Against his chest he felt a sensation of coolness, a burning with no fire, no pain. He grasped at the crystal he wore round his neck, holding onto it through all that long night, anchoring his reason to it as the one solid object in his world.
He awoke abruptly, eyes open, body tensed, hands ready at his sides. He could sense no one else present. The room was unfamiliar. The soft light of an oil lamp on the night table cast a gentle glow on the sparse furnishings and the sandstone walls of the room. As well as the bed in which he lay, there was a small chest against the wall, a stool, and a woven rug.
The air smelled reasonably fresh but he sensed the faint scent of the medic, Anirra. He pushed himself up, then realized he was resting his weight on his injured arm—and it didn’t hurt.
Sitting bolt upright, he examined the wounded forearm. All that remained was a hairless line of bright pink scar tissue. Incredulously he explored the scar with a cautious fingertip. A little sensitive but nothing more.
He remembered the second hypoderm. He’d been drugged then, but for how long? Running his hands through his hair he realized it had grown by perhaps a couple of centimeters. More than a night, that was certain. A month? Had he lain here drugged for the last month?
Throwing back the covers, he climbed out of bed. On the chest he could see his uniform jacket, his belt, and a fresh shirt. As he walked over to them, he realized that there was none of the weakness in his limbs that he’d have expected if he’d been unconscious for so long. Not a month, then. For all Anirra said, he must have used Fastheal. That would account for the hair growth.
As he was buckling the belt, the door opened, admitting one of the desert people complete in tan robes and head covering.
“Good morning. We’ve been waiting for you to waken. A meal awaits you, then the Word of Kezule has commanded that you be brought to him. Please, follow me.”
“One moment,” said Kaid. “Who’s this Word of Kezule?”
“The Prophet Fyak,” said the male, turning back to frown at him as he held the door open. “You are his guest. It’s due to his generosity your wounds have been treated.”
“How long have I been here?”
“The Prophet will answer all your questions in his own time,” was the placid answer.
As he followed the warrior into the main cavern, Kaid smelled food and realized he was hungry. Tended cooking fires glowed in one corner and nearby, empty packing crate formed crude tables and seats.
A large plate of eggs and cooked meat with a couple of slices of bread on the side was handed to him by a female who kept her eyes firmly turned from his. As he made his way to the nearest table, his companion collected two mugs of c’shar, then rejoined him.
While he ate, Kaid assessed his surroundings. Definitely no chance of escape, the cavern was far too busy. They might be treating him as a guest for now, but he was no less a prisoner for that. He glanced again at the female by the cooking fires. She was serving a couple of the warriors with c’shar and, as with him, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on her task, never looking at the males.
“If you’re wondering what a female is doing outside her home, she’s too old to have cubs so Fyak ordered her to cook for us. There are a few like her who’ll never be given a mate, but then they chose to live alone in the first place. That one came from the Laasoi Guildhouse. She reckoned herself a warrior. Not any more.” He grinned as Kaid looked back at him. “She knows better than to raise a hand against any male now.”
Kaid grunted noncommittally and finished his meal.
“I’ll take you to the Prophet,” his companion said, getting to his feet.
They walked across the cavern to the room where he’d first been taken. This time, Fyak was alone except for one guard—from the look of him, the commander of that unit.
Fyak looked up as they entered.
“I see you’re in better health now,” he said. “I hear your wound is fully healed.”
“My thanks, Prophet,” said Kaid, aware that the male who’d accompanied him had remained and was standing behind him, against the door. “I hope I haven’t imposed on your hospitality. Perhaps you’d be so good as to tell me how long I’ve been here?”
“Time is irrelevant,” said Fyak, resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “You remember me telling you that Guild Master Ghezu is interested in your whereabouts.”
“I don’t remember much about our last meeting, I’m afraid,” said Kaid.
“It seems Ghezu wishes me to deliver you into his—tender care. Have you any idea why he should want this?” Fyak’s voice was a gentle purr as he raised a questioning eye ridge.
“None,” said Kaid, aware of Fyak’s minute examination.
“Strange.” Fyak rested his chin in one hand, his sleeve falling back to expose the broad gold bracelet he wore. “I assume it involved the dead female in some way since Ghezu said we’d find you at her house.”
Kaid shrugged, maintaining a disinterested facade. In reality he was using it to justify looking round the room, gleaning all the information about Fyak that he could. His gaze kept returning to the bracelet. There was something about it, a familiarity he couldn’t explain. Where had he seen its like before?
Fyak frowned, sitting up and putting his arms on the desk. “I think you owe me a few answers in return for my hospitality,” he said sharply. “If I hand you over to Ghezu, your fate will not be as pleasant as it could be if you remained here.”
“We have an old score to settle,” admitted Kaid, bringing his attention back to the prophet.
“Perhaps I shan’t tell Ghezu I have you. Maybe I have another use for you,” said Fyak, sitting back in his chair, his arms stretched along the armrests, claw tips gently tapping the wood. “I have a proposition to put to you, one that is infinitely more attractive than being Ghezu’s unwilling guest.”
“What kind of proposition?” asked Kaid.
“I don’t entirely trust Ghezu’s promise of neutrality. I need someone capable of training my people properly. He said you were the best of the Brothers, and I’ve no reason to doubt that in view of his dislike of you. I want my fighters not only to be able to stand against the Brotherhood if necessary, but to be able to withstand the minds of the telepaths.”
Kaid considered him for a moment. “It depends on the individual fighter. Not everyone can learn that skill,” he said. “As for combat, you’ve already got seasoned fighters here. Why do you need me to train them? And anyway, why do you want them to learn the mental disciplines against telepaths?”
“That’s my concern,” said Fyak. “I’ve told you all you need to know for now. Will you accept my offer, or would you prefer to be handed over to Ghezu?”
Kaid mentally ran through what he’d learned so far. A captive female warrior from the Laasoi Guildhouse reinforced the newscast he’d heard several weeks before. It might have been Fyak’s first move outside the desert: it certainly wouldn’t be his last. If he wanted his warriors trained to a higher standard, he was planning a larger campaign where he knew he’d be up against a better trained force—possibly including the Brotherhood. That suggested he had an agenda Ghezu knew nothing about. Then the anti-telepath training: that meant he expected to be dealing with telepath guildhouses again.
He tried to envisage the local geography. What was Fyak after? The Tribes. He was attempting to unite all the tribes before taking his warriors over the pass into the fertile lowlands to the west. If he managed that, there’d be no stopping him. Fighting against fanatical warriors who could emerge from the forests, attack the estates in the plains, then disappear again almost without trace, was a terrifying thought. And Ghezu had embroiled the Brotherhood in this! Vartra, cast his soul into the deepest pit of hell, he prayed.
“Well?” demanded Fyak. “What takes you so long? I’d have thought it obvious my offer was more attractive.”
Kaid shrugged. “When do I start?” Time was his ally. With enough time, he could discover the details of Fyak’s plans
and maybe even escape.
*
It had taken several days work to dislodge the rockfall at the base of the monastery’s hill. Ahead of them, the tunnel began to open up, then it was once more clogged with dirt and debris. Outside the tunnel entrance, the pile of rubble and earth was steadily growing, and the builders were getting anxious to return to their official Guild work.
This left Kusac with only his group of twenty-nine Brothers, a good proportion of whom were on guard duty at any given time. Ni’Zulhu and he arranged the shifts so there were always eight people digging at a time. With all the electronic surveillance on the combined estates, during the day the duty rosters were light enough that they could cope. Everyone’s spirits were lifted a little when they’d excavated enough of the cavern entrance to see another sloping tunnel off to their left, obviously heading upward into the secondary, and larger, cavern complex.
Kusac’s return to the Forces semi-active list meant a resumption of his training sessions at the Warrior Guild in Nazule. Not so for Carrie. Thankfully there had been no more dream replays but she found herself glad that the work at the hill was going slowly as she didn’t have the energy to stir far from the house.
With Garras working on the dig, and Kusac at Nazule with T’Chebbi, she kept Vanna company. She didn’t want Vanna to be left alone for any length of time now that her friend was in the last two weeks of her pregnancy. The first day she went round, Vanna took one look at Carrie and requested protein supplements from Jack for her.
“I know this is an En’Shalla cub, Carrie,” she said, “but your body just doesn’t produce enough of what the infant needs from you. Vartra Himself would approve of you taking supplements.” Fussing over Carrie made Vanna fret less about herself, and Carrie stoically put up with it.
Brynne had decided to help the diggers and though relations between him and Garras were civilized, they were not good. By an unspoken agreement, they worked on different teams.
It was discovered that the upward tunnel had less rubble in it, being only partially filled with the detritus of over a thousand years. The team digging there were making good progress when two weeks into the work, the first finds were made—in the main cavern.
“Hey! Bones! I’ve found bones!” yelled Rulla, grabbing hold of the protruding end of a piece of ivory-colored material.
“Don’t pull at it like that!” exclaimed Jack. “It’s fragile, you’ll…”
With a yowl of surprise, Rulla went flying backward, grasping a knuckle-ended piece of broken bone in one hand.
“… break it,” he finished with a sigh.
“Sorry. How was I to know it would break so easily? I thought bones were bones.”
“Not when they’re over a thousand years old, they aren’t,” said Jack, going over to take the piece from him. “Where did you find it?”
Rulla scrambled up, dusting off his jacket as he answered. “Over there.” He pointed to the spot where he’d been working.
A crowd quickly gathered round Jack as he used a small brush to gently remove the earth around the rest of the bone, all the while explaining how and why he was doing it.
Finally, the rest of the bone lay exposed on its bed of soil. “Well, there you have your first lesson in archeology,” said Jack, brushing the loose earth from around it, “and your first Valtegan leg bone.”
“Valtegan?” demanded Garras. “Are you sure?”
Jack looked up at him. “I’m a physician, Garras. I know as much about your people as I do about my own. If I say this isn’t a Sholan bone, and that I’m pretty certain it’s Valtegan, you can be sure I know what I’m talking about.”
Garras lowered his ears in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply a mistake, Jack, only surprise that we’d found Valtegan remains so soon.”
“Well, we’ll soon know when we find the rest of him,” said Jack, beginning to carefully undercut the soil around the relic. “We knew there would likely be bodies down here. If this was the entrance, then I imagine it saw the fiercest fighting.”
Garras turned round to face the others. “Back to work, everyone,” he said. “We know we’re on the right track now.” As the top tunnel team wandered reluctantly back to work, Garras bent down beside Jack. “What do you want us to do?”
“Carry on working at the face,” he said. “Just make sure not to disturb the earth near me. I’ve no wish to be buried like our scaly friend!”
Garras nodded. “This find has given us all more enthusiasm to continue,” he said. “It couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“This is a slow process, Garras,” said Jack, picking carefully away at the underside of the bone, “and we haven’t the time to take it as slowly as it needs, I’m afraid. We’ll have to leave that to the professionals from Earth. We need to find evidence that this was a secret base for telepaths—anything we can that will connect this place to some of the replay dreams Carrie and Kaid have had. A lot of fascinating archeological information is going to have to be sacrificed to do that, but,” he looked up at Garras with a grin, “every now and then we can take the time out to properly excavate any really interesting finds.”
“Have you had any news from the archaeologists at the site in the Kysubi plains yet?”
“Not much. Just that they’re on to something big—a major town is buried under all those fields. They’ve done their scans and are currently deciding what area they think will yield the most finds. I’ve a feeling their choice is more likely to be dictated by which fields are lying fallow this winter than what they hope to find in a given area! I did hear that they’re coming up with large numbers of small green stones unlike any other mineral yet found on Shola, though.”
“Interesting. I wonder what conditions created them, where they come from.”
*
The door to Sorli’s study opened, and without ceremony, Esken walked in, pausing only long enough to pull up a chair.
“Have you read the book?” he asked, sitting down opposite the senior member of his tutorial staff.
Sorli sat back in his own chair, suppressing a sigh. Master Esken had become increasingly neglectful of his staff’s feelings of late. He hoped the rift between him and the Clan Lord was soon healed. Life would be so much more pleasant again.
“I have, Master Esken. It was heavy going, though. I only completed my initial analysis half an hour ago. I still need to cross-reference it to other reputable sources.” He started to rise. “May I offer you a drink?”
“No time, Sorli. I’m too busy to stay long. Just give me your first impressions.”
Sorli reached for his comp pad. “I came across several warnings that were to be passed on to those training for the position of Guild Master. They’ve been repeated by each successive Master in turn throughout the book. It seems our ancestors were anticipating trouble. Have you ever read this volume, Master Esken?”
“I had a look at the book when I was training for this Office, of course.” Esken paused for a moment, obviously reminiscing. “Suddenly having the wisdom and secrets of many of the past Guild Masters at your fingertips is an incentive for any trainee master to study books such as this, Sorli.” He sighed. “But I do wish they hadn’t wrapped up what they had to say in so many innuendos and mysteries.”
Sorli grunted. “They give obscure a new meaning.”
Esken looked at him sharply. “I hope you’re not becoming judgmental, Sorli.”
The Tutor assumed a slightly outraged expression.
Esken had the grace to glance away as he said, “I’m afraid when I first looked at them, I got mired in all that ancient history too. I promised myself I’d come back to it when I had time. It’s surprising how closely ancient wisdoms are apt to resemble the day-to-day ramblings of senile predecessors, Sorli. No doubt you’ve already found that out for yourself, though.” He sighed. “So what were the points you considered vital?”
Sorli looked at his comp pad. “They are, Firstly, Record all visions and dreams pertaining to Var
tra, for at times He enlightens his Chosen with true insights. Secondly, Bless all contrivances of ancient days, that they become Holy, for they hold the Green Seeds of New Regret. Thirdly, Cherish and keep close our Brother Priests of Stronghold, who were once our Claws and will be so again. Fourthly—and here, Master Esken, I confess I wonder if some relevance to present times is implied—Be ever vigilant against the False Priest, agent of Demons, tool of their Retribution, through whose Leadership the Griefs of our Past may yet destroy our Future.”
Sorli paused and awaited Esken’s reaction.
The Guild Master nodded. “That’s more or less as I remember it, Sorli. Don’t bother cross-referencing, I’ve done enough on that already. Essentially the same warnings go back a full eight generations earlier, and forward to our time. There are gaps, of course, but since the warnings span them, we can assume they remained essentially unchanged. Each Master in the records restates these warnings. My predecessor, Myaddu, thought them no more than ancient superstitions, but she was uneasy enough about the second injunction for me to maintain her policy of swift and thorough Blessings of the ruins.”
“Obviously there’s more to it than she thought, Master Esken. Twelve hundred years; that’s a long time for so many superstitions to survive. I was unaware our records went back that far.”
“So was I until I looked. Combine those warnings, Sorli. What do you get?”
“I find myself thinking of Fyak.” He hadn’t wanted to voice his fears lest words give them substance.
Esken did not disagree.
At last Sorli looked up. “It seems, Master Esken, that we’re seeing a picture of a past we never suspected until Valtegan bones were found in our ruined cities. That one factor puts all our ancient writings into a completely different context.” He scanned the pad, seeking some comfort in his notes. “My opinion has to be that this past is rushing to catch up with us now. How, I don’t pretend to know.”
“Nor do I, Sorli, nor do I. But as I said, you endorse my own conclusions.”
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