Shadow Hunters (17 page)

Raszagal was her name. Finally, she was led away, head still high.

Adun spoke to his fellow templar. “Always, we templar have obeyed the will of
the Conclave, for always, they have done what is right and just to protect us
all. It is they who keep pure the tenets of the Khala, which has been and
continues to be our salvation.”

Jake said nothing, observing the other templar, listening quietly to their
thoughts. They, too, wondered where this was leading.

“They have found heretics, like Raszagal. They have asked us to hunt down the
others, and execute them quietly, so that their very existence remains a secret.

They fear that if word spread that there were those who rejected the Khala, it
would lead to panic. And that panic might hurtle us back to another Aeon of
Strife.”

Everyone in the room reacted with instinctive dread. Adun continued. “They
are right not to want to replay those dreadful times. They are right to want all
to be in the Khala.”

And then he hesitated. “But …protoss do not kill protoss. And if we go down
this path … perhaps this is what will eventually lead to another Aeon of Strife.

You have spoken with Raszagal. We will find others, and we will speak with
them too before we summarily execute them. In my heart … Raszagal is not a
threat. I have questioned her—extensively. Nothing in her desires revolution, or
disharmony. She merely wishes to keep herself to herself. Is that worthy of
death?”

No one answered. Jake felt their indecision tear at him; felt his own indecision
heavy in his soul. He liked Raszagal. He admired her. And Adun was right. She
was no threat.

“She is only one,” Jake said slowly. “She may not think like the others.”

“What my old friend Vetraas says is true,” Adun replied. “And thus we must
know more before we obey the Conclave. Or … before we do not.”

Startlement rippled through the assembled templar. “You would disobey a
direct order from the Conclave?”

“I have always obeyed,” Adun said, and such was true. “Because always, they
have acted with wisdom. But they are not Khas. They want to protect us, but
they are also fearful of what Raszagal represents. I am a warrior, and proud to
fight for my people.
Al
of my people,” he said. “Perhaps you too now deem me
a heretic. Who here, then, wishes the honor of slaying young Raszagal?”

No one replied. No one wanted to be the first to walk down a path from which
there was no turning back—slaying the blood of one of his own people for the
first time since Khas brought the Khala to them and ended the slaughter.

Adun nodded, slowly. “We will learn more.”

Jake had expected that the heretics would come largely from one or two tribes,
but he was wrong. According to the information given to them by the Conclave,
members from several different tribes had quietly simply refused to join the
Khala. And while the Khala was constant, one’s involvement in it did not need
to be, and indeed, it would be difficult to live every moment in such a state of
unity with others. But Jake and Adun went to be nourished by the rich contact
many times each day and emerged refreshed and invigorated by this sacred,
special immersion. So did the other templar, and the judicators, and many of
the khalai.

It would be easy to locate someone in the Khala. But how to find one who never
came to this place for nourishment was the problem. The Conclave had a list,
however, and quietly, with no fanfare, templar found and took prisoner those
on the list. Each one they interviewed unsettled Jake, Adun, and the other
templar further. For like Raszagal, they were calm and reasoned, and their
arguments … had merit.

But which course of action represented following the Khala—refraining from
killing protoss whose hearts held no true threat, or exterminating those who did
not wish to merge so deeply with others?

Jake was glad the responsibility was Adun’s, not his. And after several days,
Adun called them together.

“I have reached a decision,” he said quietly. He looked at each of them in turn.

“I will spare the prisoners.”

A flicker of relief ran through those assembled, along with concern. Jake voiced
what they were all thinking.

“It is well that their blood is not on our hands, Executor. But I was there when
you were given your orders. The Conclave believes it is right on this issue. They
will insist on the deaths of these … these ‘dark templar.’”

Adun had been looking at his hands. Now he lifted his glowing eyes to his old
friend. “I have … an idea.”

Rosemary decided it was time to risk contacting Jake and the others. She was feeling pretty confident that she wouldn’t run across any Tal’darim here. The place was enormous, Jake had told her. It was a veritable underground city, and it was fairly obvious that al the protoss were clustered in one spot. If this had been a forbidden area until recently, they were probably too frightened to do much exploring. She took out the walkie-talkie and thumbed it.

“Yo, Professor,” she said quietly.

There was no response. She frowned and checked it. It was definitely working, but something was preventing the signal from getting through. It figured. She sighed, replaced it in her smal pack, and continued on.

The heartbeat sound increased. After al this walking, she was finaly getting close.

She hurried forward, then broke into a quick trot, realizing that she was excited to see this thing of which Jake had spoken so raptly and a little annoyed at herself for being so excited. Through several more corridors, each marked by Temlaa’s ancient symbol. It was there, right there, and—

They sprang up before her like living shadows, and as she skidded to a halt and drew out her rifle, she realized that she was surrounded.

The psionic attack stabbed her like an ice pick driven through her brain, and Rosemary colapsed. She didn’t have time to fire even a single shot.

ROSEMARY AWOKE AND FOR A LONG, LONG moment thought she was stil deep in the nightmare. The nightmare of searing pain, of a hunger that refused to be sated, of being helpless before both other people and her own cravings. Then she realized that the pain of a body twisted too long in an unnatural position and the itch of blood drying on her wrists and ankles were indeed very real.

“Shit,” she said, and drowned out the rising fear with irritation at herself for getting into this predicament.

She was lying on the cold stone floor. Her wrists were bound behind her back with some kind of cord. Cautious, exploratory movement revealed that her legs, bent behind her, were also bound, and something attached ankles to wrists, so she was effectively wel trussed up. That she’d been in this position for some time was evidenced by the screaming pain of her muscles. She was no longer where she had been attacked; they’d taken her somewhere else, some dimly lit niche somewhere in this vast underground city. Rosemary lifted her head to look around. Were her captors here or had she been left alone?

“So, you are awake,” came a voice in her mind. “Good. I was worried that Alzadar here might have permanently damaged you.”

One question answered, then: Her captors, the templar-turned-Forged Alzadar among them, were most definitely present.

“Wel, wouldn’t want that, would we?” she shot back cheerfuly. There was no point in plotting an escape when you were surrounded by people who could read your mind. The block Zamara had erected had prevented the Tal’darim from detecting her; it would be of no protection if she was stupid enough to literaly stumble across them. And besides, it had worn off by this point, as Zamara had said it would, which meant they probably knew everything she knew now. She tried not to think about it and couldn’t, just, she realized, like the old, tired saw that if someone said “Don’t think about a purple elephant,” al you saw in your mind’s eye was a lavender pachyderm. Instantly, of course, she
did
think about a purple elephant, and she got a brief and satisfying jolt of pleasure at the confusion the image presented to her captors.

“Only temporarily damaged, I can deal with,” she continued. “You didn’t kil me outright, so that means you want something.”

Long, cool hands closed on her body and she was positioned so she could see. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, from giving them the satisfaction of knowing how it hurt her, and then thought,
That was stupid,
because of course they could read her mind. God, she was realy starting to get pissed off at this whole mind-reading business. She clung to the anger.

She looked around at the protoss. Most of them hung back, but two stood gazing down at her. Overal they looked pretty much like the Shel’na Kryhas. There was certainly no immediate visible difference between the two factions. They were various colors, ranging from purple to gray to blue, and they had a variety of ridges and shapes to their faces. No doubt to each other they looked completely different, just as human faces looked individualistic to other humans. But to Rosemary Dahl, they al looked like … protoss.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to think. The eyes of the protoss who was most likely their leader—Felanis, she recaled—narrowed and darkened, and he hunched slightly. The other, whom Rosemary assumed was Alzadar, stayed almost frighteningly calm as he stared at her with unblinking eyes.

“We are completely different from the Shel’na Kryhas!” Felanis cried. “They are unenlightened fools, clinging stubbornly to the flawed past, the very past that led us to disaster. We were deserted once before, long, long ago, by the beings we loved and trusted. But this desertion is far worse. This was abandonment by our own people!”

More thoughts bombarded Rosemary. But she did not feel their emotions; perhaps they kept them rigidly in check. She was glad of it. Their thoughts alone were hard enough for her mind to handle.

Felanis began to pace. Alzadar continued to regard her with almost unnatural calm.

Rosemary glared back, defiantly.

“Our only comfort is that those who fled Aiur and left us behind are likely dead now,”

said Felanis. “The dark templar cannot be trusted. Only we survive—the Tal’darim, the Forged. Only we were deemed worthy to be caled here, to the ancient places of our people. Our Benefactor looks after us. He keeps us safe and whole and teaches us how to defend ourselves against the zerg.”

There were mental murmurs of agreement. Rosemary looked around, remembering now that the Forged numbers grew while the Shel’na Kryhas numbers dwindled, not just because of zerg attacks, but by desertion.

“Speaking of turning your backs and abandoning things, which of you are the deserters?” she said.

Several of them turned their heads sharply to look at her. “You judge what you do not understand, human,” one of them said. Rosemary stil had trouble distinguishing between individual protoss, but she was pretty sure she recognized one of the Shel’na Kryhas who had rescued her and then left soon after.

“So do you,” she shot back.

Felanis waved a dismissive hand. “We understand you wel enough,” he said. “As you have surmised, we have read your thoughts.”

“Then why do you need to keep me alive if you know everything I know?” She tried to move her hands and feet slightly, to bring circulation back to them, but the pain was too intense, and she gasped.

“Felanis, this is ridiculous,” said one of the protoss. “Alzadar’s idea wil not work.

She is too different from us. We should offer her to the Benefactor. Perhaps he can find an appropriate use for her. Or kil her ourselves and send the body back for her traitorous alies to stumble upon.”

“Silence,” ordered Felanis. “If the plan does not work, there wil be time enough to offer her to the Xava’tor.” He turned lambent blue eyes back to Rosemary. “We have kept you alive because they trust you. Particularly the other terran.”

She actualy laughed at that one. “You want me to spy for you?”

“It is in your interest, human.”

“How the hel do you figure that? Other than the obvious.” She thought about being able to move her limbs.

Felanis half closed his eyes and tilted his head. Laughter, dry as scudding leaves across dead earth, filed her mind. “Is not the obvious sufficient?”

He had her there. Only once before had Rosemary professed loyalty to anyone and realy meant it. That was to Ethan Stewart, whom she was now starting to realize she had loved. She frowned to herself. She was getting soft. That mind whammy Jake had done to her had realy messed her up. Or maybe it was just that the pain was starting to wear her down. She wasn’t sure. It was obvious what would happen if she didn’t cooperate. She’d be served up to this Benefactor, whoever he was, or have her throat slit and be tossed out like yesterday’s garbage. Stil …

“Zamara’s a preserver. I thought even the Forged respected such things.”

“Once, we did. But our heritage means nothing to us now. Only our future, only what the Xava’tor can give us. What you attempted to do—what Zamara and Jake and Ladranix want to do—is against his wishes. You may not enter the chambers. We wil not permit this to happen. And—the Xava’tor desires the preserver.”

“And you’re gonna use me to lure Zamara to him? Listen, buddy, if you’ve read my mind as wel as you think you have, you know one thing for damn sure: I want to get off this rock. Zamara says she can do that. There’s no way I’m turning against her.”