Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [74]
It was Starad, Molor’s son. And he was whole again, unscathed.
The warrior had a sword in his hand, and it seemed he was looking for trouble. But something told Kahless that he could not be harmed here. After all, Kellein had said he had a destiny to seize elsewhere.
“Kahless?” Starad laughed, brash as ever. “Is it really you?”
The rebel held his ground. “You can see it is.”
Molor’s son stopped in front of him and sneered. “I know what you’re up to, Kahless. But you’re just a yolok worm beneath Molor’s boot. Oh, maybe you’ll win a battle or two, but in the long run you can’t hope to accomplish anything.” He leaned closer to the rebel, grinning with his long, sharp teeth. “Why not give yourself up and save everyone some trouble?”
Kahless could feel his own lips pulling back. “You were a fool when you were alive, Starad. I never thought to seek your counsel then, so why would I heed it now?”
Molor’s son raised his sword before his face. Catching the light, the blade glinted murderously.
“Ignore me if you want,” he rasped, “but you will not be able to ignore my father’s power. When the deathblow falls and your wretched rebellion falls along with it, you will remember me.” His eyes slitted with barely contained fury. “You will remember Starad.”
Kahless cursed him. “You think I wanted this?” he hissed. “You think I wanted to be hunted like an animal?
To see my mate lying dead on her father’s ground? To be deprived of comfort everywhere I turn?”
Starad opened his mouth to reply-but nothing came out. And a moment later, he had faded to smoke, just like Kellein before him.
Kahless felt a hand on his arm. He turned and found himself face to face with Rannuf, Edronh’s son. The boy was just as he had been in the forest that snowy day, ruddy-cheeked and full of life.
“Rannuf,” he said, his anger abating. In its place, he felt only heavy-hearted remorse. “I am sorry you had to die. Believe me, I wish it were otherwise.”
Rannuf shook his head. “You misunderstand, Lord Kahless. I have not come to exact an apology from you, or to blame you for my death. I have come to warn you about impending treachery.”
“What treachery?” the rebel asked.
“It is my father,” Rannuf explained. “Edronh plans to sell you out to Molor’s forces. He grows weary of losing his family and his possessions-weary of the bloodshed.
The only way it will end, he believes, is when the tyrant has your head.”
“No,” said Kahless. He shook his head. “That is not possible. Edronh has never shown me anything but loyalty.”
The youth smiled grimly. “Molor might have said that about you once, my lord. Men change.”
Kahless frowned. He couldn’t ignore Rannuf’s advice-not under the circumstances. It was said the dead had knowledge that was denied the living.
“All right,” he replied. “What does your father intend to-?”
He never finished his question. Like the others, Rannuf wavered and blew away on a puff of air.
Kahless turned to the center of the hall, where the two warriors were still raising a terrible noise. The multitude of spectators egged them on from their seats. Up above, strange birds flew from one rafter to the next.
Kellein had said he didn’t belong here. It seemed to him that she was right-that he wasn’t meant to leave the world of the living quite yet. But how was he supposed to get back?
What offering did he have to make, an d to whom?
There was no sign of the serpent said to guard this place and keep it inviolate, or of the ancient ones who had challenged it….
Just as he thought that, the hall itself began to quake and come apart, as if under the influence of a powerful wind. Oblivious to it, the warriors on the benches continued to cheer for one fighter or the other, and the birds continued to fly. But Kahless could see the hall shiver and dissipate, and its occupants along with it.
Finally, he himself began to lose his shape, to twist in the wind and drift away. He cried out …
… and found himself sitting upright in a tent, the air cold on his skin. His heart was pumping like a bellows and his eyes stung