Authors: Lisanne Norman
Because he's right,
came the little voice again. He was growing to hate his conscience!
From the start, it had been obvious that Taradain was interested in Jo. He'd had her seated beside him, on his father's right hand, whereas the men had been consigned to Killian's left. All evening he'd leaned over her solicitously, seeing she had plenty to eat and drink, though she drank sparingly. Both food and wine had been a pleasant change from their normal fare of ale and fatty meat. Even the bread had appeared almost white by comparison with the gritty gray-green flat loaves they were usually given.
"Belamor! I see you've managed to join us after all!" Killian said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "Join us at the high table."
Davies had looked up to see who it was.
Neither the light of the twenty torches lining the great hall, nor that of the hundreds of candles in their sconces, could dismiss the shadows that seemed to cling to the hooded figure in the lapis-colored robe that slowly approached them. All that could be heard of his progress across the wooden floor was the regular tapping of his staff as it touched the ground with every other step.
Davies felt a shiver course through him as he recognized the person they'd seen from the window earlier that day.
He stopped in front of Killian, his face still concealed within the shadow of his hood. Davies was glad the broad table separated them.
"These are my visitors," said Killian, indicating the three of them with a wave of his hand. "Take that damned hood off, Belamor," he added, returning to picking his way through the plates of meat in front of him. "I know it pleases you to wear it, but not at my table."
Davies watched as the hand that held the staff tightened, gnarled fingers whitening briefly. His eyes followed the other hand as it went up to pull back the hood. It was almost with relief that he saw the man was human after all. Gaunt almost to the point of emaciation, the faintly olive tint to his skin did nothing to dispel the image of a walking corpse that sprang into his mind.
From beneath a black skullcap, wispy gray hair framed the hollow-cheeked face. It was enlivened only by the piercingly dark blue eyes that looked straight into his own. It was a brief glance, but Davies felt as if his mind had been invaded and stripped of anything that might be useful to the man in front of him. On Belamor's forehead sat a thin circlet of silver, bearing in the center a single round green stone, twin in color to the larger one set atop his staff—
"Green stones? Describe them to me," said Rezac.
"A deep emerald color, like that of plants in the early spring," said Davies.
"You said rounded. Not cut and polished? More like a pebble that's been tumbled in a stream?"
Davies frowned. "Yes, exactly like that, but how did you know?"
Rezac shook his head mutely, gesturing for him to continue.
"Sit and eat," said Killian. "Belamor is my mage. While the priests pray for our souls, Belamor fights the demons that plague us— or so he claims. That's right, isn't it, Belamor? How's the one you wrestled with this morning? Properly subdued yet?"
"It will be several days before that one is subdued, Lord Killian," said the mage. For one so frail in appearance, his voice was deep and full of power. "He is only the first. There will be more. I trust you are wearing the amulets I prepared for your family?" He turned, and leaning on his staff, walked down the table to the far end to take the place left empty for him.
"Do I look like a fool, Belamor? Of course we wear them. We've been wearing them all winter!" replied Killian testily.
"What does Belamor do?" Kris asked the young man seated next to him.
"Diabolical things, Father Narwen says," he replied in an undertone. "He uses dark powers to aid him in his spell casting and the reading of portents so he can predict the future for our Lord."
"He uses magic?"
The youth looked sharply at him. "Did I not just say so? The most offensive odors and smells, to say nothing of explosions, come from his workroom at all times of day and night. There was one just this afternoon. Surely even you must have heard it!"
Kris shook his head. "No. We heard nothing. Tell me, does he make..." he searched for an appropriate word. "Does he make devices? Weapons? Powder that explodes?"
His companion looked fearfully down the table to where the mage was accepting a goblet of wine.
"I have to pass his room every day," he said quietly, turning back to Kris. "There are times when the very air makes my hair stand on end. What he does is unnatural, against the Gods' order. He even has a pole atop his window that calls the lightning down when he commands it! Take my warning seriously: if you value your life, do not cross Belamor."
"Certainly a man to be wary of," murmured Kris. "The guard today in the courtyard, I saw Belamor treating him. Is he also the apothecary?"
"Our apothecary is a gentle man, a priest, not one such as Belamor!" Even the youth's tone of voice was shocked.
"Then why did he treat the guard?"
"Demons," he said shortly, turning away. "No one else would dare go near him."
"Demons? D'you believe he was possessed or something?"
The youth ignored him, beginning to talk to the woman on his left instead, making it clear he refused to be drawn into further discussion.
"Demonic possession?" asked Rezac. "Magic and spells? What kind of world is this?"
"A very young one, culturally," said Davies through a mouthful of his sandwich. "Magic is how psychic talents were seen, and still are by some, on Earth. Keiss, too, to a degree. That's why the villagers where Carrie lived were afraid of her. Kris said that the young man truly believed what he said about the mage, but that doesn't help us much. On Earth he would probably have been called an alchemist, someone who mixed magic with primitive science in an effort to understand the physical world."
"Are you saying the magic he uses is actually the same as the Talents we have?"
"So Kris thinks," agreed Davies. A noise from one of the bedrooms drew their attention. "We'd best leave this for now," he said quietly. "Just try not to make things any worse than they are with Jo and Kris, okay?"
Rezac grunted and continued eating.
* * *
Kezule could smell her almost before he was fully awake. He fought down the revulsion her scent caused him and lay still, waiting till he could orient himself properly. She was touching him. He felt the coolness of a damp cloth against his throbbing wrists. Another scent, one he recognized from last time; a salve. It drew the heat out of the wounds almost as soon as it was applied.
He hadn't been unconscious long, no more than fifteen minutes. Long enough for them to move him back to his prison. Stirring, he turned his head away from her, flicking his tongue out to taste the air. The scents were familiar. As he moved, he'd heard a sharp intake of breath from the female and her touch had gone. Her fear-smell got stronger.
A wave of nausea and dizziness swept through him, a reaction to the pain he'd suffered. His stomach began to convulse and he sat up abruptly, making his pounding head throb even more. Something cold and hard was thrust into his hands. Opening his eyes, he saw it was a bowl.
For several minutes, his gut spasmed, each time stopping just short of throwing up its meager contents. Gradually the seizures stopped, and as he leaned against the wall gasping, he looked at the female properly for the first time.
She was of medium height compared to the males he'd met so far, and her fur was comprised of every shade he'd seen on Sholans. A shapeless gray tunic was her only garment. Fearfully, in an outstretched hand, she held a cup of water.
He took it from her and drank greedily, never taking his eyes off her. She'd instantly backed away from him till she bumped into the table. Her fear-scent became terror. Swinging his legs onto the floor, he attempted to stand but he was too weak.
"Need medic," he said clutching the bed for support. Damn, but he was too old for this! He could have taken it in his stride ten years ago— five even, but now...
"One's coming," she stammered, her Sholan almost incomprehensible to him. She began to edge herself along the table till she had put it between them. Scuttling for the door, she crouched there, tail almost touching the floor, ears flat against her skull.
Why was she, an unprotected female, here? He'd never seen one since he'd been brought here, so why now? Surely they realized they'd handed him a hostage? He put the thought aside as pain stabbed through him, and he was forced to lie down again.
The door slid open. He saw the female try to rush past the male, only to be thrust back inside by the accompanying officer— one he knew too well.
"Let me out! You can't keep me in here!" she yowled. "You didn't say anything about..."
The officer backhanded her, sending her spinning against the now closed door. "You'll do as you're ordered," he said coldly. Ignoring her, he followed the medic over to where Kezule lay watching the byplay with vague interest.
Not a potential hostage, then. She appeared to have no value to them.
The officer stood over him, listening while the medic reported on the condition of his various cuts and bruises, including his injured ribs. The examination was brisk and efficient, but left him in worse pain.
"Lucky you decided to be cooperative today, General," said his interrogator as the medic began bandaging his wrists. "I'm prepared to allow you some analgesics this time."
"He's not going to be mobile for a few hours after they're administered," warned the medic. "He needs plenty of fluids, and food, if he can eat. He'll need nursing. Leave the female to see to him."
A whimper of terror from the entrance accompanied the remark. Then he felt a sharp sting on his neck and the pain began to recede. A warm lethargy started to spread through his body. Even his headache was no longer troubling him.
"Try not to eat the help, Kezule," the officer drawled as he turned to leave. "The only one to lose will be you. Replacing her would be too inconvenient."
Then he was alone with the whimpering female.
* * *
"So this is your grand plan, Rhyaz," said Raiban, as the Brother and the medic entered the control room. "One terrified female."
"She's more, General," said Rhyaz, joining her at the viewing area. "She's been trained by one of the leading Consortia houses. We had hoped to place her inside his room several days ago, but she wasn't quite ready."
"To do what? Whimper? How much training does that take, Rhyaz? Did she know she'd be dealing with a Valtegan?" Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
"She was fully apprised of the situation, General, and agreed to take part in this experiment," said Rhyaz. "I wouldn't feel sorry for her. She's a convicted murderer, facing the death penalty. This is her chance for a pardon."
"You'd release a murderer back into society? Or do you expect her to die during the course of her mission? Who is she anyway?"
"Keeza Lassah. Of course we hope she won't die. We've invested a lot of time and effort in training her."
"What's the rationale behind this?"
"Simple. Kezule and his ilk used Sholans as slaves. Putting someone else in with him who is as much a prisoner as he is, someone seen to have far less value to us than he has, may make Kezule react to her as he would to the Sholan slaves he had. He's had no one to talk to but me for the last five weeks. The isolation doesn't seem to be affecting him the way it does us, but it must be getting to him. Perhaps the company will at last make his tongue grow loose."
Raiban gave a reluctant grunt of assent. "And how do you propose to communicate with her?"
"That's my job, General," said Zhyaf. "Her mind's been programmed to be receptive to mental suggestions. I've already established a link with her and am constantly monitoring her emotions and surface thoughts. When necessary I can go deeper."
"She's had all memories of her programming suppressed," said Rhyaz. "Kezule must have no reason to suspect she's been placed with him as a spy."
"And if her life's endangered? What then?" asked Raiban.
Rhyaz shrugged. "This is a war, General. There are always casualties. We're already grooming a replacement in case we need her. As I said, hopefully we won't. If we had to go in to rescue Keeza, he'd know she was our agent."
Raiban nodded and turned away from the window, beginning to walk toward the door. "What information do you hope to get?"
"If we can start a dialogue going between the two of them, any stray comment from Kezule could be useful. A reference to his sun being brighter or dimmer than ours could help us pinpoint his solar system. We intend Zhyaf to mentally guide her toward the questions we want her to ask him."
"Isn't that dangerous for her? I presume she isn't a telepath."
"She's not. It could be dangerous," replied Zhyaf, "if she didn't have some degree of sensitivity. There's not much, but enough. When this is over, she'll need training to learn to live with her heightened senses."
"Don't you feel her terror, Zhyaf? I thought you damned telepaths were squeamish about this sort of thing."
"Yes, General Raiban, I do! But I have to put it aside if I'm to help Keeza," he snapped. "I find it totally morally reprehensible!"
Raiban grunted as she waited for the door to slide open. "Good to know someone's looking out for her."
When Raiban had gone, Rhyaz turned to Zhyaf. "I'd prefer you to moderate your emotional outbursts in future, Interpreter Zhyaf," he said quietly. "How's she doing?"
"How do you think she feels, alone with an alien like that? A species that's known to be violent?" asked Zhyaf angrily.
"She's been taught how to placate a violent male, Zhyaf," said Rhyaz. "And with more than her body. She'll grovel as well as any Chemerian merchant does when discovered in an illegal transaction. She's been as well trained as possible in the time available to us. We've given her every chance to survive. Now it's up to her— and you."
"I'll do my job, Master Rhyaz," he said coldly, entering his new data into his comm. "You do realize he said that our females were useless for pairing with because they were too violent, don't you?"
"We didn't know that until now. Just remember, she should already be dead, Zhyaf," said Rhyaz sharply. The damned telepath kept taking this morally superior attitude with them! It was getting to be annoying.
"And Kezule has never been imprisoned with one of our females before. It may be that the isolation
has
gotten to him, and we just can't tell. We know they have a high sex drive, and he may just turn to her for some kind of relief or companionship.
That's
what we're hoping for! Dammit, I don't care if he rapes her in revenge for what I've done to him if it helps us get the bastards that murdered the millions of Sholans on our two colony worlds! She's a weapon, Zhyaf, like all of us are at Stronghold. Every day there's a chance that one of my Brothers or Sisters may be killed during the course of a mission, but they take that risk. This experiment is vital. I can't afford to care for one criminal!"
Zhyaf's ears lowered till they were flat against his skull, showing he was suitably chastened. "Your pardon, Guild Master," he said quietly. "I'd forgotten our two colonies. Are you really training a replacement?"
"No, we're not. This is a one-shot experiment, Zhyaf. It must succeed." He watched the tension leave Zhyaf's face as the telepath's ears rose.
"Do you want me to help her overcome her terror, Master Rhyaz?"
"No. She has to react to him naturally, or he'll never trust her."
"What if she doesn't lose her fear?" he asked. "What if she becomes so terrified she can't do what we want? It's against Guild laws to manipulate her mind."
"You're En'Shalla now, not subject to the Telepath Guild," Rhyaz growled, "and you're under contract to us. You'll do as you're ordered, Zhyaf. Don't lose sight of our objective. We might not know where they are, but those damned Valtegans are out there somewhere, and we're at war with them!" Angrily, he turned and stalked from the room, leaving the two males behind. He liked what he was having to do as little as Raiban and Zhyaf, but dammit, they didn't have to rub it in!