Kinsman's Oath

by Susan Krinard

  He opened his consciousness, listening for Kinsmen. The nearest minds seemed otherwise occupied; either they were overconfident of ultimate success, or they paradoxically held to the convention that forbade them from entering an unsuspecting mind.

  It did not matter, as long as they stayed away. "I ask nothing of you but your name."

  Her eyes squeezed shut. "Stop."

  "Who are you?"

  "No." Her hands tightened into fists, and she gasped as if invisible forces buffeted her body. "Tyr was always stronger." She hunched her back away from him. "You didn't know. You didn't see."

  He caught at the very edge of an idea so fantastic that he could not quite accept it. "Your cousin," he said. "He is here now."

  Cynara looked into his eyes with such bleak resignation that he knew he was right. "Stay out," she said. "Leave me alone." The emotion, and the voice, were Cynara's. But then she vanished, and the cold calculation of a stranger returned.

  Tyr. It could be no one else. As Ronan had become a different person when the Kinsmen had taken away his positive memories of the shaauri, so she had somehow taken on the characteristics of the cousin who had helped shape her destiny.

  Had she called upon this hidden part of herself when she found the situation on Aitu too difficult to bear? Had memories of Tyr arisen to take possession of her being, beyond her control?

  Ronan feared for her, but he could not allow that fear to rule him. Cynara's mental state might become a wedge for Kinsmen to pry into her past and her unique knowledge.

  He must not fail her as he had failed Sihvaaro. Deliberately he relived the final battle, the moment of his teacher's death, heard again the words that brought so little comfort: "Do not give up hope."

  Hope was a human emotion. Ronan could make his body function under conditions that would kill most humans, numb his senses to extreme heat and cold and hunger, ignore pain, speed the healing of wounds. He could not stop his grief.

  "You must go to Arhan, those who adopted your father. "

  Sihvaaro had learned the truth of Ronan's parentage. But only upon his death had he revealed the secret he had concealed even from his beloved student: his own telepathic abilities.

  There are others like me, Sihvaaro had said. The rest of his knowledge, like his devotion and serene courage, had died with him.

  But the Kinsmen must also know what had become of Ronan's parents. Constano had been the enemy of Arhan, and Arhan was Jonas Kane's adopted Line. If the Arhani still bore any loyalty toward Kane and Kori Challinor, hope remained.

  All Ronan had to do was reach this vessel's com station and send a message to the Arhan ship Sihvaaro had summoned.

  He laughed. Cynara regarded him impassively across the cabin. The door opened.

  "Come," the armed Kinsman said, jerking his rifle. "Constano wants to see you."

  Cynara got to her feet and walked past Ronan without a glance. The Kinsman, joined by a second guard, herded them back down the corridor to a larger cabin that could only belong to the First of the ship.

  A man rose from his chair behind a broad desk. Ronan knew him immediately.

  Artur Constano VelRauthi—the man whose face and name he had for so long forgotten, traitor to the Concordat, the Kinsman who was behind the assassination plot, Sihvaaro's death, and Cynara's present danger.

  The guards set Ronan and Cynara before the desk and took up stations to either side of the cabin. VelRauthi smiled behind his dark beard with all the ease of a man certain in his power.

  "I see that you remember me, Ronan," he said, "though I'd hardly expected to meet again. Ronan Kane VelKalevi—what irony in that name." He chuckled. "Or do you prefer Lord Achilles Challinor?"

  "I did not carry out your bidding," Ronan said. "The Archon still lives."

  "So I understand." VelRauthi moved an object on his desk to a new position as if it were of great importance. "Bravo. Your mind is far stronger than even we suspected when we sent you. But it seems you still cannot control your thoughts or your emotions. I feel your hate." He glanced at Cynara, who had neither moved nor spoken. "And I feel something more… Is it possible that a human raised by shaauri can love?"

  "You are not interested in my emotions," Ronan said, holding VelRauthi's gaze. "You came to Aitu when you learned I had returned, though I was not meant to survive your mission."

  "And we discovered that you had a very interesting companion," VelRauthi added. "Sit, Cynara D'Accorso, captain of the Alliance ship Pegasus."

  Cynara remained standing. "What do you want?"

  "Admirable directness, Captain," he said. "Perhaps you will tell me why you were watching us at the landing field?"

  "We had no choice," Ronan said. "After the Challinors discovered my purpose and sent me from Concordat space—"

  "Curious that they let you go."

  "—I returned with Cynara D'Accorso to share what I had learned with my House. But circumstances on Aitu have changed since I left. It was necessary to escape by any means possible."

  "Indeed—Lenko is an old enemy, isn't he? Of course you had no intention of contacting us until you were driven to it."

  "I regained my full memory and recognized what you had done to me. I am no assassin."

  "Nor, apparently, are you ever to be anything but an outcast among shaauri." He clucked with mock sympathy. "Lenko was most eager to be rid of all human presence—he was not so amenable to our mutual goals as the previous First of Ain'Kalevi and had no interest in what we had done with you. He allowed you to think that you might buy safety with the knowledge you promised, while all the time he was waiting for us to take you away."

  "What will you do with us now?" Cynara demanded.

  "I sense a certain chagrin, Captain. Though Ronan would have us believe he took you hostage, it is clear that you accompanied him out of sheer devotion, having supposedly saved his life from the shaauri striker. It must make a fascinating tale."

  Cynara laughed. "Look a little deeper, Constano, and you may find that my feelings are not as tender as you suppose."

  VelRauthi narrowed his eyes. "Ah, yes. A change of heart that seems to be genuine." He glanced at Ronan. "Yet you are still determined to protect her. How very touching."

  "All I want is to be returned to the Concordat," Cynara said. "To my own kind."

  "I do sympathize with your feelings, Captain. When you came with Ronan, you did not expect him to probe your mind and take vital intelligence that might harm the Concordat. Alas, betrayal all around. But since he has already retrieved this intelligence and you have little to lose by sharing it, you and I may be able to reach an agreement regarding your future."

  "Perhaps," she said coolly. "Why did you want the Archon dead?"

  "If I told you the reason, dear Captain, I might never be able to let you leave."

  "You're human, and so am I. Your war is not with the Nine Worlds or my people; it's with the Concordat, who have never treated us as equals."

  "And you imply that our interests may coincide more than I might assume? You intrigue me, Captain." He glanced at Ronan. "And I see she shocks you. You expected her to remain loyal to her own kind, as you have to the shaauri, who have rejected you." He bowed to Cynara. "Naturally I can't take you at your word, Captain. I know you're a telepath of limited ability and privy to certain Concordat secrets. Secrets within secrets, perhaps?"

  "By now the Concordat must realize that I left with Ronan," she said. "They didn't authorize it. They'll be prepared for the possibility that an enemy might penetrate my defenses. I know very well I can't hold out against Kinsmen."

  "Sensible. Still, your sincerity remains in question… for the time being." He turned to Ronan again. "We were always aware even you might fail, but you may still serve some purpose."

  Ronan knotted his fists. "What became of my parents? Who sent me to Aitu and Ain'Kalevi?"

  "Ah, your parents. Such a tragedy. They came to shaauri space hoping to avert a Second War, but were intercepted by shaauri… less e
nthusiastic about a lasting peace with humans."

  "And by Kinsmen."

  "Perhaps. In any case, I understand that Jonas Kane VelArhan and his Challinor mate escaped the ship in a lifepod before it was destroyed, just as you did. They were never found. You, however, were rescued."

  "And sent not to my father's shaauri kin, but to those who hated humans."

  "There was always some debate as to whether or not you should be allowed to survive. Aitu was a test. You were relieved of your memories of your true parents and the time before your arrival on that world, and given to Ain'Kalevi. When you not only survived but made a place for yourself in House Kalevi—and displayed signs of your parents' skills—it became clear that you might be an asset after all."

  "You hated my parents."

  'They had caused me some inconvenience in the past. But you were to atone for their sins. A few conferences with the War-Leader and Ain'Kalevi—who didn't hate Kinsmen nearly so much as the Concordat—and you were given to us."

  Ronan was sucked into a memory of the small room, the human faces, the burning in his mind as they stripped it bare and filled it again with their schemes and thoughts of death.

  'The pain was a small price to pay for what you might have accomplished," VelRauthi said.

  "For you, not for shaauri-ja."

  "You seem convinced that there is a difference. Shaauri need the benefit of human cunning and human strategies if they are to win this war."

  "The A'Aho-Kei'hon-vekki knew about the assassination attempt?"

  VelRauthi pursed his lips. "He approved our plans to use you as an agent ideally suited to evading Concordat defenses against our people. The details he left in our hands."

  "Will you tell him I have failed?"

  "The information you and the captain carry should be more than sufficient to satisfy the War-Leader."

  "I will give him my knowledge directly. Release Captain D'Accorso and deliver me to Aur."

  "No, no." VelRauthi's eyes glinted with humor, barely concealing his hostility. "You are only a tool, Ronan, and a flawed one. You're of no more importance to A'Aho-Kei'hon-vekki than a gnat on the tip of his whisker. You live on sufferance now, just as on Aitu."

  Ronan swallowed his anger like rancid meat. "Do with me what you wish, but release Captain D'Accorso. I possess all the knowledge in her mind."

  "We shall see." VelRauthi leaned against the desk, his eyes sharp behind their amusement. "You and the captain have been lovers?"

  "Yes," Cynara said. 'That's the only reason he has my knowledge. I did care for him, before…" She let the contempt in her voice complete the sentence.

  "I see that you have lost your taste for alien lovers. A little too exotic… Lifemate?" He smiled at Ronan. "So that was your strategy to save her from the human-haters. Unfortunately, I feel the lady's distaste for the prospect. Such a high honor wasted."

  Ronan shut out the Kinsman's mockery. It didn't matter if Cynara truly believed what she said, or if Tyr spoke for her. As long as she remained alive and safe.

  Silence. Silence your thoughts.

  "You seem distracted, VelKalevi," Constano said with feigned concern. "It is sad to lose the regard of a loved one, but it will make it easier for you in the long term. You see, I won't be able to let the captain go until I am quite certain that her information is of use to us. One of you will provide the initial intelligence, and the other will confirm it under deep-probe. Unfortunately, that confirmation may result in severe and permanent damage to the subjected mind.

  "You'll have to choose which of you is to remain sane."

  * * *

  Chapter 27

  « ^ »

  Ronan took a step forward, and the guards snapped to attention. "Captain D'Accorso will give you what you demand," he said. "I will not resist your deep-probe."

  "Very noble," Constano said. "Have you any objections, Captain D'Accorso? Cooperate and keep your sanity, and your life if not your freedom. I give you my word. You'll be rid of the man who led you to this, along with the unwelcome burden of his pathetic devotion."

  Cynara continued to stare straight ahead, an exquisite statue gracing VelRauthi's quarters. "I need time to consider."

  "Of course." He moved back around his desk and sat, steepling his fingers in an attitude of profound gravity. "You and Ronan may return to your cabin to… discuss your options."

  The guards closed in about Ronan and Cynara, and for a moment Ronan's impulse to attack VelRauthi was so powerful that the Kinsman shot up from his seat and shouted in warning. A rifle butt struck Ronan in the belly. He doubled over, sucking in air, and came up to meet Cynara's stony gaze.

  "Enjoy your final moments together," VelRauthi said, and laughed.

  The Kinsman guards marched Ronan and Cynara back to the cell, where they were provided with rations and water. Cynara retreated to her side of the cabin.

  "You must let him have what he wants," Ronan said, sinking into a crouch. "VelRauthi will not spare me, whatever you decide."

  He might as well have been talking to the bulkhead. Cynara didn't move.

  Before the meeting with VelRauthi, Ronan had feared to touch Cynara's mind lest he prematurely reveal his intentions. Now there was no choice. VelRauthi was convinced that Cynara would break with very little encouragement, and that she might even prove useful beyond the intelligence she contributed. But Ronan had no doubt that he would deep-probe Cynara in spite of his promise.

  What she needed was a way to preserve her sanity when VelRauthi attempted- the probe. Ronan had a very limited window of opportunity in which to give her that ability.

  Cynara had said or implied many times that all her strength came from her cousin. What had happened on the day Tyr died? Her memories made his act a noble sacrifice, essential to her position as captain of the Pegasus.

  There must be something more.

  "Cynara," he said gently, "you must trust me." Without waiting for a reply, he sat cross-legged on the deck and began the practice of the Eightfold Way. One by one he renewed his mental barriers, constructing a scaffolding of surface thoughts and fears to distract any Kinsman observers. The barricade would hold for only a short time, but its labyrinthine structure would conceal what he attempted to create behind it.

  He released his grip on his fabrication and sank deep beneath its meaningless chatter, retaining just enough physical awareness to reach for Cynara. Her hand was ice-cold, fingers unresisting.

  Cynara. Hear me.

  It seemed that he walked in a fog, lost as she was lost in the caverns of her mind. The bright presence of her being was muted and cold.

  Cynara. You have nothing to fear. Come to me.

  No response. But within the mist shone a faint luminescence, ghost-lights to guide the weary traveler home. Ronan made his way toward them, memories sucking at his legs with every step.

  Memories.

  They danced before him like the veils worn by Dharman women, floating within his grasp and then snatched away by invisible fingers. He stood very still. A memory black as VelRauthi's heart wrapped itself around him.

  The Pegasus—the scream of sirens—a dying man sprawled on the deck at the foot of the captain's chair. Tyr Siannas. His face was twisted with pain and some deeper torment.

  Ronan crouched over him, cradling Tyr's head in his hands. Tyr coughed. Bright blood spattered Ronan's shirt.

  Don't blame yourself, Cyn. It wasn't your doing. But Tyr's lips did not move. The voice was not his. It came, bodiless, from the very air. From Cynara's mind.

  Ronan blocked the voice and concentrated on Tyr's face. Green eyes opened, staring at Ronan with the fury of madness.

  "You," he whispered. "Little bitch. If not for you—" Tyr clawed with rigid hands, dragging Ronan down until Tyr's fading breath mingled with his own.

  "You want my ship?" Tyr rasped. "You want to be captain?" He barked out a laugh. "I'm dying. Does that please you?"

  Ronan shook his head wildly. "No, Tyr. You can't die."
/>
  "You were always a fraud, Cynara. A farce. Nothing. Now… you've betrayed Dharma, D'Accorso… my father…"

  "No." But in Ronan's mind was the sure knowledge that he had brought disaster upon the Pegasus, upon this cousin he had always loved, because he had not been content in the life to which he had been born.

  "Will you do anything… to save me?" Tyr croaked.

  "Anything." Tears scalded Ronan's eyes. "Anything."

  "Then come closer, little Cousin. Look at me. Trust me."

  He locked his hands around Ronan's face. In that touch was nothing of tenderness, of farewell, of regret. Tyr's mind struck out, a master's thrust aimed at a novice. Ronan jerked back, but he could not escape.

  He saw the truth of Tyr's character, the ambition, the willingness to sacrifice anything or anyone to win and keep power. He felt the depth of Tyr's hatred. And he knew Tyr's weakness—the mortal defect that had held him immobile with fear when he could have acted to save himself and the crew.

  Tyr thrust inside Ronan's mind with groping fists, seeking the continuation of life in any way he could take it. Ronan's vision faltered. A million microscopic teeth gnawed at the space inside his skull, emptying it of thought and will and self.

  You will be captain, Tyr whispered. Your body will walk this deck. But nothing of you will be left to enjoy it.

  The blows came without ceasing, bruising phantom flesh and snapping spectral bones. Tyr drove inside him—unimaginable, excruciating violation meant to destroy utterly.

  But something of Ronan remained. All the petty rebellions that changed so little, the minor revolts against tradition, everything he had fought for on Dharma came to his aid like the angels of legend. Mental abilities judged so insignificant rose to his defense. He found the strength to fight back.

  Tyr was not prepared. His astonishment cut through Ronan's newfound resolve for the fraction of an instant. Tyr recovered first. He launched his final, fatal assault.

  Ronan raised his shield, mirror-bright. Tyr's blow struck and rebounded onto itself, splitting Tyr's mind asunder.

  Ronan's shield shattered, driving shards of glass and metal into his body. His screams mingled with Tyr's. He was Tyr, spinning into an abyss of his own making.