterity to run as they did - with four limbs at least.
Didn't even have two legs long enough to keep pace either. Humans, Grayris mused grimly. The Hive were going to catch it. Let them. Then she should return to Judgement and-
And be seen as unreliable, treacherous, prone to double-crossing.
By the last of Judgement of all creatures. Who was handily in a position of command within the twin-souled Awoken things, the quiet asteroid people intricately scarred with unnatural power - and a sleek sort of lethality, slim as a needle blade and just as subtle.
Grayris fired into the following Hive, then at two atmosphere control vents on the ceiling, forcing billowing steam and gaseous coolant into the horde's path. She tossed her shrapnel onto her magnetic sheath on her back, just under her cloak, and snatched up the Crow-human with her now empty hands, looping around the alien's waist and stomach. Predictably, it sparked a kicking fit out of the diminutive creature rather than any gasped word of thanks. Unless the humans considered "Let go! Let go you overgrown insec-!" a form of conveyed gratitude.
"Quiet!" Grayris snarled over the thing's head. She raced, as fast as she could, running down hallways purely from the architecture of similar vessel. Her helm's horns scratched the ceiling at irregular intervals, kicking sparks into the path of her optics. In front of the Crow too, forcing the human to twist her head to the side so she could see.
"I'll stab you, let go!"
The airlock was in sight. Finally. Grayris let go of Anzani - though 'tossed aside' may have been the more accurate term - and shooed her cowering, panicked adoptees out of the way. She jammed her claws into the space between the bulkhead doors and pushed them apart - quickly, and with a reservoir of energy she didn't know she had. It was no determination, but animal fear - pure, endless, incredible and earned solely through horror. The doors screeched open - and her 'warriors' rushed inside. With one glance thrown over her shoulder to check for the Hive, and another to ensure all had moved through, Grayris lurched inside. The airlock's entrance snapped shut behind her.
Azilis and a Drekh were already at the panel by the wall, talons tapping over unresponding controls until finally - finally - the air in the chamber flushed out and gravity disappeared. The exit ahead of them opened.
Grayris swore she'd never seen anyone, Eliksni or human, move so fast in a zero-g environment as she did then - and it was a unified group effort. The Skiff was there, ramp open, and the entire depleted regiment of supposedly brave Eliksni fighters pushed towards it, grabbing handholds and clambering in. The Crow followed them last, throwing a possibly angry look over her shoulder in Grayris's direction, then disappeared into the dropship. Grayris followed them through. She had no intention to remain where the Hive Wizards were bound to fly. She almost heard them shrieking...
No, she could hear them shrieking, the sound reverberating through the metal under her feet. Grayris looked around - and yes, the airlock was being forced open, a veritable sea of bright green eyes swimming in the darkness beyond.
She bolted inside the Skiff, pushed past the crew within right to the cockpit and shouted, "Fly! Fly, fly now!"
The pilots didn't ask. They simply flew.
AN: Huge, massive thanks to Intrepid Dream for editing!