Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [27]
Now it was the boy’s turn to frown. “The Pescalians?
But I thought you said their ships were held together with spit. Worf harrumphed. “Perhaps I was exaggerating. In any case, we will rendezvous with one of their vessels in an hour.”
Alexander felt a lump in his throat-the one he got whenever his father left on some dangerous assignment.
And by the sound of it, this one was pretty dangerous.
“Who’s we?” he asked.
“The captain and I,” Worf replied.
Well, that was a bright spot. Alexander trusted the captain. He was a smart man. And Starfleet wasn’t eager to lose him if they could help it.
“Okay,” the boy said, not wanting his father to see his fear. “Have a good trip.”
Not that Worf would have scolded him for being afraid.
They had come to an understanding about Alexander’s human side, the quarter of his heritage he had received from his mother’s mother. But it was considered bad luck for a Klingon to leave in the midst of sorrow.
“I will try,” his father agreed. “In the meantime, keep up your schoolwork. And your battelh practice.”
Alexander nodded. “I will.”
“And if you need anything, you can turn to Counselor Troi. She will be glad to help in any way she can.”
The boy knew that without Worf’s having to say it. He liked Counselor Troi. And so did his father, though he sometimes didn’t seem eager to admit it-even to himself.
“Don’t worry,” said Alexander. He smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
Worf looked at him. His eyes gleamed with a touch of pride. “Good. I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Sure,” the boy told him, faking an assurance he didn’t quite feel. “When you get back.”
A moment later, his father was gone.
so The Heroic Age Hungry as he was, Kahless had a hard time keeping his mind on the food that writhed and steamed and bled on Lord Vathraq’s table. Of course, his men had no such problem.
They heaped their plates high with heart of targ and serpent worms, with warm, soft torrif bread and dark, sweet minnhor cheese. They slacked their thirst with fragrant bloodwine, poured by Vathraq’s servants. And they gorged themselves as if they didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, which was no more or less than the truth.
Kahless, on the other hand, was too busy watching Vathraq’s daughter to pay much attention to food.
Her name was Kellein, and in all his years he had never seen anything like her. At first glimpse, back at the river, he had appreciated her courage above all-despite her nakedness. Now, as heeawatched her move from table to table, seeing to it that everyone was amply served, he took time to appreciate her more obvious attributes.
The way her hips swayed beneath her long, belted tunic, for instance. Or the sharpness of her teeth. Or the shape of her eyes, as brown and oval as en’tach leaves in the spring.
Kahless would have guessed that she was twenty years old, perhaps twenty-two. Yet she was wearing a jinaq amulet on a silver chain, signifying that her parents had only in the last year deemed her old enough to take a mate.
By that sign, the warrior knew her to be only eighteen.
It made her defiance in the river seem even more impressive to him.
Instinctively, he tried to catch her eye. To communicate without words his body’s yearning for her. But Kell ” ein didn’t look his way.
Cursing himself, Kahless drained a goblet full of bloodwine. Why should she? he asked himself bitterly. All I am is a stinking outlaw, a man with no standing and no future. She’d be better off with a half-wit for a mate than a man marked for death by Molor.
Abruptly, the warchief heard a clamor at the far end of his table. Turning, he saw Vathraq standing with a goblet in his hand, pounding on the wooden boards for silence.
It took a while, but he got it. Smiling like someone who’d had too much bloodwine-which was true, if the stains in his ample gray beard were any indicationVathraq raised his goblet in Kahless’s direction.
“For my guest,” he bellowed. “Kahless the Unconquered, Bane of the Emperor Molor. May he feed the tyrant his own entrails!”
There