by S. D. Perry
Deciding not to dwell on it, she leaned back in her chair. “So what did the pirate leader say when Inna questioned her so efficiently?”
Taking a sip of his drink, Torrna said, “Actually, the most interesting intelligence we received wasn’t from the pirates, but from their slaves. The most recent conscripts they picked up were refugees from a disaster in the fire caves.”
Kira blinked. “What?”
“Apparently the entrance to the fire caves collapsed—and completely destroyed Yvrig.” Yvrig was a city on another peninsula west of Perikia but on the same continent; it, too, had a thriving port.
Torrna snorted as he continued. “Some of the slaves claimed there was some kind of blue fire when the caves collapsed, but I don’t put much stock in that.”
Kosst Amojan imprisoned…the Pah-wraiths banished to the fire caves…Shabren’s Fifth Prophecy…the Emissary going to the fire caves to stop the Pah-wraiths from being freed…
Kira knew exactly what had happened, remembering her experience channeling the Prophets during the Reckoning, and now knew precisely when she was. Some thirty thousand years before she was born, the Prophets banished the Pah-wraiths to the caves, sealing them in there forever. Only their leader, Kosst Amojan, was imprisoned elsewhere, on a site that would one day be the city of B’hala. The others remained in the fire caves, until Winn Adami and Skrain Dukat attempted to free them only a few months ago, subjective time. Only the sacrifice of the Emissary—Benjamin Sisko—had thwarted the scheme.
Or, rather, will thwart it. I hate time travel. We need new tenses…
Until now, though, it never occurred to Kira that the Prophets’ actions at the caves might have had harmful consequences for the people near the site.
“We’ve got to help those people. There may be—”
“Sit down, Ashla,” Torrna said, which was when Kira realized that she’d stood up. As she sat back down, Torrna continued. “This happened over two weeks ago. There’s very little we can do.”
Right. Of course. There is no instant communication here. Kira nodded in acknowledgment.
“However, this does mean that we’re going to see a significant increase in traffic in the port. Without Yvrig, we’re the only viable port on the southern part of the continent.”
Kira nodded. “Traffic’s going to increase.”
“That’s an understatement.” Torrna broke into a grin.
Yet another parallel, she thought. The discovery of the wormhole transformed Deep Space 9 from a minor outpost to a major port of call. This wasn’t quite on the same scale as that, but Kira did remember one important thing from those early days on DS9.
Torrna continued speaking. “We’ll need to work on expanding the marina to be able to accommodate more ships. Maybe now Marta won’t close her tavern down the way she’s been threatening to. For that matter, we’ll probably need a new inn. Plus—”
“We’ll need more ships from Endtree—or we’ll have to start building some of our own.”
Frowning, Torrna said, “What for? I mean, we’ll need more people for the Dock Patrol, obviously—the number of drunken louts on the docks will increase dramatically—but I don’t think we’ll need—”
“We’re going to need more ships to hold off the pirates—and the Lerrit Navy.”
Torrna snorted again. “The Lerrit Navy is barely worth giving the title.”
“Don’t be so sure of that. We just got another report from Moloki.” Moloki was one of the spies that the Perikian Free Army had observing the goings-on in Lerrit. In fact, the PFA had many such operatives, more than even Torrna or Kira knew definitively about. “He says that they’ve employed shipbuilders from Jerad Province to completely rebuild their navy from scratch. Within the year, they may well be a legitimate naval power—or at least legitimate enough for us to worry about. And with this change in the geography, they’re going to be more interested in taking us back, not less.”
Torrna frowned. “Isn’t Jerad part of the Bajora?”
Kira nodded.
He shook his head. “Wonderful. We don’t join their little theocracy, so they help Lerrit take us back.”
“You can’t blame them for taking on a lucrative contract like that,” Kira said, trying not to examine how much that sounded like Quark.
“I can damn well blame them for anything I want!” Torrna stood up and drained his drink. “Damn it all, I was actually enjoying the good news.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
Torrna waved her off. “No, that’s all right. That’s why I keep you around, Ashla. You have the knack for dragging me back to reality when I need it most.” He turned to stare at the view from his window. “There is a great deal of work that will need to be done.”
Kira got up and walked to Torrna. “Then we’d better get up off our butts and do it, shouldn’t we?”
“Definitely.” Torrna smiled. “What else did Moloki have to report?”
“Nothing different from his last few. The official word is that the Queen is dying, but she keeps showing up at official functions. She hardly ever says anything, but she’s there and smiling a lot. Moloki seems to think that Prince Avtra is doing all the real work.”
Shaking his head, Torrna said, “That woman will never die. You know, she swore that she would live long enough to see the peninsula brought back under her rule. She’s probably the one who contracted the Jeradians to build her a navy so she could fulfill that promise. I daresay she’s clinging to life solely for that reason.”
“Maybe.” She hesitated. “I’m glad you and the admiral are getting along better.”
“Yes, well, her tiresome insistence on giving those silly Prophets of hers all the credit for her work aside, she’s quite a brilliant tactician.” They both sat back down in their seats after Torrna poured himself another drink. “She was able to deal with those pirates with a minimum of fuss. You should have seen…”
He went on at some length, describing how she stopped the pirates, and her ideas for curtailing some of their activities in the future. Kira smiled and nodded, but naval battles were not an area of great interest to her—her tactical instincts for vehicular combat of that sort tended to be more three-dimensional.
She was just glad that Torrna and Inna were getting along. She had a feeling that that would be vital in the long run…
Chapter Six
The worst thing about the dungeon was the smell.
True, Kira had spent most of her formative years living in the caves of Dakhur Hills and other less-than-hospitable places. But even though she had been roughing it by the standards of her culture, it was still a world that had replicators, directed energy weapons, faster-than-light travel, near-instant communication over interstellar distances, and other luxuries that Kira had always taken for granted. Such a world did not include a dungeon that smelled of dried blood, infected wounds, and the feces of assorted vermin.
She looked over at Torrna, sitting in the corner of the cell. The wound on his left arm was growing worse. If it wasn’t treated soon, the gangrene would probably kill him.
Just hope our capture did some good, she thought.
Kira had no idea how long the war with Lerrit had been going on. At this point, she couldn’t even say for sure how long it had taken the retreating troops to bring Kira and Torrna to Lerrit’s capital city and the dungeon where they’d been languishing. On the one hand, in a world where communication and transportation was so slow, the pace of life was much slower than Kira was used to—on the other, it seemed like the rebellion had only just ended before this new war with Lerrit had begun.
Kira had been fearing this very thing since the collapse of the fire caves meant more business for the Natlar Port. The port had indeed thrived, giving the Perikian economy the shot in the arm it so desperately needed in order to truly start building itself into a legitimate power in the region, instead of an insignificant nation lucky enough to have a nice piece of real estate.
What she had not e
xpected was the sheer strength of the Lerrit Army. The same army that Kira had helped repel had doubled its numbers and was much better armed. The navy was giving the Endtree ships a run for their money—and the war had been declared on both Perikia and Endtree, so there was also fighting in Endtree’s territory, both on land and sea.
Still, they had won a major battle at Barlin Field, driving the army completely out of the Makar Province.
All it had cost them was their best field general.
The door to the dungeon opened, and Kira winced. The place had no route of escape (Kira had spent the first six hours in the cell scouring every millimeter for just such a thing), and only one window, which was fifteen meters above them—just enough to provide a glimmer of light and hope for escape without any chance of that hope being fulfilled. A (very small) part of Kira admired the tactical psychology that went into the dungeon’s design.
The flickering torchlight from the hallway, however, was far brighter than the meager illumination provided by the faraway window, so it took several seconds for Kira’s eyes to adjust. When they did, she was confronted with the guard who brought them their food and waste buckets (not replacing them nearly often enough to suit Kira). The guard wore the usual Lerrit uniform of gray and blue, with the addition of a shabby black cloak that probably served to keep the stink and filth of the dungeon off the guard’s uniform. Standing next to him was a very short man dressed in a white jacket and white pants, both with shiny gold fastenings, and a white cape that served the same function as the guard’s cloak—and, being white, was more noticeably the worse for doing so.
Kira recognized him, barely, from the coins that sometimes changed hands on the docks: this was Prince Syba Avtra of Lerrit.
“You look better on your coins, Your Highness,” Kira said.
The prince looked up at her. “Very droll.”
Then he glanced at the guard, who rewarded Kira’s comment with a slap to the face. All Kira could think was, I’ve known some Cardassians in my time who would eat you for lunch. She gave the guard a contemptuous look in reply.
Avtra, meanwhile, had moved on to Torrna. “You will rise in the presence of royalty, General.”
Torrna looked up at Avtra with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “As soon as I’m in the presence of some, I’ll consider it.”
Again Avtra gave the guard a glance. Since Torrna was seated, the guard elected to kick the general in the stomach rather than bend over to slap him.
After coughing for several seconds, Torrna said, “I’m disappointed. I was hoping that Her Royal Highness herself would come to gloat over our capture. It is, after all, the only true victory you have won in this war.”
The prince laughed heartily at that.
“Something amuses you?” Torrna asked the question with contempt and with a few more coughs, diluting the effect of the former.
“My ‘dear’ mother has been dead for some time, fool! Do you truly think she engineered this war? Or our alliance with the Bajora?”
This time Kira felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach, though the guard had made no move toward her. The Bajora? No wonder they’re so well armed!
“I can see by the look on your face that you appreciate the position you’re in, General. With the Bajora behind us, we will destroy Endtree, squash you upstart rebels, and finally control the entire southern coast.” He moved toward Torrna, looking down on the general’s dirty, bruised, swollen face with a sneer on his own clean visage. “Now I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what the troop movements are for your little band of spear carriers?”
“If I thought you were worth wasting the spit, I’d spit on you right now,” Torrna said. His voice was more subdued than usual—not surprising after the ordeal they’d been through—but the tone was abundantly clear.
“I assumed as much. Besides, I can’t imagine that even your soldiers are so stupid as to retain the same battle plan after one of their generals has been captured. Still, I had to ask. And I wanted to see the infamous General Torrna in our dungeon for myself. You will be publicly executed at dawn tomorrow. It was going to be yesterday, but the demand for tickets is simply outrageous, and we had to postpone so we could put in extra seating in the stadium.”
Kira wondered if that was the same stadium that had been unearthed in this region during the occupation. After the Cardassian withdrawal, Bajoran archaeologists had speculated that sporting events had been held there as long as fifty thousand years prior to its rediscovery. That it was used for public executions was a fact of which Kira could happily have remained ignorant.
Avtra finally turned back to Kira. “As for this one—I suppose we should let Torrna have one final night of companionship before we take her to the front lines. She’ll make fine arrow fodder.”
With that, he turned and left, saying, “Enough of this. I need to get the stink of this dungeon off my person.”
The guard closed the door, leaving Kira wishing she could get the stink of the prince off herself as easily.
“We have to get out of here,” Torrna said.
Kira snorted. “I’m open to suggestions. The only ones who have free rein in and out of this cell are insects and rodents.”
Torrna tried to stand up, but made the mistake of bracing himself with his left arm, and he collapsed to the floor.
Kira moved to help him up, but he waved her off. “I’m fine. Just forgot about the damn wound. Stupid arm’s gone numb.” He staggered to his feet. “Damn those foul Bajora—I hope those Prophets of theirs strike them down with lightning.”
The Prophets don’t work like that, Kira thought, but refrained from saying it aloud.
“We have to—argh! I’m fine,” he added quickly, again brushing off Kira’s offer of help. “We have to get this intelligence back to the prefect and to Inna. If the Queen is dead, and the Bajora are helping…You were right, the fire caves’ collapse definitely made our land more attractive.”
“I don’t think that matters as much as we thought. From the way that kid was talking, he’s been wanting to start a war with us for years, but his mother’s been holding him back. The collapse of the caves probably made it easier for him to justify it, but I’m willing to bet that we’d have had a war on our hands as soon as the Queen died no matter what.”
Torrna nodded, and Kira could see him wincing in the dim light. He’s more hurt than he’ll admit, and the stubborn bastard won’t let me help him.
“We’ve got to find some way out of here! If we can get back, tell them about this, we can change our strategy, try to hit the supply lines the Bajora are using….”
Sure, no problem. I’ll just tap my combadge, order the runabout to lock in on our signal, and then we’ll beam out of here. Then we can transmit a subspace message with our intel. That’ll work…
The door opened suddenly again. A guard—a different one—came in with two buckets.
Then he closed the door. What the hell—? The guards never closed the door.
The guard dropped the buckets, then reached into his cloak and pulled out a set of keys. “C’mon, c’mon, we haven’t got much time. Take these, take these.”
“Who the hell’re you?” Torrna asked.
“Right, right, the password.” The guard then uttered a phrase in Old High Bajoran that Kira only recognized two words of.
Torrna’s eyes went wide. “Moloki?”
“In the very frightened flesh, yes.”
“We thought you dead.”
“I probably will be after this stunt, believe me. Don’t know what I was thinking coming up with this ludicrous plan. They’ll use my guts for building material, they will.”
Kira took the keys from Moloki. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing happened as such. I simply couldn’t get any messages out. The moment Her Royal Senility dropped dead, all hell broke loose. Truly, a spy can no longer make anything like an honest living in this environment.”
“Can you get us—” Torrna st
arted.
“Yes, yes, I can get you out of here, just give me a moment to collect myself. I’ve never been much for impersonations, and I had to pull off being one of those imbecile guards that the prince likes to employ. Stomping ’round all day, bellowing at the tops of their lungs so loud you can’t think.” He shuddered. “No style at all, more’s the pity.” He reached into his cloak. “In any case, here’s a map that’ll show you how to get out of here once I bring you to the surface, as well as a map that shows the supply lines the Bajora are using. Assuming you get home alive, that should be fairly useful.” He put his hand on Torrna’s shoulder. “Let me make something abundantly clear, General—it will not be easy to get home. It will involve going through a swamp and then across a mountain range. Deviate even slightly from the route I’ve mapped out, and you’re guaranteed to be captured.”
“And if we stay on the route?” Kira asked.
“Then you’re just likely to be captured.”
“I was afraid of that,” Torrna muttered.
Kira looked at Torrna and winced. “He’s not going to make it with his arm in the shape it’s in.”
“He has to, dammit!” Moloki said sharply, in marked contrast to his more affable tone. Then he composed himself. “Listen to me, and listen very carefully, because I’m only going to say this once. Years ago, I offered to help Periki Remarro in whatever way was necessary—not because I have any great love for that silly peninsula of yours, but because I want to see Lerrit great again. That isn’t going to happen as long as those inbred mutants are in power.”
“So you’ve been working to undermine them from within?” Kira said.
“Something like that, yes. It’s been a bit of a chore, but I thought the end was near. Avtra is sterile, you see, and so can’t produce any heirs. I had hopes that the Syba dynasty would finally end its pathetic chokehold over my home.” He sighed. “This ridiculous alliance with the Bajora changes all that, of course. The Bajora know damn well that Prince Idiot is the last of his moronic line, and they plan to use this alliance to gain a toehold so they can take over once the Crown Imbecile dies.” Moloki unsheathed the sword he had in a belt sheath. “You’ll need this more than I will.”
