Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [64]
“Who is it?” he rasped, darting a sideways look at his fellow practitioners, who seemed not to have missed him-at least not yet. “Speak quickly-and give me a reason not to warn the others.”
“It’s me,” Worf’s brother whispered. “It’s Kurn, son of Mogh.”
Immediately, Godar’s expression changed. He became more curious than wary. “Come forward, so I can see it is really you,” he demanded.
Worf s brother complied with Godar’s wishes. As the hollow filled with sunlight, the man saw the truth of the matter-and grinned.
“Kurn,” he said. “You Miravian slime devil!”
Reaching in, he grasped Kurn’s arm in a handclasp reserved for brothers and close allies. “What in the name of Fek’lhr are you doing on Terjas Mor?” He squinted.
“And who the blazes is in there with you?”
Kurn moved aside, so the older man could get a better look into the hollow. “You will find,” he explained, “that I travel in unusual company.”
As Godar spotted Worf and then Picard, his elderly brow creased with curiosity. And when he realized that Kahless was with them, the crease became a deep, dark furrow in the center of his forehead.
“Unusual company indeed,” the man murmured. He turned back to Kurn. “And how does this involve me, son of Mogh?”
As he did at Majjas’s house, Worf’s brother explained what was going on. However, he left out Majjas’s name, referring to the blind man simply as “an expert in armaments.”
The mokbara practitioner nodded. “And since I was once the master of the defense armory on this world, you believe I can tell you who might have stolen the bomb.”
Worf shrugged. “If anyone knows the people who worked there, it would be you. If you were pressed to come up with a name…”
Godar didn’t respond right away. Finally, after what seemed like a long time, he came up with not one name but two-and a bit of information to back up his suspicions.
“Mind you,” he told them, “I don’t know for a fact that they’re guilty. I’m only guessing.”
Kurn snorted. “A guess from Godar, son of Gudag, is better than a certainty from anyone else. I thank you, my friend-and I trust you will keep the matter of our survival a secret.”
The mokbara practitioner laughed softly. “I haven’t lived this long by betraying my friends, Kurn. Your secret is safe with me.” He gazed downslope again. “But if I don’t hurry, my companions will wonder what kept me so long. Follow the path of honor, Son of Mogh.”
And with that, he was gone. Picard looked at Kurn. “I assume we’ll be paying our bombing suspects a visit.”
Kurn nodded. “You assume correctly.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” asked Kahless.
“We’re not,” Worf’s brother replied.
Pulling up his sleeve to expose the remote control band on his forearm, he tapped in the necessary information.
Then he activated the link to his vessel’s transporter system.
The captain felt a brief thrill, something like a lowvoltage electrical current, running through him-the earmark of Klingon transporter technology. A moment later, he was back on Kurn’s ship-though with what they knew now, he was certain he wouldn’t stay there very long.
The Heroic Age lchless looked at all those who had assembled in the village of T’chariv, along the edge of the northern forests.
His own men were only a small part of the crowd that huddled under a gray sky, surrounded by low wooden houses and a flimsy-looking barricade.
Last of all, the outlaw glanced at Edronh, the man he had fought over the minnhor herd nearly a year ago.
Edronh nodded, and Kahless looked back at the funeral pyre that stood behind him.
Torch in hand, he approached the pyre, with its burden of half a dozen corpses. The wind whistled in his ears, whispering things he didn’t want to hear or know about.
Touching his torch to the kindling beneath the wooden platform, he waited until the fire caught. Then he watched as logs were placed on the burning branches, feeding the flames until they enveloped the bodies above.