Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [37]
Then, with a viciously quick and accurate lunge, he stabbed at Picard’s throat. The human fended off the attack with one of his own blades and countered with a backhand slash of his own. The Klingon leaped back, and the slash fell short.
Almost too late, Picard turned and realized what was really happening. The frontal assault was only a decoy, so a second Klingon could stab him from behind. Reacting instantly, he ducked-and the second assailant sailed over his head, confounding the first.
That gave the captain a chance to see how his companions were doing. He noted with relief that they were both still alive. There was blood running down the side of Worf’s face and Kahless had a wet, dark rent in the shoulder of his tunic, but their wounds weren’t slowing them down.
Picard watched as Worf lashed out with his foot, cracking an opponent’s rib, then faced off with another.
And Kahless wove a web of steel with his dagger, keeping two more at bay.
As the captain turned back to his own assailants, he found them separating in an attempt to flank him. A sound strategy, he thought. Cautiously, he backed off, hoping to buy some time.
It would have been the right move, if not for the recovery of the Klingon he thought he’d knocked unconscious. Hearing the scrape of the warrior’s boots, Picard whirled in time to catch a downstroke with crossed blades-but the maneuver left him open to the other two.
The captain could almost feel the shock of cold steel sinking into his back. But it never came. Instead, he saw his adversary withdraw into the alley that had spawned him. Turning, Picard saw the other masked ones retreating as well.
Then he saw why. A group of warriors were approaching from the direction of the dining hall, eager to even the odds. Fortunately, there was nothing a Klingon disliked more than an unfair fight.
Kahless started after the masked ones, caught up in a bloodlust, but Worf planted himself in the clone’s way and restrained him. Seeing that his officer would need some help, Picard added his own strength to the effort.
“Let me go!” bellowed Kahless, his eyes filled with a berserker rage.
“No!” cried Worf. “We have got to get out of here, before people start asking questions!” Then he caught sight of the captain and his lips pulled back from his teeth. “Sir!” he hissed. “Your hood!”
Picard groped for it-and realized it had fallen back, exposing his all-too-human face to those around him. He pulled it up again as quickly as he could and looked around.
As far as he could tell, no one had seen him. The newcomers were far too eager to plunge after the attackers to notice much else.
Worf turned back to the clone. “Now we have even more reason to leave,” he rasped.
Kahless scowled and made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. Thrusting Worf away from him, he probed the wetness around his shoulder with his fingers. They came away bloody.
“The Ptahkmey, was he spat. “This was a perfectly good tunic. Mark my words, they’ll pay for ruining it.”
“You’ll need medical attention,” remarked Picard.
The Klingon looked at him and laughed. “For what?”
he asked. “A flesh wound? I’ve done worse to myself at the dinner table.”
Then he gestured for Picard and Worf to follow, and started for the square again. Behind them, their rescuers were still hooting and shouting, but there was no din of metal on metal. Apparently, the attackers had gotten away.
The captain saw Worf turn to him, his brow creased with concern.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Picard nodded. “Better than I have a right to be. And you?”
The Klingon shrugged. “Well enough.”
The captain cast a wary glance down an alley as they passed it. “It seems we were not as circumspect as we believed. Someone realized we were on Lomakh’s trail and sent us a message.”
Worf grunted in agreement. “Stay clear of the conspiracy or die.”
Kahless looked back at them. “Is that what you’ll do, Picard? Stay away, now that I’ve shown you the truth of what I said?” His eyes were like daggers.