Those who had opposed the idea were now silent, settled in their chairs, cloaked in their displeasure like something physical. But thankfully it didn’t look as though they were going to undermine the attempt.
“Perhaps those left on Aiur had some idea of where Zamara wished to go,” said Urun. “We could send our forces there and rescue those who yet remain.”
“Urun,” said Selendis, bowing deeply, “if only it were that easy. But you will recall that Zamara wanted to come here—and that if anyone knew of a secondary place where she intended to go, it would doubtless be Rosemary Dahl rather than one of our people. If she does not know, they would not.”
“Then perhaps Jacob Ramsey is still on Aiur, awaiting rescue,” Urun persisted. Rosemary felt for him. She’d seen what Aiur was like, had heard about what it had been before. Urun and others would take any excuse to return and try to heal that wound. She felt Selendis yearning to agree with him, but the executor gave the protoss equivalent of a sigh as she spoke.
“He was redirected. We have confirmed that much. I suppose the best place to start is to determine where they went, and from there…make our best guess.”
Selendis didn’t like guessing. Selendis liked facts, things that were concrete, things that one could move on immediately. Despite their clash, Rosemary found herself realizing she and the executor had a lot in common.
“And what might that be?” asked Nahaan. “I think I need not explain to you, Executor, that every gate opens onto every other gate, unless it is blocked.”
That was for my benefit. Got it, bud.
“There are thousands of worlds this Jacob might have fled to, and each place is vast. It could take us months—years—to find him, and waste valuable resources doing so. Hierarch, you need a better plan than this!”
This guy really seemed to enjoy pushing Artanis’s buttons. If Urun had his own agenda, then clearly all the others did too. Urun simply seemed less inclined to hide his—and why should he? It was a noble one. Rosemary wasn’t so sure about Nahaan’s. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure about anyone’s except for her own. And maybe Selendis’s. Maybe.
As if on cue, Selendis spoke. “It is indeed a daunting task, but when have the protoss ever shirked such?” She turned to Artanis and to Rosemary’s surprise, knelt. “With the hierarch’s permission, and that of the Hierarchy, I will lead the search for Jacob Jefferson Ramsey and Zamara.”
Artanis blinked. “I—yes. I trust you as I trust myself, Executor, and you have earned the respect of all here.”
Rosemary realized that was true. Even those who were clearly opposing Artanis and the plan did not raise objections.
Selendis rose and nodded. “I will begin by determining where the human and the preserver went first. After that, I will begin winnowing down our options. I will try to think like a preserver—a daunting task, no doubt, but I will do my best. Rosemary will doubtless be able to assist me in this, as she knows both Jacob and Zamara.”
“I believe,” came the raspy mental voice of the ancient Mohandar, “I can save you a little time, Executor.”
Startled, Rosemary turned to the dark templar. His eyes crinkled slightly, and she realized he was amused.
“I think I know exactly where Zamara wishes to go. And I can tell you how to get there.”
CHAPTER 15
ULREZAJ WAS MORE THAN FLESH NOW. HE WAS energy, powerful and strong, unable to be wounded by such simple things as bullets or spears. But other creations of energy, mental or physical, could and had wounded him. And had done so more severely than he had anticipated.
He had come close to victory over Shakuras, over the despised Aiur protoss and the inexplicably passive dark templar he had once called his “people.” He could not fathom why they had embraced the very beings who would have slain them, who drove them to exile. Zeratul—once a brother, now a more despised foe than even the weakling hierarch they had put in charge. He expected the Aiur protoss to be dishonorable and vile; he had not expected so respected a dark templar as Prelate Zeratul to be a traitor.
They had come to embattled Aiur, to rescue so-called “heroes.” Ulrezaj and his allies had slain two of the three, but had been captured. But Ulrezaj had had allies; and Ulrezaj had had plans upon plans. He had escaped, taking with him a precious khaydarin crystal, creating five twisted copies of it. He had used ancient knowledge to become not just a dark archon, but the mightiest dark archon the universe had seen by combining his essence with those of his three comrades. He had taken the fight and the five warped crystals to Shakuras, where he planned to use an extraordinarily powerful electromagnetic pulse generator to create chaos and drive out the despised refugees. Let them know the terror of being hunted; let them perish as they should have on Aiur, ripped to pieces by zerg.
But he had been defeated…temporarily. He had withdrawn to the hidden place where he replenished his unheard-of power, and where he thought how best he could retaliate. He had drawn to him others willing to subsume themselves into the glory that was Ulrezaj, in order to be on the side that would eventually triumph.
And so his path had led him back to Aiur. It became clear that the protoss were too cowardly to save their embattled brethren, even though they now did not have the excuse of ignorance. Heartless, pathetic fools. They would turn their back on their homeworld, the world that the dark templar had mourned with their very souls when forced to leave it. Those that were forsaken deserved no kindness.
It had seemed to him so very easy to gather to himself the worried, frightened refugees who had been abandoned on their devastated homeworld. To convince them to follow him, to soothe and control them with the fabricated drug that penetrated their skins and bloodstreams and freed them from the invasiveness of the Khala.
He had not expected them to turn against him, even when confronted with the truth—or at least part of it—of what their benefactor truly was. Curse the terrans. The male, strong enough to bear for at least a while the vastness of what it meant to be a preserver. The female, strong enough to resist the drug and by doing so, demonstrate that it could be done. The ingratitude and betrayal stunned him. He had rescued them, and they had repaid him with hatred, loathing, and rebellion.
Ulrezaj was slightly mollified as he recollected how vastly he had been outnumbered. The onslaught of the Dominion vessels and the zerg, combined with the psionic storms the protoss had somehow pulled themselves together sufficiently to create—there was no shame in retreating from that. Wisdom often necessitated retreat, regrouping, and planning.
But regardless of how he justified it, he had been wounded. Much of his energy had been drained. He might have been able to recover had he been able to rest, even for a few days, in the chambers of the xel’naga. But they had dogged him even there, the zerg; the humans had given up and the protoss had either fled or died where they stood. Like a beast gone to ground unwillingly flushed, Ulrezaj had been forced to run.
The thought galled him.
Even as he maneuvered himself into one of the xel’naga vessels he simmered with resentment. At full strength, he could teleport the distance. But he was weak.
Ulrezaj despised weakness, even in himself.
They were following, and he knew it. Yet they did not attack.
We all wish the preserver, one part of him put forth. They wish to capture her, to determine what she knows. I wish to destroy her and render her silent.
They think I know where to find her, and therefore, they follow me, another part concluded.
It was undoubtedly so. And Ulrezaj did know where the preserver would flee. Perhaps not immediately, no, perhaps it would take a while for her and the human she was using to discover their destination.
But Ulrezaj knew. He knew and he would be there when Zamara and Jacob Jefferson Ramsey arrived. He would be the spider, sitting quietly, his web subtle and sensitive and lethal.
Would the zerg that followed him try to kill him upon his arrival? Perhaps. Although he thought their queen wiser th
an that; for they did not know this was the destination. What if their quarry had come to this place merely to heal? Ah, what then if they slew him before they knew for certain the preserver would come? That would be a fool’s choice, and Sarah Kerrigan was no fool.
His followers had pursued Zamara once before. Had blasted apart a carrier in search of her, had driven her small vessel to crash in a dead xel’naga temple. Their reports had been accurate, so far as they went. They had told him that she was either dead on impact or soon would be; she could not live long on so inhospitable a planet. And they were correct. Zamara, the protoss preserver, had not lived long.
Not in that body at least.
But she had found another body, and like a parasite had attached herself to the first host that had had the misfortune to stumble across her. And so she, and the secret she carried, still existed and could possibly ruin everything.
Ulrezaj would not permit that to happen. Zerg or no, he would travel to the place where he knew she would come. He would rest, and heal, and think.
Zamara had eluded him once. She would not do so again.
All heads turned to the dark templar.
“You do? You can?” The exclamation came from Artanis. Even he, apparently, was startled by this statement. Thus taken by surprise, Artanis inadvertently seemed very young in his reaction.
A dry raspy chuckle came from Mohandar. “We have shared much with our brethren from whom we were separated so long ago. But we dark templar have a thousand years of history separate from you. Not all can be explained or revealed in a mere handful of years. Especially when the present and the future seem more dire than the past.”
Rosemary watched him closely, her eyes narrowing. That much was true, yes—but she suspected this canny elder would not play his hand before he had to. She was willing to bet there was a great deal the dark templar still kept to themselves. After all, that was the great lesson, wasn’t it—to hide in the shadows, to keep themselves secret and therefore be safe? That, too, wasn’t going to change in a mere handful of years.
“Speak now, then,” said Selendis. For all her counsel to Rosemary on patience and always having time to do things the right way, she clearly was more than ready to depart. “Where is this place?”
“I said that I believe that I knew where Zamara would wish to go. It is possible though that Zamara herself does not know this. Preservers know a great deal, but it is unlikely she is aware of the existence of this place. This is dark templar knowledge—profound, and powerful, and sacred.”
The old bastard’s enjoying this, Rosemary realized.
“Yes,” came Selendis’s private thought, obviously annoyed. “He is.”
Mohandar sat back in his chair, surveying the protoss who were all gazing at him with rapt attention. His eyes crinkled in a smile. “When we were cast out of Aiur, we traveled for centuries. We became nomads, explorers, finding and investigating many worlds. Some we stayed on only temporarily. Others, we built structures upon, and they became anchors of a sort. But nothing permanent. Nothing we could truly feel in our souls as home, until we found Shakuras and its temple.
“The site I mention, though, is still an important place to my people. It is called the Alys’aril, the Sanctuary of Wisdom. The little moon upon which it was built is called Ehlna. It means ‘Haven’ in our language,” he added for Rosemary’s benefit. “It was one of the first places we settled, and we stayed there for well over a century before we decided to move on. Still, it was not abandoned. It could never be abandoned. Many stayed behind, to tend the Sanctuary of Wisdom. And to this day, those of us who left to find our true home return there on pilgrimage toward the end of our days, if such a thing is at all possible.”
Like creatures that returned to the place they were born to reproduce—or die, Rosemary thought. But why? Just for nostalgia’s sake?
“There is a nexus of energy there that alters the khaydarin crystals,” Mohandar continued. “I will not say ‘refines’ them, for that is not truly accurate. I think even our terran friend here knows that the crystals serve us in many ways. They can calm us, channel and focus our energies. We even use them in our technology. One use of the crystals is data storage. The energies on Ehlna render them uniquely fit for this specific task, less so for others.” Mohandar turned and looked squarely at Rosemary. “Therefore, it is a library of the greatest sort. A collection of as much knowledge as the dark templar can assemble—taken from the very minds and memories of our people to be recorded forever.”
Rosemary gasped. “Yeah, that would be where Zamara would want to go all right,” she agreed. “She knew you guys had the ability to do something like this, but she had to find a dark templar to find out where. That’s why she wanted to come to Shakuras.”
“Friend Mohandar,” said Artanis reproachfully, “why have you not told us of such a place as this before?”
“Friend Artanis,” replied Mohandar, not using Artanis’s formal title, “you had no need of such information. After all, your people have preservers. You have living embodiments of memories who advised your Conclave. We dark templar utilize a technological substitute—one that maintains our individuality. Why would we need to tell you of our Sanctuary of Wisdom when such ‘sanctuaries’ walked among you?”
A good enough explanation, but Rosemary realized—as did everyone present—that the leader of the Nerazim was cannier than this simple, self-effacing explanation would convey him as. He didn’t tell because he had had an ace in the hole. But now the need had arisen, and he had revealed the existence of this place.
“The tenders of this place, the Keepers of Wisdom, will likely be able to assist Jacob and Zamara with the process of transferring Zamara’s essence to a crystal. Rosemary, you spoke of a crystal that you and Jacob found in the chambers beneath the surface of Aiur?”
Rosemary nodded, sensing a renewal of interest in her from Zekrath and also from Selendis. “Yeah. Zamara seemed to think we’d need that crystal.”
“She may find all that she needs at the Alys’aril, but perhaps not. The alysaar are trained to extract memories from ordinary dark templar, one at a time. We keep them in the Chalice of Memories. A preserver, however, has literally billions of memories. Perhaps Zamara was wise to bring a crystal from so powerful and ancient a place. Regardless, eventually her path will lead her and Jacob there. I am surprised she even knew about our abilities to do this thing.”
“She’s a preserver,” Rosemary said. “She knows a lot.”
“Mohandar, I am deeply grateful you have chosen to tell us of this place,” said Selendis. “Otherwise I fear we would not have been in time. We can only hope that Zamara learns of its existence as well. In the meantime I will travel there with Rosemary and see if the preserver awaits us. If she does not, we will have to take other measures to—”
“No.” Mohandar’s blunt response silenced Selendis in midthought. “It is a sacred place to the dark templar. We alone will travel there.”
Ah, crap, thought Rosemary. We were finally going to do it and now it’s going to get all tied up in the “who gets to go” issue. She didn’t bother to even try to censor her thoughts. She’d had it about up to here with protoss red tape and chafed for action.
“The Shelak have long tended the things of the Wanderers from Afar,” murmured Zekrath. “And yet we share them with all protoss—even your tribe, shadow hunter.”
Mohandar’s eyes flashed. Rosemary had sudden confirmation, as if there was any doubt, that this ancient being was far from nonthreatening.
“The xel’naga created us all, Zekrath. All protoss, including the dark templar. To forbid any of us entry to such things would be indefensible and foolish. But this is not of the xel’naga’s doing, or of any Aiur protoss. This place we built, we, the exiles, banished from our home that we loved so dearly. It arose from our experiences, to serve our needs. It is nothing of yours. For me to even speak of it, to encourage a preserver to travel there, to aid her—so much is already a great gesture
on our part.”
“We understand and appreciate the place this holds in dark templar history,” Artanis began.
“I am far from certain that you do,” Mohandar replied dryly.
“Then come with us,” said Selendis. Rosemary whirled to stare at her. She’d have thought the executor would argue this point. “Come with us, Mohandar. Let this be more than a gesture. Let this be a healing, a new beginning. The knowledge a preserver has can serve us all. You have the ability to keep that knowledge from vanishing. You know full well no one in this hall will reach agreement on this if you insist on being the sole protoss to oversee it. If you truly mean what you say, if you truly wish to aid Zamara and Jacob and bring an end to the malice that is Ulrezaj once and for all, then withdraw your sole claim to this expedition.”
Utter mental silence fell in the chamber. Everyone was waiting on Mohandar’s reply. There was no way to force his hand; he alone knew where this mysterious library was. Rosemary knew that Selendis was right. There was no way in hell this council would agree to let this be handled as a dark templar matter. Mohandar was no fool, he had to know this too.
Mohandar was still for a long time, his thoughts sealed away from them. Finally his eyes half-closed and his shoulders hunched in amusement.
“Well played, Executor. Well played indeed. All right. I would ask you to remember that this place is very important to us. I will tolerate no disrespect.”
Selendis stood utterly straight. “My templar will be so informed. There will be no disrespect.”
Mohandar turned his gaze to Rosemary, and his thoughts were for her alone.
“I have little love for your people, terran. If I could exclude you, I would. But it appears that you are inextricably involved in this situation. Know this—you may be leaving Shakuras, but you are still being evaluated by the protoss. Your actions may confirm our opinion of terran females as established by Kerrigan, or give us pause for thought.”
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