strongholdrising

by Lisanne Norman

  “Could have said that at the start,” grumbled Noni. “Rhyaz left it to us to decide and what we came up with was an oath of allegiance to their Brother Watchers sworn in the name of their own Deity.”

  “They do what we’re doing— step outside their own small world and its individual politics to protect the greater good. Make no mistake, if war comes with the Valtegans, with that weapon they’ve got, they could wipe every last one of us out,” said Rhyaz, looking around the small group.

  “Are you basing the Watchers at Haven?” asked Yaszho.

  “No, though there will be a presence there. We’ll base them at Anchorage. Now we’ve lost the Strikers to Raiban, our first priority is for fast transport to Haven and between the Outposts. Toueesut’s government is helping with that. Like us, their homeworld and only colony are too close to the Valtegans for comfort.”

  “We need worst-case rendezvous plans for survivors, Master Rhyaz,” said L’Seuli. “Somewhere safe for them to head. We have our own, but none for the people of Shola.”

  “It’s being organized, L’Seuli,” said Lijou. “We’re expanding Refuge and using it for all refugees.”

  “What plans are Allied High Command making?”

  “Our colony of Khoma will be used as an initial evacuation center for ourselves and the Touibans. Then, if necessary, the Alliance as a whole will make their combined stand there, evacuating all the people we can to Jalna and Home, the U’Churian world. They’re gearing up for war, possibly even a preemptive strike if they can get enough intelligence about the situation.”

  “Then they’ll be knocking on our door soon enough,” said Lijou. “They always come to the Brotherhood for missions where lives are on the line.”

  “We’ll have our own intelligence by then,” said Rhyaz. “And without risking lives or drawing attention to our presence.”

  *

  The patio style doors in the den had been thrown open and an awning erected so Carrie and T’Chebbi could work outdoors. They were reviewing the livestock and reading reports on the current state of the crops and their projected harvest.

  Pushing her comp pad aside, Carrie groaned. “And I thought managing the inn on Keiss was boring! How’re you doing?”

  T’Chebbi looked up from her computations. “Well, the jotha we bought through Tirak sold well, very well in fact. So did some of those semiprecious stones. Suggest we double quantity of jotha and the price! Make it real luxury item.”

  Carrie stroked the pale lilac tunic she wore, lifting the edge of one panel to feel the almost suedelike texture of the fabric. The jotha clung to her fingers, the heat of the day making it behave as if it were alive. “It is beautiful,” she said, looking over at her friend.

  T’Chebbi grinned, looking down at her own brief tunic of flame red. “Is nice,” she admitted. “Feels strange wearing what others pay fortune for.”

  “Look at what we had to go through to get it. If anyone deserves it, we do.”

  “Trouble,” said T’Chebbi, nodding toward the far side of the garden, already on her feet, her hand reaching for the pistol at the back of her belt.

  Carrie looked, reaching mentally as she watched the dark-furred person approaching at a run. “Giyash,” she said, “with Jeran not far behind.”

  T’Chebbi relaxed, returning her pistol to its holster as she sat down again.

  Jeran appeared from behind some ornamental bushes and seeing them seated outside, put on a spurt of speed to catch Giyesh.

  “She’s not happy,” murmured T’Chebbi.

  Carrie sent to Jeran, telling him they weren’t disturbing her. His reply was faint, but as only a level seven, he’d done well to reply at all.

  Jeran caught hold of Giyesh, causing her to turn on him angrily, but within moments, they were coming over at a more sedate pace.

  She could see that Giyesh’s eyes looked swollen and her face was definitely tear-streaked as they drew closer.

  “Fruit juice, I think,” murmured T’Chebbi, getting up. “I tell Zhala.”

  “What on Earth’s the matter, Giyesh?” asked Carrie, gesturing to the empty chairs round the table. “Sit down, for goodness sake.”

  “I need a favor,” she said, lowering herself into the chair, Jeran hovering at her side, looking apologetic. “They’ve expelled me from the Family. I’m an outcast, Carrie. I can’t go Home.” Her face creased briefly as she put a hand up to rub her eyes, her ears disappearing into her mane of hair. “I want to stay here. Can I join your Clan?” she asked, her voice on the verge of breaking.

  “Who’s expelled you, and why? What could you possibly have done to warrant that?” asked Carrie. “Not because of Jeran, surely?”

  Giyesh nodded. “They say,” she began then stopped, unable to go on as her eyes overflowed and she began to whimper.

  Jeran gathered her close, looking helplessly at Carrie. “I told her she couldn’t ask you, but she said we’ve nowhere else to go.”

  “I can’t, Jeran,” she said, leaning forward to stroke Giyesh’s head. “We’re an En’Shalla Clan. Membership can only be granted to gene-altered telepaths, and then only to those who can cope with the responsibilities membership entails.”

  “I can’t be without a Family,” Giyesh sobbed. “You don’t understand! I’ll cease to exist as a person!”

  “Maybe Clan Leader Aldatan can help,” Carrie said, thinking fast. “You were a latent telepath, weren’t you, Jeran? You’re training to be a level seven, aren’t you?”

  “It’s not enough, I know,” he said as Giyesh clutched him like a lifeline, sobbing quietly.

  “It’s enough to get you enrolled at the Telepath Guild, so it should be enough for Rhyasha. It isn’t as if you’ll be living anywhere but here. All she’d have to do is enter you on her books as being Clan members,” she said thoughtfully. Hearing T’Chebbi returning, she got up. “Give me a few minutes to call her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

  When she returned, Giyesh was sipping fruit flavored water and smiling, despite herself, at T’Chebbi’s acerbic sense of humor.

  “Well,” she said, sitting down. “Rhyasha’s on her way over now. She can’t take you into her clan, Giyesh, but,” she said, raising her voice over the young female’s exclamation of distress, “she can take Jeran and his wife. Since you’re his wife, the problem’s solved.”

  It had been a little more difficult than that. What had swung it had been reminding her bond-mother of the evolutionary link between their two species and the fact that Giyesh was carrying what would possibly be the only cub of such a union.

  It isn’t as if the U’Churians are really an alien species to us, she’d said. We’re branches on the same tree.

  “If Clan Leader Rhyasha coming over, should freshen up,” said T’Chebbi. “Jeran knows the way.”

  “What does your uncle say about all this?”

  “He said it was my own fault and stormed off to call Home from Annuur’s ship.”

  “So he may have sorted this by now?”

  “It won’t be sorted,” she said, shaking her head and setting her mane flying in every direction. “And even if it were, I don’t care! So what if I have to join Jeran’s Clan? He’d have had to join mine if he’d been U’Churian.”

  “Being taken in by a Clan is a serious business, Giyesh,” said Carrie. “It means the Clan is willing to be responsible for not only your welfare, but your cub’s and so on forever. You have to be sure it’s what you want.”

  “I am,” she said firmly.

  Nezule Estate, Zhal-Oeshi, the month of Harvest, 1st day (August)

  Kaid stood with Khy on the balcony overlooking the small practice hall, watching the class below. Nijou, Tyak, Jayza, and Kusac were going around the pairs of Valtegans, checking each one’s attacks and defenses as they were sparring.

  “He’s quieted down a lot since you came back with him a week ago,” said Khy. “But I still feel it’s got more to do with your presence than any intrinsic change in him.”


  Kaid rested his forearms on the safety rail. “I need to spend a couple of days with our U’Churian and Sumaan friends,” he said. “And I need to do a final assessment on our mixed Leskas so they can be sent to Stronghold to take up regular duties there. I can’t be constantly looking over Kusac’s shoulder. You can call me if anything changes.”

  “I was thinking of…”

  Kaid gestured him to silence as he saw Kusac separate two of the young Valtegans and launch a series of fast, hard blows at one of them.

  Nijou called out to him, but Kusac ignored him, lashing out sideways at him when he attempted to put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Halt!” Kaid called out loudly, pushing himself away from the rail and heading for the stairs down to the exercise level. “Take a break!”

  It immediately became obvious Kusac still wasn’t responding as everyone stopped and turned to watch. Cursing under his breath, Kaid grabbed the banister rail and vaulted over it, down to the floor. Angrily, he called out in Highland to Khy who was following him, “Get them out of here now!”

  Grasping hold of Kusac by the arm, he swung him around. “Enough, Kusac,” he said, but Kusac wasn’t listening. He blocked the first punch but the next got through, winding him.

  “Jayza, move that youngling,” he snarled, realizing that for the good of the class, he had to put his friend down immediately and publicly.

  Moments later, he had Kusac in an armlock and slammed him against the wall under the balcony. “Mind explaining what this is all about?” he asked, holding him there till he felt the tension leave the other’s body.

  Kusac swung around, glowering at him. “You’d no right to interfere!”

  “I have every right. You’re supposed to be correcting their moves, not engaging in combat with them!”

  “I was correcting his blocks— the hard way. He’ll learn more quickly if he gets a few knocks.”

  “Dammit, he’s no match for you and you know it! He isn’t even a Warrior, Kusac! That was Prince Zsurtul!”

  “They all look the same to me,” he snarled, hair rising not just around his head but across his bare shoulders as he remained in a fighting crouch.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you, Kusac?” he demanded. “Since we came back after Rezac’s marriage, you’ve found any reason you can to Challenge my authority! It has to stop now!”

  “Or what?” Kusac countered, letting his hair and pelt settle back down as he straightened up. “There’s nothing left you can do to me. Everywhere I turn, you’re either there or have been there, doing what I’m trying to do better than I ever could. You’ve effectively cut me out of not only my life, but yours!”

  “That’s unfair and unwarranted,” said Kaid quietly. “I have never wanted your life, Kusac, only my own. I’ve purposely stayed out of all estate business for just that reason. Garras and Carrie handle it. I do what I’ve always done— train and protect. I didn’t push you aside, you left.”

  “Then just when did you intend to tell me about T’Chebbi?” he asked coldly. “It was common gossip at Rezac’s wedding. That’s how I found out she’s pregnant— by you. We’re supposed to be bound as family by Triad and sword-brother oaths. Obviously they mean nothing to you.”

  Kaid regarded him steadily. “T’Chebbi’s pregnancy is her news to tell, not mine. As far as I’m aware, she’s told no one but Carrie. What you heard was just that, gossip. As for our Triad, I’ve never stopped believing in it. I take all my oaths seriously.”

  Kusac lunged forward, taking him by surprise as he grasped hold of his belt knife and wrenched it free. “Then prove it,” he said, holding it up.

  Kaid froze, resisting the impulse to take a step backward even as he cursed himself for not seeing it coming.

  Kusac smiled sardonically, eyes glowing golden. “I’m not that mad, Kaid,” he said, grasping the blade tightly with his free hand before pulling the knife sharply down. Keeping his hand clenched, he reversed the knife then held it out hilt first. “Prove you still believe in our Triad by finishing the blood ritual with me now.”

  He took it from him. “Is that what this is all about?” Kaid asked. “Anger with me? You thought I’d betrayed you by not telling you about T’Chebbi?”

  Placing the blade against his right palm, he heard the faint echoes of Vartra’s voice— Bonded by blood to your mate, but not yet to you— then felt the steel burn as it sliced into his flesh. Returning the knife to its scabbard, he held his hand out to Kusac.

  Kusac locked hands with him. “We’re one blood, one kin, one Triad. Say it, Kaid.”

  It was the Triad oath his father had taken. Why? Why was it important they swear it? “We’re one blood, one kin, one Triad,” he said, watching the glow in Kusac’s eyes begin to dim and sanity return.

  When Kusac would have let go, Kaid held onto him. “I owed that cub to T’Chebbi,” he said. “I was responsible for gene-altering her, and making her pregnant not long before we were due to leave for Jalna. She chose to abort.”

  He had the satisfaction of seeing Kusac look startled. “I told you, I have my own life. So has T’Chebbi.” He increased the pressure on Kusac’s hand, letting him feel the bite of his claws. “Don’t ever question my loyalty to you again. Prince Zsurtul is at the First Aid room. We’re going there now. You owe him an apology.”

  the Couana, Zhal-S’Asha, 20th day (October)

  On the Couana, he drifted up to a kind of consciousness, still held by the memory from the past. How could he have doubted Kaid? No one except Carrie was more loyal. Fretfully, he tried to move and found his limbs restricted by an unfamiliar weight.

  On the verge of panic, from the darkness a hand reached out, easing the slight pressure on his chest. He realized it was only the covers, and that there was a warm body beside him in the bed.

  “It’s only a dream,” said Banner’s tired voice. “Go back to sleep. I’m watching you.”

  A wave of exhaustion swept over him, dragging him back down into sleep.

  Nezule Estate, Zhal-Oeshi, 1st day (August)

  Jayza was dressing the cut on Zsurtul’s face as they walked in. Sitting on the treatment bed, legs dangling over the side, the Prince glanced warily at them. He looked young and vulnerable, posed no threat to him. The reverse in fact; he’d been responsible for saving all their lives. He realized then the stupidity of allowing himself to lose control, and the possible political implications of his actions.

  “Nothing serious,” said Jayza, putting a couple of thin strips of tape over the cut. “Usual cuts and bruises you get when sparring.” He turned to put away the swabs and antiseptic. “You can go now.”

  “I owe you an apology, Zsurtul,” he said stiffly, staying by the door. “I shouldn’t have attacked you the way I did. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you.”

  “What you did was understandable,” said Zsurtul, climbing down. “You suffered greatly at J’koshuk’s hands and have had no chance to fight back. Scent is a powerful stimulus, we probably smell too alike for you. Besides, it was a valuable lesson. I learned what you intended me to learn,” he said, with a slight smile. “I need to move faster and defend myself as if my life did depend on it.”

  “Your scent is different,” he said. “Not like J’koshuk’s. It’s the others who smell like him, not you.”

  “Then their scents affected you,” he said with a shrug. “I hadn’t thought your sense of smell sensitive enough to pick up the difference.” He touched his hand cautiously to the bruise on his cheek. “It’s a small price for a lesson I won’t forget. Yours looks to have been more painful.”

  He clenched his hand, lifting it up, aware it was still bleeding. “It was,” he said quietly. “Again, you have my apology.”

  “Accepted. Kaid once said you were not our enemy. Perhaps we could meet, share a meal, so I can convince you I’m not the enemy either.”

  “A good idea, Prince Zsurtul,” said Kaid, moving Kusac aside so the young Prime could leave. “I have to return to the estate
tomorrow. Perhaps we could arrange it for the day after?”

  Zsurtul nodded. “That will be fine. I’ve been here for some time, yet there’s so little I know about your people and your world. There’s a lot I’d like to ask, and tell you about us.”

  “Time to go,” said Jayza, chivying him out past Kusac and Kaid. “If you keep talking, you’ll lose the break time and be late for the next class.”

  “The sink first,” said Kaid as the door closed behind them. “Your hand needs disinfecting before I can treat it.”

  He went over to the sink, leaning against it as he rested his forearm on the edge, holding his wrist and hand over the basin. Blood still welled from the two deep cuts, forming a small pool in the hollow of his hand before dropping down onto the stainless surface beneath. He heard Kaid taking a bottle off the shelf before coming over to him.

  “I didn’t know you could differentiate between Zsurtul’s scent and our M’Zullians,” Kaid said, taking hold of his forearm before pouring the antiseptic over his hand.

  He yelped, trying to pull back. “Vartra’s bones, Kaid! That hurt!” A wave of light-headedness swept through him and he clutched the sink one-handed for support.

  Kaid released him and capped the bottle. “Don’t expect sympathy from me, Kusac. You’re damned lucky the Enlightened One didn’t decide to make a diplomatic issue out of what you did. The only way to get rid of your anger is to let it go, as Lijou’s been teaching you. Get up on the treatment bed.” He passed him a wad of gauze dressings. “Hold them over your hand and keep it elevated unless you want to clean up the blood.”

  Clutching the wad in his cut hand, he took the place recently vacated by Zsurtul: it was still warm.

  “So. Zsurtul smells different from the others,” said Kaid, as he collected sterile clippers, stapler, and dressings.

  “Yes. Don’t you smell it?” he asked, adjusting the blood-soaked wad and holding both hands upright above his shoulder level. He was beginning to feel decidedly queasy and the sight and smell of the blood wasn’t helping at all.