Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
The captain shook his head. “No. Staying away is no longer an option. Like it or not, we’re in the thick of it.”
The clone smiled, obviously delighted by the prospect.
“You know,” he told Picard, “we’ll make a Klingon of you yet.”
Then he turned his massive back on them and walked on with renewed purpose. After all, his point had been made, albeit at the risk of their lives.
The Heroic Age lchless cursed deep in his throat. His breath froze on the air, misting his eyes, though it couldn’t conceal the urgency of his plight.
Up ahead of him, there were nothing but mountains, their snow-streaked flanks soaring high into wreaths of monstrous, gray cloud. As his starahk reared, flinging lather from its flanks, the outlaw chief turned and saw the army less than a mile behind them.
Molor’s men. With Molor himself leading the hunt.
Again, Kahless cursed. The tyrant had come out of nowhere, surprising them, rousting them from their early Cold camp. He had forced them to fly before his vastly more numerous forces, and the only direction open to them had been this one.
So they’d run, and run, and run some more, until their mounts were slick with sweat and grunting with exhaustion. And all the while, Kahless had had the feeling they were being herded somewhere.
His feeling had been right. Now they were pinned against a barrier of steep, rocky slopes, which their s’tarahkmey had no hope of climbing. They had no choice but to turn and fight, and acquit themselves as well as possible before Molor’s warriors overran them.
Nor would their deaths be quick-Kahless’s, least of all. Molor had to be half-insane with his thirst for vengeance. Starad had been the most promising of his children, after all. The tyrant would make his son’s killer pay with every exquisite torture known to him.
As Molor’s forces grew larger on the horizon, the outlaw glanced at his men. They were watching their pursuers as well, wondering how they could possibly escape. Kahless wondered too.
No doubt, the tyrant had been tracking them for some time, feeding on rumors and starahk prints, edging ever closer. That was the way he stalked those who defied him-with infinite patience, infinite care. And then he struck with the swiftness of heat lightning.
And this trap-this too was in keeping with Molor’s method. Many was the time Kahless had engineered just such a snare, in his days as the tyrant’s warchief. And to his knowledge, no one had ever escaped.
“Tell everyone to be ready,” he barked, eyeing Morath and Porus and Shurin in one sweeping glance. “Molor won’t hold any councils when he arrives. He’ll pounce, without warning or hesitation.”
For emphasis, Kahless drew his sword, which had become nicked from hewing tough, gnarled mressa branches. But he had had little choice. It was either that or go without cover from the snow and rain.
“Kahless!” called a voice.
He turned and saw Morath sidling toward him on his s’tarahk. His deepset eyes were darker than ever-but not with hopelessness, the outlaw thought. It seemed to him the younger man had an idea.
Kahless couldn’t imagine what it might be, or how it could possibly help. But he wasn’t about to reject it out of hand.
“What is it?” he snapped, never quite taking his eyes off the approaching line of Molor’s men.
Morath came so close their mounts were nearly touching. “I’ve been in these hills before,” he said. “At least, I think I have. It was a long time ago.”
Kahless had no time for fond reminiscence. “And?”
“And I think there’s a way out,” Morath declared.
The outlaw looked at him. “What way?” he asked. “Are you going to sunder the mountains and let us through?
Because there’s no way I can see to get over them.”
Morath ignored the derision in the older man’s voice and pointed to the gray slopes towering behind them.
“We don’t have to make it over them,” he insisted. “We only have to make it into them.”
Kahless was sure Morath had gone insane, but there was no time to argue with him. Scowling, the outlaw signaled to the others to follow. Then Morath took off, with Kahless right behind him.