Between Darkness and Light

by Lisanne Norman

  She smiled slightly. “No, you haven’t been scent-marked, Lieutenant, nor could just pairing with one of us cause anything like that to happen to you.”

  He stared at her, shocked even as relief washed through him that he couldn’t have been scent-marked. “You’re one of the Prime telepaths, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “Your Captain was teaching me how to use my abilities so I could teach the other Prime females.”

  It just got better and better, he thought angrily. “Show me his wound,” he said abruptly, getting up.

  Litany for Clear Thought

  Vartra, grant me Silence

  That I may hear the wind’s whisper.

  Vartra, grant me Patience

  That I may watch the darkened waters clear.

  Vartra, grant me Harmony

  That I may sense the forces that shape all.

  Vartra, grant me Direction

  That none may unduly influence me.

  Vartra, grant me Wisdom

  That I may see the truth.

  Vartra, grant me Clarity of Thought

  That through the Silence, Patience, Harmony,

  Direction and Wisdom granted by You,

  The right action becomes known unto me.

  —Anonymous, from the Brotherhood’s

  Book of Pathways

  CHAPTER 21

  BACK in their lounge, Banner briefed them all on Kusac’s condition.

  “You said he’s healing fast?” asked Khadui.

  “His wound looks like it happened nearly a week ago, despite the fact it’s only been two days,” he confirmed.

  “He’s got a lot to bloody well answer for,” said Dzaou. “Three weeks left and he has to go and pull a damned stupid stunt like that without telling anyone!”

  “That’s enough, Dzaou,” said Banner sharply. “I can understand that finding out Kezule had him drugged and sent that female to his room was the final straw. I’m not condoning the Captain’s actions, but they are understandable. Had he spoken to us about it first, his plan might have worked.”

  “But he didn’t speak to anyone, did he?” Dzaou said angrily. “That’s the reason we’re in this mess, because he didn’t tell any of us what was going on, including the fact he’s a blasted telepath again! It makes me mad, the way he treated us all like a bunch of idiots!”

  “I said enough!” A growl underscored Banner’s words this time.

  “Enough be damned! I haven’t begun yet,” snarled Dzaou, hair beginning to rise. “You’re no better than him! You lied when you told us he was keeping you in the picture! We could be stuck on this lump of rock for Vartra knows how long because of you two!”

  Launching himself out of the chair, Banner went for Dzaou, sending the other two diving out of the way. Plucking him out of his seat, he pinned him by his throat to the wall behind.

  “Are you questioning my authority, Dzaou?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft.

  “What if I am?” Dzaou demanded belligerently, struggling to force him off. “You’re as big a waste of space as he is! Neither of you is fit to run a jegget cull in a sealed barn!”

  “That sounds very like a Challenge to me,” said Banner, hitting his grasping hands away. “If it is, you’d better be very sure you can take me down.”

  “Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind?” said Khadui from his elbow.

  Surprised, Banner glanced at him then ducked quickly to one side as Khadui landed several hefty blows on Dzaou’s side and ribs. As Dzaou doubled over, grunting, the older male gave him a final ringing thump to his ears.

  Banner let him fall to the floor.

  “You got anything more to say?” he demanded as the door burst open to admit M’zynal and Q’almo.

  Dzaou lay there, gasping and rumbling deep in his throat. He stopped abruptly when Banner reached down to pick him up by the front of his jacket.

  “Can we help, Lieutenant?” asked M’zynal, stopping just inside the door.

  “Lock this trash back in his room. We don’t want him in here,” he snarled, thrusting Dzaou in their direction.

  When they’d left, Banner turned to face the other two. “Let’s get this straight right now,” he said. “Kusac kept a hell of a lot back from us, and now we all know how much, but more importantly, why. A large part was because he was trying to protect us from the treason charges he faces if we found out about the cubs. He intended to come here alone, but we forced ourselves on him. At the end of the day, he’s still the Captain, and while he’s down, I’m acting for him. When he’s fit, he takes over again. Either of you got a problem with that?”

  “Not me,” said Jayza immediately.

  “Nor me,” said Khadui. “What do we do about Dzaou?”

  Banner relaxed and made his way back to his chair, picking it up and sitting down again. “I’m open to suggestions,” he said.

  “Have him left in his quarters instead of joining us,” said Khadui, going back to the sofa. “If Kezule lets us go, lock him in a cabin till we get home and hand him over to Stronghold with a list of charges. Let them sort him out.”

  Jayza nodded. “If we don’t, he could get us all killed by doing something stupid. He hates telepaths, we all know that, so he’s even more reason to hate the Captain now.”

  “What about Shaidan? Did you tell them we want the cub with us?” asked Khadui.

  “No. Here with us is no place for him right now, though I hate to admit it. He was in the sick bay with his father. No one’s going to harm him, of that I’m sure. I should have guessed the cub was his—as soon as I saw them together, it was glaringly obvious, of course. He must have been using his Talent to hide that from us.”

  “How long will it be before the Captain’s fit to leave the sick bay?” asked Khadui.

  Banner shrugged. “No idea. With a wound like that, normally I’d say a month maybe, and even then he’d be lame in that leg for a couple more months at least.”

  “One good thing, though,” said Jayza.

  Banner looked at him. “What’s that?”

  “We needn’t worry about Kusac’s attachment to Shaidan any more now we know he’s the cub’s father.”

  “That’s true,” nodded Khadui.

  Kij’ik, briefing room, Command Level, Zhal-Mellasha 27th day (February)

  “After we got Khay’s message ...”

  “Khay?” asked Kezule.

  Zhookoh smiled. “Khayikule’s message, we stayed around for a few hours, picking up messages and transmissions so we could get a clearer picture of what had happened.” He signaled to his sister J’korrash to start the vid. “We picked up this one which was beamed out continuously from around 06:00 till we left two hours later.”

  The screen brightened to show an obviously edited version of the new Emperor K’hedduk’s marriage ceremony. Murmurs ran round the table as those present recognized the leader of the Directorate.

  “The new High Inquisitor is called Lufsuh. He was M’zzik’s right hand.”

  “Obviously a falling out of villains,” murmured Kezule as they listened to K’hedduk proclaim his heritage.

  J’korrash stopped the recording. “Observe at the foot of the royal throne, the skins and attached heads of two of the Sholan Ambassador’s guards. We believe he may be holding the Ambassador and the other two guards as hostages.”

  When she restarted it, the scene cut to the Royal Herald’s announcement of K’hedduk’s ascension to the Throne of Light, citing the new Emperor’s lineage as well as his marriage as justification.

  “How did they overpower Khayikule and your siblings?” Kezule asked as that portion droned on.

  “Sleeping drafts in the wine for the banquet, and the weak ale served to the guards and the barracks,” said Zhookoh.

  “The first custom that gets axed is the one of everyone, including the guards, drinking the Emperor’s health,” said Kezule. “It was always a disaster waiting to happen.” He looked up at Zhookoh. “Where is the Enlightened One? Did he return hom
e?”

  “Thankfully, he’s still on Shola, sir.”

  Kezule nodded. “Then there’s hope for K’oish’ik yet.” He saw the glance exchanged between M’kou and Zhookoh. “Remind us why we left K’oish’ik, M’kou,” he said.

  “You didn’t want to be involved in a coup to put you on the Throne, sir,” said his son with a slight smile to his brother.

  The scene changed to show the central courtyard of the City, round which the heads of various officials and Courtiers were displayed, then it cut to show the main entrance where the late Emperor Cheu’ko’h’s head was displayed.

  “He culled them pretty well,” said Kezule.

  “That’s about it for the vid—as I said, it repeats itself for about two hours,” said Zhookoh.

  Kezule turned his back on the screen to face them. Only three from the Mazzu were present, along with seven of his sons, the rest of the commandos were on duty and would be filled in later by those present.

  “Have we detailed maps of the City and the Palace within it?” he asked.

  J’korrash slid a buff-covered file toward him. “We have them on the Mazzu, sir. I brought a copy with me.”

  “Good,” he said, pulling them over. “Educated guesses on how many loyal troops he has? I noticed he’s got more of those thugs from outside the City.”

  “There’s the twenty M’zullians the Sholans returned,” said Zhookoh. “No idea how many altered workers he has. Then there’s the original Palace guard—the fifty implanted Primes. They were serving on the Prime space fleet, what there is of it, and can be reprogrammed. Same with the hundred or so M’zullian ship laborers. Total, two hundred and seventy at least.”

  “Ships are detailed in the folder, sir,” said J’korrash. “There’s the Kz’adul and her sister ship the Zh’adasho, the frontier cruiser the Shazzu, plus three smaller cruisers, each with crews of thirty and capable of carrying forty troops. They were all called home, as we were, so they’ll be berthed at the space platform.”

  “Good work,” he said, patting the folder. “I’ll study this over the next few days. You’ve been allocated quarters on this level because the one above is mainly civilians. It’s now 12:30. Zhookoh, M’zynal will brief you and your crew on all aspects of Kij’ik in here in two hours.” He got to his feet, gesturing to M’kou. “Meanwhile, settle into your rooms, get showers, a meal, find your way around. Maps of the station have been put in each of your rooms. But until you’ve been briefed, please remain on this level.”

  M’kou followed him across the corridor to his office. Kezule opened the folder and taking out the map of the City of Light, spread it across his desk. “Let’s see what the possibilities are,” he said, leaning over it.

  “You intend to retake the City.”

  Kezule looked up at his son. “Yes. The last task of the Inquisitors before I disband them will be to flay K’hedduk alive,” he said grimly.

  “Ah. You’re going to rule after all,” said M’kou, sitting down.

  He frowned. “No, that’s for Prince Zsurtul—Emperor Zsurtul,” he corrected himself. “But getting him back his throne will have a cost attached to it I think he’ll gladly pay. Disbanding the Inquisitors for one, and reforming the Court—he needs to get rid of some of those pointless rituals, like the toast I mentioned. I’m fairly sure that’s when the drug was administered to the guards, probably with the help of the Inquisitors themselves.”

  M’kou examined the fingertips of his injured arm. “Putting him back on his throne is going to be a little problematic when he’s on Shola,” he murmured.

  “I don’t want to hear this,” said Kezule, a touch of ice creeping into his voice as he went back to studying the map.

  “Shola knows we have Kusac and his crew here.”

  “I’m well aware of that. Concentrate on the matter in hand, M’kou. What’s more important is the knowledge that K’hedduk is a M’zullian and brother to their Emperor. It’s my bet that M’zzik thought he was helping K’hedduk regain the throne for his brother and K’hedduk double-crossed him. Which begs the question, why does K’hedduk feel confident in taking the Prime throne for himself? Has he powerful allies among the M’zullian Court or military? He must have, because he certainly hasn’t enough people on K’oish’ik to mount a war against M’zull.”

  “He’s ambitious,” said M’kou. “And certainly has tactical skills, given we thought we’d destroyed his power base on K’oish’ik only four or five months ago. If he has enough support on M’zull, they could overturn their Emperor and at a stroke, those two worlds would be allied. Since the destruction of J’kirtikk, only one more world remains—Ch’almuth—and the M’zullians have been raiding it for breeding stock for generations.”

  “Whoever sits on the Throne of Light rules that Empire,” said Kezule. “K’hedduk must be removed. Without him, they can’t re-form the Empire. M’zull would never accept Zsurtul as their Emperor.”

  “Would Ch’almuth?”

  “No. They govern themselves,” said Kezule. “Let’s study this map.”

  Sick bay, same day

  “Hello, Captain. Welcome back.”

  “Uhhnn,” he said, blinking as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He felt decidedly light-headed and groggy. Someone—a female from her scent—helped him sit up, taking his right hand and wrapping it around a bowl of water.

  “Don’t try to use your telepathic abilities. You’re wearing a damping collar,” another voice warned as, with the first one’s help, he drank thirstily.

  The water helped clear his head and as the empty bowl was lowered, he began to get his bearings. He was in the sick bay. Zhalmo sat at the end of his bed, and Ghidd’ah had been helping him.

  “How do you feel?” she asked, putting the bowl on the night table then moving pillows behind him to prop him up. “Any pain from your leg? There shouldn’t be, I gave you an analgesic shot about an hour ago.”

  They’d already said too much for him to take in. He picked what seemed most urgent.

  “Welcome back?” he croaked, swallowing convulsively; his throat felt gritty and dry despite the water.

  Ghidd’ah perched on the side of his bed, facing him. “You’ve been unconscious for five days since your punishment,” she said gently, reaching out to pat his hand where it lay on top of the covers. “How do you feel?”

  Five days! He reached up to push his hair back from his face—and found it had been braided out of the way. His belly began to rumble audibly, making the females smile.

  “Hungry,” he whispered.

  Zhalmo got up and fetched a tray from the chair that stood opposite the end of his bed.

  “You do need to eat,” she said, going around the other side of the bed to put it on his lap. “You used up a lot of body mass when you were healing.”

  Body mass? Healing? Ignoring the food, he looked from one to the other.

  “Look at your arm, Kusac,” said Zhalmo.

  He did, shocked to see that his skin hung loose and his pelt was dull and unkempt.

  “The food’s high protein. Eat it, you’ll soon regain that weight,” said Ghidd’ah, pushing a bowl of something creamy-looking at him.

  His stomach rumbled again. Automatically he picked up the spoon and pushed it into the food. Lifting it to his mouth proved to be more difficult. His hand shook so much Ghidd’ah had to take it from him before it spilled.

  “Let me help,” she said, gesturing to Zhalmo to leave.

  She waited till they were alone before she lifted the spoon toward his mouth. Frustrated, his ears flicked back flat against his head as he turned it aside; he didn’t want to be fed like some helpless invalid.

  “You must eat, Captain,” she said gently. “You’ve been very ill. We thought we were going to lose you.”

  He looked back at her in shock. Wisps of memory were beginning to come back. She took advantage of his disorientation to spoon the food between his partly opened lips. He swallowed automatically. It was cold but very
soothing as it slid down his roughened throat.

  “How long?” he asked slowly.

  “How long what?” She raised the spoon again.

  Grasping her wrist, he stopped her. “Was I dead.”

  Startled, she began to stammer.

  “How long?” he repeated hoarsely.

  “About three minutes,” she said.

  He relaxed, letting her hand go. Not long enough to do any damage.

  “I didn’t think you’d remember,” she said, offering him the spoon.

  He opened his mouth, taking the food, knowing no answer was necessary.

  “Shaidan’s been in to see you every day,” she said, obviously trying to make conversation. “He was very worried about you.”

  Shaidan was fine, he realized, aware that he could sense his cub’s presence at the edges of his mind. Mechanically, he ate the food that was offered to him. When it was done, and she brought him more water, he attempted to raise both hands to take the bowl from her. She stopped him, holding his left hand down on the bed.

  “We had to put you on a drip,” she said soothingly. “Just accept my help for now. You’ll soon be strong enough to do it yourself.”

  He drank. The food had certainly helped. Though still utterly exhausted, he felt less light-headed now, and his mind was beginning to function properly. Time to check his wounds.

  “My leg. I need to see it,” he said, struggling to reach across himself and pull the cover back.

  “It’s fine, you’re healing nicely,” said Ghidd’ah, trying to prevent him. “Leave it till tomorrow.”

  He locked eyes with her. “Now,” he said firmly.

  She hesitated and he reinforced his demand by sending a subliminal mental command. Sighing, she got up, taking the tray away before returning and carefully pulling the cover back, exposing his injured leg.

  The overall swelling was dramatically reduced, and when she lifted the loose dressing, the upper wound looked healthy—far too healthy given the time that had passed even though there was still an area in the center of the bright red new growth that was discharging a brownish ichor. His mind froze, unable to make sense of what he was seeing.