A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [96]
“I know,” she said. “But it’ll be different after I’ve had a chance to reassure him. He’ll listen to reason-he always has.”
Ma’alor made no attempt to mask his skepticism. “No,” he said. “I won’t allow it.”
“However,” said Dan’nor, “you don’t necessarily have the final decision in this matter.”
For the second time in the last few minutes, Dan’nor was subjected to Ma’alor’s stare. But he went on anyway.
“I say we take the warrior with us,” he told the others. “And I volunteer to carry him first.”
There was a long silence. They could hear the rush of the river, the sighing of the wind on the open slope.
At last, someone spoke. “I’m with Dan’nor,” said Rin’noc. “And I’ll take my turn at carrying too, if I have to.”
“I agree,” said Ka’asot. “It won’t hurt to have a warrior with us when we reach that fortress.”
Nurel’lid had yet to voice his opinion. He seemed torn.
Until Pulaski fixed him with her gaze. “He’ll die,” she said, “if we leave him here like this. The only question is who’ll get to him first-the marshals or the wild animals.”
That tipped the scales. “All right,” said Nurel’lid, though he couldn’t face Ma’alor as he said it. “We’ll take him.”
Pulaski nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thank you. All of you.”
Ma’alor scowled. “Very well then. We’ve prided ourselves on observing democratic principles. I bow to the will of the majority-though not without reservations.”
He reached inside his pack, drew out his climbing rope-and tossed it to Dan’nor.
“If we’re going to bring him along,” said Ma’alor, “he should be bound. So that he doesn’t wake up and make short work of us.”
Dan’nor didn’t question the wisdom in that. Uncoiling the rope, he set to binding the warrior’s arms and legs.
They were in three separate cells-Geordi nearest the narrow aperture that served as a window, then Ralak’kai, then Picard. And the flying eye device seemed to prefer Ralak’kai’s company to that of his friends.
“I wonder why,” said Geordi.
“Perhaps,” suggested Picard, “it has something to do with your resemblance to the marshals.”
Ralak’kai made a sound that was equivalent to a shrug. “Who knows? Like most of what we have encountered here, it is a mystery to me.”
A clatter of footfalls came to them from down the dimly lit corridor. The maker of the footfalls had come quite close before they realized it was not their usual jailer-nor was he bringing them another round of that foul-smelling porridge.
This was one of the marshals. If anything, he seemed even haughtier in his bearing than the ones they had met so far. Geordi wasn’t sure, but he thought that their visitor also wore more regalia than the average sky rider.
Like the flying eye, he stopped in front of Ralak’kai’s cell; in fact, the machine appeared almost to perch on his shoulder. But he addressed all three of them, his golden eyes flitting from one to the other.
“You seem calm,” he said.
A strange way to begin a conversation, Geordi thought.
“We would be more calm,” noted Ralak’kai, “if we knew what we were doing here.”
At that, the marshal’s eyes lit up. “Ah,” he said. “Now I understand. No one has told you.”
Geordi didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Told us what?”
The sky rider turned to face him. “It’s very simple,” he said. “Just before day’s end, someone will come for you. You will be escorted down to the courtyard. Then, with the sunset serving as a most dramatic backdrop, you will be executed-slowly, and painfully.”
The words didn’t sound real. It took some time before Geordi could come to grips with them.
“Executed?” he repeated. “But why? What for.”
The marshal appeared to grow slightly more serious. “For attempting to desert your companies,” he said. “For trying to thwart the intent of the Conflicts. For compounding your crimes on the outside with aberrant behavior on the inside.” Suddenly, he smiled. “Do you think that’s enough? Or should I heap on additional charges?”
“You are mad,” said Picard.