To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [91]
Suddenly, a guttural sound escaped Lt. WoWs lips.
The Klingon’s outstretched hand flexed ever so slightly. The Na’amOberyin wheeled as if their bodies were controlled by a single puppeteer, their faces transformed to masks of almost incandescent intensity. If Worf had been turned to ice before, now he was stone.
Not so Udar Kishrit. In the instant that the Na’amOberyin reclaimed control over Worf, he sprang back to full mobility. The ceremonial dagger at his belt flashed up as he drew it and threw himself at the nearest of the Ashkaarians.
“So.” Nish ha’am touched his silver sigil and laughed. “It has teeth, this many-headed monster.” He spoke slowly, like a man with all the time in the world. Indeed, it seemed as if at his word time had slowed to the oozing pace of honey dripping heavy from the comb.
Udar Kishrit still moved, but sluggishly, his feet too weighty to carry him forward, his body swaying in an eerie dance. His free hand rose to meet the hand holding the dagger above his head until he grasped the blade with both. Then gradually, oh so very languidly, the blade descended, subtly changing course as it drifted down, until the leader of the Masra’et stared helplessly as he himself stood ready to plunge the glittering point into his own trembling belly.
At once, the other members of the Masra’et were siezed by the same uncanny power of animation and drew their daggers. Some laid the edges to their throats, some aimed the blades for their hearts, one terrified elder looked down the length of steel that awaited only another unspoken command so that it might jab deep into his eye.
“Nish na’am, stop this! Stop it at once!” Captain Picard slammed his fists against the tabletop.
“Release these men immediately!” “They will be released when they, too, have spoken hari’imash,” Nish n’am said grimly. “They will utter their most sacred bond to give our people all the knowledge, all the wonders that they now hoard from us, to give us back lives for the lives that have—” “Never,” Udar Kishrit rasped. “Do you think you frighten us with these tricks, these cheap deceptions?
You want us to believe that you have unlimited power? I see through such lies. You cannot hold us forever! There are limits to your power, I feel them, and I swear that when your hold over me slips, your life will end.” “If”mNish ha’am held up one monitory fingerm “your life has not ended first.” He slashed his finger left, then right, and Udar Kishrit’s dagger darted away from his belly only to fly back again.
“What do they hope to gain by this?” Avren wondered aloud. “I know the Masra’et. Even if they do give their word to share out our knowledge with Ashkaar, what’s to stop ‘era from reneging once their skins are safe?” “But if they speak hari’imash—” Ma’adrys began, her eyes wide. “To break that oath is to court utter destruction, soul and heart!” Avren dismissed her words with a snort. “Maybe we’re one blood, but we’re still two worlds. Your holiest vow is just words to them.” He indicated the captive members of the Masra’et. “They’ll mouth it and forget it, and how will you folk enforce any promises they make if they don’t decide to keep ‘em?
Grow wings and fly to Evramur?” Ma’adrys lowered her head and clenched her hands. “Do not profane what is still holy to us just to prove how witty you are, Avren. Ne’elat is not Evramur. It is as far removed from paradise as mud from wine.” “Is what this one says true?” Nish na’am inquired, leaning near. “Are these children of Yaro