Mission To Mahjundar (8 page)

Mike handed her the mug as he answered the question. “Don’t take it personally. He’s a quiet guy by nature and he’s got his own reasons for being anxious to get this job done and go home to Azrigone. A couple of our last assignments were pretty fucked up, I mean ugly. And we’re not supposed to be on active duty any more but Command has a way of changing the rules when they want something bad enough.”

“Are you always assigned to the same team?”

“Growing up together on a frontier planet made Johnny and me a tight unit, with some unique combat aptitudes the inner planet guys don’t have, or don’t develop to the same degree. Good thing, or we'd never have survived in some of the hellholes the military dropped us into. Especially the last mission.” Mike stopped abruptly.

Sipping her juice, she let the silence go on for a moment. “Bad memories?”

He stretched out his legs, leaned back, trying to force himself to relax. “Not to be shared around a campfire. This jaunt to Mahjundar is a picnic compared to some things we've done.”

“Did you ever see these aliens they speak of—what are they called? The Mawreg? Are they as fearsome as rumor tells?”

Controlling his visceral reaction to any mention of the enemy, Mike counted to ten mentally before answering her innocent query. “Count your lucky stars the Mawreg aren't interested in this Sector and this planet. Empress Maralika would be the least of your concerns then.”

She reached over, sliding her hand down his arm until she could pat his hand. “We won’t speak of it further. I hear in your voice how much this topic distresses you.”

He didn't argue. He and Johnny had gone in ahead of the troops on more than one world, had done cleanup sweeps on outposts where the Mawreg had been defeated, seen things he could never describe to an innocent like Shalira. He’d more than earned the acres of fresh, clean, high mountain pasture and lowland riverfront waiting in his name at home.
All we have to do is get through this one last assignment.

“You okay?” Johnny was standing beside him, holding a skewer with roasted game birds, fat and dripping. “Man, you were at least twenty sectors away just now.”

“Daydreaming about all the prime acreage we’re going to claim when we get home.” Feeling a little guilty for explaining his cousin’s attitude to Shalira, he took the meat and started carving for his companions. Rojar and Saium joined them, bringing bread, fruit and a bottle of the lethally potent Mahjundan black wine.
 

Mike reached for the dark green bottle. “Rojar, buddy, you’re restricted to one shot only. Takes too long to sober you up, otherwise.”

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly, with a good meal and easy, companionable conversation. Proving to be a natural raconteur, Saium told stories from his youth in the forests and mountains. Mike and Johnny provided a few heavily edited adventures from their service years. At moonrise, the princess and her maid retired to their tent for the night.
 

Mike and the others slept in a protective cordon around the small tent, but there were no incidents to break the long night. As each man in Shalira's private, ad hoc guard force stood his watch, Vreely's soldiers kept their own official sentry duty but never ventured anywhere close to Shalira's tent, staying on the perimeter of the camp.

Vreely had his men packing their gear at dawn. Even the princess was given no time for breakfast, but ate dried rice cakes covered with thick jam like everyone else. Mike was grateful Johnny had decided to brew up some coffee from their personal stock as he stood the last watch of the night. Soon, the column was riding at a steady pace westward down the deserted highway as the huge sun climbed over the horizon.

Mike rode side by side with Shalira. “What should we be expecting this afternoon at the tombs?” He was peeling fruit for her as they rode, controlling his horse with the pressure of his knees, all his attention on cutting the red peel off in one long strip with his heavy hunting knife. In reality, he was keeping a close eye on Vreely. Jumpy today, the officer was tense, short with his own men, openly rude to Saium.

“I'm not entirely sure myself,” the princess said as she accepted another wedge of the translucent fruit. “Mmm, my thanks. I do so love this delicacy, and I can’t peel it for myself. Which I hate to admit, so I rarely ate it at the palace.” Wiping a bit of juice from her chin, she laughed at herself. “Back to your question, first we have to make an offering at the temple, then we can open my mother’s tomb.”

“Open? Dig out from under tons of boulders?” asked Johnny, who was riding on the other side.

She scoffed at the idea, shaking her head. “If my petition in the temple is granted, we’ll be given a key by the gods, to open the tomb door.”

“If this petition is denied?” Mike said, tossing the fruit core off the trail and reaching into his saddle bag for another.

“Then Vreely would take me back to the city. Since I’m past the customary age of marriage, Empress Maralika has indicated I’d have to enter the Abbey of the Obedient Sisters, who live on a remote southern island. I’d be one of their novices, subject to all manner of torment. I'd rather die cleanly and get it over with.” Shalira sounded serious and upset. “I must get the things my fiancé requested. There isn't any other way. He made it clear he wouldn’t enter into marriage, no matter how large a dowry my father sent, unless the tribal insignia came too.”

“Why were the items buried with your mother, if they're so important?” asked Mike.

“They were significant to her too, in life.” Shalira made a little fluttery gesture with her hand. “I don't know why the clan chief wants them so desperately, but undoubtedly the totems are venerated treasures to the hill people, whereas they were a source of amusement to the nobility at court.”

The day was another hot, cloudless scorcher. As the sun climbed directly overhead, the road came to an abrupt end in a box canyon. The way was blocked by a temple, built in a style reminiscent of the emperor’s palace, but obviously far older. The roof was in poor repair, there were jagged cracks in the masonry, and the steps and walls were overgrown with creepers. In some places, the vegetation completely obscured the building, and stubborn vines were pulling the stones apart. The western flank of the building had collapsed at some point in the past, probably in an earthquake.

Mike surveyed the unpromising façade, exchanging dubious glances with Johnny, and asked Shalira, “How often does anyone come out here, Your Highness?”

“Rarely. Only royalty are buried in the valley beyond. Why? How dilapidated is the temple?” She turned toward him in the saddle, forehead wrinkled in concern.

“Pretty abandoned and desolate, but the main part of the building is standing.” Judging from the obvious distress on her face, she needed reassurance and a redirection of her thoughts. “What's the plan?” he asked.

“I enter the temple and present a petition for permission to open the tomb. If I’m successful, I’ll be given a key and we can enter the valley, going directly to my mother's tomb.” Shalira’s hands clenched on the reins until the knuckles were white. “I have to make the ceremony work. There are no other choices. I told you.”
 

Dismounting, Mike handed his reins to Johnny. The black horse had been on good behavior all day, not surprisingly after yesterday’s run, but now he was a bit skittish. The clumps of dried rollweed blowing in the hot wind spooked all the horses. Mike helped Shalira from her saddle, discreetly turning her to face Vreely, who’d walked up behind them.

Vreely had his usual scowl as he glanced from Mike to Johnny. “Remain here, outworlders, this ceremony is none of your business. I’ll escort the princess into the temple.” He reached out a black-gloved hand to take Shalira's arm.

Mike shifted her one step to the side, interposing himself between them.

“Not a chance we're going to miss this. Sergeant Danver and I promise not to get in the way, but we’re definitely going in. The Emperor specifically requested that I accompany Her Highness on the entire journey, every step of the way,” Mike lied with a big smile.
Vreely can’t contradict me. He has no way to know differently.
“I have to obey orders.”

Shalira tightened her grip on his hand, trembling slightly. Raising her chin, she said, “It’s all right, Major Vreely, we’d better do as my father requested and permit the outworlders to view this ceremony.” Clearing her throat, she rushed on, as if to prevent the officer from making further objections. “As I remember from when we were here for my great-uncle’s funeral, there’s a steep flight of stairs going up to the temple. A stack of torches should be inside the entrance, which of course all of you need, even if I don’t.” Smiling slightly at her self-deprecating humor, she tugged on Mike’s arm and stepped forward.

Repositioning his hand at her elbow, he forestalled Vreely yet again. He and Shalira started up the fifty-two stairs to the forbidding entrance, which was flanked—of course—by the expected cherindors, lovingly carved in pink and gray stone. Johnny and Saium trailed by a few paces, followed by Vreely and two troopers. The rest of the Mahjundans stayed with the horses. Mike glanced down the stairs once or twice.
Interesting how relieved those guys are not to be included in this part of the trip
.

When he reached the narrow platform at the top of the stairs and was standing under the outstretched stone wings of the cherindors, Mike released his hold on Shalira. “Wait a minute, Your Highness. Deserted place like this, probably has snakes and other vermin living in it.”

Drawing his old-fashioned Mahjundan projectile gun from its holster, he checked whether the others were ready before asking Shalira, “Now what?”

“We go inside. You can light the torches for yourselves. There will be a long, straight walk to the shrine.” She started forward without hesitation.
 

Mike had to hurry, kicking aside a tangle of rollweeds in her path. Vreely’s troopers grabbed torches from the jumbled stack just inside the doorway. When the flames were burning brightly, Mike urged her forward with a gentle hand on her lower back. He could feel how tense she was, like a drawn bow. Moving his free hand to clasp hers as they walked through the corridor, Mike kept a sharp eye out for snakes. He caught glimpses of intricate, faded wall paintings emerging from the shadows as they passed, temporarily illuminated by the flickering torches. Every few feet, small statues were set into niches in the walls.
The entire place has the air of an abandoned museum. How are we supposed to get a key or anything else here?

“Snake!” yelled Johnny, firing his gun at the same moment.
 

Screaming, Shalira wrapped herself around Mike, blocking any chance he had at making a shot. A scaly red-and-brown body that had slithered from one of the niches fell lifelessly to the floor by Saium's feet, although the jaws still snapped a few times. The guardsman jumped back and pumped another two bullets into it for good measure. The snake was easily four feet in length.

Shalira clutched at Mike and buried her head on his shoulder. Her words were muffled, her voice shaking. “I hate snakes. Right now, we’re living in one of my worst nightmares come true.”

“It's all right. I’m not going to let anything hurt you,” Mike whispered, giving her shoulders a reassuring hug. He set her gently on her feet in the center of the corridor. “You concentrate on getting the key and let me worry about the wildlife, okay?”

“Each to our own mission.” She put a hand to her hair, readjusting one of the emerald-tipped pins, before resuming her progress to their ultimate goal.

Mike could see an open, lighted area ahead. Sure enough, in ten paces the corridor widened into a round room. Skylights in the domed roof allowed the hot sun to provide a level of illumination totally lacking in the corridors, while the thick stone walls kept the temperature reasonable.

To Mike’s right, two snakes slithered away through cracks in the wall. He’d been warned about the highly venomous reptiles in the briefing before landing on Mahjundar. Since the briefing he’d received said a bite was invariably fatal in mere minutes, Mike was happy to see the creatures were nonaggressive today. It was anybody's guess how well the generic antivenom shots in Johnny’s medkit would work.

Chittering in protest at being disturbed, a flock of gray birds circled the room in a mad whirl of wings right below the ceiling before flying out a central skylight. When the room was still, Mike made a rapid survey. The walls had at one time been painted a bright white, but were now grimed over, with peeling plaster.
 

Ten mystical symbols had been painted at intervals on each wall, at what would be shoulder height for Mahjundans. The red, green, turquoise and yellow drawings had undoubtedly been blindingly bright at one time, but were now faded into near obscurity from sheer age. Mike found his vision blurred if he tried to stare at any one of the symbols for longer than a moment.

In the center of the room was a raised dais, edged in bright turquoise tile, supporting a waist-high, square block of dull red stone. The same ten symbols had been painstakingly etched into the altar’s sides, highlighted at one time with yellow, bits of which could be seen in the deep grooves of the carving.

Shalira stepped forward, going up onto the dais, drawing Mike with her. She was holding his hand so tightly he couldn't have stayed behind without violently pulling free.
But I want to stand here with her, support her.