“Yes, if that’s what you wish,” he said, accompanying her out into the corridor. He took her by the elbow and steered her toward the room opposite. “The telepath who will do this is no ordinary one, no state-provided reprogrammer like you would have faced at the correction facility.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said.
As they entered the medical examination room, the two figures silhouetted against the window broke off their conversation and turned toward them.
“We’re ready now, Master Konis, Master Lijou,” said L’Seuli, taking Keeza over to the easy chairs.
*
The room felt empty now that he’d had left for the estate. He’d been angry that someone had persuaded Kusac to ask to become his swordbrother. Whoever it was knew him too well: he couldn’t have turned him down flat, not Kusac. He remembered when he’d first seen him. All fierce determination to defend his Leska, yet terrified to the core of his being of what they were, what they might become. Now, he held his estate, and his Clan, on his own merit.
But could a telepath, even if he could fight, make a swordbrother? He stopped the thought there with a self-derisory smile. What was he when it came down to it? Had he made a good swordbrother to Garras? He must have, else Garras wouldn’t have stayed with him all those years. Only the need for him to run the family business till his nephew came of age had broken their partnership. Their oath still existed, after a fashion: it was what Garras had used to get him to come out to the Khalossa.
There had been no repercussions regarding the damage he’d caused in the templeâ no disciplinary action beyond being confined to his quarters under guard until Kusac had arrived. His constant presence, except on his Link days with Carrie, was Lijou and Rhyaz’s guarantee that nothing of the sort would happen again.
Now that he was alone again, however fleetingly, he’d had time to reflect. He realized now what his fear and anger had almost cost him. It was time he made amends.
Sighing, he got up and padded over to the drawer unit to fetch a clean robe. As he put it on, he realized that the purple banding of the Priesthood had been added to it by housekeeping. The law required him to always wear purple now that he was a recognized telepath, but at least this way he could follow its spirit if not its letter and keep his identity as a full telepath hidden. Fastening the belt, he left his room and made his way to Lijou’s office.
Knocking on the door, he waited. After a moment or two, Yaszho, Lijou’s aide, answered, joining him in the corridor.
“It’s Brother Tallinu, Master Lijou.”
“Five minutes, Yaszho,” came Lijou’s voice. “I need this finished first.”
Yaszho looked apologetically at him before closing the door and heading off on some errand.
*
“Just remember what you’ve always said about Kaid. You don’t control someone like him; you point him in the right direction and let go,” said Kha’Qwa.
“I know, but he has to realize that he’s no longer responsible only to himself. He’s been outcast for nearly eleven years now.”
“Not so. He’s been liegeman to Kusac for going on a year.”
Lijou made an exasperated noise.
“He has, and now he’s training Kusac as a swordbrother,” said Kha’Qwa. “If they take the oath, then they’re answerable to each other in a way that transcends other oaths.”
“Is it enough? What he tried to do to the temple was…”
“Utterly reprehensible, but understandable, given the circumstances. I’d say the fact he’s here to see you means he recognizes your authority,” said Kha’Qwa, getting to her feet.
“We’ll see.”
“I’m going. Don’t keep him waiting any longer,” she said, leaning over to rub her cheek against his in an affectionate gesture.
*
Their Link day over, Kusac had only just left for Stronghold as T’Chebbi arrived home. “Kaid says to start training now,” she said, accompanying Carrie into the villa.
“Now? But I’ve two weeks yet before I go to the Warriors Guild!”
“Plenty time. You be where you were before Challenge by then. Physician Vanna says all right. Told me what you mustn’t do.”
Carrie stopped to eye her consideringly. “And what if I prefer to wait?”
T’Chebbi shrugged. “Your decision, but Human males at Warrior Guild will get what they expect.”
“Just what d’you mean by that?” Carrie demanded, stung by her words.
“They expect a Terran female,” said T’Chebbi, eyes widening slightly. “Kaid said you go there as you were, you get respect quickly. If not, have to earn it. Take longer.”
“Kaid’s saying a helluva lot for someone who isn’t here,” she muttered, angry that he’d chosen an incentive he knew she’d respond to. “Did he happen to say anything else?” She hoped he’d sent her a personal message.
“No, Clan Leader,” murmured T’Chebbi, looking away.
Carrie started walking toward the stairs, annoyed that her question had been so obvious to the Sister. “You can cut that out for a start,” she replied sharply. “Call me Carrie like everyone else does. What’re we practicing?”
“Three things. Sword skills, firearms, and beginning to build stamina. Last one we go more slowly with,” said T’Chebbi, remaining at the bottom of the stairs. “You change into practice clothes, then we go to training hall where Garras working with younglings.”
*
It was back to basics, with the mind-numbing but necessary patterns of defense and attack moves using the heavy wooden practice swords. That night, a soak in a hot herbal bath went a long way to easing her aches and pains. Every movement, no matter how small, hurt, and she discovered muscles she’d forgotten existed.
She groaned as she hobbled down to the lower level of the den. “I’d no idea I was so unfit.”
“Not unfit. Your body being a mother, not a warrior, is all,” T’Chebbi contradicted her.
As she collapsed carefully onto the larger settee, Carrie grimaced up at her. “I hope you aren’t just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Is true,” the Sholan female confirmed, clasping her hands behind her back. “Joints loosen off, muscles become less firmâ needs to for you to give birth.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m not moving till after third meal when I go up to see Kashini,” Carrie said, making herself comfortable with the cushions. Then she sensed T’Chebbi’s diffidence and sighed. “What is it you don’t want to tell me? What have you got planned for this evening?”
“Brought comp program back from Stronghold. Teaches tactics by simulating battles. You see consequences of decisions. Garras coming over to help us.”
“And just when am I going to have time with my daughter?” she demanded. “It’s bad enough her father not being here without her seeing very little of me as well!”
T’Chebbi’s ears flicked back in embarrassment, then righted themselves. “You must be able to cope alone in field if you get separated from rest of us. Kusac learning same things.”
“If I’m separated from Kusac for too long, then we’ll both be too ill to do anything!” she countered. “Three days, including our Link day, that’s all the safety margin we have, T’Chebbi, then nothing but getting us together will save our lives.”
“These skills may help you rejoin him before that happens. Even more important for you than others.” Her tone was determined.
Carrie sighed. She was right, but it seemed so unfair that all her time was being taken up this way when she wanted to be with her cub. Yes, she’d been getting a little bored with the inactivity, but to go from that to this so suddenly!
“Very well, but I want half an hour with my daughter after we’ve eaten.”
“Is fine,” agreed T’Chebbi, turning to leave.
“T’Chebbi, aren’t you staying to eat with me? I thought the idea was you’d be a companion for me as well as a teacher.” As the other female hesitated, obviously undecided, Carr
ie realized what she’d done wrong. “I’d like your company, T’Chebbi. Please join me.”
T’Chebbi’s mouth opened slightly in a faint smile and, lifting a fold of her heavy woolen robe, she stepped down to the lower level to join her.
*
The Sholan officers stood between Kezule and the light, unconsciously shielding him from its glare while they talked quietly. He let his head drop and forced his muscles to relax: the pain induced by tensing them was almost as severe as that caused by their beating. He strained to hear what they were saying, but it proved useless as the language they were speaking was one he didn’t know.
His eyes were sore and rimed with matter from exposure to the light they used when questioning him. He flicked his tongue across parched and swollen lips, tasting and smelling his own dried blood. A shudder ran through him. This session had been longer than the others, and he didn’t know how much more he could take. It was time to allow them some of the answers he’d prepared against this moment.
Twisting his wrists against the straps that held him to the chair, he tried to ease the pressure of the bands. It achieved nothing. His own struggles notwithstanding, the heat generated by the four of them combined with the brightness of the light in the airless room had made his body swell.
The door opened, drawing his attention from their conversation to the new arrival.
“Refreshments, sirs,” said a female voice.
Kezule lifted his head, instantly aware of the presence of the female and the carafe of water. His tongue flicked out, tasting the air to make sure.
“Bring it over to the table,” said his inquisitor.
He watched her crossing from the door to the group in front of him. She stopped, waiting till they held out their mugs, then began to pour the liquid into them. He sniffed, tongue flicking out again in the hope of picking up some moisture from the air, but all he tasted was the sweat of the Sholan males and the fear of the female.
“Pity you won’t cooperate, General,” said his tormentor, turning to look at him as he raised his mug to his mouth. “You could have had some water with us.”
Kezule blinked as the light briefly hit his eyes. He missed what caused the commotion, only aware of it as he was suddenly drenched. Splatters of water hit him in the face and across the chest making him gasp at its coldness. Collecting his wits, he flicked his tongue out to capture the rivulets running down his face. The relief was instant, but so was the craving for more. Only after he’d licked up every available drop did he turn his attention to the Sholans.
“You damned clumsy she-jegget!” yelled one of the others as the female scrambled across the floor for the jug.
“Your pardon,” she stammered. “It was so dark… I couldn’t see after outside. I’m sorry.”
Her voice ended on a wail as the inquisitor casually drew back his arm and sent her reeling across the room to collide with the wall. Kezule watched her slide, stunned, to the floor.
“Do that again and I’ll feed you to the lizard,” he said, his voice cold with anger. “Now get out of here. You can clean up later.” He turned to look at Kezule. “Would you like that, Kezule? You could vent your anger with me on her. I know how much you like females, and that’s the Valtegan way, isn’t it?”
Kezule looked back at him, saying nothing. Something wasn’t quite right, but he was in no state to make full sense of it now. Later, when this was over, when there were no distractions. He tensed as the male drained his mug, replaced it on the table and advanced on him, tail swaying lazily. As if at a distance, he heard the door closing as the female left.
“Time for us to start again, Kezule,” purred his inquisitor.
His head was abruptly hauled against the solid back of the chair by one of the other Sholans. Once more the bright light hit him full in the face. Instinctively, he shut his eyes, trying to blot it out. The suddenness of it sent a shock rushing through his system. He’d let his attention slip and hadn’t noticed what the other two were doing.
“Where is your home world?”
He said nothing, tensing in expectation of the blow, not knowing where it would fall. It landed on his right side, over his already bruised ribs. As he doubled over in pain, he clenched his hands, pulling against the restraints, claws gouging the wood as his breath was forced out in a grunt of pain.
“We can keep this up for hours, Kezule,” said the officer. “Can you hold out that long? Where’s your home world?”
“I don’t know,” he hissed, trying not to cause himself more pain by gasping for the air he needed. “I was not the commander of starships, only of soldiers on the battlefield. I read land maps, not star maps!” It was true. He’d traveled in state quarters, not on the bridge with the crew. His work had come later, subduing the inhabitants.
A few terse words were exchanged, again in a language he didn’t understand.
“Its name, then. If you don’t know its location, you surely know its name.”
“Kiju’iz,” he spat, “for what good it’ll do you! Even if it were on your charts, why should you call it that?” Again the truth, but coupled with a lie. It was the name of the world on which he’d hatched, but it was not one of the Four.
“Now we’re making some progress,” the officer drawled. “Give him a drink.”
His head was released and a mug brought to him by the third maleâ and relief from the light as he stood in front of him. Peering through eyes that were beginning to water again, he stretched his head toward the wide-mouthed cup. It was moved just out of his reach.
He hissed in frustration, his need for water increasing because of its presence. Against reason, he attempted to lean forward, pulling at his restraints in an effort to reach it.
“The location of Kiju’iz, Kezule, or no drink.”
He was coming to hate that voice despite his efforts to remain distanced from them. “You want an answer? I give you a lie, then. It’s all I got. I didn’t command the ships!”
The cup came closer, but only close enough for his tongue to touch the water. Cursing, he began to lap as fast as he could, waiting for it to be snatched away at any moment. It wasn’t. When he’d finished, he sat back. “Your name,” he said, his voice low with anger as he pulled at the bands. “I want to know the name of my enemy.”
“I know your name, Kezule,” said the officer, leaning closer for a moment. “That’s all that’s necessary. Why did you come to Shola?”
It was the same questions time after time, not just today, but all the other times he’d been brought here. He knew them almost by rote now. He’d had plenty of leisure to work out the answers, and now he must give them a few at a time, to prevent them getting tired of his lack of cooperation and resorting to drugs. If they did, he’d have no control over what he said. By appearing to cooperate, he bought himself time.
“You made a start, Kezule, don’t stop now. Be a realist and make it easier on yourself. You could earn a few more luxuries, like that book for the reader. Let’s face it, you know by the end of the hunt we’ll have everything we want from you. It’s just a question of time, and we’ve plenty of that.”
Anger raged through him. Not if he could help it! He’d begun assessing his chances for escape from the first. Security was tight now, but if he cooperated, they might grow lax, giving him his opportunity.
Through streaming eyes, he saw the arm raise again. “We need land,” he said through clenched teeth. “An empire such as ours has need of resources.”
The arm lowered, and the officer moved just enough to block the light a fraction. “What resources?”
“Slaves. Your world will be no loss to us,” Kezule hissed, twisting his head to avoid even more of the light’s glare. “Your telepaths may have driven us off Shola, but when we return, we’ll annihilate you!” He saw the look that passed between his interrogator and the other two. Then he realized. “They’ve been back, maybe not here, but close.” He began to laugh, until the pain in his ribs turned it to a groan of agony. �
��That’s where the reader came from, and the herb!”
“I don’t think they’ll be back after so long, Kezule. I’ll wager they’ve forgotten all about us.”
He heard, for the first time, the note of doubt in the officer’s voice. “Our memories don’t fade,” he wheezed contemptuously, trying not to breathe too deeply. “They’re passed down from generation to generation. We can’t forget.”
There was a short silence during which he managed to recover enough to sit upright again. Every time he took a breath, it felt like his lungs were laced with fire.
“You say a vast empire. How vast would that be? Two worlds?”
Kezule was amused and let it show. It would do no harm for these inferior beings to realize just what they were trying to pit themselves against. “Too many for you and those puny Humans to take on. In my time, there were twelve, not counting this backwater lump of dirt you call home.” Not strictly true, they’d only had six or seven subjugated worlds. He’d lost count; it mattered not at all to him. The chaos the telepaths’ treachery had caused might have rendered this world unusable, but it couldn’t possibly have touched the four worlds at the heart of their empire.
“All supported by a slave economy, eh? What did these slaves do?”
“What they were fit forâ menial work,” sneered Kezule, aware that the level of pain he was suffering was rising beyond his ability to copeâ and it was making him incautious. He was tired, deadly tired. He blinked repeatedly, trying to work the grit from his eyes. The room was beginning to take on a surreal glow.
“We were born to rule. The God chose to be incarnated in His Emperorâ praise be to Him. We are His chosen kind, all others are dust beneath the throne of the God-King,” he mumbled.
“Get that damned servant. I want more water. I won’t have him passing out on us now!”
There was a minute or two’s respite. Then he heard the door open and close, smelled the Sholan female approaching with the water.
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