Firestorm (17 page)

"You are far more courageous than I, then." Teague lowered his gaze and shook his head. "But the real truth of our situations lies before us, whether we like it or not." His features twisted in a mask of anguish, but he forced himself to look up at her and forge on. "I'm a monk, Raina. I'm vowed to shun females and I must. Let it lie, whatever there is growing between us. For my sake, if not for yours."

She stared at him, sick, stunned She'd offered him her friendship and perhaps more, and he'd spurned it, however kindly. Bitterness filled her. She should have known, should never have opened her heart to him. He was, in the end a man, and the nature of a man was to cause hurt, one way or another.

"I meant nothing forward in my offer of friendship," she tautly replied "but if you are forsworn even to refuse that, so be it. I must admit, though, that I cannot help but feel sorry for you and your monkish laws. They prevent you, I think, from living life as it was meant to be lived."

"You may see it so, but I view them as the means to a higher, purer path," he slowly replied, gazing up at her with considerable reluctance. "And one way or another, they're all I have, femina. Don't begrudge me the one solace and support I have in life."

"I begrudge you nothing, Teague Tremayne. I just pity your loss."

He smiled sadly, thoughtfully fingering the blanket covering him. "The night of the sand cat's attack, Rand said some hard things to me. He said my vows might no longer serve me, might no longer be of further use.

He also agreed with you that I used them to flee from myself."

Raina laughed in surprise, the pain of his rejection already beginning to ease. "The Volan thought I'd said something of import? He actually agreed with me?"

"Yes," Teague said glancing back up, "he did."

"Yet you'll still cling to those vows, won't you?"

"I've no other options, femina. The world I rebuilt after my world here on Incendra was destroyed is now threatening to collapse. And it was a good world. I served the Imperium well." With a shuddering breath the monk appeared to master himself, withdraw once again behind his monastic mask. "But my personal concerns aren't, and have never been, the issue here," he continued briskly. "We've a mission to complete."

"You're wrong, Teague Tremayne." Raina released his hand and leaned back, knowing the time for honest expression of one's feelings had drawn to a close, but determined that the monk would know it all. "Your concerns are an issue, are of importance. No monastic mouthings will ever change that. But this is neither the time nor place to delve deeper, or wear our hearts upon our sleeves. In time, though, when the proper opportunity presents itself, I'd be honored if we talked more about this."

"Why, Raina?" A wondering look flared in his eyes. "Why should it matter so much to you?"

"For many reasons," she said, "only the first of which is the fact that I begin to think our problems, our terrible secrets, aren't all so very different. Perhaps, just perhaps, we can help each other in this."

"Rand said that very same thing." He chuckled. "I begin to think he knows us better than we know ourselves."

"An unnerving consideration," Raina muttered uneasily, "that a Volan might know us better than we know ourselves. What does that say for us? For the survival of the Imperium?"

Teague pondered that a moment. "I'm not certain, but I'm also no longer so troubled it'll be to our detriment—one way or another."

***

"Aban. I need a word with you. Privately. Now."

The swarthy, dark-haired Tuaret shot his leader a questioning glance. "Now, Bahir? Cannot it wait at least until I finish saddling my equs? We ride out in but a half hour."

"No," Bahir tersely said. "It can't." Aban was a loyal compatriot and a fearless fighter, but he lacked and would always lack, a certain sensitivity to the nuances of leadership or a mind quick enough to grasp complex concepts easily. It was why Bahir had chosen another to rule the tribe when he was gone.

The Tuaret leader gestured in the direction of the spring. With a huge sigh, Aban dragged off the saddle he'd just placed on the back of his equs and laid it on the ground. Without another word he followed Bahir into the trees.

It was silent at the spring save for the murmured conversation of a few men standing across from the gently agitated waters, filling sewn capra-hide bags for the journey ahead. Bahir eyed them briefly, decided they were well out of earshot, and turned to his friend. "The woman and her mate. They've weapons that they cannot be allowed to keep. I want you to take those weapons while I talk with them."

Aban cocked his head, one bushy black brow arched in surprise. "But to steal from one's host is forbidden in the name of hospitality. And they seem friendly enough."

Bahir stooped picked up a flat pebble, and skimmed it across the surface of the spring. In a series of low, almost parallel skips, the stone flew across the water, sending out silvery ripples in its wake. "Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not," he softly replied. "What matters to me is that a weapon of great devastation, a weapon none of us has ever been allowed to possess, killed that sand cat. You saw the terrible hole seared through the beast. Do you want to risk facing such a weapon?"

"No." The other man vehemently shook his head. "With even one of those weapons, they could hold all of us at bay, and kill many before we could overpower them."

"And they have two."

Aban nodded. "Yes."

"There's more, Aban."

"More?"

"The woman, Raina, used healing tools that produced an amazing recovery in her mate. I saw his wounds this morning when she cleansed and put fresh bandages on them. They're almost healed, after only three days, and from a sand cat attack, no less."

"I marveled that he even survived the attack. No one ever lives more than a few hours, if that long, and this man ... well, he not only lives, but now you say he is almost healed?"

"Exactly." Bahir turned to him. "She said they came from far away, but her family lived in the Barakah Mountains. I know of no land that possesses such advanced technology, save Farsala, and that only as Malam

Vorax permits. If such weapons existed on Incendra, Malam Vorax would have them."

Aban scratched the large, black mole peeking through the beard on the left side of his jaw. It was a nervous gesture Bahir had grown used to seeing whenever the big, burly man fell into any sort of deep, convoluted thought. "Perhaps he soon will," Aban said, "if these people journey to visit him, rather than some relatives, as the woman claims."

Bahir smiled grimly. "You see my point then, about the weapons. It becomes more than just protecting the men. Gaining possession of these weapons may well determine our eventual fate as a tribe. And if they should somehow fall into Vorax's hands . . ."

At the terrible implications of that possibility, Aban's eyes widened. His hands instinctively fell to his curved dagger. "Taking the weapons is the easy part," he agreed, finally warming to the task at hand. "How will you discover their true intent?"

The Tuaret leader sighed and shook his head. "I don't know yet. But they now journey with us and though they may think they're free to come and go, that's no more than an illusion. For all practical purposes, they're our captives until I decide otherwise."

He moved close and grasped his compatriot's arm. "I want no one to know what we've discussed here, but the two strangers must be watched at all times, surreptitiously, of course, until I get the answers I need. Set the appropriate men to that task."

Aban bowed. "It will be as you ask, lord." The Tuaret leader released him. Aban turned and strode away.

Bahir lingered at the spring, contemplating the next few minutes to come. He loathed treating people who'd offered him and his men hospitality, however reluctantly, in such a hostile manner. But the longer he was with Ihem, the greater his suspicions grew. They weren't of Farsala, despite their facility with the language and knowledge of the customs. Their motives for being here weren't honest, either.

The woman especially disturbed him. Even when he discounted her impertinent manner, there was something about her. The first time he'd met her, she'd immediately reminded him of Cyra. He'd thought at the time it was her fiery temper, her lack of proper respect. He knew now it was more than that—far, far more.

She reminded him so strongly of Cyra, Bahir now realized, because, like Cyra, she wasn't of Incendra. Neither, he added grimly, was her companion. And that consideration, with its disturbing implications and potential problems, was the most worrisome one of all.

Eleven

Raina finished fastening the neckline of Teague's long robe and helped him slip into the loose, sleeveless cloak. She then placed the headcloth atop his long, blond hair and tied the ends up to cover the lower half of his face.

Already, though the day burned bright and hot on the desert, the winds blew strong, whirling heavy curtains of sand into the air. They would all need the headcloth this day, Raina thought, not only to protect them from the sun, but to keep the sand out of their noses and mouths.

"There," she said finally, leaning back to survey her work. "I think you're ready for the journey."

Teague scowled. "I feel like a fool, cosseted and dressed by you, carried along by others on a litter like some babe. I may be a monk, but I admit to the failing of possessing some small amount of pride."

" 'Some small amount' ?" She grinned. "I hate to disillusion you, Teague Tremayne, but you possess more than just a small amount. Not that I find that offensive in a person," she hastened to add when his scowl deepened to a thunderous glower. "I just find it amusing that you seem to view yourself as the typical humble monk."

That pronouncement didn't seem to sit well with him, either. "My monastic bearing isn't an acceptable topic of discussion," he growled.

Raina considered that for a moment, then laughed. Ever since their talk yesterday, he'd become extremely prickly about certain things. Well, though she'd agreed to accede to his requests not to press their friendship further, she wasn't about to minutely examine every word that left her mouth.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," she conceded. "I meant no harm or insult in what I said though tact has never been one of my particular gifts. You'll have to get used to it, however. I don't plan to instigate too many changes just to suit you. You certainly aren't trying too hard to suit me."

At her wry self-assessment and pointed, if gently couched jab at him, Teague's mood appeared to lighten. "No, I'm certainly not," he admitted. "I also, it appears, don't make a very good patient. I beg pardon for my ill humor."

Her smile faded. "I understand. Truly I do." She glanced up and saw Aban watching them. Raina waved him over.

"Yes, femina?" Unlike his more arrogant leader, Aban always treated her with the utmost respect.

"My mate is ready for the litter. Could you find some men to help him to it?"

"It will be as you ask." The bearded man signaled two men. "Assist our honored friend to the litter," he directed his compatriots.

They helped Teague to his feet, then, with each one supporting him on a side, guided him over to where two equs stood patiently, nose to tail, the litter slung between them. Raina paused to position the furry cerva-hide pillow into a more comfortable spot on the tautly stretched blankets before advising the two men on the least stressful way to lift Teague onto the litter. The whole process went surprisingly smoothly.

The monk glanced up from his supine position. "My thanks,"—he smiled at the two Tuarets—"for all your—"

Abruptly, he stopped speaking. "Raina," Teague rasped, "Aban is taking the blasters."

She wheeled and, to her horror, saw the burly Tuaret walking away with their two blasters in hand. She raced over. "Aban. Wait."

He halted and turned, a mild look of inquiry in his eyes. "Yes, femina?"

"Those two pieces of, er, equipment." Raina gestured to the blasters. "They're part of our possessions. I want them back." As she spoke, she extended her hand. "Now, please."

"No, femina." He graced her with an apologetic smile, but stood his ground. "I've been instructed to appropriate these weapons."

"Appropriate? Weapons?" Raina struggled to contain her anger. "And who would—?" She stopped short. She knew the answer to that question even as the words fell from her lips. Bahir. Curse his conniving, suspicious mind!

She stalked over to where Bahir stood, giving final instructions to some of his men. "Bahir," Raina called to him without even breaking stride, "I must speak with you."

He didn't turn or reply, but only continued talking with his men. His stance altered imperceptibly, though. Raina knew he'd heard her. As she approached, his men nodded their understanding of his directives and walked away. She stomped around to stand before him.

"Why did you give Aban orders to take some of our equipment?" she demanded, her hands fisting on her hips. "The laws of the desert and hospitality—"

"Are superseded by the need to ensure the continued welfare of my people," he curtly cut her off. "The equipment Aban confiscated were weapons. You know it, and so do I, so play no further games with me."

Fleetingly, Raina considered pulling out the stunner she kept with her at all times and taking the Tuaret leader hostage in return for her weapons. That thought, however, quickly died an ignominous death. Teague lay helpless on the litter, too far away to protect. Besides, Bahir had made no open threat, but only wished to take their blasters. And the stunner, along with the dagger strapped to her left thigh beneath her long robe, might later come in handy at a more opportune moment.

"We wished you no harm. The blasters were but for our own protection, if we ever needed them."

"Well, you don't need them against us." He studied her thoughtfully. "As reluctant as I am to order this, we must also examine your other belongings. In the event, you must surely realize, that there are additional weapons hidden within them."

Raina dragged in a steadying breath. "Of course. What other choice do you have, considering the circumstances?"

Bahir frowned, not at all pleased by her undertone of sarcasm. Well, he couldn't really blame her for being angry and defiant, no matter how well she'd managed to contain the hostile emotions. Women had their fan-share of temper, to be sure. Even his gentle Najirah . . .

"None, mirah," he said. "I have no other choice, considering the circumstances." He motioned to several of his men. "Search their belongings for any other weapons."

As Raina watched, the nomads carefully but thoroughly went through their supply packs. They found the other stunner and tossed it over to Bahir, who examined it closely. He shot Raina a searing glance.

"I've seen one of these before. It's a stunner, isn't it?"

She considered lying, fabricating some story, but suspected the Tuaret leader was wily enough to try it out on her or Teague if her explanation didn't suit him. She decided honesty, at least to a limited extent, was the best policy. "Yes. It won't kill, though."

"I'm well aware of its function," he said tersely. "Do you have any more of these hidden elsewhere? Perhaps even on your person?"

It was too much to give up the second stunner without some sort of fight. And no desert man—at least, not one with a shred of honor—would lay a hand on her to check her. "No," she lied, "that's the only one."

Bahir scowled. "I suppose I must take you at your word for the time being. Or at least until we reach our main camp and one of our women can examine you."

"It won't be necessary even then," Raina snapped. "I told you before. We wish you no harm."

His men finished with the supply packs. One of them turned to Rand's carrying pack. Raina's breath caught in her throat. If they should open it, the strange and complex equipment would surely give away the secret of where they truly came from. No such technology as Rand's communications device and life support system existed on Incendra.

Yet there was no way to stop the nomads from opening Rand's pack and searching it. Frantically, Raina considered all possible options and cast aside each of them save one. Bahir would have to be told the truth. But unless he decided otherwise, there would be no purpose served in the rest of his men knowing. The more people aware of the true intent of their mission, the greater the risk.

Bahir." Raina gripped his arm. "That pack,"—she gestured to Rand's carrying pack—"contains some very delicate scientific equipment. I would prefer to open it myself, in your presence."

Recalling Cyra's tale that she'd met the Tuaret leader while on a scientific expedition, Raina gambled that Bahir would respect the need for care in examining the pack. Her gamble paid off.

Bahir hesitated but a moment, then nodded. "So be it." He motioned for his men to stop their search.

She leaned toward him. "In private, please."

His eyes narrowed. "And why is that?"

Raina expelled a deep breath. "Because the pack holds equipment that I doubt either you or any of your men have ever seen before. And I'm not so certain, once you hear the explanation, that you'll want them to know the truth about its contents."

"Another, even more fearsome weapon, perhaps?" he drawled silkily. "One that you could use to overpower or even kill me with?"

She met his skeptical gaze fully. "No. I swear it. Besides, what purpose would be served in killing you, when you now have our blasters and Teague lies at the mercy of your men?"

"None, it would seem. But at every turn I discover further lies and deception. When will it end?"

"I've no reason to trust you, either," she retorted hotly. "Though your motives may spring from a well-intentioned need to protect your people, ours rise from an even greater cause."

"And that is?" he prodded.

"Nothing that will serve Malam Vorax or threaten you, you can be sure."

"I can be sure of nothing until I know fully what you and your mate intend to do." He glanced in Teague's direction. "Must I go to him to get the truth? He watches us with great concern. Would he tell me what I require if I threatened to hurt you? Or perhaps if I threatened him?"

Raina looked over at Teague. He'd propped himself up on his elbows, his big chest straining against the ropes that now bound him to the litter. Apprehension— and frustration at his helplessness—gleamed in his eyes.

She managed a taut little smile of reassurance and turned back to Bahir. "There's no need to speak of torture," Raina muttered, her mind made. "Permit me but a moment to talk with Teague."

"No, I think not." A hard implacable look settled over the Tuaret's darkly handsome features. "The more you bargain and hedge, the more suspicious I become. You wished to speak with me privately about the contents of this pack and the real purpose of your journey to the Barakah Mountains. Do so now, or suffer the consequences."

"Fine." She made an irritated motion. "Come. Take the pack and let's go to the spring. It'll be private enough there."

He followed behind her, Rand's carrying pack slung over his shoulder. When they reached the spring, Raina stopped and sank to the grass. Bahir hesitated.

"Sit," she urged, a sardonic cast to her mouth. "I won't attack you."

Bahir did as she'd asked, taking great care to maintain a proper distance. "I know that." Nonetheless, he flushed darkly. "I'm just not in the habit of lounging about with another man's mate."

"It's nice to know you have some scruples."

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Raina waved away his angry demand with a casual movement of her hand. "You wanted to know what was in that carrying pack. It's the life support and communications system for an alien being."

His eyes widened. "What?"

She sighed and gestured toward the pack. "Open it. Look inside. You'll see a box, and within that box is a biosphere containing a Volan named Rand."

"And how am I to know what it truly is? Already, I see your technology is far superior to ours."

Raina shrugged. "Would you like me to open the pack, lift out the box, and introduce you to Rand? I can do little more than that to prove the truth of my words."

"There's a lot more you can do." His amber-colored eyes glittered as hard as jewels. "Like telling me where you're really from."

If she told him the truth, she might eventually have to kill him if he betrayed or threatened their mission. Yet if she didn't, they might never make it to the Barakah Mountains. Raina sighed. "Though Teague and I are Incendarians, we haven't lived on Incendra for many cycles. We both left when we were young and have never returned until now."

Satisfaction gleamed in the Tuaret's eyes. "I thought as much. Why did you come back?"

"The Imperium is threatened by the invasion of Volans, an alien race of mind-slavers. Teague and I came to Incendra to retrieve a special stone found in the firestorm caves."

"Indeed?" Bahir lounged back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. "Yet you bring a Volan—the enemy—with you in this special pack. Once again, I find your whole story hard to believe."

"Then what will it take to convince you, Nomad?" Rand's voice rose, unexpectedly, from the pack. "Raina has told you the truth. There is nothing left for you to do now but help her and Teague in their mission."

The Tuaret leader jerked upright. Startled, he looked from the carrying pack to Raina. "How did you do that? Without your lips moving, I mean?"

Raina rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I didn't do it. That's Rand speaking." She shot the pack a wry grin. "You're not doing a very good job of convincing him, Rand."

"Then he's not a very intelligent man," the Volan countered. "The facts of my existence are indisputable."