Shadow Hunters (22 page)

“The Forged would be unaccustomed to not being in the Khala. They would be alone, and fearful, and ashamed to admit that they could not connect. Thus, their loyalty and dependency on their Benefactor—on Ulrezaj—would increase,”

continued Zamara. Jake knew that most of this was for Rosemary’s benefit; the protoss wouldn’t have needed it speled out like this.

Thanks for including her, Zamara.

She has endured much. She has earned trust. It would have been easy to deliver
us into the hands of our enemies, but Rosemary chose not to.

Jake looked again at the woman sitting wrapped in a blanket, her shoulders bare, her face worn. He was pretty sure he was faling in love with her.

I am quite certain of it. But this is no time for romance.

Jake was glad Zamara was in control of his body at this particular moment.

“I believe that most—perhaps al—of the Forged do not understand that they are enslaved. They do not know what monster it is they serve. We must enlighten them.

And whatever happens, I must not be alowed to fal under Ulrezaj’s control. He wil either slay me or use me. Both are unacceptable.”

“So how do we do that?” Rosemary asked. “They outnumber us, and they’ve got a big old dark archon running the show.”

Zamara thought. “Jake and Rosemary did not get within telepathic range of Alzadar,”

he said. “Which means he does not know that Rosemary changed her mind about alying with the Forged. I think you should meet him again, Rosemary, but this time, we wil al be waiting for him.”

She grinned slowly. “A trap. I like that. I want to be the one to blow his head off, though.”

“No, no, we wouldn’t kil him!” Jake shouldered past Zamara in his body, fuly inhabiting it once again. Zamara relinquished control with a hint of amusement. “We’d capture him and find out how much he knows about the Benefactor’s real identity.

Rosemary, these are protoss. They’re not evil; they’ve just been lied to and addicted to a horrible drug. You know what it did to you. If it did half as much to them, they’re in bad shape. Maybe—maybe worse, if it realy cut them off from the Khala, as Zamara believes. They need to know what kind of creature they’ve been duped into serving. My guess is that once they know, they’l be as appaled as we were.”

“We didn’t come here to save the protoss, Jake. We came here to find whatever it is Zamara needs in that chamber and to get away as soon as possible.”

Jake heard the reluctance in her voice, and was heartened by it.

“Even that goal wil be served,” said Ladranix, choosing, in typical protoss fashion, to react to her concern rather than her somewhat calous comments about his people. “If they are our alies, they wil not stop us from entering the chamber. And we can al stand together as we attempt to escape the zerg and flee Aiur.”

His mental voice held a hint of sorrow. Jake realized that even now, when his homeworld was crawling with monsters and his own people had gone nuts, Ladranix

—and indeed al the other Shel’na Kryhas—felt pain at the thought of finaly and fuly abandoning Aiur.

“You’re right,” Rosemary said. “But you can’t expect me to not want to give Alzadar a good punch for what he did to me.”

Ladranix’s eyes half closed and he tilted his head in amusement. “No, Rosemary Dahl, no one would expect you not to want that. But we do expect you to refrain, in the interests of the greater good.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Whatever it is we end up doing, though, let’s get on with it.”

* * *

Rosemary hunched and shivered as she hurried toward the rendezvous spot. The moon was ful and she knew that Alzadar would see her clearly. She had to convince him that she was stil under control of the drug. Her mind was shielded from his; he’d have questions about that, but it was better than his outright knowing exactly what the plan was. At least it would buy them some time.

Two seconds later, the question slammed into her mind: “Why do you hide your thoughts from me?”

She couldn’t reply, couldn’t even speak, because although she knew protoss could hear, they didn’t understand terran. They were able to communicate only with thoughts, and hers were sealed from Alzadar. Instead she shook her head violently and kept running toward him, kept making gestures indicating she had been very, very sick, and was desperate for the drug he offered, and was stil his aly.

He was arrogant, and that was his undoing. He was so firmly convinced that she was in his thral because of the Sundrop that he hesitated, confused, for just a few seconds too long. That was al it took.

She could see Alzadar now, his eyes blazing in the shadow of the trees. And a heartbeat later, she saw Those Who Endure emerge from the jungle and descend on him.

Rosemary abandoned al pretense and puled out her pistol. She desperately wanted to empty it into Alzadar’s midsection, but she refrained, running as surely now as she had been uncertain before toward the fight.

Damn, but they were beautiful as they fought. She knew some martial arts, mainly enough to get free if anyone managed to get a hold of her—which was very rare—

but she’d watched Ethan practice for many years. She knew that he was proud of his grace and accuracy and power, and wished fiercely that he could see this display of protoss in combat. It might teach him some humility.

Templar against templar, they fought, Ladranix in his dented, damaged armor, stil clinging to his heritage, and Alzadar in long, flowing robes. She had thought it would be an uneven battle, having seen Ladranix in combat, but this was his friend, his equal in skil, and although Alzadar had no armor, it seemed that he did not need it. Each attack, each thrust from Ladranix was either met with Alzadar’s own psi-blades or dodged so deftly it was a blur to Rosemary’s eyes. Too, Ladranix was at a disadvantage in that he had no desire to injure or slay his old friend. Alzadar had no such compunctions.

Light pulsed from glowing daggers of psionic energy, moving so swiftly that they seemed ribbons of light rather than blades. Alzadar ducked and leaped up, blades flashing perilously close to Ladranix’s unprotected face, but the other templar brought his armored arms up just in time. He sprang over his former friend, somersaulting in the air to land deftly behind Alzadar. Long, powerful legs kicked out. Stil pivoting to keep his foe in front of him, Alzadar was vulnerable. The kick struck home and Alzadar staggered back—back into the sudden rush of untrained khalai who, with no real knowledge of combat and heedless of their own safety, simply hurled themselves upon the templar and knocked him to the earth. Then Ladranix was there, pinning his friend with a psi-blade to his throat that, Rosemary knew, he had no desire to use.

Jake was there too now, dropping to his knees beside the struggling Forged.

Rosemary heard Zamara’s thoughts in her mind as she slowed and stopped, watching, her pistol at the ready.

“We can help you,” Zamara said.

“Help?” If protoss had mouths, Rosemary got the distinct impression that Alzadar would have spat. “You are as good as dead, preserver. You wil soon be able to help no one.”

“Listen to yourself,” Zamara urged. “You are a templar—you have sworn to protect and defend other protoss. And yet you insist you desire to slay a preserver. That is contrary to everything you are.”

“I am one of the Forged!” Alzadar gave a sudden violent twist and almost, but not quite, broke free of Ladranix’s paristeel grip.

“His enslavement to the drug is strong,” Zamara said. “This … wil take some time.”

It did.

While the initial purging of the drug from Alzadar’s system was accomplished swiftly

—Jake recaled how easily Zamara had cleared his system of alcohol when he had had dinner with Ethan and Rosemary—the actual detoxification took many hours.

Alzadar shivered, the color of his body becoming mottled and sickly as they removed the drug that had given him so much pleasure, and for a surprisingly long time, considering the physical and physiological pain that racked his body, he resisted bonding with them. The Shel’na Kryhas continued to reach out to him, mental tendrils of compassion and understanding and lack of judgment twining gently in Alzadar’s paranoid, angry mind. With the Sundrop cleared from his system, Alzadar was once again able to step forward into the Khala. He refused at first, claiming it was a trap.

Zamara was deeply pained at the mistrust, but when, eventualy, Alzadar tentatively entered the Khala, where al knew there could be no lies, no deceptions, he understood.

“It is the Sundrop that has kept you from us, my old friend,” Ladranix said in that place of deep connection. “You are not at fault. It is not a punishment. The Khala is and always has been here, part of our birthright.”

“I … I thought I was the only one … that something had happened. That I was …

flawed.” Jake felt the fear, the isolation, felt it softening and thawing like ice under a warm and blessing sun. His heart ached with it.

“You were deceived and betrayed indeed. But not by us. We welcome you back, brother. Together, we can defeat this murderer, this obscenity, who has so warped and violated the Forged with his lies. Do you know why he has done this?”

Jake felt Alzadar’s trust flicker.

“I know you do not lie in teling me what you believe,” Alzadar said. “But you may be wrong. The Xava’tor—the Benefactor—may not be this abomination of which you speak. He has cared for the Forged—he has kept us safe. He gave us hope—made us proud, again, to be who we are. You cannot argue with that.”

“No,” Zamara agreed. Jake tasted the concern that al the surviving Aiur protoss had had upon realizing they had been left behind while their brethren fled to the safety of Shakuras. He understood how easily it had turned to resentment, then hatred, cold and implacable. He felt the hope rekindled as Alzadar shared with them the memory of the Xava’tor’s arrival. Suddenly, they had worth, and purpose, and value. “But it is my firm belief, based upon al I have learned—which you know is vast—that he has deceived you. He kept you safe, but for his own ends. As for making you proud of who you are—you are a templar. What is more—you are protoss. Such is your birthright as much as immersion in the Khala.”

Jake thought of Rosemary. Was this universal, then, this need to matter? To be held of value? To have a direction and a goal to strive for? She had needed it, and when it had been given to her, she had turned her back on treachery. So too, now, did Alzadar.

“He keeps us safe from the zerg,” Alzadar said, repeating himself as a hint of doubt began to color his thoughts. “He is stronger than they are. He teaches us how to trap them and bring them to him. The Sundrop … pleases so very greatly. And when he asks for one of us, now and then, to go to safety with him, it is always so joyful, although the rest of us are sad not to be chosen. Some, he cals the Hands of the Benefactor—the Xava’kai—and he takes them to perform special tasks, and we envy them.”

“Tel us how you came to folow him,” Zamara said, trying another approach.

“The Xava’tor began by speaking only to Felanis, teling him about the place beneath the surface where he and those who folowed him would be kept safe from the zerg,”

Alzadar said. “Then … he spoke to me. Such a powerful mental presence.”

“But you have never seen him?”

“No. Only been touched by his mind and wil.”

“You said he has tasks for you—what are they?”

Alzadar twitched slightly. Rosemary, watching apart from the mental link, frowned a little as she munched a sammuro. “Careful,” she cautioned. “Whatever you’re saying to him is starting to freak him out.”

“Most of the tasks, we do not know,” Alzadar said. “Such are deep secrets, revealed only to the ones he selects to become Xava’kai.”

“He lives in the chambers?” Zamara pressed.

“I do not believe so. Zamara, he has been good to us. I do not wish to believe that we have been serving such a thing as you say!”

Zamara, in Jake’s body, nodded. “I can wel believe that. You have not falen into evil, Alzadar. You have only been angry and afraid—as the Shel’na Kryhas are. As any sentient being would have been. And when you saw hope—you folowed it.”

“You must come with us,” Jake said suddenly, pushing past Zamara as he had done on a few occasions before. “Come with us to find the crystal. See for yourself what’s in the chambers. The protoss realy are one people. They want you with them.”

He was the first to think it, to feel it, and he sensed the surprise and admiration from the others as they agreed. Too, he sensed a slight shame in them, that it had been a mere terran to offer such evidence of forgiveness and acceptance, and for the first time he, Jacob Jefferson Ramsey, felt as welcomed into this sacred space as Zamara.

“Yes,” said Ladranix. “Yes, come, my brother … we wil share this with you … ,”

came other mental voices.

“It is … a forbidden area,” said Alzadar. “The Xava’tor has ordered us on pain of death not to go there.”

“Aren’t you curious as to why a so-caled benefactor would issue such a statement?

Don’t you want to know why he takes some of you and you never return? Or what the Xava’kai are doing? And why he demands that you slay a preserver, the pride of the protoss race, one of our most precious treasures?” Ladranix continued.

And of course, Alzadar was curious—he was a pro-toss, he was of the race that begat Temlaa and Khas and Vetraas and Adun. He hesitated, and Jake felt his indecision. Then, finaly, “Yes. I would know if we have been cherished or betrayed.

And if I am convinced that it is the latter … I am not without influence in the Forged.

I wil join you, and convince others to come with me. I was once a templar, trained from birth to protect my people. I pray I have the chance to do so again.”