Souldancer (Soul Cycle Book 2) (52 page)

“Did you see any signs of life from the Wheel?”

Yato shook his bald head. “The equatorial settlements felt the full brunt of the fire before the seas covered them. If the ice failed to save this port, then none were spared.”

Five crewmen loitered about the landing site. None had strayed far from the ship, and all beheld the broad mountain vista with wary fascination.

Teg waved to them. “Spread out and search. If it’s useful and portable; grab it. We meet back here in an hour.”

Teg’s foray along a glacier-carved gully turned up nothing besides scattered ice formations like fragile abstract sculptures; not that he’d hoped to find anything but an hour’s solitude. The light was fading when he sat down on a boulder to remove pieces of the pervasive black gravel from his boot and rub some warmth back into his toes.

Is this all there is to look forward to—flying from one dead sphere to the next; scrounging to survive?

The scream echoed from the mountainside, followed by the sounds of something that Teg knew well—violence. He sprang to his feet and made it several yards before realizing that one of his feet was bare. After a hobbling sprint back to the rock and a moment of fumbling with his boot, he raced back down the gully.

The
Theophilus
came into sight below. Along with the ground, the two spars connecting the ether-runner’s three pods formed an equilateral triangle. But it wasn’t the ship’s rusty grey hull that stopped Teg in his tracks at the edge of the landing site.

A figure was lurching about the otherwise deserted landing site. No, there were two—a Nesshin scout who’d come back early or never left, and something hairy that clung ferociously to his back.

Teg watched the pair’s thrashing with grim fascination. He took the aggressor tearing at his shipmate’s back for a wild animal—until the victim fell motionless onto the gravel, and his attacker set upon him with something that gave off a metallic glint.

Deeply ingrained reflex put Teg’s gun in his hand. The revolver’s greater weight and poorer balance compared to his lost zephyrs offended his sensibilities, but accuracy wasn’t a factor here. He’d have balked at shooting into a brawl, even if he hadn’t been years out of practice. Luckily, power and accuracy now took a back seat to noise.

Teg scanned the hillside above the landing site, judged it to be clear, and pointed the gun’s muzzle upslope away from the ship. The recoil jolted his wrist and the report made his ears ring when he pressed the trigger.

The aggressor reared back, stopping its attack short. Other men charged onto the scene, but Teg’s eyes were riveted on the creature that sat astride his shipmate.

It wasn’t an animal, but a man with ragged pelts covering his scrawny frame. His left hand clutched a length of crudely sharpened metal. His right forearm ended in a cauterized stump. A matted red mane and beard framed cloudy eyes that had once been emerald green. Teg knew those eyes, just as he knew that they could no longer see him.

The crude blade stabbed downward as its wielder gave a bestial cry.

Teg’s boggled mind would only let him yell, “Stop!”

There was a dull crack like someone hitting a leather sofa with a broom handle. The would-be killer slumped forward and rolled onto the coarse ground beside his intended victim.

Yato stood over them, a wooden club in his hand. His rapid breath sent up clouds of mist.

Teg holstered his gun and ran toward the priest. Reaching the unmoving pair, he knelt to check their vitals.

Yato nodded at the unconscious Nesshin. “Is Ehen badly hurt?”

“He’ll be fine. Probably just blacked out.” Teg brushed aside the copious beard of Ehen’s attacker and felt relief wash over him when he found a pulse. “Frankly, I’m more concerned about this one.”

Confusion colored Yato’s voice. “I doubt I gave him worse than a concussion. What is this savage to you?”

“He was my boss,” said Teg, unable to take his eyes off Jaren Peregrine’s ravaged face. “The worst I ever had.”

Thanks to Jagi and John, Marcelo, Ian, Jeff, JJ, Josh, Lee, Nick, Paul, and Red.

Sincerest thanks to my readers—always the masters; never the servants.

Despite formal training in history and theology, Brian Niemeier has chosen to pursue a writing career. His journey toward publication began at the behest of his long-suffering D&D group, who tactfully pointed out that he seemed to enjoy telling stories more than planning and adjudicating games.

Besides writing novels, he has contributed short stories to
Sci Phi Journal
.

Visit Brian at
http://www.brianniemeier.com/

Follow
@BrianNiemeier
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Copyright ©2016 by Brian Niemeier

Introduction copyright ©2016 by Brian Niemeier

Cover art copyright ©2016 by Marcelo Orsi Blanco

Formatting by Polgarus Studio

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either fictional or used fictitiously. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, transmitted, or used in any form or manner whatsoever without permission in writing from Brian Niemeier, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.