One of the scout leaders leaned forward, interest evident in his posture. “Those charges would need to be given fresh fuses… and the power cells could be replaced …”

  “You’re saying we’ve got access to possible explosives?” I demanded of him. “We could trigger an avalanche.”

  “Yes!” Kelda said with instant enthusiasm.

  “Preposterous and reckless!” Cassius interjected. “You’ll blow yourselves up and do nothing but block all our roads for years.”

  Despite his pessimism, my proposal shifted the discussion’s energy. The next half hour turned into a planning session as various rebel experts shared their thoughts.

  A plan formed to use the explosives—if they were still there and viable—to block the main road between our rebel fortress and Northaven. Svensson began assigning responsibilities. A small team would deploy immediately to assess the demolition equipment, while others prepared remote triggering mechanisms from available parts.

  “Tanner should lead the reconnaissance team,” Tormund suggested. “He knows how to fight better than anyone here.”

  Before Lars could object, another voice cut through the planning session. “Why are we listening to this stranger at all?” The question came from a homesteader I hadn’t noticed previously—a solidly built man perhaps a few years older than Lars, with a prominent scar running from temple to jaw. “Since when does a fugitive determine our military strategy?”

  Conversation halted as attention shifted to the new speaker. Kelda’s expression remained neutral, though I detected a slight stiffening in her posture.

  “It’s a good plan regardless of its source,” Svensson replied diplomatically.

  “So… this is the hero I’ve been hearing about, huh?”

  Tormund turned toward the speaker, disapproval evident in his bearing. “Watch your words, Halverson. Tanner here has killed for less!”

  The surname crystallized the man’s identity even as I turned to see the face I’d encountered on the north road. It was Erik, the man whose axe now hung at my side. His antagonism suddenly made considerably more sense.

  Halverson swaggered closer, undeterred by me or my axe. “This stranger appears, he claims to oppose the Tyrant, and suddenly we’re all following his lead—straight to the blankets, in some cases...”

  The implication was crude but effective in its disruption of the planning process. Kelda’s cheeks flushed, though whether from embarrassment or anger wasn’t immediately clear.

  “My personal choices don’t matter,” she stated, sounding steady despite the insults. “The plan stands as the best we have yet. What’s your plan, Erik?”

  Halverson ignored her and stepped closer, his hostility now clearly aimed at me rather than Kelda. “Are we all being manipulated by someone whose true motives remain unknown? Someone who carries my family’s axe like a trophy?”

  The confrontation had transformed from bitching into a direct challenge. Everyone fell quiet, ready for a fight.

  “You and your brothers tried to rob me on the north road,” I stated simply, meeting his gaze. “You figured me for an easy target that couldn’t fight back. The axe was payment for your mistake.”

  “I’ve heard your fables of besting armed men while unarmed yourself,” Halverson scoffed. “Another convenient story from the mysterious Drengr.”

  “A story you know to be true,” I replied. “We could ask your brothers—assuming they’ve recovered from their embarrassment enough to tell the truth.” I turned to face others in the room. “Go ahead. I invite everyone to ask these Halversons about why this axe hangs here.” I patted the axe and looked back to Erik.

  His face darkened, anger overcoming him. “Return what you stole, stranger, or—”

  “Or what?” I interrupted. “Let me guess, you’ll continue disrupting necessary planning with personal grievances about your moronic relatives?”

  The man’s hands clenched into fists, his posture shifting subtly. Around the table, the rebel leaders became uneasy.

  “Enough!” Svensson commanded, his authority temporarily stalling the rage building in both of us. “We’re facing enforcers with superior numbers and weaponry. You can both beat each other senseless after we’ve dealt with them, for all I care—but not now.”

  Halverson hesitated, torn between his personal hatred and the larger threat. For a moment, the situation teetered on the edge of violence.

  “Erik,” Kelda said suddenly, her tone soft. “Our plan involves your family’s mining site. Your knowledge would be valuable to the reconnaissance team. Will you contribute that, at least?”

  The redirection was skillfully executed, providing a face-saving alternative to his continuing sullen rage. The gathered leaders relaxed slightly as Halverson’s aggressive posture gradually subsided.

  “The charges were stored in the western tunnel,” he said after a prolonged silence, his attention shifting reluctantly from me to the map. “Environmental seals should have preserved their functionality, but the trigger mechanisms will have degraded by now.”

  A fistfight had temporarily been averted by Kelda’s feminine intervention. Halverson participated in the planning session with evident reluctance, his expertise regarding the mining site providing useful details for the developing plan. Throughout the exchange, however, his gaze periodically returned to me. I could tell his hostility was merely contained rather than banished.

  The planning session concluded with assigned responsibilities and timetables. Svensson held me back as others dispersed to their tasks.

  “Halverson’s grievance isn’t just about that axe,” he explained quietly. “He was courting Kelda before the enforcer raids separated their families. Seeing her with you... it complicates an already messy situation.”

  My eyebrows raised. Was everyone in the outback of Jarl chasing Kelda’s skirts before my arrival? I supposed it was understandable. Not all the women here were youthful beauties.

  “Personal complications seem to be inevitable on colony worlds,” I observed.

  “Agreed. But be aware that Halverson has influence among the outcasts here. His cooperation, however reluctant, is valuable for maintaining unified resistance.”

  I nodded, understanding. Halverson was an asshole—but we needed him.

  As we exited the command center, I found Kelda waiting in the adjacent corridor. Lars stood nearby. I noted sourly that his protective hovering had turned into overt escort duty.

  “I should have warned you about Halverson,” she said without preamble. “There’s a history… he reacted badly.”

  “Svensson explained,” I assured her. “It doesn’t change our plans.”

  She smiled slightly. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. But it does make the reconnaissance potentially awkward, since both Erik Halverson and I have been assigned to it.”

  “Along with me,” Lars interjected. “Father insisted.”

  A chaperone? Seriously?

  Family dynamics and romantic complications had created a reconnaissance team that seemed designed to maximize interpersonal friction.

  “We’ve got to try to contain ourselves,” I said. “Let’s all remember what we’re fighting for.”

  Kelda nodded in agreement.

  “We march at dawn,” Lars said curtly. “Gear up and meet at the western exit when the sky glows red.” With that, he departed, his shitty attitude radiating disapproval.

  “He’ll adjust,” Kelda said once her brother was out of earshot. “Lars processes change slowly, but he’s not unreasonable once he works through his initial reactions.”

  “And Halverson?”

  Her eyes squinched up. “That’s… more complicated. Erik has nursed grievances his entire life—against my father for a land dispute years ago, against me for declining his persistent advances, and against the Tyrant for regulations that shut down his family’s mining operation… Now, he’s got you and that axe to cry about.”

  Plus jealousy, and rage about the ass-kicking I’d given his relatives, I suspected.

  “How are we going to spend the night?” I asked Kelda.

  She tried to look uncertain, but then I grabbed her. She gave a tiny shriek then a giggle. I hoped no one was listening—but then again, I barely cared if they were.

  Chapter 20

  I woke to find Kelda asleep under furs beside me, her nude body curled against mine seeking warmth in the perpetually cool cavern. Reconnaissance to the Halverson mining site had been postponed until dawn, giving us unexpected hours together away from the complications that awaited outside.

  Her hair spilled across the rough blanket, her face peaceful in sleep, despite all the bullshit from yesterday. She looked innocent, and I studied her features, memorizing details that the official reports would never capture—the slight furrow between her brows that remained even in repose, the faint scar at her temple that spoke of frontier misadventures, the fullness of her lips that had so recently pressed against mine with hunger.

  As if sensing my attention, Kelda’s eyes opened, violet irises blinking at me under heavy eyelids as sleep lingered. A smile spread across her face, genuine and unguarded before the day’s problems could start.

  “You’re still here,” she murmured, voice husky with sleep. “Was half-convinced I’d wake up alone.”

  “Not a chance,” I assured her, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

  She stretched languidly against me, her nude form pressing closer with deliberate intent. “Good. Because I’m not ready for this to end.”

  Her mouth found mine with morning boldness, yesterday’s tentative exploration replaced by confident familiarity. The reconnaissance mission’s dawn departure provided both deadline and motivation—time limited but therefore more precious.

  The passion that followed carried the intensity of our previous encounters but with added dimensions—familiarity and knowledge of each other but blended with novelty and the imminent call of duty.

  “We could stay here,” she suggested afterward, her head resting on my chest, fingers tracing patterns across my skin. “Skip the recon entirely.”

  “Tempting,” I acknowledged. “But the enforcer patrols won’t wait while we hide away.”

  She heaved a long sigh, the sound carrying more than simple disappointment. “I know. The Tyrant never sleeps.” She propped herself up on one elbow, studying my face with sudden seriousness. “Have you considered what happens after? If we succeed against the Tyrant, if we actually win this fight—what then?”

  The question carried implications I wasn’t prepared to address.

  “Then, everything will be perfect.”

  Kelda’s expression suggested she recognized the deflection but chose not to press. “Fair enough.”

  We rose and dressed. Kelda moved with the unconscious grace of someone comfortable in her own skin, unembarrassed by nudity.

  “Lars will be insufferable,” she noted as she fastened her cold-weather jacket. “After yesterday’s confrontation with Halverson, he’s convinced himself I need protection from both of you.”

  “Family looks out for family,” I observed, checking the edge on the axe before securing it to my belt.

  “Protection doesn’t mean ordering people around,” she countered. “Lars hasn’t quite learned the distinction.”

  We moved toward the chamber’s entrance. The distinctive sound of running footsteps in the corridor halted us before we could exit—not the measured pace of routine movement, but the desperate rhythm of urgent news. Distant shouting echoed through the stone passages.

  Kelda and I exchanged glances before moving quickly into the corridor, following the sounds toward their apparent source in the main cavern. The passage filled with rebels and homesteaders emerging from their quarters, confusion and alarm evident in their expressions.

  We rounded the final corner to find ourselves at the command center. Rebel leaders clustered around a figure collapsed in the center of the room—a man in blood-soaked clothing being tended by medics. Svensson knelt beside the wounded messenger, his expression grave as he received whatever information the man struggled to convey.

  Tormund spotted us entering and motioned us forward, his massive frame creating a path through the gathered crowd. “It’s begun,” he said without preamble, speaking low despite the surrounding clamor. “The Tyrant’s response. Worse than we expected.”

  Up close, the messenger’s condition became clearer—multiple wounds consistent with railgun projectiles, crude field dressings hastily applied, the gray pallor of significant blood loss. Despite his injuries, the man continued speaking to Svensson who crouched near him, each word clearly requiring tremendous effort.

  “—mobilizing from all settlements,” we heard as we approached. “Enforcer squads targeting anyone suspected of sympathy with the ambush. Public executions in Northaven’s central square. The Halverson compound was burned to the ground with families inside.”

  The gathered rebels reacted with horror to these reports, exclamations and curses rising from those close enough to hear. Svensson raised a hand for silence, allowing the wounded man to continue.

  “Not just enforcers,” the messenger gasped, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth suggesting internal injuries. “Deployment from the ship. Combat robots we’ve never seen before. Walkers without riders—just mounted weapons. They’re forming a perimeter around all outer settlements, preventing evacuation.”

  Kelda’s hand found mine, fingers gripping with sudden intensity. The messenger’s report confirmed our worst fears—not merely a punitive expedition, but full-scale military response aimed at crushing any hint of resistance.

  “The eastern homesteads are fighting back,” the messenger continued, each word coming with greater difficulty as his strength waned. “Jensen’s group attacked an enforcer patrol. The mining enclave seized their checkpoint. It’s spreading—settlements rising up all across the outer territories.”

  This news rippled through the chamber, reactions divided between alarm and fierce approval. What had begun as a single act of resistance at the canyon had apparently catalyzed widespread uprising throughout Jarl’s scattered communities.

  “How many settlements are involved?” Svensson pressed, his tactical mind seeking precise information amid the catastrophic overview.

  “At least seven that I know of,” the messenger replied, fading quickly. “Maybe more by now. Word of the canyon victory spread through the underground network. People are calling it the beginning of liberation.”

  The medical team working on the messenger exchanged concerned glances, their expressions suggesting his condition was deteriorating despite their efforts. One of them spoke quietly to Svensson, who nodded grimly before leaning closer to the dying man.

  “You’ve done your duty,” he said, placing a hand on the messenger’s shoulder. “Rest now. We’ll carry the fight forward.”

  A slight smile crossed the messenger’s blood-flecked lips. “Tell me... tell me the drengr is real. That the stories are true.” His gaze shifted, finding me among those gathered around him. “There he is. Just as they described… There…” His eyes widened slightly, recognition and something like vindication in his expression before the light in them dimmed permanently.

  The medical team continued their efforts for several moments longer, but it was clear their patient had delivered his final report. Eventually, they sat back, shaking their heads in the universal gesture of medical defeat. One of them gently closed the messenger’s eyes while another drew a rough blanket over his face.

  A heavy silence fell over the command center, soon broken by the rising volume of urgent conversations. What had been planned as a strategic evacuation or limited engagement had transformed overnight into full-scale rebellion across multiple fronts.

  Svensson rose from beside the fallen messenger, his weathered face set in determined lines.

  “Circumstances have changed,” he announced to the gathered rebels. “What we face now isn’t a simple enforcer response but extermination. The Tyrant is committing significant resources to crush not just our group, but any settlement showing signs of resistance.”

  “We should disperse immediately,” Cassius argued, pushing to the front of the gathering. “Split into smaller units, go to ground. This direct confrontation is suicide!”

  “Disperse and we sacrifice the outer settlements that are already fighting,” countered Thorne, the rebel commander who had participated in previous strategy sessions. “They rose up believing our victory at the canyon meant coordinated resistance was beginning.”

  The debate escalated rapidly, tactical and moral considerations colliding as the rebels grappled with their sudden transition from guerrilla band to de facto leadership of a widespread uprising.

  Kelda maintained her position beside me, her hand still firmly gripping mine despite the public setting.

  “This is happening too fast,” she whispered, eyes tracking the chaotic scene before us. “The resistance isn’t ready for full-scale war.”

  She was right, of course. The isolated victory at the canyon had created an illusion of possibility without the organizational infrastructure necessary to coordinate multiple resistance groups across scattered territories. The resulting uprising, while inspiring in its courage, lacked the coherence needed to oppose the Tyrant’s superior resources effectively.

  Tormund joined us, his expression grim as the debate continued among the rebel leadership. “The messenger traveled from Jensen’s homestead,” he explained. “Nearly twenty miles through enforcer-controlled territory, wounded the entire way. His final report confirms what our scouts have been signaling since dawn—the Tyrant has deployed everything at his disposal.”

  “Including resources directly from the ship,” I noted, the escalation suggesting the Tyrant perceived the uprising as an existential threat rather than mere civil disturbance.

  “The ship,” Kelda repeated, something crystallizing in her expression. “That’s the key. It always has been.”

  Before she could elaborate, Lars pushed through the crowd to reach us, his face flushed with exertion and emotion.