Kahless - Michael Jan Friedman [9]
Kahless didn’t have the luxury of watching his enemy’s blood pool about him on the ground. There was still work to do. Plucking up the giant’s sword, which was not that much bigger or heavier than those he was used to, he whirled it once around his head.
Then, in a spray of blood, he used it to decapitate the mighty outlaw. As the giant’s head rolled off his shoulders, it was trampled under the hooves of a riderless starahk.
After that, the outlaws seemed to lose their lust for battle. And before the sun met the horizon, Molor’s men had carried the day.
In the aftermath of the fighting, the monarch embraced Kahless and awarded him first choice of the spoils for his work that day. Molor slapped the warchief on the shoulder and said out loud that Kahless, son of Kanjis, was his fiercest and most loyal warrior.
In Kahless’s ears, there could have been no more pleasing sound than the praise of his master, or the resultant cheers of his men. He had wrapped himself in glory. What else was there?
The Modern Age When the Muar’tek Festival comes to Tolar’tu, even the heavens lift their voices in celebration.
Kahless reflected on the uncanny accuracy of the saying as he made his way through the milling crowd toward the town square. The afternoon sky, packed tightly with low, brooding clouds, rumbled softly, as if in willing accompaniment to the brave sounds sent up by the festival musicians.
The Klingon felt himself drawn to the tumult-to the hoarse whistling of the long, tapering abindo pipes, to the insistent strumming of the harps, and to the metallic booming of the kraddak drums that echoed from wall to age-stained wall.
If all went well, the coming performance in the square and the mounting storm would pace one another like a matched pair of hunting animals, reveling in their power and their beauty as they ran down their quarry-only to reach it at the same time.
As Kahless edged closer to the ancient plaza and the space that had been cleared out in the center of it, he caught the briny scent of the fresh serpent worms offered by the street vendors. And as if that were not enough to set one’s belly grumbling, one-eyed Kerpach-whose shop was set into the western wall of the square-was bringing out a particularly pungent batch of rokeg blood pie.
Glancing around, he saw that few of those who’d come here for the festival wore their everyday dark clothes without embellishment. That was a change. Just a few years ago, one might see only a few of the elderly sporting a blood-red glove or band in keeping with the festival’s traditions. These days, even the smallest children wore red headbands as a matter of course.
But then, to this square which had seen so much, these were all children-young and old, traditionalist or otherwise. And it welcomed them with open arms, as long as there was joy and honor in their hearts.
After all, this was the oldest part of Tolar’tu, the only part that escaped the ravages of Molor more than fifteen hundred years ago. The town’s ancient center, where-it might be said-Klingon civilization first took hold. And had it not been for Kahless, he mused, even this place would have been consumed by the tyrant’s greed.
He took considerable pride in that accomplishment.
Perhaps he was not the historical Kahless, as he’d once believed. Perhaps he was only a clone of that warrior prince, created by the clerics of Boreth from the blood on an ancient dagger to restore a sense of honor to the Empire.
Still, he felt responsible for everything the first Kahless had accomplished. And why not? Could he not remember the salvation of Tolar’tu as if he had been there? Could he not recall in detail his every stroke against Molor’s armies?
Thanks to the clerics, he had all his predecessor’s memories-all his wisdom and ethical fiber. And, of course, all his good looks.
That was why he had to conceal his face under a hood sometimes-today being a case in point. Most days, he was glad to be the Empire’s icon, a symbol held high for all to emulate. But even an icon had to be by himself once in a while, and now was such