“What for?” Jo sighed. “It’s too late now, isn’t it?”
“As it was with Davies,” he said, reaching up to take Scamp down from his shoulders. “A word or two and his own conscience would have told him to lose the money tonight. It didn’t need the dressing-down. Would you like to hold Scamp?” he asked, nodding to his pet. “He’s very friendly, unless he thinks I’m being threatened!”
Jo moved closer. Reaching out a tentative finger, she touched the small head gently. “He’s tipped like a Siamese,” she said, seeing the pale brown markings on his ears for the first time.
“Not quite, but close.”
Scamp leaned forward to sniff her hand as she grew more confident and began to stroke the side of his face and shoulder.
“He’s cute. I didn’t know Sholans kept pets.”
“They don’t. He’s a wild one. I discovered I’ve got this thing with the animals on Shola. They seem to like me. Scamp I saved from a tree-rhudda that was raiding his nest. He was the only surviving baby. When he was old enough to let loose in the wild, he refused to go. I’m glad.”
Jo sighed. “Do me a favor and try to keep him out of sight,” she said, straightening up.
Kris laughed quietly as Scamp turned and, running up his arm, disappeared down the neck of his jacket. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t like crowds. He only came out because he recognized another telepath.”
“Hmm,” was all she said as she walked slowly off to her wagon. Kris had been right. She hadn’t needed to talk to Davies like that in front of him. Sometimes she felt the weight of the responsibility of her position as leader. Now was one of them.
As she climbed on the tailgate, in the distance she heard the howling of the wolves. An involuntary shudder passed through her. In another couple of days they would reach Forestgate. After that, they were on their own in the forests where these beasts lived. She sent a prayer to any God that was listening that the wolves were all out here on the plains. According to the map they reckoned there was a good eight kilometers from the town to the end of the tree line. From there, it was all uphill till they reached the crash site.
*
Kaid awoke with a start, wondering why his alarm hadn’t roused him. Then, as the fog of sleep cleared from his brain, he remembered. Blinking, he rubbed his eyes before undoing his sleeping bag and reaching forward for a drink of water from the dispenser.
His hand was steady; the fever was gone. A second drink and he was ready to check his arm. Removing the bandage, he could see a scab had formed on top of the wound. The flesh around it, when probed, was tender and still slightly swollen. Flexing it, he found his arm was usable. The Fastheal had worked well enough for his purposes. He reached for the ultrasound scanner and played it over his injury, checking to see it was healing from the bottom up. It was. He kept the scanner on it for several minutes before switching it off. A few days more treatment and he’d be fine.
He stood up, stretching every muscle group in turn from his ears to his tail. Gods, but he was stiff! Turning back to his seat, he began to gather up the rubbish his four days of healing had accumulated.
Sitting down, he returned his seat to the forward position and switched on the main comm, listening for the next news broadcast. It was at that point he realized he was hungry. Getting up again, he clambered back to the rear of the craft. Examining the options on the menu, he opted for a light meal of eggs and meat, surprising himself by wolfing it down ravenously.
His gear stowed away, he returned to his seat and dug the map of the desert region out from the chart drawer. If he crossed the mountains at the Nyacko Pass, he could fly in low and land the vehicle in the arroyo near Rhijudu. It was the perfect place not only to conceal the craft, but also to use as a base. From the foothills he could observe the village and try to locate Khemu.
*
Activating the craft’s motor, he taxied out into the clearing for takeoff. Idly, he wondered what the situation was back at the estate. They’d have called off the search by now, he was sure. Garras would have persuaded them of the futility of looking for him when he didn’t want to be found. His conscience pricked him over deserting his post as Carrie’s bodyguard, but he forced it into silence by reminding himself that the rest of the team had been handpicked by himself. If they weren’t capable of covering for him, then he shouldn’t have chosen them in the first place.
As the craft rose vertically above the trees, he also recognized for the first time that this was a fool’s errand. He was risking death or capture not only at the hands of the desert folk, but also at Ghezu’s. Dzaka was yet another threat. He was out there somewhere, looking for him. His conscience might bother him over not personally guarding Carrie, but he couldn’t live with himself if he hadn’t made the effort to see Khemu and set things straight with her before she died, especially now he knew where she was. He hadn’t been lying when he told Noni that he couldn’t go before Vartra with that stain on his soul.
Kaid cursed when he heard the broadcast concerning the Laasoi Guildhouse and the deployment of troops at the Nyacko Pass. It mean detouring and flying in at night, low and from the northwest. Not just that, it was a bad time to be away. The Brotherhood should have anticipated this move by Fyak, the God knew he had! Still, it would keep, he supposed. They’d all managed before he was involved, and he knew they could manage now. There were enough people around the estate to give Kusac and the Clan Lord the information they might need. He checked the position of the sun. If he took it easy, he would reach his destination just as dusk was falling.
He was shaking with exhaustion by the time he finally let his vehicle slowly descend to the surface. A few meters away was the cave he planned to use to conceal the scouter. Turning the craft carefully, he eased it backward into the cave. A scraping, ripping noise signaled that he’d managed to catch the side of the vehicle’s body work. He was too tired to care: he needed sleep and food. The engine turned off, he slumped forward across the console.
With a jerk, he came awake. Looking bleary-eyed at his wrist comm, he realized he’d slept for upward of an hour. Not good, especially when he hadn’t concealed the entrance yet. Tiredly, he stirred himself. Opening the hatch, he got up from his seat and reaching back for the bush knife set in the tool section, he climbed down to the cave floor.
Outside, he chose branches from within the centers of bushes where the cut edges wouldn’t be easily noticed. Some fifteen minutes later, he was back in his craft looking out through a screen of greenery.
Once more he turned his seat around, setting up the cabin as a living area. This time he wouldn’t be so helpless, thank Vartra! Digging out the bedding, he set it up, then turned his attention to his grumbling stomach. He was too tired to eat by now and settled for a couple of protein rich drinks before succumbing to sleep.
*
Shift change time had just passed. L’Seuli and Rrurto had been newly assigned to duty outside the temple area of the cavern complex. The Prophet liked his personal guard to be made up of faces he knew. After of his last fit of ungovernable rage, Rrurto and L’Seuli had been promoted to fill the places vacated only hours previously by his latest victims—those who had been responsible for the losses incurred during the assault on Laasoi Guildhouse.
Lighting units were strung up against the sandstone walls of the corridor, their glow brightening the gloom as the two males headed deeper into the hillside. The remains of decorative carvings still lined the walls but their extreme age had rendered them almost invisible even to Sholan eyes.
As they rounded the last bend, a servant heading the way they’d just come, collided with them.
“Your pardon,” the youth said, staggering to regain his balance.
Rrurto’s hand grabbed him before he could run off.
“Where d’you think you’re going in such a rush?” the older male demanded.
The youngling’s eyes were wide with fear. “The female,” he said, looking fearfully over his shoulder, then back to them.
“The telepath. She’s hurt. He wants Anirra to see her. Please, let me go,” he said, trying to pull away.
“What’d he do to her?”
“She hurt herself when he paired with her. I must go! I’ve to tell Vraiyou to bring the Sun God’s plant! The Prophet wants to talk to Kezule. He’ll kill me if I don’t hurry!” With a last squirm, the youth pulled himself free and raced down the corridor.
“Dammit! You don’t use female captives like that!” snarled Rrurto. “As for what he did to Nyanga and Raylma …” He left the sentence unfinished.
L’Seuli flinched, feeling the skin on his back crawl at the memory of it. The two would-be tacticians had been allowed the opportunity to lead the assault on Laasoi. Their losses of forty fighters were totally unacceptable and Fyak had ordered them flogged—with a difference. They had been stunned on full power first. Nyanga had died in agony after only nine lashes; Raylma had lasted a little longer.
The punishment had been ordained by Kezule himself, Fyak had claimed, and was to be used in future on anyone who transgressed against the God’s wishes. It would act as a deterrent. He was right.
“Rrurto, keep your voice down,” L’Seuli whispered. “It will do no one any good if we’re the next two victims.”
Rrurto growled again but started toward the doorway into the temple, pausing between the twin carved pillars of flame to take up his post.
As L’Seuli took up his position, he risked a glance through the open doorway. Filling the area in front of him was the huge circular altar on which the Eternal Flame burned. He wrinkled his nose as the faint aroma of singed fur drifted out into the corridor.
Minutes later, the medic, Anirra, came rushing toward them carrying his medikit. Rrurto stepped in front of him, barring his way with his rifle.
“Get out of my way! There’s an injured person in there!” said Anirra, trying to push past him.
“L’Seuli, go check with the Prophet that he’s expecting the medic,” said Rrurto, grasping Anirra by the arm.
L’Seuli stepped cautiously between the pillars and through the doorway into the temple. As he entered, a blinding light filled the room, making his eyes water and blink. Instinctively holding an arm in front of his face, he looked upward for the source. In the roof of the cavern was a hole that let the sunlight stream down into the temple, hitting the polished mirror below it.
“Who are you to dare disturb the peace of Kezule?” demanded Fyak.
Still blinking, L’Seuli looked toward the voice, seeing the Prophet sitting in a large carved chair a short distance from the altar.
“The medic Anirra waits outside, Liege,” he said, gripping his rifle more firmly. He was not enjoying being so close to Fyak.
“He may enter.”
L’Seuli bowed low. “Yes, Liege,” he said, backing out of the temple. A slight movement at the base of the altar caught his eye, and head still bowed, he glanced toward it. Lying huddled on the ground was the female. She caught his eyes, her look and the message she dared to send him, begging for a swift end. He looked away, hardening himself against her. He could do nothing for her, just like he’d been unable to help the many others who had looked at him in just that way.
Once beyond the doors, he swung round to face Rrurto and Anirra. “The Word of Kezule says he may enter,” he said.
“About bloody time,” muttered Anirra as Rrurto let him go.
In the meantime, Vraiyou, followed by the youth, had come round the corner and was observing them with raised eye ridges.
“I trust you don’t intend to detain me,” he said, approaching them, a small wooden casket held before him in both hands.
“No, Father,” said Rrurto, standing to attention. “You may enter.”
The chief of Fyak’s Faithful inclined his head in gentle sarcasm as he passed between them. The youth shot them anxious looks, tail down and ears flicking as he followed.
L’Seuli exchanged glances with Rrurto. They both knew that if Fyak planned to take the sap of the holy plant then he intended to speak with the God that evening. They were in for another night’s vigil in the desert.
Raised voices came from within and L’Seuli and Rrurto edged closer to the middle of the doorway in an attempt to hear what was being said, but they could distinguish no words.
“What did you see when you went in?” the older male asked quietly from the side of his mouth.
“Not a lot. He’d just had the ceiling opened to the sky and the brightness almost blinded me.”
“Did you see the female?”
“Yes. She was at the foot of the altar.”
“What sort of state was she in?”
“Not good.”
“Where was he?”
“Sitting in some kind of carved throne.”
“I know the one you mean. That throne wasn’t made for folk with tails,” Rrurto muttered.
“What d’you mean?”
“What I said. It was made for folk more like those demons the Prophet’s always on about.”
L’Seuli forced his ears and tail to stay still. He might just find out more than they’d dared hope. “The demons? You think they exist then?”
“I know they exist, lad. That’s what keeps a lot of us with Fyak! Fear of them returning! You didn’t think this place was built by us, did you? Me and my partner—the one you replaced—were on temple guard duty when they were getting it ready for some service or other. We had the chance to look round. On a couple of stretches of wall in there are carvings and paintings that have lasted better than the ones out here. You can see enough to tell that the folk in them look more like the Terrans than us.”
“Like the Terrans?” L’Seuli edged even closer.
“Sort of,” said Rrurto, looking at him. “They were furless like them. No hair, even on their heads, and their eyes were larger. Noses looked to be just slits on their faces. Their hands were all shown clawed so I reckon they couldn’t retract them like we can.”
It took all the self-control he possessed to stop himself from reacting. “Sounds interesting. Any chance of getting a look at these carvings?”
“Forget it,” said Rrurto sharply. “You go poking about around this temple and Fyak’ll make raw meat of you! Besides, all you have to do is look at the walls of this corridor as we leave here. You’ll be able to see their likeness now you know what to look for.”
The voices suddenly got louder and hurriedly they separated. Anirra emerged and grasped Rrurto by the arm. “Get rid of that rifle. I need you to carry the female down to the infirmary for me,” he said.
Slinging his firearm over his shoulder, Rrurto disappeared into the temple to reemerge moments later carrying the unconscious female, the remains of her purple robe draped around her.
Concerned, L’Seuli watched them leave. He didn’t like being left alone here. He didn’t trust either Fyak or Vraiyou. Ears flared wide and turned as far backward as they would go, he hovered close enough to the open doors to hear without, he hoped, being seen.
It seemed an age before his partner returned, though in reality it was only some ten minutes.
“How is she?” he whispered as Rrurto resumed his post.
“She’ll live,” he said, his voice, though quiet, full of anger. “She’s been knocked about some, and has burns on her hands and arms where he held her against the altar.”
“That’s desecration!” L’Seuli hissed, shocked.
“Not when you’re the Word of Kezule and you claim He told you to violate the female telepath! Just remember, we know nothing about it, hear me?”
L’Seuli nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. If there were other old-timers like Rrurto who were beginning to see the insanity of some of Fyak’s actions, then perhaps all wasn’t lost. It meant that at least there was hope for the future.
They stood in silence for perhaps another half hour, aware that the brightness from the hole in the temple roof was gradually dimming. Then, as it was abruptly cut off, Vraiyou emerged.
&n
bsp; “Come,” he said to them. “We’ll take the temple exit.”
Glancing questioningly at Rrurto, L’Seuli waited for the other to step in front of him before following. Though he’d done guard duty during a vigil, he’d never been there at the start before.
The temple was now illuminated by the same units that were used elsewhere in the cavern complex. On his throne, Fyak sat slumped against one carved wooden arm. They could hear his heavy breathing and as they drew nearer, see that his eyes were almost covered by his inner lids.
“The drug the Prophet uses to enable him to travel to the realm of Kezule takes a heavy toll on his body,” said Vraiyou, his tone urbane. “We are all grateful for his sacrifice.”
“Kezule be praised,” L’Seuli chanted in time with Rrurto as they waited for the senior member of the Faithful to help the staggering Prophet to his feet.
L’Seuli’s mind turned to the drug Fyak had used. Underlying the odors that permeated the air in here, he could smell a sharp, almost pungent, vegetable smell, unlike anything he’d come across before. He let his eyes roam around the floor by the throne, hoping against hope that there was some fragment lying there that he could pick up, but predictably, there was nothing. He had to find out more about it—get a sample if he could. He knew most of the plant-extract drugs and this smelled like nothing he’d come across before.
As they began to walk slowly through the temple toward the wall hanging that covered the exit corridor, he took the opportunity to quickly glance round the chamber for the carved paintings that Rrurto had mentioned. He saw a blur of color on a far wall, but it was too far away to distinguish any details.
“Father,” ventured Rrurto. “Would you send the lad for our cloaks? We’re not blessed by Kezule as the Prophet is. The nights are sharp enough now to freeze a warrior’s hands to his gun.”
Vraiyou gestured to the youth who sped off in the opposite direction.
*
It had been a month or two since Konis had attended the Council of Leaders. What with one thing or another, his life had been rather complicated since his people’s first contact with another telepathic species, and by his son’s Link to one of those individuals.
Fire Margins Page 41
