Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [47]
Suddenly, Kahless’s foot slipped out from under him, and the other man gained the upper hand. Twisting his wrist free, he smashed Kahless across the face with the hilt of his sword. A second time. And again.
For Kahless, the world swam in a red haze. And when it cleared, his enemy was sitting astride him, sword raised high, ready to plunge it deep into his naked throat.
Kahless groped for the handle of his weapon, but it wasn’t there, and he was too dazed to search for it. He tried to push his enemy off, but it was no use. His strength had left him along with his senses.
“Tell me your name,” said the man, “so I may honor it when I speak of our battle around the campfire.”
The outlaw chief laughed at his own helplessness, spitting out the blood that was filling his mouth. “You’d honor me?” he grated, his voice sounding a hundred miles distant. “Make it Kahless, son of Kanjis, then. Or Molor himself. Or whoever you want.”
What did he care? He’d be dead by then.
But as Kahless’s words sank in, a change came over his enemy’s face. A look of uncertainty, the outlaw thought.
At any rate, the sword remained high.
“You are … Kahless?” the man demanded sharply.
“In truth?”
The outlaw nodded. “I am.” He squinted through the prismatic snow that had gathered on his eyelashes. “Do I know you?”
His enemy shook his head from side to side, his coppercolored braids slapping at his cheeks. “No,” he said. “But I know you.”
Suddenly, the man was on his feet, waving with his sword at the other combatants. “Stop,” he cried. “All those who follow Edronh, put down your weapons. These warriors are our friends!”
Kahless thought he was dreaming, or addled by all the punishment he’d taken. Klingons didn’t stop in the middle of a life-or-death struggle to declare their enemies their allies.
Or did they? All around him, the enemy stopped fighting. Kahless’s men looked at one another, unsure what to make of this.
And as the outlaw chief himself got to his feet, he didn’t know what to tell them.
Then the leader of the other band knelt before Kahless and laid his sword at Kahless’s feet. When he spoke again, it was in a voice filled with deep shame and embarassment.
“We yield to bold Kahless, who leads the fight against the tyrant. Had we known from the beginning whom we faced, we would never have raised our bows against him.”
The son of Kanjis began to understand. Edronh and his men were outlaws too-the kind Kahless had hunted when he was still in the tyrant’s employ. And like Vathraq to the south, they believed Kahless was leading a revolt against Molor’s rule.
He was about to correct the notion when he realized how foolish it would be. The truth would only start their bloody battle all over again. And by keeping his mouth shut, by going along with the lie, he would get them the cob’lat’s share of the hunt.
Grabbing a tree for support, because his head still swam with the other man’s blows, Kahless dismissed the conflict with a sweep of his arm. “It was an honest mistake. I will not hold it against you, nor will my men.”
To cement his promise, he eyed as many familiar faces as he could find with a single glance. They seemed to understand, because to a man they nodded back. All except one, that is.
Only Morath looked away from him, reluctant to be part of the falsehood. The younger man was scowling as he stuck his sword in his belt. It was all right, Kahless thought. Some day, Morath would learn.
A young warrior, even younger than Morath, approached Kahless. Like his chief, he laid his sword in the snow.
“It is an honor to meet you,” he said.
The enemy leader-no longer an enemy at all now, it seemed-grinned at the young one. Then he turned to Kahless.
“My youngest son,” he explained. “His name is Rannuf.”
Kahless nodded. “In that case, I’m glad we didn’t kill him. Now, my friend, about the herd …”
“We’ll take it down together,” suggested Edronh. “But you may take the bulk of the provisions. We know these hills as we know our own swords. We can always find another herd.”
Kahless smiled. This was better than leaving corpses