Lak did not move.
Now nothing even Goran’s lungs could manage would be heard over the din, as hundreds of Klingons and Phebens raised their voices to the heavens, cheering on Goran. About a dozen gathered around Goran and tried to hoist him into the air. Wol winced as they failed, and Goran fell to the ground, but he got up in short order.
B’Ellor pushed her way through the crowd and wrapped her arms around Goran’s massive belly. He picked her up and bit her ear.
That just made the crowd louder.
Tabona was conspicuous by her absence. Looking around, Wol saw her eventually, collecting coins from a large number of Klingons. She would have expected the losers to be unhappy, but all who paid Tabona had smiles on their faces.
Wol walked over to Tabona and smiled. “Well played.”
“You should get some of this, Leader,” Tabona said. “Not that you’ll get it or anything—I’m no fool—but in a fair and just universe, you’d get a share for your role in this.”
“I did nothing, Grandmother,” Wol said with a smile. “You orchestrated this.”
“Yes, but you brought Goran here. And your stepping forward and throwing your rank around probably kept Til’k from declaring war on me right there.” She smirked. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Grandmother.’ ”
“You are Goran’s grandmother and Kagak’s as well. They are my troops, and that binds us as closely as family—sometimes more so, though I would not presume it to be so with this family.” She hesitated. Looking over, she saw that the Pheben female was trying to disperse the crowd around Goran and failing miserably. The tournament wasn’t over, after all. Goran still had to fight the next six people on the slate.
Turning back to Tabona, Wol said, “I had a family once, a long time ago.”
“I’m sure you did, Eral, daughter of B’Etakk. Oh, do not worry,” Tabona added at Wol’s wide-eyed stare, “no one else knows. Honestly, no one else is that clever.”
Wol laughed.
Tabona shared the laugh and then went on: “It was obvious from the way you told that story that it happened to you. I thought it was dimly possible that you were B’Etakk, but Eral seemed more likely.”
“I never knew my grandparents,” Wol said. “They died in battle before I was born. My parents always spoke well of them, but they were only stories. You are the first person I have ever called ‘Grandmother,’ and I do not do it lightly. But you have earned it.”
“So have you, Leader Wol.” Tabona put a hand on Wol’s shoulder. “You are always welcome in my house and at my table until you die with honor.”
Wol smiled. “Assuming that is how I die.”
“Pfah,” Tabona said, waving her hand. “You couldn’t die any other way if you wanted to. Now come—let’s watch my new grandson-in-law win a few more fights.”
The ride back to Yopak Port in the Vikak was even worse than the ride out.
B’Ellor piloted this time, and she did not know the roads as well as her brother. Either that, or there were just more divots in the road than there were a week ago.
Wol was still wearing civilian garb, having gone through several items in B’Ellor’s wardrobe. She had considered changing into her armor, but neither Kagak nor Goran did, and Wol thought it might offend Tabona.
Besides, cloth was less abrasive when one was bouncing around the back of a Vikak than the metals and leathers of Defense Force armor. That quality was useful when one was on duty and wished to remain on guard, but just at the moment, Wol was seeing the value of comfort.
They had said their good-byes to Fuhrman and Tabona before boarding the Vikak. Kagak had arranged for transport on the I.K.S. D’ghir, which was on its way to Qo’noS for crew replacement. They had fought the Kinshaya and taken heavy losses, so there was plenty of room for three passengers, even one of Goran’s girth. Their quartermaster was from a Pheben farming family and owed Tabona several favors, and so was able to find a place for the three of them on the ship.
During the ride itself, Wol mostly kept her eyes closed, as she could imagine then that she was in a ship under attack rather than being driven across uneven ground by her subordinate’s mate.
When they finally arrived at Yopak Port, Wol couldn’t get out of the Vikak fast enough. Kagak and Goran also clambered out, and Goran picked B’Ellor up out of the front stool and carried her to the ground outside with a huge grin on his face.
“I wish you did not have to leave,” B’Ellor said, looking up at Goran’s smiling visage.
“I will write you every day,” Goran said. “I will tell you of our great exploits as we fight for the empire.”
“And I will read them every day, twice a day, and read them at dinner to the family. They will love to hear about all of you.” B’Ellor looked at Wol. “You’re family now. No matter what happens, you can always come here.”
“Thank you, B’Ellor,” Wol said, meaning every word. “I must admit, I came here because I had nowhere else to go. I expected it to be tolerable at best. But you all proved me wrong, and you will always have my gratitude for that.” She glanced over at the port doors. “If you wait here, I will change into my uniform so you can have this dress back.”
B’Ellor held up a hand. “No, don’t. Keep it.”
“I could not possibly—”
“You can and you will,” B’Ellor said in what she probably thought was a stern voice, though she was, in truth, far too timid to be convincing. “It is my gift to you.”
“I have no right accepting more gifts from you or your family, B’Ellor.”
“Nonetheless, you will accept it.”
Kagak put a hand on Wol’s shoulder. “Do not argue with my sister, Leader. She is more stubborn than a khrun and as difficult to move.”
Wol had actually moved a khrun once, in Krennla, but that was a story she would not tell now. I must save something for my next trip, after all. Aloud, she simply said, “Very well. Good-bye, B’Ellor.” She stood straight and put her fist to her chest. “Qapla’.”
B’Ellor’s cheeks flushed brown. “I do not deserve such an honor.”
“You and your family deserve that and more.” Bowing her head, she then led Kagak toward the port door, leaving Goran and B’Ellor to say their farewells in private.
“Thank you, Leader,” Kagak said as the port door rumbled aside to allow them ingress. The air was cooler inside, and while Wol missed the breezes of the outdoors, she did not miss the heat of Pheben baking down on them.
To Kagak, she said, “You are the one to whom I owe gratitude, Bekk. I had not wished to come, and G’joth was the one who convinced me to do so.”
“Then I’ll thank him when we get back.” He grinned. “Perhaps next time, I will convince him to join us!”
The door rumbled aside again, and Goran stepped through, looking happier than Wol had ever seen him—and Goran was generally ecstatic after a battle, so this was no small accomplishment.
“Leader, something has happened that I did not expect.” His face grew serious. “I hope you will not kill me when I tell it to you.”
Wol frowned. She suspected Goran was overreacting—it wouldn’t be the first time—so she simply said, “Tell me, Bekk.”
“I had always thought the fifteenth would be the only family I needed. I served on many ships, but it was not until I joined the fifteenth that I felt I belonged somewhere. Now, however…now I feel like I belong somewhere else.”
After exchanging an amused glance with Kagak, Wol burst out laughing. A look of relief washed over Goran’s face. “You will not kill me?” he asked.
“Why would I do that, big man? I feel exactly as you do. After I was exiled from House Varnak, I thought the only home I would ever know would be the Defense Force. Now I know better.” She slapped Goran on his massive arm. “As do you.”
“The only problem is that I cannot guarantee that I will be back next season. I might not be able to be there to fight Lak and everyone else again.”
They w
alked toward the transporter station. “That may be for the best,” Kagak said. “If you came back, you’d just do what Lak did. But now, Lak has been defeated, and badly. That will give his opponents new life and work against Lak.”
“Good,” Goran said. “I did not like Lak.”
“I doubt anyone besides Til’k did,” Wol said. “But enough of that. We have had our leave. It is time for the fifteenth to return to the Gorkon—and to glory!”
“Oh!” Kagak’s eyes grew wide, and he dug into his satchel. He pulled out a clear bag that was filled with the candied racht that Wol had loved. “Grandmother gave us some for our trip back.”
Wol smiled. “Excellent, but save them. We will wait until we return to the Gorkon, so G’joth may share in some aspect of Tabona’s yobta’ yupma’ celebration.”
“An excellent notion, Leader,” Kagak said as he stuffed the bag back into his satchel.
The operator at the transporter station said, “Names?”
“Leader Wol and Bekks Goran and Kagak. We are transporting to the D’ghir.”
Checking his console, the operator said, “Yes, I have you here. The D’ghir achieved orbit an hour ago.” He looked sourly at Wol. “The captain was going to depart without you if you did not arrive soon.”
“No he wasn’t,” Kagak said confidently. He leaned over to Wol, and added, “Not if he wished to eat again. Their quartermaster owes Tabona many favors.”
Wol chuckled as she stepped up to the platform. “Something I’m sure many can claim.” Once all three were in place, she said, “Energize.”
In a silent glow of red, Wol and her soldiers were whisked into orbit, ready to face their next challenge.
Twenty-seven
A field
Qo’noS
Worf was not surprised to find that Kurn had come here.
His younger brother was sitting on a rock that stood in the midst of grasslands and trees. A guardsman was standing about half a qelI’qam away, looking displeased. Worf approached him shortly after beaming to this place, and the guardsman looked almost relieved at the sight of the ambassador.
“I am Ambassador Worf, son of Mogh.”
“It is good that you have come, Ambassador. The owners of this property are offworld at the moment, but their House ghIntaq wishes to know why he’s there and when I can remove him. But he’s a lieutenant in the Defense Force, I cannot just—”
Worf held up a hand. “I will deal with this, Guardsman. Return to your post.”
“I will remain here,” the guardsman said. “I promised the ghIntaq that I would prevent any harm to come to the lands.”
“Very well,” Worf said, not wanting to argue the point.
He proceeded to where Kurn sat. He had done no damage to the trees or the land yet, but he was armed, and Worf had no idea what his brother’s mental state might be. Kurn was a great warrior, and even Rodek had developed into a fine one in his own right. If his brother now retained the memories of both personas, he might be a formidable foe. Worf bowed to no one in his warrior’s skills, but he did not know if he could defeat his own brother—or even if he could bring himself to fight Kurn, after all Kurn had sacrificed.
“Greetings, Ambassador,” Kurn said as Worf got close enough. Worf was approaching him from behind, and Kurn had not turned around. “I expected that you would be the one to come. I assume you know this place?”
Worf looked around the field. “I know what this used to be.”
“Yes. Once a great estate stood here. The house stood empty for all the time you were in the Federation and I was raised by Lorgh.”
“Lorgh once told me that he paid to have the house maintained.”
“Yes. When the High Council seized the house as part of the condemnation of our father in the attack on Khitomer, that was when Lorgh orchestrated to have me placed aboard the Enterprise so you could challenge the High Council’s ruling. When Gowron restored our family name, it became my home.”
Finally, Kurn rose to his feet and turned to look at Worf.
The last time Worf saw Kurn as Kurn was in the quarters his brother had been assigned on Deep Space 9. He was drunk and despondent, ready to die, but unable to do so. His eyes were those of a man defeated.
Before that, Worf had served with Kurn on the Hegh’ta, fought with him, both in council chambers against Chancellor K’mpec’s ruling against their father, and on the battlefield against the sisters of Duras who tried to seize power. Then, he had seen fire in his brother’s eyes, fire that he had once thought nothing could dim.
On several occasions since, Worf had encountered Rodek, the man he had turned Kurn into, and he never saw either the defeat or the fire.
Until now. Now, he saw both.
“Ours was a glorious house, Ambassador.”
Worf winced. Kurn refused to call him by name and would not call him “brother” but simply used his title, which he sneered as he said it.
Kurn continued. “Each room contained a grand double-door entrance, carved from the mightiest trees. Weaponry from the Third Dynasty decorated the walls, and the tapestry!” He smiled. “Our parents owned a Danqo, did you know that?”
“I did not,” Worf said truthfully. He remembered almost nothing of his first six years of life on Qo’noS, only impressions here and there. He had suffered brain damage during the attack on Khitomer, enough that he did not even recall having a younger brother until Kurn showed up on the Enterprise.
“It took up the entire south wall, rendering Kahless and Lukara at Qam-Chee. The only thing missing was the family bat’leth.” He blinked. “You had that.”
Worf nodded. “I still do. It is the only remembrance I had of our parents for a long time.”
Kurn turned away, staring off into the horizon. “When you protested Gowron’s invasion of Cardassia, the House was dissolved, our lands seized. The items were all sold to line the High Council’s treasury. The land itself was purchased by the House of Hurgas.”
“I know of them,” Worf said. “And according to that guardsman, their ghIntaq is concerned as to what you might do on their land.”
Kurn whirled around. “Do they think me some kind of Ferengi, who despoils private property for personal gain? I am a soldier in the Defense Force!”
“That is why the guardsman has maintained his distance,” Worf said dryly.
That elicited a grunt from Kurn. “Of course.” Then he looked away again.
Kurn did not seem to be staring at anything save the horizon and a few trees, but Worf followed his brother’s gaze anyhow. He had come here only after explaining himself to Klag. The captain did not seem pleased at what Worf did, saying it was not very Klingon. Worf took a small risk by pointing out how many people said the same about Klag’s right arm, and that actually prompted one of Klag’s bone-jarring laughs. “Besides,” Klag had said, “this has taught me that my brother is not the only wam serpent in my home. Had it not been your brother, he would have found another with whom to manufacture a conflict. I will settle my family’s affairs—I suggest you go and settle yours.”
Worf had been grateful for Klag’s acceptance—or, at least, his lack of outright condemnation. The son of M’Raq was a valuable friend and ally to Worf.
After a silence that went on for several seconds, Worf finally asked the question that had preyed on his mind since he first left the qaDrav with Klag: “Why did you not kill me?”
Kurn turned around, smiling, and for the first time, even with the new crest, Worf saw his brother. “It was very tempting. At the time, standing there in the qaDrav, I wanted very much to sink my d’k tahg into your chest and end you once and for all.” The smile vanished and his gaze fell on the field. “But something stopped me. I was not sure what until I came here. Now, standing in the place where we were both born, in the ruins of the House of Mogh, I have finally figured it out.” He stared back at Worf with an intensity that was also very much like Worf’s brother. “I am happier as Rodek than I ever was as Kurn.”
Kurn sat back down on the rock. “Lorgh was a difficult father to grow up with. I did not understand why for a long time, until I reached the Age of Ascension. Not only was that when he told me of my true bloodlines but also when he revealed that he was an operative for Imperial Intelligence. For a time, I was content. I was a decorated warrior in the Defense Force—but then I revealed myself to you.” He glowered at Worf. “From then, my life was a broken road to Gre’thor, only the road never actually reached the Barge of the Dead. First you forbade me from opposing Gowron.”
“And I was right to do so,” Worf said. “You only had the support of some of the Defense Force. Your opposition to Gowron would have made it a three-front war, and the empire would have—”
“Enough!” Kurn held up a hand, spit flying into his mustache. “You speak as a diplomat would. But I speak now of my heart. I did my duty as younger brother and I obeyed your instruction. I was rewarded with a seat on the High Council. At the time, I thought it to be a great honor. You may thrive in the world of politics, Ambassador, but I found it nauseating. As a soldier, I did battle for the empire. In council chambers, the battles were all useless words in the air. I yearned to return to the Defense Force. Instead, I was removed from the empire entirely due to the foolish actions of the head of my House. How easy it was for you to condemn Gowron’s invasion of Cardassia, safe in your Federation.”
Unable to resist, Worf said, “An invasion undertaken due to the actions of one of the Founders of the Dominion who was disguised as Martok.”
“Which you did not know at the time.” Before Worf could say anything else, Kurn held up a hand. “It does not matter. We could argue over this until the next yobta’ yupma’ and still not change each other’s mind. But what does matter is that as Kurn, son of Mogh, I was miserable. As Rodek, son of Noggra, I have served on the Lallek and the Gorkon. I am the second officer to one of the heroes of the empire. In Krennla right now, they are about to debut an opera about our campaign at San-Tarah. So I have decided.” Kurn got back to his feet, his hands folded defiantly across his massive chest. “I will not restore my crest to that of Kurn. As far as the universe is concerned, Kurn, son of Mogh, is four years’ dead. When the ship’s repairs are finished, I will report back to the Gorkon as Lieutenant Rodek, son of Noggra, and resume my duties as second officer of that ship. And if ever our paths cross again, Ambassador, do not greet me as ���brother.’ We are strangers now, because of a choice you made. I have refrained from killing you today; I will show no such restraint in the future if I am given cause.”
A Burning House Page 26