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 male—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 b
e? 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 for—menial work,” sneered Kezule, aware that the level of pain he was suffering was rising beyond his ability to cope—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 Emperor—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.
His head was pulled back, and this time the cup was put to his mouth. He was so exhausted he could barely drink, so much of it dribbled down his chin onto his already soaked coverall.
“Enough,” said the officer, but the cup remained for a few moments more. “I said enough! Gods, they don’t choose you for intelligence, do they?”
Through partly open eyes, Kezule watched him thrust the female aside. “You don’t have much time for females either, Kezule, do you? What are they like, your females? Do you keep them in their place? If you ask me, letting them out of the home was the biggest mistake we made.”
Confused, Kezule blinked owlishly at the interrogator as he moved in front of the light again. He didn’t understand this. The Sholan commander was a female. What mind games was he now playing?
“Do yours try to run things if you don’t keep then under control? Is that why you dislike them? Pity we need them at all, if you ask me. Don’t you agree?”
“I guarded several of the Emperor’s wives on Shola,” Kezule said, trying to keep his thoughts straight. “My sacred trust, to see all the female young were killed. Only males were to live.”
“You killed the daughters, eh? Why was that? He got enough females, then, this God-King of yours?”
“Daughters could be taken, impregnated by other males to set up rivals,” he mumbled. Why the interest in females all of a sudden? “Daughters given only to those worthy. My wife is one.”
“Your wife?” He could hear the surprise in the officer’s voice. “There was no mention of a wife when you came to us.”
“Sent her off with the other wives.”
“To look after your family. Commendable, General.”
Kezule found this strangely amusing. A laugh escaped him, quickly turned to a prolonged hiss of agony. “Ours only lay eggs and eat—anything that moves. That’s why hatchery needs guards, to save the young.” Talking was becoming an effort that he couldn’t sustain much longer.
“That’s why you use the females of other species, is it? They aren’t as—hungry?”
This wasn’t going as he’d planned, he thought through the haze of pain. How had he gotten sidetracked into this? He wanted to feed them false information, make them believe what he said, so he’d make them vulnerable by trusting him. He peered through half-open eyes at the male in front of him. His outline was vague and indistinct now.
“Is that why you use other females? Because only the chosen ones get mates?”
“Yes. No. Soldiers don’t have females, they get drones. Female slaves are given as rewards.”
“Why didn’t your kind come back to Shola, Kezule? You seemed to like our people, you took some as hostages.”
“Pets. Could mind-read the other slaves. Helped control them. Females useless—they fight too much for amusing troops. Used others.”
“I didn’t ask that, I asked why you thought they didn’t come back.”
He sat there, his silence lengthening until his head was rocked with an open-handed blow. Fresh pain burned his cheek, and as his head hit the back of the chair, it began to pound. He closed his eyes, tasting blood in his mouth again.
“Too much trouble with telepaths,” he mumbled. “We grow laalquoi other worlds, don’t need this one.”
“Laalquoi. What’s that?”
“Herb. Use it to honor Emperor.” Something solid now. A question he had anticipated. “When eat, use it.”
“We must stop now, Brother.” A new voice, one of the other officers. An expletive from the interrogator.
“Take him back to his room. She can clean him up!” he snapped.
He passed out as he felt the restraints round his wrists and ankles tighten before they were released.
Until yesterday, Brynne had managed to avoid the cold that had affected most of the estate. Now, however, he was beginning to feel decidedly under the weather. A call to warn Ross Derwent had not put him off as he’d hoped. Instead, he’d insisted he come over.
“I’m incredibly resistant to colds and flu,” he’d said. “My lessons are important if you want to progress. You lose enough time as it is.”
Brynne sighed. “I’ll be over within an hour, Ross.”
So, an hour later, he was waiting to be admitted to Ross’ rooms at the Accommodation Guildhouse in Valsgarth.
“You must have smelled the coffee,” Ross said, opening the door to him.
Nodding a brief greeting, Brynne followed him into the small lounge, sitting down in his accustomed seat on the settee.
While Ross fetched him a drink from the kitchen, Brynne looked round the room. Nearly every time he visited, Ross had acquired some new knickknack from his wanderings around the Sholan countryside. Often he accompanied him, but he hadn’t been over during the midwinter festivals, so Ross had been left to his own devices.
Apart from Jack’s quarters in the medical unit, Ross’ rooms had the least Sholan influence of any he’d seen among the Human settlers. It was like a slice of transported Earth culture. Jack’s apartment had become more Sholan since his Companion had moved in to live with him, but Ross had remained true to his own heritage, whatever that was.
Partially completed projects covered the desk and the coffee table in front of him, a mute testament not only to Ross’ inquiring mind, but his butterfly disposition. He’d light on one idea for a month or two, then when something brighter came along, he’d be off on that trail. It made him a person full of information—but only to a certain level.
Today, maps lay scattered everywhere. Brynne pulled the nearest across to him. Turning it, he recognized the Dzahai Mountains and the surrounding area. Ross had highlighted Stronghold and Vartra’s Retreat, and from both of them had ruled lines down to the Kysubi Plains.
“Ley lines,” said Ross, returning with a mug which he handed to Brynne. “See how they connect Stronghold and the Retreat?”
“Yes,” he said dubiously. “You know my opinion on ley lines, Ross. Just because they exist on Earth doesn’t mean they exist here.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” he chided gently. “I found them, therefore they must exist. That’s what the other lines are. They meet in the Kysubi Plains, and unless I’m mistaken, it’s where the archaeologists are uncovering an ancient city. What do you bet that they find a temple there?”
“Bit of a foregone conclusion,” said Brynne, wrapping his hands around the mug. It was cold outside, but he hadn’t realized how cold. His fingers felt stiff and frozen. At least the heat from the mug was helping. “Most major cities have at least one temple in them.”
“You’re right,” Ross nodded, “but I fully expect this to be a temple
to Vartra.” His tone was one of pride.
Brynne frowned as he looked at his self-appointed tutor. Thinning, shoulder-length hair framed a face past its middle years, one wrinkled and browned by sun and wind alike. Pale blue eyes set on either side of a long, aristocratic nose regarded him expectantly.
“It must be this cold fogging my brain,” Brynne said, “but if all this earth energy you keep on talking about is there, how come it’s linked to Vartra and not Ghyakulla, their Green Goddess? Surely Vartra’s an improbable planet deity.”
“On the face of it, perhaps, but He is Ghyakulla’s Consort. What should be more natural than that here the planet should be masculine instead of feminine?”
“I think you’re using a reverse logic. You’ve found a connection, so you want it to work. Vartra, whatever legends He may have been blended into, is credited with creating the Shola that exists now, saving His world from the ravages of the Cataclysm. Hardly the equivalent of Earth’s Mother Goddess, the source of all life and energy. How did you—find—the ley lines anyway?” He took a sip of his drink, wishing that he’d stayed at home on the estate. He wasn’t up to this type of discussion. He needed all his wits about him when talking to Ross, otherwise he found himself being railroaded into a variety of mad schemes and expeditions.
“I dowsed for them on the map.”
“Dowsed? Using what?” He knew about dowsing. They’d used it on Earth in the Cassandra Project.
“My dowsing crystal of course.”
“Ross, I hardly think using a piece of Earth quartz on a Sholan map is going to give you any kind of accurate result.” Was it him, or was Ross becoming more fanatical in his outlook these days?
“You’ll see, Brynne. I intend that we should go out there today. I want you to take me to Stronghold. I know it’s a source of natural power, and I want to have the opportunity to feel it for myself. If it keeps you happy, I can use my dowsing crystal there to prove that it works on Shola.”
“Not today, Ross,” said Brynne, shaking his head and holding his mug closer. “In fact, not at all. I really shouldn’t have come out. I just hope you don’t catch this bug I’ve got.”
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