Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [23]
On the other hand, there was no harm in watching, was there? Certainly, Morath didn’t think so. He was so intent on the females as he nudged his beast up near the bank, Kahless thought the man’s eyes would boil.
“Look at you,” Porus jibed, elbowing Morath in the ribs. “One would think you’d never seen a wench before.”
Morath shot him a look that was altogether too serious.
“That would be none of one’s business,” he hissed.
But before he could say anymore, his mount gave in to temptation-and surged forward over the riverbank, landing with a noisy plash in the shallow water beyond.
Suddenly, the females” heads turned. For a moment, no one moved and no one spoke, each group seemingly paralyzed as it took stock of its situation. Then the naked ones struck out for the nearest bank.
For no reason he could identify at the time, Kahless brought his animal about and guided it through the trees.
Up ahead, he could see the females scrambling for their garments in a little clearing, where they had hung them on the lower branches.
Without even bothering to put their clothes on, they scampered away through the woods. Not that there was any reason to flee, thanks to Kahless’s prohibition-but they had no way of knowing that. Amused, he watched them run, fleet as any animal and twice as graceful.
All except one of them. The tallest and most beautiful stood her ground all alone, having grabbed not her clothes but a long, deadly dagger. As Kahless spurred his s’tarahk to move closer to her, he saw her eyes flash with grim determination.
He knew that look. This female had the heart of a warrior. He liked that. He liked it a lot.
Kahless heard his men emerge from the woods to assemble behind him. The female’s eyes darted from one to another of them, but she didn’t run or drop her weapon or plead for mercy. Yes, a warrior’s heart indeed.
“my father warned me that Molor’s warriors might be about,” she said, with just a hint of tremulousness in her voice. “Collecting Molor’s stinking taxes,” she went on.
“But foolish me, I didn’t listen-and this is the result.”
She raised her chin in a gesture of defiance. “Still, I’ll make some of you sorry you thought to lay a hand on me.
Kahless heard his men laugh deep in their throats.
With a gesture, he silenced them, though he himself was grinning like a krawza.
“We were once Molor’s warriors,” he told the woman.
“But we’re not that anymore. In fact, he would be happier if we were hanged with our own intestines. And rest assured, we have no intention of laying a hand on you.”
The female’s eyes narrowed. “Not Molor’s men? Then you must be …”
“Outlaws,” said Kahless, confirming her suspicions.
“And since I have spared your life, I ask a favor in return.”
“A favor?” the female echoed.
He nodded his head. “We could use some food and a comfortable place to sleep for the night-somewhere we’ll be safe from the lord of this place. We don’t want to find ourselves his prisoners in the morning.” He paused.
“That is, if it’s not asking too much.”
For the first time, a smile tugged at the corners of the female’s mouth. “I think I can give you what you want,” she said. “But I’ll make no guarantees about keeping your presence here from Lord Vathraq. After all, it’s his hall you’ll be sleeping in.”
“His hall … ?” Porus muttered.
The female nodded. “He is my father.”
The Modern Age As Worf entered the captain’s ready room, he had expected only Picard to be waiting for him. He was surprised to see that there was another figure as well-a figure whose drab, loose-fitting garb marked him as one of the clerics of Boreth.
And not just any cleric. Closer scrutiny showed Worf that the shadowed face beneath the cowl was that of Koroth-chief among those who had dedicated their lives to the preservation of Kahless’s traditions.
Koroth inclined his head out of respect for the lieutenant. After all, it was Worf who had forced a meeting of the minds between Gowron and the clone, affording the emperor an honorary place in the council hall.
The security chief returned the gesture of respect.