Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance)

by Veronica Scott

  “Much better than petrified dried fruit,” Nate said somewhat absently.

  “What’s the matter?” Sensitive as always to his mood, Bithia frowned.

  Shaking his head, not ready to explain himself yet, he took another six-spice cake and peppered Atletl with new questions. “Does Poqueteele have altars to Huitlani? Are there priestesses there?”

  Sobering, the Githholz warrior nodded. “Yes, but the people of Poqueteele worship the Fourth Spirit, which is the sea, the dominant goddess of the coast region. Sarbordon’s ancestors didn’t dare tamper with the sea when they conquered the nation. Poqueteeli are an independent people, even in the old times under the previous rulers. The new rulers needed the trade, the fisheries, the shipbuilders too much to risk alienating the people by demanding human sacrifices.”

  “We told anyone who asked a fine tale of arriving fresh off a boat from the southern islands,” Celixia said, “therefore ignorant of recent events. My invention of our origins also explained his terrible accent.” She playfully dug Atletl in the ribs.

  “People were only too happy to tell us the news.” Laughing, Atletl dodged her elbow.

  “Did you get wild rumors?” Nate asked. “Or pretty close to the truth?”

  “A mixture of both. The city’s packed with refugees, the majority having left Nochen long before it blew. For the most part, people have the story right—T’naritza’s warriors won the sapiche game and freed the Lady—”

  “And she called down the wrath of her father on the city and wiped it out in a single day.” Celixia bowed to Bithia.

  “Do the people think she—and we—traveled home to the sky?” Thom sounded hopeful.

  Frowning, Atletl and Celixia exchanged glances. The priestess shook her head. “Some say she walks the land, seeking out the followers of Huitlani and taking vengeance on them.”

  Bithia’s jaw dropped. “Why would people think I’d do such a thing?”

  Nate rested a hand on her shoulder as he leaned past her to get another delicious spice cake. “Wouldn’t surprise me if a few old scores are being settled these days and conveniently laid at your door. Not much we can do about the situation, I’m afraid.”

  While Bithia contemplated the events, chewing in silence, Celixia recounted more market gossip. “Others think she fled to her father’s realm and took her warriors with her. I heard at least five variations on each version of the story. Many are fearful of what she may do next, which is a sad thing.”

  “Not if it scares the Huitlani worshippers into keeping a low profile.” Thom snorted. “A little fear is probably a good thing.”

  “I don’t want either our enemies or any would-be friends to search for us,” Nate said, licking icing from his fingers. “You didn’t say anything about Bithia? Or about having been in Nochen before it blew?”

  “No. We stuck to our story of being simple south island immigrants come to establish ourselves on the mainland after finding the wreckage of a storm-driven Inshpan ship on our beach. The lie was to explain the rich treasures we had to trade.” Nate nodded approvingly at the details Atletl had embroidered into the tale he and Celixia had told in town. “Now is not the time to draw attention to ourselves,” Atletl stated the obvious, but with more forbearance and modesty than Nate would have expected of his grandiose recruit. “The city’s under the control of Sarbordon’s governor and his troops, although I heard a lot of restless talk in the streets. We may have cut off the head of the empire by destroying Nochen, but it’ll take time for the rest of the body to die. Each governor will try to hold what he or she now has—they’ll fight. Sporadic revolts will break out, and my people, the Githholz, will continue our invasion of the areas we covet.”

  “Speaking of the king, any word about him? Or Lolanta’s fate?” Nate broke ruthlessly into what he could tell would be a lengthy recitation of the potential future triumphs of the Githholz.

  “It’s unknown where either was at the time of the great explosion.”

  “So one or both may be alive.” Nate shook his head. “Not good.”

  “And really pissed off,” Thom said.

  “Did you see any priestesses?” The feral women worried Nate more than temporal forces. If the king was indeed dead, buried under the talmere, none of his surviving generals was likely to care about hunting for an elusive goddess. Each would be scrambling to seize as much territory and power for themselves as they could get, not seeking the kind of trouble Bithia unleashed on Nochen. But the priestesses were another story. If the entire order accepted the dogma Lolanta had explained to him in her chambers, the religious zealots would see recapturing and sacrificing T’naritza and her warriors as the solution to the current problems of the Huitlani faithful.

  Atletl chased an errant crumb, intent on enjoying every bite of the treat. “I didn’t see any priestesses,” he said with obvious relief.

  Celixia sighed. “I saw two of them watching me while I bartered in the clothing stalls. I didn’t recognize them, nor did they give any sign of knowing who I was. Not all the priestesses trained at Nochen, so there’s a good chance these women wouldn’t realize who I was. In any case, I finished my trading and left immediately. I didn’t see them, or any others, again the whole time. I watched carefully.”

  “What next?” Bithia asked. “Do we leave today?”

  Nate stared out to sea, assessing how much time until sunset. With great reluctance he said, “None of us knows this territory well enough to ride at night. We may as well have another good dinner, a solid night’s sleep and be on our way at first light.”

  “We can pretty much ride straight inland for two days and then connect with the great road bisecting the plains running to the mountains.” Atletl drew a crude map in the sand beside the porch. “Easy to blend in with other refugees. Celixia and I bought serviceable but humble clothing, as you requested.”

  “Riding kemat will mark us as unusual,” Celixia said. “Kemat are usually the property of the nobility, the priestesses and the military. The common people either walk or have bracalx to pull their carts, but those beasts are never ridden by anyone save small children.”

  “We’ll stay off the road as much as possible and go as fast as we can.” Nate was adamant about his plan. “Having kemat is worth the time we’ll gain versus the risk of attracting too much attention.”

  “Small problem,” Thom said. “I can’t ride. Don’t think I ever saw a horse outside of data records and one school field trip to the Sector’s zoological preserve when I was a kid.”

  “Lack of experience could be a problem,” Atletl agreed, glancing from one man to the other. “Kemat are highly intelligent, spirited animals who can sense an untrained rider and try to take advantage. Captain, what about you?”

  “We had one short course at the Academyon the ancient art of horseback riding. Horses are our equivalent of kemat,” Nate explained in a rapid aside to the Talonqueni, who was visibly puzzled over the Basic word. “The class was a long time ago, I wasn’t good at it, and I have to admit traveling via anything without a propulsion unit isn’t my first choice, but I’m sure I can remember enough fundamentals to deal with kemat.”

  “Teach you officer types a lot of useless, archaic trivia, don’t they?” Thom’s tone was teasing.

  “From time to time on pretech worlds, guys have run into this kind of situation, which is why the Academy teaches otherwise outdated skills to the cadets. We’ll have to get in a riding lesson before dark. I need to refresh my muscle memory.”

  “Since we’re not departing tonight, and I can ride—I told you in the healing chamber, remember?” Bithia dealt with Nate’s obvious skepticism in short order. “Hialar’s sons taught me to ride, and I’m sure the concept has remained the same. I’m anxious to see what Celixia bought for me to wear.” She brushed a few errant crumbs from her lap. “Can we go inside the hut now and see your selections?”

  “I hope you’ll be satisfied with what I found.” Celixia lowered her voice, glancing at Nate
. “I think the captain will be pleased.”

  Although delighted by Bithia’s blush, Nate judged it wiser not to call attention to Celixia’s comment. The two women linked arms companionably and prepared to step inside the hut to do wardrobe planning in private.

  “Be glad you’re practicing riding on a soft, sandy beach.” Bithia laughed at the expression on Nate’s face, and then she and Celixia went about their business.

  It was drizzling and foggy again in the morning when they left their cozily shabby cottage, riding north across the dunes. Curiously reluctant to abandon his first safe, peaceful haven on this planet, Nate forced himself to order the departure rather than linger for another day.

  The five rode hard for the first day, managing to stay off the roads as much as possible. Nate tried to move as fast as he could without overtaxing the kemat. The party traveled unobserved for the most part, other than confounding a few refugees, who gawked as the five of them thundered past on their high-spirited quadrupeds.

  Nate remembered the fundamentals of riding in short order. Thom amazed himself by being a total natural at it. He hadn’t fallen even once while he was learning. The sergeant and his chosen mount had bonded almost telepathically, as demonstrated by the way man and animal worked together with a minimum of spoken commands. Nate found it fascinating to watch Thom with his kemat. It was a whole new side to the sergeant’s personality. Thom was going to be genuinely sorry to leave the kemat behind when they finally lifted off from Talonque. Well, maybe if the AO exploration business he’d proposed in all seriousness made substantial credits, Thom could buy himself a stable of the equivalent horses someday.

  The first night Nate selected a campsite in a forest clearing. He allowed only a small fire for fear of attracting attention, and his companions turned in after a sparse dinner of dried fruit and other journey fare that did not require cooking. Nate and Thom split the guard duty as usual.

  The next afternoon Nate was at the head of the small column of riders, trotting down a deserted stretch of road, when suddenly he heard screams and raucous laughter from ahead.

  He reined in, rising in the stirrups and motioned the others to halt.

  “Thom and I’ll ride ahead and check this out. Atletl, keep the ladies safely hidden in the copse of trees until I give the all clear.”

  Thom and Nate dismounted, handing off their reins to Atletl. Drawing their alien weapons, the two operators worked their way through the brush and undergrowth along the stone road until they were within fifty yards of the ambush that had overtaken a hapless family party traveling ahead of them.

  Two small handcarts were standing in the middle of the road, the sacks containing a family’s pitiful possessions open to the wind. Clothes and other items were strewn about on the pavement. A bracalx stood in its traces in front of a cargo wagon, chewing cud, placid, oblivious to the blood pooling around its hooves from the man lying dead on the road close by. Two other men in rough peasant garb knelt side by side on the road, facing the forest beyond, hands bound behind their backs. The captives were closely guarded by four soldiers in royal uniforms. Several small children huddled close by the bound men, crying and wailing.

  Three more guards, one wearing an officer’s insignia, were manhandling two women, dragging them toward the grassy area underneath the trees.

  Nate swore a spacer’s oath under his breath. “I sure as hell can’t walk away from these poor people.”

  “Agreed.” Thom shook his head. “What’s the plan?”

  “I wish we had a way to measure how much charge these Mark Ones have left.” Nate examined his weapon. The red indicator symbol glowed as fiercely as when he’d found it in the warehouse. “The officer first, then his men. I’ve got them. You take the joker to the left of the captives, the one who kicked the little kid.” Nate frowned. “Hopefully, shooting him will spook the others into moving away from the prisoners and you can get a clear shot on them too.”

  “Call it.”

  “Give me two minutes to get into range of my targets.”

  Thom nodded. Nate moved soundlessly past the oblivious guards standing by the wagons, settling into a position close enough to be deadly even with his weapon’s not too generous range. The officer was laughing uproariously at something one of his men, holding the older woman, said. Drawing a bead on him, Nate finished the countdown in his head. He fired, and Thom went into action, the sound of his weapon like a deadly echo.

  The first few soldiers were easy to kill, caught completely unawares. Then one man remaining by the tree grabbed the younger woman and, using her as a shield, attempted to escape into the woods. Nate broke cover, pursuing them at a run. The soldier was hampered not only by his struggling captive, but also by the older woman, who clung to his legs. He slapped the woman on the ground, knocking her away, while retaining his hold on the younger woman. Nate circled in closer and closer. He made a fast visual check of the victim on the ground as he passed, relieved to see she was alive, if woozy. Finally, the enemy, panicked by Nate’s relentlessly silent advance, threw the woman in Nate’s direction and bolted. Nate caught the falling woman with one arm while blasting the soldier in his tracks, leaving a congealed pile of oily, steaming black ash.

  Nate tried to help the woman regain her feet, but she shrank away from him, sinking bonelessly to the ground. The other woman rushed to hug her, nearly bowling her over again. The pair of them watched him warily, faces white, eyes wide.

  “You’re the warriors of the Lady, aren’t you?” said the elder in a trembling voice.

  Nate holstered his weapon and ignored her question. “We heard your cries for help, ma’am. Let me assist you in rejoining your people.”

  She took his outstretched hand and rose to her feet, trying to keep as far away from him as she could while not completely losing contact. The second woman stood as well, clinging to her companion, never taking her eyes off Nate.

  Thom was untying the two bound men as Nate and the women walked to the carts. The children flocked to the older woman, sobbing and clinging to her muddy skirts. She leaned over, trying to comfort them all at once. The younger woman picked up a toddler in either arm and whispered soothingly to them. Nate helped Thom undo the last of the ropes.

  At the unmistakable sound of approaching cavalry, Nate pivoted and took a defensive posture, drawing his weapon, ready for a new battle. Atletl and the two women rode into view, leading the other kemat.

  “Dammit, I told you to stay put until I gave the all clear.” Nate jammed his Mark One into its holster. “What the seven hells possessed you to disobey my direct order?”

  “The Lady said it was all right to join you now.” Atletl merely shrugged as Nate glared at him.

  Nate debated what to say to the people he and Thom had rescued and found them all, from oldest to youngest, staring at Bithia. Even with her fantastic purple hair covered by the hood of her cape, it was obvious she wasn’t a native of Talonque. Slowly, as if in a trance, the refugees sank to their knees on the road, the adults pulling the puzzled children with them.

  Bithia and Nate exchanged glances, the former probably well aware he wasn’t pleased to have their identities revealed, even to harmless refugees stranded in the middle of nowhere. She threw back her hood anyway, permitting her glorious, otherworldly hair to fall free. The breeze lifted a few strands gently. Nate heard the Talonqueni family members muttering in awe, convinced they were in the presence of the fabled T’naritza.

  “I’m pleased my warriors assisted you this day,” she told the elderly man. Nodding at the corpse beside the bracalx, she went on, “I regret we weren’t in time to save everyone.”

  “We’re blessed by your intervention, Lady. Even though I lost my son this day, to see you with my own eyes—” The elder drew himself up with an audible crack of his ancient spine. “My grandchildren saved from the altars of Huitlani—I can’t find proper words to thank you, to praise you.”

  Bithia shook her head emphatically. “No praise or thanks
is necessary. My warriors did what was required.”

  “What is your will for us?” the older woman asked. “Are we to follow you?”

  Good thing Bithia served as an oracle and unwilling figure of worship for so many centuries. Nate wouldn’t have known what to say. Probably all the wrong, clumsy things in his eagerness to be gone, unencumbered by extra responsibilities.

  Bithia inclined her head graciously to the woman. “Go your own way quickly, with my blessings. I’m fated to travel alone with my warriors and my priestess. None other can share my road, for I journey to my father’s home.”

  The Talonqueni were obviously disappointed not to be asked to join her, but Nate was relieved. The idea of shepherding anyone else to some indeterminate, safe destination on the planet appalled him. Had Bithia invited the family to travel under her protection, the goddess and her warrior would have had serious words on the spot. He felt guilty he hadn’t trusted her judgment to override her compassionate instincts.

  Apparently, Bithia sensed the family’s disappointment also. She gave commands designed to turn their thoughts in other directions than the dubious, forbidden glory of riding with her. “You must bear witness at every opportunity about the fate befalling those who serve the evil god, whose name I shall not honor by speaking it. Tell the people of this world to reject the evil path and follow one shining with light, valuing all lives. You’ve seen this lesson today—you can speak of it with authority. Your children and grandchildren must carry the message onward through time, even as the Hialar were entrusted with my father’s messages before, in Nochen-that-was. You shall now carry my proclamation. How is your clan called?”

  The old man bowed. “You do us tremendous honor, Lady. My name is Rek Narixtlal.”

  She extended her left arm, bedecked as always with the gilintrae, in a graceful motion. The sleeve of her riding cloak slipped to her elbow, revealing the full magnificence of the gemmed, golden braceletlike device. The adults in the Narixtlal family gasped and gawked.