“I’ll show you,” I said. “Got a knife, Dragus?”
The one he handed me looked like something out of a museum with a curved blade and an ornately carved handle. It was sharp as a razor, too, and I cut a slit in the middle of the sheet and slipped it over Tychar’s head. Then I knelt and ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom. “Here, tie this around your waist,” I told him. Ripping open a pillowcase, I made a headdress out of it, tying another strip of cloth around his head to hold it in place. “Wow!” I said softly, looking up at him. “It’s freakin’ Lawrence of Arabia! With darker skin, you’d look like a real Arabian sheik.”
“It would be better if we looked like Darconians,” Tychar pointed out. “Even dressed in this manner, we still look like offworlders.”
“Well, unless you want to go skin what’s-his-name over there,” I said, “this is the best we can do in a pinch. At least the sun won’t burn you to a crisp.” I ripped up some more sheets and donned my own desert attire while Trag made his own.
“I see them!” Sladnil reported from his perch on the wall. “There are six of them down there.”
“Here!” Wazak called out, tossing him a pistol. “Shoot them.”
Catching the pistol effortlessly with his sticky fingers, Sladnil hissed incredulously, “All of them?”
“It is set for a wide stun beam,” Wazak said dryly. “You will not miss.”
“There may be more that he can’t see,” Dragus muttered. “It’s a wonder they haven’t heard us up here and taken cover.”
“They will not have the chance,” said Wazak, and then sent the four guards down the stairwell with orders to unlock the door at the bottom and come out firing on his signal. He gave them time to descend, and then called up to Sladnil. “Have you got a clear shot?”
“Yes,” Sladnil called back.
Wazak muttered something into his comlink and then waved at Sladnil. “Fire!”
I heard the pulse pistol fire, and Sladnil let out a squeal. For a second I thought he’d been shot, but it was a shout of triumph.
“He’s really enjoying that, isn’t he?” Tychar muttered, shaking his head. “Strange fellow…”
“The way is clear,” Wazak said, motioning us on down the passage. The children went first, followed by me with Trag ahead and Tychar behind. Inside, the air was stuffy and stale, and I wondered how long it had been since anyone had been through there. Given the political climate, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it hadn’t been checked out fairly recently, but it felt more like we were descending into an Egyptian tomb that had been sealed for eons rather than a secret passage to the outside.
And suddenly, we were outside. It felt strange enough for me to be leaving the palace, though I’d only been in residence for a couple of months, but the slaves must have been feeling very peculiar, indeed. So near the source of the oasis, I could feel the moisture in the cooler air as my flowing garment was caught by the wind. Looking about, I felt a frisson of fear pass through me as I caught sight of a number of shadowy shapes in the distance. At first I thought they might be the vanguard of some alien army, but then I realized that they were only the fruit trees, growing in neat ranks on the fertile plain surrounding the oasis.
The tigers were like two ghosts walking beside me in their light-colored robes, while the blue-skinned Edraitians seemed to almost disappear into the shadows. I ought to have been relieved that we had escaped the palace, but it was still likely that the desert would consume us in the end. I couldn’t understand why there hadn’t been more in the way of survival gear in our escape route—something to carry water in at the very least. Wazak had said we would get water at The Shrine, but if we had, I’d missed it in all the excitement.
The Darconians searched the fallen rebels, collecting their weapons and passing them on to those of us who weren’t armed. Surprisingly, the first rifles Wazak gave out were to the two Zetithians. He must have trusted them more than the Edraitians, but they had been slaves to his queen, and it seemed to be a rather strange and ironic turn of events. After ensuring that the older children were armed, Wazak then checked the settings on a pulse pistol, after which, he handed it to me.
“That is set to kill,” he said evenly. “Do not hesitate to use it should the need arise.”
I took the pistol without protest, though Dobraton’s men were the least of my worries at that point, since dying of thirst seemed far more likely. “Wazak?” I began in a hoarse whisper. “What about water?”
“There are secrets to this palace that many do not know,” he said. “Follow me.”
I had no idea what he meant by that—and neither did anyone else—but we followed him anyway. What we would have done without him I couldn’t begin to guess, and if Dobraton had had any sense at all, she’d have killed him even before she shot Scalia.
It was still hard to believe what I’d seen. In the events which followed, I hadn’t had much time to think about it, but the horror of watching someone be killed was now creeping into me like a chill, and I shuddered in spite of the heat. Then something took my hand, startling me to the point that I nearly screamed.
Looking down I saw two shining eyes blinking up at me. It was Uragus. “Kyra,” he whispered. “I would like a hug.”
Gathering him up in my arms, I gave him a squeeze. “Are you scared?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Me, too,” I said.
Then he asked the most surprising question. “Was it because of me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was my mother killed because I played the piano?”
“Oh, no, sweetheart!” I said, giving him another hug. “Your playing was marvelous! Dobraton had other reasons for doing what she did. What you did had absolutely nothing to do with it!”
But even while I was saying it, I knew it wasn’t true—at least, not completely. Attitudes toward males on Darconia could be just as prejudiced as they were against offworlders in some respects, and he was not only male, but he’d been playing music written by a human, on an instrument which had been manufactured on Earth, and had been taught to play it by a Terran—and did it remarkably well, which was possibly the greatest offense of all. Perhaps it was symbolic that Dobraton had chosen that particular moment to assassinate his mother.
“Is she going to kill us, too?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Wazak is a good leader. He’ll keep us safe.”
To my surprise, Wazak heard that. “I did not protect his mother,” he said bluntly. “I have failed in my duty to her.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call that failing, because there was no defense against what Dobraton did,” I said briskly, “but if you’re looking for redemption, Wazak, now’s the time to do something about it! You just keep the rest of us alive, and I think even Scalia would forgive you.”
Zealon spoke up just then, but if I’d have expected tears from her, I would have been disappointed. With barely contained anger, she said, “Yes, I forgive you, Wazak, but I will not forgive Dobraton. She will pay for this.”
Racknay was close by as well, and if looks could have killed, Dobraton would already be dead.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Zealon, Racknay,” I began. “I know—”
“We have no time for sorrow,” Zealon said, cutting off my expression of sympathy. With a defiant lift of her chin, she added: “And Darconians do not cry.”
Wazak didn’t comment, but led us on through the portico a little way before stopping at a perfectly blank place in the wall. Taking a small key from his breastplate, he inserted it into yet another lock which would have seemed invisible if we hadn’t watched him do it. A moment later, a heavy section of stone swung out from the wall.
“In here,” Wazak said.
It was dark inside, but I could hear the sound of flowing water. Illuminating the glowstones on my neckl
ace, I held them up. Though their light was dim inside such a large space, I could see that this must be the oasis source, for there was a dark pool inside with a cascade of water erupting from the center.
“Put down your stones, Kyra,” Wazak said. “They will not be necessary.”
Then he focused his gaze on the ceiling, and the whole place lit up—so brightly that I had to close my eyes and wait a moment for them to adjust from the darkness outside. Looking up, I saw that the entire room appeared to be lined with glowstone—not just a few of them set into the ceiling here and there, mind you, but forming every surface, with the exception of the floor. Even the catchbasin for the water was glowing.
“This is the true Shrine of the Desert,” he said quietly. “It was closed off long ago by a ruler who feared it might be desecrated.” He glanced around briefly, and the light dimmed to a more comfortable level. “I disagree. It is only water, and the walls are only made of stone. Life is far more important than either of these things.”
He was obviously referring to Scalia, and though she might have been no more than his queen, her death must have affected him deeply—as it had affected us all. I was no more than a visitor to her realm, but I already missed her. She had been a strong ruler, but, unlike the usurper of her throne, there was no malice in her, nor had she been corrupt—at least, not beyond her penchant for exotic slaves. The people of Darconia had been fortunate in their queen, and they would feel the effects of her loss soon enough. My only hope was that they would choose to do something about it. Up until this moment, we had simply been running for our lives; the will of the people of this region would determine what would happen next.
Chapter 15
Darconians had never struck me as being a flock of docile sheep to be herded wherever their queen chose. Scalia’s policies toward offworld trade had been gradually introduced to her people, not forced upon them. She had brought in offworld culture in an effort to demonstrate the advantages of contact with the rest of the galaxy. There were also disadvantages to this, which Dobraton had been quick to focus upon—the dilution of their own culture, the loss to their own people of planetary resources, not to mention the influx of radical ideas—but there were many advantages, which included advances in science, technology, and medicine. These things, when managed wisely, could be of great benefit to a world that had always been focused entirely upon itself. Scalia, who saw it as progress, understood that; Dobraton, who clung to the old, isolationist ways, did not.
If the other shrine had been a tribute to the beauty which water could bring to a dry and desolate world, this was a shrine to the water itself; an altar to the life-giving liquid. In the past, Darconians must have been allowed to come here not only to see the miracle of the oasis source, but also to partake of the waters, for there were containers in niches near the doorway for carrying the water. This had been what Wazak had meant when he’d said we would get water at The Shrine—this shrine, and not the place where the slaves lived. I agreed with Wazak; it should have been reopened. Scalia should have done it herself. In a place where water was at a premium, it would have been a gesture that would have solidly united the people in her support. Dobraton would then have been unable to recruit many followers, and the coup would never have taken place. Promising your people a McDonald’s was one thing; opening this shrine would have been something else altogether.
Having overcome our initial sense of awe, we filled the empty bottles and slung them over our shoulders with the carrying harnesses hanging nearby. Unfortunately, these had been made with Darconians in mind and were too big for most of us, so we had to make a few modifications. The bottles themselves were surprisingly light and strong—like glass in some ways, but like plastic in others—undoubtedly having been intended for carrying water over long distances.
I’d never been part of a band of refugees before; I’d always been as solitary as Dobraton wanted their planet to be, but already I could feel a sense of camaraderie beginning to develop. We all knew the danger we were in, and we also knew that there was no hope for our survival if we didn’t stick together. Wazak, it seemed, was of the same opinion as Tychar had been about escaping to the mountains, though what we would do after that was unclear. It was possible that we could round up enough support there and in the city to take back the palace, but before that, some regrouping was necessary—as was the time for the people to become discontented with their new ruler.
And discontent was something which I was quite certain would arise from Dobraton’s rule—and I hoped it would come quickly. I had known them both, and even without Dobraton’s prejudice against me, I believe I would have chosen to follow Scalia’s banner, for she possessed the character of a good leader, which Dobraton did not.
Dodging a few patrols, we melted into the trees, moving quickly. The need for speed was understood by us all; we needed to get as far as we possibly could under cover of darkness.
The Darconians were tough, but we did have some children with us. I carried Uragus for a while, but it soon became apparent that I was no tougher than he was—probably less so—and I handed him off to Racknay. We snatched a bit of fruit as we passed through the trees, and it wasn’t long before I was wishing for some pockets and a backpack. I tied my headdress to the harness for my water bottle, making a pouch of sorts, and collected what I could, but there was a limit to what I could carry and still keep moving.
The tigers stayed close beside me, as did Dragus. I must say that, at a time like that, it was very nice to have a surplus of big, strong, male admirers! The only thing they didn’t do was try to pick me up and carry me, though Dragus did make the offer, which I promised to keep in mind.
Reaching the edge of the farmland by midnight, the city streets were quiet as we passed down roadways that were completely deserted at that hour. Alert for any signs of pursuit, we moved stealthily from shadow to shadow.
At length, we passed by a stable, and I whispered to Wazak. “What about stealing a few camels?”
“Camels?” he echoed.
“Oh, you know, these things,” I said, pointing to one of them. “I don’t know what you call them.”
“Drayls,” he said with disdain. “I would prefer to steal some hovercars.”
“Yeah, well, I’d bet even hovercars would break down after a bit—and they’re kind of noisy. These guys look like they were made for the desert.” Looking up at Wazak, I knew he wouldn’t have a bit of trouble crossing the desert, but I wasn’t so sure about the rest of us. “I don’t think I can make it across that desert on foot, and I’d be willing to bet the rest of these offworlders can’t do it either.”
The Edraitians who heard that exchange didn’t seem averse to riding rather than walking, but I knew for a fact that a Darconian couldn’t ride a drayl, because for one thing, they were nearly the same size. The ones I’d seen had been used as pack animals, rather than for personal transport. I’d have traded my glowstones for a good speeder, but during the limited tour of the city I’d been given upon my arrival, I hadn’t seen one.
Wazak still seemed reluctant, but it was getting on toward morning by this time, and to be perfectly honest, I was just plain tired and wanted a camel to ride.
So I took one.
None of the drayls tried to bite me when I entered their pen, though one of them seemed to find me quite fascinating, sniffing at me as though trying to identify my scent.
“He must smell your desire,” Tychar commented.
“Well, he might if I was feeling any desire at the moment, but I’m not,” I said frankly. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less desire in my life.” Which wasn’t quite true; I’d felt less when I first met Wazak. Now that I was surrounded by males most of the time, my “desire” was probably automatic. Unfortunately, for the first time since I’d met him, I couldn’t just look at Tychar’s cock and know for certain.
“Guess I ought to pay something for him,
” I said reflectively. “Stealing a drayl probably isn’t the best way to gain support among the locals.” I had about decided to leave my pearls as payment when Tychar stopped me.
“No,” he said as he began removing his collar. “I will leave them this. It’s no more than a pretty trinket, but someone might value it, and I have no need of it now.”
So, he did realize he was free! It seemed fitting to me that he get rid of his collar to symbolize that freedom, but Dragus was incredulous.
“You’re trading that for one drayl?” With a snicker, he added, “And I always thought you were fairly intelligent for an offworlder.”
Tychar appeared somewhat bewildered. “What d’you mean?” he asked. “These aren’t real jewels, are they?”
“I guess Scalia never told you,” Dragus said, “but what the two of you have been wearing around your necks and cocks would just about buy a space cruiser. One stone for the whole herd would be too much.”
“Hear that?” I said, giving Tychar a nudge. “Better hang on to your jewelry, big guy! It’s a boy’s best friend, you know.”
Turning them over in his hand, Tychar stared at the sparkling stones in wonderment. “Why would a queen put something of such value on a slave?”
“Could be that she valued the slave even more than the stones,” I said gently. “Scalia was very fond of you guys.”
Tychar nodded absently, and I wondered if he realized that he now was not only free, but filthy rich on top of that.
In the end, Tychar left one of the smaller stones out of his cock ring, which he then decided to wear as a bracelet so he would be less apt to lose it. At least, that’s what he said, but I had an idea he also thought it might be uncomfortable to wear it while riding a drayl. Trag wanted to know if Tychar’s blue stones were worth more than his green ones, but Dragus wasn’t sure.
“They are the same mineral and are therefore of equal value,” Wazak said in a firm voice, obviously not wishing to hear any further discussion on the subject. “The only difference is in their color.”
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