razorsedge

by Lisanne Norman

  “Green stones? Describe them to me,” said Rezac.

  “A deep emerald color, like that of plants in the early spring,” said Davies.

  “You said rounded. Not cut and polished? More like a pebble that’s been tumbled in a stream?”

  Davies frowned. “Yes, exactly like that, but how did you know?”

  Rezac shook his head mutely, gesturing for him to continue.

  “Sit and eat,” said Killian. “Belamor is my mage. While the priests pray for our souls, Belamor fights the demons that plague us— or so he claims. That’s right, isn’t it, Belamor? How’s the one you wrestled with this morning? Properly subdued yet?”

  “It will be several days before that one is subdued, Lord Killian,” said the mage. For one so frail in appearance, his voice was deep and full of power. “He is only the first. There will be more. I trust you are wearing the amulets I prepared for your family?” He turned, and leaning on his staff, walked down the table to the far end to take the place left empty for him.

  “Do I look like a fool, Belamor? Of course we wear them. We’ve been wearing them all winter!” replied Killian testily.

  “What does Belamor do?” Kris asked the young man seated next to him.

  “Diabolical things, Father Narwen says,” he replied in an undertone. “He uses dark powers to aid him in his spell casting and the reading of portents so he can predict the future for our Lord.”

  “He uses magic?”

  The youth looked sharply at him. “Did I not just say so? The most offensive odors and smells, to say nothing of explosions, come from his workroom at all times of day and night. There was one just this afternoon. Surely even you must have heard it!”

  Kris shook his head. “No. We heard nothing. Tell me, does he make…” he searched for an appropriate word. “Does he make devices? Weapons? Powder that explodes?”

  His companion looked fearfully down the table to where the mage was accepting a goblet of wine.

  “I have to pass his room every day,” he said quietly, turning back to Kris. “There are times when the very air makes my hair stand on end. What he does is unnatural, against the Gods’ order. He even has a pole atop his window that calls the lightning down when he commands it! Take my warning seriously: if you value your life, do not cross Belamor.”

  “Certainly a man to be wary of,” murmured Kris. “The guard today in the courtyard, I saw Belamor treating him. Is he also the apothecary?”

  “Our apothecary is a gentle man, a priest, not one such as Belamor!” Even the youth’s tone of voice was shocked.

  “Then why did he treat the guard?”

  “Demons,” he said shortly, turning away. “No one else would dare go near him.”

  “Demons? D’you believe he was possessed or something?”

  The youth ignored him, beginning to talk to the woman on his left instead, making it clear he refused to be drawn into further discussion.

  “Demonic possession?” asked Rezac. “Magic and spells? What kind of world is this?”

  “A very young one, culturally,” said Davies through a mouthful of his sandwich. “Magic is how psychic talents were seen, and still are by some, on Earth. Keiss, too, to a degree. That’s why the villagers where Carrie lived were afraid of her. Kris said that the young man truly believed what he said about the mage, but that doesn’t help us much. On Earth he would probably have been called an alchemist, someone who mixed magic with primitive science in an effort to understand the physical world.”

  “Are you saying the magic he uses is actually the same as the Talents we have?”

  “So Kris thinks,” agreed Davies. A noise from one of the bedrooms drew their attention. “We’d best leave this for now,” he said quietly. “Just try not to make things any worse than they are with Jo and Kris, okay?”

  Rezac grunted and continued eating.

  *

  Kezule could smell her almost before he was fully awake. He fought down the revulsion her scent caused him and lay still, waiting till he could orient himself properly. She was touching him. He felt the coolness of a damp cloth against his throbbing wrists. Another scent, one he recognized from last time; a salve. It drew the heat out of the wounds almost as soon as it was applied.

  He hadn’t been unconscious long, no more than fifteen minutes. Long enough for them to move him back to his prison. Stirring, he turned his head away from her, flicking his tongue out to taste the air. The scents were familiar. As he moved, he’d heard a sharp intake of breath from the female and her touch had gone. Her fear-smell got stronger.

  A wave of nausea and dizziness swept through him, a reaction to the pain he’d suffered. His stomach began to convulse and he sat up abruptly, making his pounding head throb even more. Something cold and hard was thrust into his hands. Opening his eyes, he saw it was a bowl.

  For several minutes, his gut spasmed, each time stopping just short of throwing up its meager contents. Gradually the seizures stopped, and as he leaned against the wall gasping, he looked at the female properly for the first time.

  She was of medium height compared to the males he’d met so far, and her fur was comprised of every shade he’d seen on Sholans. A shapeless gray tunic was her only garment. Fearfully, in an outstretched hand, she held a cup of water.

  He took it from her and drank greedily, never taking his eyes off her. She’d instantly backed away from him till she bumped into the table. Her fear-scent became terror. Swinging his legs onto the floor, he attempted to stand but he was too weak.

  “Need medic,” he said clutching the bed for support. Damn, but he was too old for this! He could have taken it in his stride ten years ago— five even, but now…

  “One’s coming,” she stammered, her Sholan almost incomprehensible to him. She began to edge herself along the table till she had put it between them. Scuttling for the door, she crouched there, tail almost touching the floor, ears flat against her skull.

  Why was she, an unprotected female, here? He’d never seen one since he’d been brought here, so why now? Surely they realized they’d handed him a hostage? He put the thought aside as pain stabbed through him, and he was forced to lie down again.

  The door slid open. He saw the female try to rush past the male, only to be thrust back inside by the accompanying officer— one he knew too well.

  “Let me out! You can’t keep me in here!” she yowled. “You didn’t say anything about…”

  The officer backhanded her, sending her spinning against the now closed door. “You’ll do as you’re ordered,” he said coldly. Ignoring her, he followed the medic over to where Kezule lay watching the byplay with vague interest.

  Not a potential hostage, then. She appeared to have no value to them.

  The officer stood over him, listening while the medic reported on the condition of his various cuts and bruises, including his injured ribs. The examination was brisk and efficient, but left him in worse pain.

  “Lucky you decided to be cooperative today, General,” said his interrogator as the medic began bandaging his wrists. “I’m prepared to allow you some analgesics this time.”

  “He’s not going to be mobile for a few hours after they’re administered,” warned the medic. “He needs plenty of fluids, and food, if he can eat. He’ll need nursing. Leave the female to see to him.”

  A whimper of terror from the entrance accompanied the remark. Then he felt a sharp sting on his neck and the pain began to recede. A warm lethargy started to spread through his body. Even his headache was no longer troubling him.

  “Try not to eat the help, Kezule,” the officer drawled as he turned to leave. “The only one to lose will be you. Replacing her would be too inconvenient.”

  Then he was alone with the whimpering female.

  *

  “So this is your grand plan, Rhyaz,” said Raiban, as the Brother and the medic entered the control room. “One terrified female.”

  “She’s more, General,” said Rhyaz, joining her at t
he viewing area. “She’s been trained by one of the leading Consortia houses. We had hoped to place her inside his room several days ago, but she wasn’t quite ready.”

  “To do what? Whimper? How much training does that take, Rhyaz? Did she know she’d be dealing with a Valtegan?” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

  “She was fully apprised of the situation, General, and agreed to take part in this experiment,” said Rhyaz. “I wouldn’t feel sorry for her. She’s a convicted murderer, facing the death penalty. This is her chance for a pardon.”

  “You’d release a murderer back into society? Or do you expect her to die during the course of her mission? Who is she anyway?”

  “Keeza Lassah. Of course we hope she won’t die. We’ve invested a lot of time and effort in training her.”

  “What’s the rationale behind this?”

  “Simple. Kezule and his ilk used Sholans as slaves. Putting someone else in with him who is as much a prisoner as he is, someone seen to have far less value to us than he has, may make Kezule react to her as he would to the Sholan slaves he had. He’s had no one to talk to but me for the last five weeks. The isolation doesn’t seem to be affecting him the way it does us, but it must be getting to him. Perhaps the company will at last make his tongue grow loose.”

  Raiban gave a reluctant grunt of assent. “And how do you propose to communicate with her?”

  “That’s my job, General,” said Zhyaf. “Her mind’s been programmed to be receptive to mental suggestions. I’ve already established a link with her and am constantly monitoring her emotions and surface thoughts. When necessary I can go deeper.”

  “She’s had all memories of her programming suppressed,” said Rhyaz. “Kezule must have no reason to suspect she’s been placed with him as a spy.”

  “And if her life’s endangered? What then?” asked Raiban.

  Rhyaz shrugged. “This is a war, General. There are always casualties. We’re already grooming a replacement in case we need her. As I said, hopefully we won’t. If we had to go in to rescue Keeza, he’d know she was our agent.”

  Raiban nodded and turned away from the window, beginning to walk toward the door. “What information do you hope to get?”

  “If we can start a dialogue going between the two of them, any stray comment from Kezule could be useful. A reference to his sun being brighter or dimmer than ours could help us pinpoint his solar system. We intend Zhyaf to mentally guide her toward the questions we want her to ask him.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous for her? I presume she isn’t a telepath.”

  “She’s not. It could be dangerous,” replied Zhyaf, “if she didn’t have some degree of sensitivity. There’s not much, but enough. When this is over, she’ll need training to learn to live with her heightened senses.”

  “Don’t you feel her terror, Zhyaf? I thought you damned telepaths were squeamish about this sort of thing.”

  “Yes, General Raiban, I do! But I have to put it aside if I’m to help Keeza,” he snapped. “I find it totally morally reprehensible!”

  Raiban grunted as she waited for the door to slide open. “Good to know someone’s looking out for her.”

  When Raiban had gone, Rhyaz turned to Zhyaf. “I’d prefer you to moderate your emotional outbursts in future, Interpreter Zhyaf,” he said quietly. “How’s she doing?”

  “How do you think she feels, alone with an alien like that? A species that’s known to be violent?” asked Zhyaf angrily.

  “She’s been taught how to placate a violent male, Zhyaf,” said Rhyaz. “And with more than her body. She’ll grovel as well as any Chemerian merchant does when discovered in an illegal transaction. She’s been as well trained as possible in the time available to us. We’ve given her every chance to survive. Now it’s up to her— and you.”

  “I’ll do my job, Master Rhyaz,” he said coldly, entering his new data into his comm. “You do realize he said that our females were useless for pairing with because they were too violent, don’t you?”

  “We didn’t know that until now. Just remember, she should already be dead, Zhyaf,” said Rhyaz sharply. The damned telepath kept taking this morally superior attitude with them! It was getting to be annoying.

  “And Kezule has never been imprisoned with one of our females before. It may be that the isolation has gotten to him, and we just can’t tell. We know they have a high sex drive, and he may just turn to her for some kind of relief or companionship. That’s what we’re hoping for! Dammit, I don’t care if he rapes her in revenge for what I’ve done to him if it helps us get the bastards that murdered the millions of Sholans on our two colony worlds! She’s a weapon, Zhyaf, like all of us are at Stronghold. Every day there’s a chance that one of my Brothers or Sisters may be killed during the course of a mission, but they take that risk. This experiment is vital. I can’t afford to care for one criminal!”

  Zhyaf’s ears lowered till they were flat against his skull, showing he was suitably chastened. “Your pardon, Guild Master,” he said quietly. “I’d forgotten our two colonies. Are you really training a replacement?”

  “No, we’re not. This is a one-shot experiment, Zhyaf. It must succeed.” He watched the tension leave Zhyaf’s face as the telepath’s ears rose.

  “Do you want me to help her overcome her terror, Master Rhyaz?”

  “No. She has to react to him naturally, or he’ll never trust her.”

  “What if she doesn’t lose her fear?” he asked. “What if she becomes so terrified she can’t do what we want? It’s against Guild laws to manipulate her mind.”

  “You’re En’Shalla now, not subject to the Telepath Guild,” Rhyaz growled, “and you’re under contract to us. You’ll do as you’re ordered, Zhyaf. Don’t lose sight of our objective. We might not know where they are, but those damned Valtegans are out there somewhere, and we’re at war with them!” Angrily, he turned and stalked from the room, leaving the two males behind. He liked what he was having to do as little as Raiban and Zhyaf, but dammit, they didn’t have to rub it in!

  *

  “Mentor Sorli, how pleasant to hear from you,” said Lijou. “First of all, let me personally congratulate you on your promotion.”

  “Thank you, Master Lijou. May I return the compliment? It’s good to know our priests will have their own Guild from now on. I would have been in touch sooner, had it not been for my promotion.” His left ear moved fractionally, indicating mild embarrassment as he lowered his voice. “I must admit I didn’t expect Master Esken to hand over the reins quite so suddenly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’d set me here to divert the hunt from his own door! Father Ghyan and I have been busy implementing the Terran education program. An update will be on its way to you in the next day or two.”

  “Thank you, Sorli. I must admit that the last three weeks have been novel. To have such mutual cooperation between our Guilds was unheard of till now. We were hard-pressed to know what to do with the sheer number of acolytes arriving at the Retreat! From famine to feast, as they say.”

  “Indeed,” smiled Sorli. “They’ve been one burden less for me, I have to admit. The Terrans are a headache on their own. There’s a lot of hard work ahead for both of us, but I’d rather that than relive the last few years.” Briefly his smile faded, then reasserted itself. “I’m actually contacting you on official business. Master Esken has requested an escort to bring his future Consortia bride from Ranz to our Guildhouse.”

  Lijou raised an eye ridge.

  “Oh, he didn’t specify a Brotherhood escort, but since I have heard there’s trouble brewing in Ranz, I thought the Brotherhood would be more appropriate than the Warriors. After all,” he said, his eyes widening guilelessly, “it would be terrible indeed if anything should happen to her on her way here.”

  “Quite,” murmured Lijou, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he repressed a smile. “We’d be happy to provide an escort from the House of Khaimoe to your Guild. When is it for, and what is the name of the lu
cky female?”

  “There’s not many of a standing that would satisfy our Master,” said Sorli. “I’m sure you could hazard a guess.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t keep up to date with social politics,” said Lijou, dipping his ear apologetically. “I couldn’t begin to speculate.”

  “Juilmi Rraoud.”

  Lijou feigned surprise. “I have heard of her. A talented hostess and an intellectual. Esken has set his sights high.”

  “She accepted,” murmured Sorli, “against all wagers to the contrary, and quite suddenly, too. She’s to be escorted here for the sixth hour tomorrow for her first meeting with Master Esken.”

  “I’ll see all is in order, Mentor Sorli,” said Lijou, adopting a formal tone for the moment. “And yourself? Ghyan told me you’d life-bonded with Mayoi Kyusha some three weeks ago. How do you find married life?”

  Sorli’s expression softened perceptibly. “To have someone to share the good and the bad with for the first time— it makes life so much more enjoyable, Master Lijou. Did you know she was at the Guildhouse all along? I’d even worked with her once or twice.”

  “Fancy that,” murmured Lijou. “I take it that everything has worked out well for you and her?”

  “Without doubt. She’s been working in the medical section recently, on the case the Clan Lord sent to us. In fact, that was my next piece of news. It seems like we’ve had the best of the people the Terrans intend to send us. The last arrivals had abilities that were considered on the fringes of belief by even those Humans who do believe in telepathy as a science. We’ve had to invent new definitions for them. This Derwent, for instance, he’s a prime example. He says he’s a healer of souls, a guider of the dead, but a large number of the Terrans say he can’t be because he’s from the wrong culture! If you listen to one group, he’s even the wrong sex, it being a female’s skill, one that a male is mentally incapable of doing! It’s like a pasture full of holes made by those damned jumping rodents— you know the ones, the farmers hate ‘em. What’re they called?”