Dark Foundations (69 page)

The tattooed face of the priest appeared on the screen. “As you asked, Captain, I have consulted the omens. They are very good.” He tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide in the way that priests did when they were quoting the powers. His sharpened teeth glinted. “Listen: ‘Today is a day when the tables are turned. Today is a day when weakness defeats power. Today is a day when the proud and the brutal are humbled.'” His mouth closed and a knowing smirk appeared on his face. “Captain, I think
you
can interpret that.”

“Thank you,” said Hanax, feeling a smile appear on his lips. “Thank you very much.” He felt a surge of delicious pleasure.
Lezaroth, you are about to get a taste of justice.

At Langerstrand, Lezaroth made a gesture and the screen on the wall came alive with a map of Farholme on which five red blobs glowed brightly. He chose his words carefully. “Let me remind you of the situation. Our forces are being deployed and can be ordered into action at any time. We need your cooperation.”

Corradon clenched his fist and leaned forward. “No! There are issues that we must resolve before we can deal with you.”

“The matter of the hostages, for a start,” D'Avanos added.

You fools!
I'll—

He stopped, suddenly aware that someone was talking to him through his bio-augment systems.

“Cap'n, do you read me?” It was a poor signal but he recognized the weapons officer's voice.

“A moment,” he said, then rose and walked through the door behind his seat into a corridor. “Wepps?” he snapped. “By the powers, this better be serious!”

There was the inevitable short time delay before the answer. “Sir, it is. I'm on the bridge—that's why I can't say too much. Hanax has got us in hot pursuit of a Farholme ship. It seems to be going after this
Rahllman's Star
. Hanax wants to capture it.”

Fury flooded Lezaroth's mind.
I am away for a few hours and this happens!
But caution rapidly replaced the fury.
I need more information.
“What's your specific concern?”

“Cap'n, I think it's a trap.”

Lezaroth deliberated. Wepps was a reliable man with years of experience and his intuition wasn't to be ignored.
I ought to call Hanax and order him back.
A new and attractive thought came to him.
If I let Hanax continue for a little longer, it might allow me to charge him with recklessly endangering a ship, or even negligence.
And either charge would finish the rat's career
. Another idea came to him.
If it really is a trap, D'Avanos will know.

“Wepps, for the moment, just watch. Alert me if there is any specific peril. I'll do some checking here. And make sure there is a record of what happens. I may need it. I think this could be Hanax's last flight.”

“Yes, Cap'n.”

Lezaroth gave some orders to the staff at Langerstrand and walked back into the chamber. It was time, at long last, to use the baziliarch.

In Lezaroth's absence there was only silence. Merral wondered what had happened. A faint hope began to rise in his mind that something had come up, but he squashed it. Hope seemed impossible.

When Lezaroth returned, the expression on his face was quite unreadable. He made no apology or comment, but instead sat down and gestured with a finger.

On the wallscreen the image changed. Now on a dark background, fixed points of white light appeared and amid them, a single flashing green spot moved. Some way behind it was a larger crimson dot.

Stars and ships,
Merral realized.

Lezaroth turned to Merral. “Something is happening. One of your ships is moving on an unapproved course. What's going on?”

Merral was about to deny any knowledge when he was struck by an astonishing sensation. Something seemed to penetrate his mind, something that probed like a finger poking under the stones of a river. It was as if the levels of his consciousness were, one by one, being lifted away. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair as if that might stop the sensation. But it persisted.

From nowhere, he heard a voice in his head.
What is this ship?

Merral looked around, seeing no one new in the room. In a sudden, horrendous flash of comprehension, Merral knew that Vero had been right—there
was
something that could read minds. Whatever it was, it lurked behind the pale translucent wall. As he turned toward the wall, he could make out something stirring beyond the transparent paleness, some massive, black, room-sized angular form. There were noises too: scratching and scrabbling.

The baziliarch
. The word sounded in his brain like the toll of death. That was who the tower had been built for. A wave of despair seemed to crash over his mind.

The ship—what is it hoping to do? Answer aloud.

“I don't know!” Merral shouted, trying to resist. He saw Corradon, Tinternli, and Hazderzal looking at him with puzzlement. Only Lezaroth's cold, scrutinizing expression was unchanged.

What
do
you know?

The probing—the relentless exposure of his mind—continued. Suddenly, utterly unasked for, memories flashed in Merral's mind: his work, his home, his friends. Yet all were discarded. Suddenly, he was thinking about Azeras, seeing him on the Manalahi Shoals, watching him picking his teeth as he sat at the table. That image stayed, replayed over and over again like a video loop.

Who is this? A survivor?

Merral sensed a strange, alien sensation of alarm.
Of course
.
It works both ways. The baziliarch can feel my thoughts and I can—to a lesser degree—sense his.

Across the table, a frown darkened Lezaroth's face.
He knows too
.
He is sitting in on the probing of my mind
. Merral's despair reached new depths.

On the
Triumph of Sarata
Hanax was tense but confident. It would be a tricky maneuver—the
Triumph
was a very large ship—but it was achievable.
But I want more than a mere achievement
;
I want excellence. I want this to be a textbook operation
.

Comms came through to him. “Captain, since she changed course, the target is broadcasting a new signal.”

“What sort of signal?”

“Deltathree says it's to the Guardian satellites. It's standard protocol on such a trajectory.”

The weapons officer, who listened in, leaned close to Hanax. “Sir, I don't like that. Not on this course.” His voice was urgent. “I think you ought to change course.”

“No.”

“How about consulting the fleet-commander?”

“I can manage, Wepps.”
Nevertheless, I'll take precautions. Just in case
. “Comms,” Hanax snapped, “imitate her signals. Whatever she does, we follow.”

The priest's words warmed his heart.
Today is a day when the tables are turned.

He turned to the frowning weapons officer. “Cheer up, Wepps. Get that boarding party ready. I think this is going to be a very interesting half hour.”

Merral did the only thing he could think of.
Protect me, Lord!

Nothing happened. Instead there was a new sensation in his brain. It was unease, he realized, but it was not his own unease. It was the baziliarch who was troubled. He could sense that the baziliarch had realized something unfamiliar had happened and it was brooding over it. And from the troubled look on Lezaroth's face, this unease was transmitted to him as well.

Behind the eggshell-like right wall, the thing moved again with a stiff, lurching motion, as if it was some vast, room-sized praying mantis.

Corradon, wide-eyed, shivered.

Suddenly, Lezaroth turned to the transparent screen. “Find out who this D'Avanos really is,” he snapped.

Who are you?
The voice spoke in Merral's mind again.

“I am a forester,” Merral protested, trying to think of trees and woodlands and sunlight through leaves. “I serve the living God.”

In his mind there was something that might have been a laugh of derision.
Then let him deliver you.

Merral tried to answer with some defiant words but they would not come.

Are you Ringell?

There was a new probing now. More images flashed in his mind like scrapbooks being flipped through.

No, you are not. But are you the one we fear, the great adversary?

Merral tried to counter with a question.
Who are you?

I am Lord Nar-Barratri, one of the seven baziliarchs who serve the great one. I am an ancient prince of power and authority in the Nether-Realms. I was once great, and I will be greater still.

The names and titles were so full of proud majesty that Merral felt almost crushed. He was wondering how to respond when a moving red dot on the screen captured his attention. The
Triumph of Sarata.
It's chasing Perena
.

Who?

I gave her name!
In his panic and horror Merral forced himself to think of other things: Ynysmant, picnics, Team-Ball matches, festivals. As he did, he felt them all discarded, as the baziliarch relentlessly pursued a single question:
What is this ship hoping to do?

Merral remembered some ancient film he had watched with Lloyd in which a villain pursued the heroine through a house and she tried to deter him by throwing anything she could find at him. This was like that. He thought of his relatives and then his friends, but that led him to Isabella and that in turn led him to think of Anya, and she led him to . . .

“No!” he yelled digging his nails into his hand in the hope that pain would end the pursuit through his mind.

This Perena seeks the
Rahllman's Star
. True?

No, no. . . . Yes!