“Did you see the marks?”
The burly man nodded, and examined the scrap of animal hide.
“We saw the attacker dead on a ledge below the snowsheep,” Spock said. “It was the color of that piece of skin.”
The tall man drew in a deep breath. “A zanigret,” he said to the trail leader. “These travelers have been held without need. Release them.”
Immediately, the hand ropes were untied.
“You are free to leave,” said the old man.
“Now?” asked McCoy.
The old man looked down at McCoy with a curious stare. “Of course, but only the foolish travel in darkness, when the zanigret prowl. You are welcome to remain with us until morning, then go back to your homelands.”
“We are unable to return to our homelands,” said Spock. “Where we come from is far from these mountains. Before we can go back, we need to retrieve something that was left here by a friend of ours a long time ago.”
“What is this thing? Perhaps we can help you.”
“Perhaps you can. We are trying to find the settlement of Shirn O’tay. Do you know him?”
The man’s eyes crinkled under his snowy brows, and he smiled. “You seek the King’s Crown?”
“How do you know that?” asked McCoy in astonishment. And as he asked, the answer dawned on him. “Of course—you are Shirn O’tay.”
The old man bowed deeply. “Not a day has passed without thinking of the King. Is he well?”
“He is ill,” said Spock, “too ill to come back for the Crown himself. This is his daughter, Kailyn.”
“Ahh, yes,” Shirn said in delight. “The child, the little child. But you’ve grown so.” Shirn shook his head. “To think after all this time and wind has blown over the mountains . . .” He stopped in mid-breath. “Oh, but of course you do come from far beyond the mountains. You come from other worlds, other stars. You must rest and eat with us.” He clapped his hands and shouted: “Prepare for the Feast of the Moons! Come, come! You will eat on my blanket!”
The old chieftain led his people from the shrine chamber into a smaller side cavern where the feast would take place. Spock, McCoy, and Kailyn followed the crowd.
“We’re in the home stretch, Spock,” McCoy crowed. “I didn’t think I’d live to see it.”
But the joyous tide swept Kailyn along in body only—her spirit was troubled. She had been so caught up in the physical trials of reaching the Crown, she had allowed herself to forget the rigorous test that she would have to face alone. Neither McCoy nor Spock could help her once it was placed on her head. The biggest task of her young life loomed nearer than she had ever thought it would, and it made the trek through the terrors of Sigma 1212 look like child’s play. She found herself wishing they were still out on the mountain trail somewhere—anywhere but this close to the Crown of Shad.
Chapter Sixteen
Commander Kon’s patience had long since run out. The space storm had kept him from making a close approach to Sigma 1212 for nearly two days, and tensions aboard the Klingon spy scout hovered dangerously close to the boiling point. His hulking weapons officer glanced at Kon uncomfortably from time to time—no doubt the man’s jaw still smarted from the punch Kon had thrown in their scuffle that morning
As a commander, Kon preferred to have his orders obeyed without enforcement tactics, certainly without brawling. But Lieutenant Keast had insisted on giving unsolicited advice. When Kon had warned that he was on the edge of insubordination, Keast had become abusive. The punch had silenced him rather effectively, though upon later reflection, Kon had to admit to himself that he was lucky he’d caught the much bigger and younger lieutenant off guard.
As the hours wore on, he looked at Kera more and more often. Not only did he prefer her beauty to the sullen faces of his two male officers, but she was the one who would inform him of the storm’s abatement. Finally, she did.
“Can we move in, Kera?”
“Yes, Commander. Completing preparatory sensor sweep now.”
She turned back to her computer console, hands resting lightly atop several control switches, ready to shift modes and readouts. The stream of data meant little to Kon, and he waited, once again with a full reserve of patience.
“Something strange, sir,” Kera said with a frown. She touched a sequence of buttons. “Receiving communication from the Federation vessel.”
Kon sat upright on his couch. “Is the Enterprise within range?”
“Negative, sir. No ships but our own.”
“Then who are they communicating with?”
“Ahh. No one, it seems. The message just repeated. It’s an auto-distress signal.”
“So . . . the Federation ship didn’t land successfully after all. Our decision to wait was an excellent strategic move, wouldn’t you say, Kera?” Kon spoke loudly, his barb aimed at Keast, who slouched in his seat, sulking.
Kera smiled coolly. “Excellent, Commander.” Perhaps after this mission, she would reconsider a sexual coupling with him. The look in his eye was unmistakable—the choice up to her. But that was for later consideration. “We are locked on to the Federation ship’s position, sir. Landing may proceed.”
The Klingon ship set down about a mile away from the abandoned Galileo, in a clearing not far from the steam, which ran fast and high within its banks. It was sunset, though the cloud cover made the sky look even duskier, almost completely dark. With a search-lantern beam probing ahead, Kon led the way to the shuttlecraft. Cutting winds swept over the lowland terrain, and all four Klingons held their weapons drawn as they cautiously approached the wreck.
“Any life readings?” Kon asked.
Kera scanned the Galileo. “None.”
Kon turned to his two male officers. “Stand guard outside while we search the interior.”
A gust of wind blew by and the ship’s ripped metal hide creaked and moaned. Kon whirled reflexively, his weapon at the ready, then relaxed and looked sheepishly at his science officer. “All this waiting has me a little jumpy.”
“Just don’t shoot me by accident.”
Kon shook his head. “Not you. Keast perhaps.”
They both laughed and climbed under the shuttle’s flank to get at the doorway. Once inside, Kon panned around with the light beam while Kera turned her sensor toward all nooks and corners.
“No bodies,” Kon mused.
“Some blood, though,” the science officer said, holding up a dark-brown-stained cloth. “Someone was injured.”
They were interrupted by a soft, repetitive beating sound on the hull. “What’s that?” said Kon.
“Sounds like rain.”
They listened for a few moments, and the beating grew more insistent—harder, louder, faster.
“Commander,” Keast shouted from the hatch, “it’s pouring out here. The skies suddenly opened up.”
“If he gets soaked,” Kera said in a low voice, “you’ll never hear the end of his complaining. You don’t want to have to hit him again, do you?”
Kon made a face of disgust. “Very well,” he called. “Both of you come in here.”
Keast and his fellow guard clambered up through the jagged opening. They were already drenched, and the chilly air made them shiver. Kon glared at them while Kera continued her thorough reconnaissance of the shuttle cabin.
“Weapons are missing. Most of their food supplies are back here, but they’re contaminated, sir.”
“Evaluation?”
“I’d say they were able to leave here, but how far they could’ve gotten is impossible to estimate—especially with the weather conditions on this planet.”
“Yes,” said Kon thoughtfully. “Federation weaklings would not fare well in such a rugged climate—unlike us Klingons.” He glared at his shivering officers. “Most Klingons, at least.”
“I’m sorry, Commander,” Keast protested, “but it’s very cold—and getting colder.”
“Wherever they are, they’re well-armed,” Kon continued. “That
means they could have attacked any natives in the area to get food and shelter.”
“Except that Federation cowards don’t operate that efficiently,” Kera reminded him.
“When it comes to survival, even a mongrel Star Fleet officer like that half-Vulcan Spock would kill if he had the chance. Keep that in mind, all of you. If we find them, be ready to kill on sight.”
“In the meantime, sir,” said Keast belligerently, “what do we do?”
“We wait out this storm. I’d hate for you to have to get wet again.”
“But the Federation spies could be—”
“—sitting someplace, doing exactly what we are—waiting,” said Kon, cutting him off. “We’ll be losing no ground. I’m sure they’re not far from here, and well have no trouble tracking them once the weather improves. You’re not as reluctant to travel in darkness as you are in the rain, eh, Keast?”
“No, sir, I am not,” said the lieutenant stiffly.
The Klingons spent over an hour in the leaky shuttle wreck, but the rain only worsened. A swirling wind current spun through the forest, ripping up trees and tossing them like twigs. Picking up debris, the storm funnel howled across the flatlands and barreled over the hills. It bore down on the Galileo and flipped it like a child’s toy being thrown by the hand of a giant.
The Klingons inside never knew what hit them. Keast was killed instantly when his skull slammed into the sharp edge of a split bulkhead. The other male officer was catapulted out the hatch opening and crushed against the boulders below as the wreck rolled over him. Kera and Kon held fast to couches still fastened to the floor, and were both alive when the wind passed and the Galileo, broken in two now, came to a stop against a cliff almost a hundred yards away.
They stumbled out into the heavy rain. Kon fell to the ground, semiconscious. Kera held her right arm close to her side, protecting a rib she suspected was fractured. She knelt in the cold oozing mud and used her sleeve to wipe blood away from her commander’s eyes—then she saw the deep ugly gash above his nose.
“Can you stand, Kon?”
“I think so. We have to get back to our ship. Help me up.”
She did her best, and the two of them limped toward the relative haven of the woods.
“The stream,” Kon whispered through bloody lips. “Have to follow it.”
“We’re almost there.”
Kon tripped and fell, grabbing Kera for support. His arm closed tightly around her waist and she cried out in pain—he had found the broken rib. She held her breath, fought back tears, steadied both of them and moved on through the trees.
They could hear the roaring of the water just ahead, though it was barely audible over the screaming wind. But it would be their guide back to the safety of their own ship.
Thunderstorms rumbled to the west. A Medusa’s head of tangled lightning bolts ripped across the sky, splitting off and plunging toward the planet below. One struck an ancient tree that towered above the forest trail. The tree exploded and shattered, spraying shards of wood like shrapnel in all directions. Kera shoved Kon down behind another low-hanging tree—an instant too late. A ragged spike drove itself into Kon’s chest, and he was dead before he hit the ground. Kera lay on top of him.
“No!” she screamed, then strangled another cry starting deep in her throat. The only answers from the tortured lords of nature that ruled this wild planet were the steady downpour, the thunder, and the crackling of the burning tree stump. The charred wood hissed as the rain hit it and turned to steam.
Kera was alone—but she was a Klingon. She would have to go on and attempt to complete this mission—alone. Or die trying.
Chapter Seventeen
Shirn O’tay proved to be a gracious host. His blanket was actually a sumptuous fur rug made of zanigret skins and padded underneath with the fleece of the snowsheep. The Feast of the Moons marked the simultaneous phasing out of both moons, an event that occurred only four times a year because of the unequal orbits of the Sigman satellites. The darkened skies represented the cleansing change of seasons, and the new moons to come up the next night were worshiped as harbingers of good fortune.
Long platters of meat from slaughtered sheep, and an assortment of vegetables and herbs were welcome sights to the trio from the shuttlecraft—a far cry from the berries and concentrates they’d had over the last two days. They were finally able to peel off their dirty and tattered thermal suits, and afterward McCoy and Kailyn gorged themselves; Spock ate only the herbs and vegetables, and all three listened eagerly as Shirn answered their many questions about his mountain settlement.
“We’ve lived much the same for hundreds of years,” the old man told them. “Our fathers found this valley, and took its discovery as a sign from the wind gods. As you’ve seen, our world is not altogether hospitable.”
“Well, you’ve certainly made up for the planets bad manners,” said McCoy between bites.
“The storm we encountered in the lowlands—is that a common weather pattern here?” asked Spock.
“For the lowlands, yes. Even for the mountains—but not within the bosom of the Kinarrs, where we are. Here on the plateau, we rarely get more than a gentle snowfall. The snowsheep lived in this valley before our fathers came, and they became domesticated very easily. There is a story we have the children tell at feast times, so the old tales will live on. Tolah! You’ll start.”
A pixie of a girl rose from a blanket at the far side of the cave. She padded over to Shirn and stood before him. She looked about eight years old, and wore a bracelet of bells that jingled gently as she moved. He handed her a scroll.
“Tolah, the story of the first snowsheep.”
The little girl took a giant ballet step away from Shirn and spoke in a serious voice. “The first snowsheep greeted our fathers at the break in the Kinarrs, and he had big headhorns, much bigger than nowadays.”
She knew the story by heart and continued without even a glance at the scroll. “And he would not let our fathers pass. And the snowsheep said, ‘You can’t come in here. This is holy land and only holy people can live on it.’ And our fathers said, ‘We are holy. The wind gods told you to save this land for us.’ And then—”
“Very good, Tolah,” Shirn said, his eyes sparkling with pleasure. “Kindrel—you next.”
Kindrel, a blond boy of about thirteen, took the scroll and read in careful, dignified tones. “ ‘Prove you are holy,’ said the sheep. And the First Father grabbed the snowsheep by his horns and they wrestled for four seasons. When the seasons ended, the snowsheep said, ‘I am the strongest creature, sent to guard the holy lands. Only holy people can be as strong. You are truly Kinarri—children of the Kinarrs. You are welcome to live with us in peace, and my brothers and sisters shall be your servants.’ And that is the story of the first snowsheep.”
Kindrel slowly rolled the parchment and gave it to Shirn. The old man nodded proudly. With a ceremonial bow, the boy returned to sit with his family.
Later, the platters were cleared, and candied fruits were brought out along with a sweet, steaming-hot drink made from tree sap. Spock wondered why Shirn’s people had never modernized their way of life.
“Because we have no reason to, Mr. Spock. I went away to school when I was a boy. My father sent me to a Federation colony, hoping I might learn something to help our people.”
“Did you?” asked Kailyn.
“I learned what we didn’t want to be, and that a leader cannot force his people to change in ways they cannot. We have a small community here, perhaps five hundred of us. The hot springs in the caverns support our gardens, with special lights we bought from traders. The snowsheep provide meat, milk, cheese, manure for fertilizer, clothing, and other supplies. A sheep that dies or is slaughtered is used completely. Zanigret attacks are our only problem, and they occur mostly at night. That’s why we keep the herds in the caves at night. The one you found had run off.”
“Such economy, applied on a larger scale to a more modern way of life—
” Spock began.
“—is very difficult to attain. We are not closed off from the advancements of our age—we adopt new tools, and trade freely when traders come our way. But we seek not to upset our balance, our traditions of all these years.”
“It’s Shangri-la.” McCoy murmured.
“What does this mean?” asked Shirn.
“It’s an old Earth legend, about a place high up in the Himalaya Mountains, where things hadn’t changed for thousands of years, and people hardly aged. Now, that’s something I could use.”
Shirn gave a rueful laugh. “As you can see, Doctor, we do get old.”
“Shangri-la was supposed to be a paradise, and that seems to be what you’ve got here.”
“If I may ask,” Spock said, “how does your succession of leadership operate?”
“We are a mixture of democracy and dynasty. The oldest child of the late leader takes over—unless a majority votes for someone else. But we rarely have a dispute. For instance, my daughter—Tolah’s mother—will follow me when I die.”
The conversation, fascinating as it was, with richly rewarding exchanges of information for both sides, eventually turned to the Crown of Shad. Kailyn listened, as she had done most of the night.
“Can we see it?” asked McCoy.
“It isn’t right here with us,” said Shirn.
“Where, then, is it kept?” Spock said.
Shirn pursed his lips. “In a safe place. King Stevin warned me that it should not be readily accessible, in case his enemies ever found out where he had taken it. In fact, he doesn’t even know its exact location—he left that up to me.”
“Well, can we have it tonight?” McCoy asked.
‘I’m afraid not. It will take us several ours to reach, and we cannot go until daylight.” A troubled look crossed Shirn’s seamed face. “Even then, I can’t simply let you take it.”
“Why not?” said McCoy.
“Because I promised the King that only the rightful ruler would be allowed to have it.”
McCoy bristled. “Kailyn is the rightful ruler. You must believe that.”
THE COVENANT OF THE CROWN Page 13
