The Forlorn(73)

"I am the senior surviving crew officer. Those who thwart me will regret it. My business is not here, it is with the Morkth invasion. Tell your master he'd better return my property and my female companions immediately, and I will say no more of the matter."

A snort came from the seated figure. "The real Crew were killed. The Patrician chooses what females he wants. Tell me more of your business with the Morkth."

Keilin had sidled up behind Cap. "He is Morkth!" he whispered urgently.

Cap's eagle eyes narrowed.

"Answer or I will have one of your number killed. Painfully." The voice remained atonal.

"Voice synthesizer." Cap spoke with grim satisfaction. There was a brief searing bright scarlet bolt from the hand he had tucked into his jacket. There were twelve guards in the room, with four unarmed prisoners. In seconds Keilin realized that Cap didn't need anything more than his hands and feet. These were chopping blades themselves. And the blades of the fallen were in the hands of Beywulf and S'kith. S'kith bioenhanced and Beywulf headed into berserker madness.

But Keilin was outclassed and unarmed. A few seconds later he found the burly corporal's chin bristles brushing his ear, with a sword at his throat. "Hold off, or the boy is dead!"

Cap laughed. "Kill away. He's not particularly valuable to me."

But both S'kith and Bey had halted. Keilin felt an inner calmness, despite his dire situation. By the looks of the corporal's dark broad face he'd been recruited from the refugee swarm from across the narrow sea. Keilin spoke as if having a sword at his throat happened twice every morning before tea. "Corporal. Look. The wizard is a Morkth warrior."

The hand which was twisting and forcing Keilin's arm upward went slack. The man's eyes goggled at the corpse. As well he might. The thing's death rictus had shredded its robes, and pieces of non-human body were exposed. A clawed gray limb kicked at the sky.

The corporal was old enough to have been an adult when the Morkth hoards swept through the rich irrigated lands of Beshtan, killing, destroying and enslaving. By the bitterness in his voice he remembered it only too well. "Motherfucking shiteaters! What the hell is going on?"

"You are fighting the wrong people, Corporal." Keilin made no attempt to move. "My master is one of the Cru. He has come to rid Tinarana of the Morkth filth."

"Hold your swords, boys." The corporal spoke to his surviving compatriots.

"But, Corp, they've killed—" protested one of the men.

"Hold, I said! Shut your face, Josen. I don't blame people for killing bugs. Or anything that fights on their side." The corporal let go of Keilin. "Come on, boy. Let's go and have a look." They walked over to the body. The corporal prodded the face with the sword point. The rubbery mask split, revealing the huge faceted eye beneath.

"Holy . . . we must tell the Patrician at once," said Josen. His paler cast of skin and narrower features made him likely to be a local man.

"I'll bet the bastard knows," the corporal said harshly. "He's been behaving like a mixture between a mouse and a rabid dog ever since this"—he kicked at the Morkth's body—"turned up a couple of years ago."

"He knows," said Keilin, with absolute conviction. Somehow it would have been impossible to doubt him.

"We'll kill the bastard!" Red fury burned in the other young trooper's eyes. He too looked to be the offspring of a refugee.

Cap looked at them. "Very well. You may take part in my plan. Corporal, send this young man to fetch others to view this . . . thing. Men who do not love the Morkth. Help me now and your serving of the enemy is forgiven. I will see if I can help the fallen. I am a doctor, as well as a member of the Crew. Keep this . . . Josen fellow in here; he is not to be trusted."

The corporal looked at him and then at Keilin, as if seeking confirmation. Keilin nodded imperceptibly. "Serra. Fetch Captain Belvin, and Sergeant Rood. Tell them I sent you. Tell them `red lentil,' nothing else, and say to come now."

He looked around the chamber, and then turned and calmly hit Josen over the head with his sword butt, and watched him fall. "Can't trust him, the bloody little brown-nose squeaker. He's always up the Guard Commander's butt. These other lads are right enough. Been a tide rising against this `wizard' and Vedas. We were planning a coup in maybe a month's time."

Minutes later two men came back with the guardman. Both of the newcomers were plainly also from across the narrow sea. The spare gray-haired one was already talking as he came in. "Halen. What do you mean using this boy as a messenger? Plain bloody stupid—oh!" He saw the "wizard" and his half displayed face. "Oh, holy Dana!! I see. Sergeant. You and Corporal Halen go and muster your troops. I want them in here within three minutes."