razorsedge

by Lisanne Norman

  She flicked her ears in assent and he sensed that she did understand. “Would it help if I went to him so you could be together?”

  “You’d do that?” Her offer shocked him. He saw her frown, concerned at his reaction.

  “Is there reason why not?”

  “None,” he said hastily, breaking eye contact with her, the hair grooming forgotten. He laid the brush aside. “Would you really go to him for me?”

  “Not just, but yes.”

  A sudden thought hit him. “Not out of gratitude— you owe me nothing, T’Chebbi, now or in the past.”

  Her hand touched his arm. “Not that. Because I want to. Couldn’t approach him any other way— he’s Clan Leader after all. Knowing he’ll have company might make it easier for you both.”

  “And fun for you,” he murmured, giving voice to her unspoken thought.

  She batted at him, making him start back in surprise. “Stop reading me!” she said, but there was no anger in her voice. “Why not? I have much to offer.”

  “Heart failure for one,” he said, rolling over and getting to his feet. “Just don’t use that perfume on him!”

  Still lying on her back, she looked over at him as he picked up his robe and began to put it on. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

  Kneeling on the bed, he leaned over her and flicked her ear gently with a finger. “You do what feels right for you,” he said. “No, I don’t mind.”

  She caught his hand. “Tallinu,” she began, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

  “No. Not now,” he said with finality, carefully releasing himself. “Maybe some day, but not yet.” He stood up again. “Take me to the temple, T’Chebbi. They won’t let me in alone and I need to meditate.”

  “At this time of night?” she asked, sitting up, her hair falling in a tawny gray curtain around her face and shoulders.

  “Yes, now. Please.”

  *

  From his bed, Kezule watched Keeza through half-closed eyes. Her presence puzzled him. Originally she’d been left to nurse him, and, he surmised, as a punishment for clumsiness. However, she was still here. Since the visit from the medic, no one had been near him. Food had arrived at the usual times, for him, but there had been none of the cooked carrion her people ate. Did they expect him to feed her out of his rations? Evidently. He’d tested the theory by starving her for several days and sleeping only for short intervals. Nothing. No food was slipped in while they supposed him to be asleep.

  She’d found a corner in the room that she considered the most defendable and had kept to it, dragging a couple of spare dining chairs over to make a primitive barricade. It was totally useless, she knew that as well as he did, but it made her feel more secure. He was prepared to let her keep it— for now.

  Like him, she’d attempted to stay awake but had soon succumbed to exhaustion. She sat there now, her head slowly drooping toward her knees until, with a sudden jerk, she pulled herself upright again.

  A noise from the feeding cage drew his attention. He decided to remain “asleep” and see what she’d do. Hunger and sheer desperation had to drive her to some action soon. A frantic scrabbling heralded the arrival of his meal. He remained still, watching, waiting.

  *

  Keeza’s ears pricked up as she heard the noise. Her nose picked up the new scent immediately and she lifted her head to look over to the wall mounted cage. Two chiddoes. She was so hungry she could feel the walls of her stomach touching each other. The thought of eating raw meat didn’t bother her now, what bothered her was not eating. At least she’d managed to get some water while he slept. Picking up her bowl, she took a sip of the stale, lukewarm liquid. To her, it tasted as good as the most expensive off-world wine.

  There were two options. Steal a chiddoe now, and face the consequences later, or wait and ask him. If she waited, and he said no, as she fully expected him to do, then he’d be watching her in future and she wouldn’t get an opportunity to steal. Taking it now also meant he’d watch her in future, but at least she’d have eaten one meal. What the hell were they playing at? Why had they left her here without even feeding her? And why wouldn’t they communicate with her? She’d asked herself these questions every day and still had only one logical answer. This had been intended from the first. What were they trying to find out? How a Valtegan killed a Sholan using only his bare hands, or was there more to it?

  He was still asleep. She risked moving slightly. No reaction. Slowly she stood up, waited a few moments, then carefully began to move one of her chairs, trying not to let it scrape against the floor. She sidled out. Her legs felt unsteady, but that wasn’t surprising considering how hungry she was and how long it had been since last she’d actually used them. Sitting crushed up inside her barricade hadn’t been easy or comfortable.

  Slowly she edged her way over to the cage where the two chiddoes were now small bundles of terrified fur cowering shaking in the corner. Not unlike her own situation, she thought. If they stopped feeding him, would he see her as food? She shuddered and pushed the thought from her mind.

  Carefully she lifted the catch, opening the door. Reaching inside, she grabbed hold of one of the creatures, pulling it out and firmly shutting the cage again. She could feel its heartbeat as she held the terrified creature in her hand. Kill it, how could she kill it? It squirmed, trying to get free, and let out one small shriek. She grabbed it in both hands, squeezing them over it and holding it close to her chest in an effort to stifle the sounds it was making. Moving more quickly, she headed back for her fortress. Suddenly its struggles stopped, and it lay still within her grasp. Stopping, she opened her hands. Its head lolled at an impossible angle, sightless eyes staring up at her. Horrified, she would have dropped it but for the fact the Valtegan was looming over her, his large hand closing over hers and the dead chiddoe.

  He backhanded her, sending her reeling before he pulled her back and dealt her another blow to the other side of her head.

  “Steal my food, would you?” he demanded. “Let your own people feed you, they left you here. Next time, I kill you,” he said, opening his hand to remove the creature from her limp grasp. His next blow sent her staggering against her barricade. She landed awkwardly on top of it, sliding down to the floor in an unconscious heap. Blood seeped slowly from a cut over one rapidly swelling eye.

  Turning his back on her, he went to the table and sat down to begin preparing the carcass.

  *

  “He’ll kill her,” said Mito anxiously from her post at the other side of the room.

  Anders looked questioningly at Zhyaf.

  “She’s still with us, unconscious but alive,” he said.

  “Why d’you think he did that?” Anders asked the telepath.

  “Protecting his territory, reminding her who’s in charge,” he said shortly, turning away from the viewing window to his desk comm.

  “Mito?”

  “Testing us,” she said, getting up to join him. “Seeing if we’ll react. He knows he’s being watched, his body language tells us that loud and clear.”

  “He must still be considering the possibility that she’s a spy for us.”

  “I would say so,” she agreed. “He’s not beating her up for his own amusement, or he’d have done it before now. I think he’s waiting to see if we’ll intervene on her behalf. He’s letting us know he isn’t prepared to feed her out of his own rations.”

  “What’s he likely to do next?”

  She shrugged. “Eat.”

  “Well, at least he’s finally communicating with her,” Anders sighed.

  They watched him prepare the carcass, sprinkling the herb on it before beginning to eat. He repeated the procedure with the second, then returned to his bed.

  “Take a break now, Zhyaf,” said Anders. “Get your lunch. Nothing much is likely to happen for a while.”

  Zhyaf got up from the bench. “Can I bring you back anything?”

  “A selection of sandwiches,” said Mito, “an
d a jug of coffee. I reckon this is going to be a long shift.”

  *

  Pain was the first thing she was aware of when she came to. She tried to open her eyes, panicking until she remembered he’d hit her. Putting a hand experimentally up to her face, she gently probed the blood-encrusted cut on her forehead and the puffy eye beneath it. No wonder she couldn’t open it. Licking her fingers, she gently eased the eyelashes apart and attempted to open her eyes again. Only a crack, but it was enough. She could still see, the Gods be praised!

  She tried moving then, unable to stop a groan escaping her as she pulled herself free from the tangle of chairs. Landing on hands and knees, she collapsed to the floor, every muscle and joint a jangle of pain.

  “Bring them here,” a harsh, sibilant voice ordered her.

  She froze, then lifting her head, looked toward the table where Kezule was finishing his last meal of the day.

  “I’ve humored you long enough. It’s over.”

  Getting stiffly to her feet, she picked up one of the utilitarian metal chairs and limped over to the table. Keeping her distance, she pushed it toward him then, as swiftly as she could, headed back for the other. When she’d done, she retreated to her corner, head throbbing, body aching.

  She watched him eating, the smell of raw meat and fresh blood making her stomach growl with hunger. When he looked in her direction, she drew her legs up, wrapped her arms around them, and buried her face against her knees. She did not want him noticing her.

  Ignoring her completely, he finished his food, licked his hands clean, and got up. He was tired, but until he knew he could trust her not to try and murder him in his sleep, he couldn’t afford the luxury of more than a series of naps.

  He lay facing the room, head turned toward her corner, and shut his eyes. He’d purposely left the remains of his meal out as a temptation for her. If they wouldn’t feed her, he’d have to, once she realized he was the master. They’d taught him that lesson, now he’d teach her; she would eat only at his pleasure.

  He’d dozed and wakened several times before he sensed her moving. She’d done well to last this long, he thought grudgingly. He’d not have been so patient. Waiting till her hand was reaching out for his plate of scraps, he leaped from the bed, landing beside her. One hand flattened hers to the table, the other grasped her by the throat.

  Her cry of terror was strangled before she’d made it. “A born thief,” he said with contempt, tongue flicking toward her face till it almost touched her. “I told you next time you’d die.”

  Her free hand scrabbled at his as she squirmed, trying to break loose. Her mouth opened as she tried desperately to speak. He relaxed his hold a fraction, just enough for her to catch her breath.

  “Please, I have to eat! I’ve had nothing for days!”

  “The dead don’t eat.” He let her see his needle-sharp teeth. “Maybe I use you as food.” He let his tongue flick out to touch her face this time. She tasted vile, but it was necessary.

  “I’m not food,” she wept. “You can’t eat me! I’m a person, for Vartra’s sake!”

  “You’re nothing. Your own people don’t want you. They let you starve, not me,” he said, releasing her other hand.

  “Please, don’t kill me.” She was whimpering in earnest now, tears coursing down her face, mingling with the dried blood. “I’ll do anything, anything you want, only don’t kill me.”

  With a noise of disgust, he let her go, watching as she collapsed in a small, sobbing heap on the floor. “You aren’t worth killing, certainly not worth eating.” He turned his back on her, returning to sit on his bed. “Clean yourself up,” he ordered. “Your stench is offensive.”

  He watched her push herself upright and make her way painfully to the basin. Filling it with water, she splashed it over her face, trying to rinse the blood from her pelt. Finished, she turned and looked around for something to dry herself on. Seeing the towel, she looked over to him. He stared unblinkingly at her. She hesitated, then lifted the hem of her tunic, patting her face dry on that.

  Stretching out on his bed, he ignored her, waiting to see what she’d do next. It was a good fifteen minutes before she spoke.

  “I need to eat,” she said in a small voice.

  “No. Your feeding is not my concern.”

  She began to weep. “Please, your scraps… If you don’t want them… I’m so hungry!”

  He considered it for a moment. She was desperate now. If he didn’t let her have them, she might do something reckless. After all, she had nothing to lose.

  “Bring them to me.”

  With pathetic eagerness, she scurried over to the table, retrieved the plate, and approached him, holding it out at arm’s length.

  He took it from her, picking over the scraps, watching her as he did so. Her ears, which had risen, began to fall backward till he could no longer see them amid her hair. Picking up a morsel, he put it in his mouth. A tiny whimper escaped her.

  Abruptly he handed the plate back to her. “You eat when I say you can eat,” he said. “Take it and go back to your corner.”

  Clutching the plate tightly to her chest, she limped back to her barren sanctuary, hunkered down on her heels and waited.

  Disgusted, he snarled, “Eat it!” and shut his eyes. He couldn’t stand to see her eagerness to eat what he considered carrion. He’d owned a pet before, all leading members of the military had a pet telepath, but he’d treated him well, for a slave. This went against the grain. Even inferior species deserved some dignity, but his captors had placed him in this position. The score was mounting, and one day, he’d exact a proper price for the indignities and injuries to his person. Meanwhile, he had to make sure this female didn’t dare pose a threat to him.

  *

  “Thank Vartra!” Mito sighed. “I thought he’d let her starve to death.”

  “I didn’t think that,” said Rhyaz, “but I think it was close. I was depending on his sense of what was right and proper to save her. He considers it our dereliction of duty that she’s starving, but we’ve made it his responsibility, and he isn’t one to shirk those, however unpleasant. How is she coping?” he asked Zhyaf. “How much of that was acting on Keeza’s part?”

  “None,” said the telepath shortly. “She made use of what she’d learned with the Consortias, but that was real.”

  “In a day or two, I think Myak will pay him a visit. A few goodies now would go down well.”

  “What about the food?” asked Anders. “Does he get more to account for feeding her?”

  “Not yet. She can survive for a couple of days on the scraps that Kezule will let her have.”

  “What reason are you going to give him for leaving Keeza there?” asked Mito.

  “Whim. Remember, I’m the one who enjoys inflicting pain and humiliation on both of them,” he said with a wry smile. “I don’t need reasons. You needn’t stay any longer. We’ve seen what we needed to for tonight. The next shift’s been waiting for the last hour. Go and get some rest.”

  “Don’t you find it difficult to play a part like this?” asked Mito, gathering her personal belongings.

  Rhyaz afforded her a curious look. “You get used to it. Reminding myself what’s at stake makes it easier.”

  *

  When breakfast arrived, Kezule strolled over to the cage, taking the first chiddoe out and releasing it.

  “You want to eat, you catch it,” he said. “Kill it and bring it to me, then you can have some.”

  She looked at him in horror. “I can’t kill it!”

  The blow was light by Valtegan standards, but it still sent her reeling across into the table. The chiddoe squeaked and dashed under the bed.

  “Address me as General,” he hissed, “and don’t ever tell me what you can’t do! You will obey me in everything, instantly, and without argument. Understood?”

  “Yes, General,” she mumbled, regaining her balance.

  His hand grasped her by the throat again, and squeezed. This time, he
let her feel the sharpness of his claws. “Maybe I eat you after all, for being so clumsy.” His face was almost touching hers, and he made sure she got a close look at his teeth.

  “Yes, General,” she said, her good eye wide with terror.

  He released her. “Now catch it!”

  Her chase did afford him some small amount of amusement as he sat and prepared the other chiddoe. Her bruises and hunger had slowed her down, and she was hard pushed to corner the little rodent. Finally she trapped it under one of the blankets he’d given her permission to use. Had he not, she’d still have been chasing it by the time his last meal of the day arrived.

  She stood with the squirming creature held in front of her for him to see.

  “Now kill it,” he said.

  She tried to strangle it, but only got herself bitten in the process.

  “Surely you know how to kill!” he said in exasperation.

  She shook her head.

  He showed her, then demonstrated how to skin and gut it. Slicing off a haunch, he threw it to her. Snatching it up, she retreated to her corner and sat waiting. For a moment he was baffled, knowing how hungry she was, then he remembered. “You may eat,” he said.

  *

  Over the next couple of days, he found tasks for her to perform, simple ones that he could well have done himself, but he’d decided she should earn her right to eat. When there was nothing to do, he made her sit in her corner.

  For each meal, he made her fetch a chiddoe and watched as she killed and prepared it, dealing her a blow each time she didn’t do it the way he’d shown her. Then he’d eat it before getting the second one himself. Sometimes he left her only the scraps, others, a piece of raw meat.

  On the third day, shortly before the last meal was due, the door slid open, admitting two troopers who immediately took up positions covering him with their rifles.

  “General Kezule. It’s nice to see you again,” said Sub-Lieutenant Myak, strolling in behind them. “I’ve been authorized to let you have another item or two.” He gestured toward the still open door through which two more troopers entered. Going straight to the bed, they lifted it up. Staggering slightly under its weight, they carried it from the room, tilting it on its side to get it through the doorway.