Paladins of the Storm Lord by Barbara Ann Wright

Author:Barbara Ann Wright [Wright, Barbara Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626396050
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
Published: 2016-03-27T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Lazlo wandered through the temple museum and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. The yafanai had allocated only two small rooms for so much history. They’d enshrined what they could from the original landing: bits of plastic, a small vial of bug spray, shreds of old flight suits, and other bits of flotsam they hadn’t been able to repurpose, all with careful, handwritten labels inside wooden cases.

Samira had steered him here after his interest in Gale’s history, and the first room proved enough of a marvel to keep him busy for hours. It was also empty of people, a good place to hide.

The healer communion had gone well until Dillon had found them and lured Lazlo away. He’d stalked up and down his room, complaining about Captain Carmichael until Lazlo calmed him with power.

Communion had been so soothing, and Lazlo knew he’d sported a relaxed, sleepy look that made Dillon laugh. When Lazlo had spoken of what he’d done, Dillon had gotten excited, asking eager questions.

Lazlo had told him about communing, feeling a warmth between him and Dillon like they’d occasionally had on the Atlas, when Dillon had been interested in what Lazlo could do for no other reason than that it was interesting.

“Do you think you can use this communion to make some of them stronger?” Dillon had asked.

And there went that bubble. Lazlo had railed about tampering with people yet again, after everything that had gone wrong with the boggins, after some of the initial experiments with the yafanai had gone horrifically wrong, too.

But Dillon had persuaded and smiled and rubbed Lazlo’s shoulders. He’d made promises and played on their history. And Lazlo had seen right through that bull, but he’d still melted like wax. In the end, he’d agreed that if some of the yafanai were willing to be stronger, he’d see what he could do.

And if they’d been on the Atlas, he would have gotten to work, but now there were so many places to hide, so many ways to delay. It gave Lazlo a naughty feeling, like hiding from the teacher, and if he could enjoy himself while hiding, well, why not?

It might have been the coward’s way out, but it was a way out, and the museum was a perfect place to lay low. Dillon wouldn’t go into a museum unless forced.

Lazlo wandered into the second room and stopped, his heart thudding. His drawings, his tools, and his ideas shone from every wall. It wasn’t just a shrine to Gale; it was a shrine to him, to the creation of the yafanai.

His carefully drawn brain diagrams hung in elaborately carved frames. Those had come first, along with his drawings of the plants that would become the yafanai-makers. When he’d sent them the refined drug, they’d tried eating it at first, but the results were too unpredictable.

He moved to the next case. For permanent abilities, the drug had to be injected into the brain. The long, thin needles he’d shaped with his power were pressed into the soft red fabric of a display case.

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