Keir (41 page)

“Jared,” she whispered. “Please. Don’t do this.”

With gentle fingers he brushed away the tear, then threaded his finger through her braids, curling his hand round the back of her head. He drew her toward him, even though she resisted, even though she fought with every shred of her will. But his strength was the greater, augmented by the Siah-dhu. His mouth crushed hers in a deathly kiss.

Darkness surged into her. Her head jerked back as he released her, shadow scouring her vision as she screamed in sudden agony. She collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. As she rolled onto her back and looked up to where Jared watched her, his face had once more become an emotionless mask.

“Don’t fight it, Quin. You’ll only make the pain worse. Let it take you.” He knelt beside her as her vision faded. “Let it take you and you’ll never feel pain again.”

“Never!” she screamed, choking. The coldness of the dark burned her, smothering her, trying to take control. She screamed again, burying her face against the floor.

“Quin, surrender.”

“No!” she moaned, twisting herself into a tight knot and crying with the agony of it.

* * * *

Keir heard her scream and jerked upright. Pain shot through his side and he clutched at it with a groan. Someone had bandaged his wound with thick padding, clothed him in a gray vest. He reached desperately for Quin, but found only agony and blinding darkness in her mind. Where was she? What had been done to her?

Fear for her pushed him to his feet, a move that almost returned him to unconsciousness. His head swam, and nausea clenched like a fist in his gut, but he forced himself up again. Quin needed him. He did not recognize his surroundings, though the curvilinear orange walls suggested he was within the palace. At first he thought the small room deserted, until he turned and saw S’rano and the commander waiting near the door.

The sea captain wore a solemn expression and gripped his sheathed knife in one hand, but T’reno appeared as though he were facing imminent execution, a nervous flicker in his eyes as he avoided Keir’s gaze.

“You recover quickly,” S’rano said in greeting.

Keir walked toward them, one hand to his injured side though he refused to succumb to it. “Where is Quin?” he demanded. “What have you done to her?”

Both of them looked uneasy but it was S’rano who found the courage to speak. “She’s been taken, Keir. I am sorry.”

“You let her go?” he said, astounded. He looked at the commander in accusation, understanding his dread. “I thought you were her friend.”

“We had no choice,” he mumbled.

Keir stood utterly still for a moment, paralyzed by disbelief. She had been sentenced to torture by people she trusted and her screams rang in his mind. He leapt forward, seized T’reno around the neck and pinned him against the wall. The Sentiac’s energy surged through him, as potent as the fury possessing him, until he thought he would see the flames of it sear over his skin.

Exhilaration sang through him. He could feel the cartilage of the Metraxian’s throat beneath his fingers, hear his breath rasping more frantically the longer Keir squeezed.

S’rano grabbed his arm, talons scratching as he struggled to pull Keir off. “Keir, if you kill him now, you’ll never find her!”

Keir eased his hold a fraction, letting him draw breath. “Tell me where she is!”

T’reno glanced sidelong at the sea captain. “Promise…” he wheezed

“Quin demanded that you make a promise to her first,” S’rano told him, still restraining him.

“What promise?”

“That no matter what happens, you take her home.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” S’rano gripped Keir’s shoulder. “It was her last request, Keir. T’reno cannot tell you where she is until you have given us your word!”

Keir wanted to scream out his fury and frustration, wanted to rip answers from them both. Their treachery left the taste of acid in his mouth. “How can I trust you, either of you?” His fingers tightened compulsively and T’reno slumped against him. “She trusted you and you betrayed her!”

“Keir!” S’rano held out the blade to him, hilt first.

After a long moment, the Salusian released the commander–who dropped to the floor gasping frantically–and grabbed the blade. As he lifted it he saw the shell necklace twisted around the hilt and felt a strange vibration in the weapon.

“She said you must take this when you recovered. She thought you would go after her.”

Keir stared at the shells, remembering the day she had worn them, remembering her hand in his. He had made vows, given her his word until death. He had promised her he would never allow them to take her. He had failed, and the knowledge almost brought him to his knees. “Where is she?”

“Do you swear, on your life, that you will keep your promise?” S’rano insisted.

He suppressed the urge to strike the man. “I swear.”

T’reno clambered to his feet, clutching his neck and leaning against the wall behind him. “You won’t have long,” he told Keir hoarsely. “The queen has sent ships to destroy the Emissary’s vessel. He murdered her children.”

Nausea bunched in his stomach. Words whispered in his head, Quin’s voice.
I won’t sacrifice the innocent on my behalf
. Her surrender had been in vain.

Keir shook his head, staring at the knife in his hand with its odd pulse like a secret heartbeat. He pressed it against his chest and the rhythm within was strangely familiar, strangely seductive. He opened himself to it and power coursed through him, a steady flow that filled him with radiant energy and an odd sense of euphoria. With a mere thought, he redirected the flow, sent it questing for a possible gateway and found the knowledge to create one without effort. Not only did he have the means to follow her but it seemed he had gained the control he so badly needed, the wildness of his talent tamed by sudden necessity.

“I have plenty of time,” he assured them. “Now, where is this ship?”

* * * *

With T’reno’s guidance, opening the gate to the Emissary’s vessel had been easy. His desperation and anger gave him the power he needed, his link with Quin and the awareness of her pain gave him the focus. Her unending screams tore at his mind, her agony eclipsed his own. She needed him and he would not let her down again. Keir stepped through the doorway and his fear melted away. Quin was here.

Ahead of him stretched a murky passageway of blackened metal dimly lit by tiny pale-blue lights. A number of doors were set at regular intervals and edged by corroded girders. The feeble lighting left everything veiled in the deepest shadow. A deep thrumming rose from the floor, vibrating through his body and making the corridor echo with a somber hum that shivered up his spine.

He patted his leg where he had strapped S’rano’s altered blade and he carried a gun T’reno had given him. He made his way cautiously, staring hard into the darkness as he moved. The light seemed to move with him, but illuminated only the area surrounding him.

A change in the throbbing of the ship stopped Keir cold. He held still, straining to hear, until, finally, he deciphered the sound–marching feet approached with the resounding clang of metal against metal. He hesitated, unsure where the sound was coming from. A movement in the shadows behind him made him turn and a strange figure emerged. It was a machine of sorts, vaguely humanoid but almost twice his height, its skeletal frame metallic like the ship, with the surfaces pitted as though the parts had been badly cast. In the center, where the chest would have been on a human, a big ovoid the size of a head glowed blue and white, highlighting the craggy surfaces. It advanced relentlessly.

He took a few steps back then raised his empty hand to send a jolt of telekinetic force at the mechanoid. When the blast hit, the machine rocked to a halt in a flash of blue light as though it had hit a wall. Hurried movement and a rearranging of parts took place at the top of the machine, accompanied by clicks and whirrs, as it reassembled its head. There was a moment of stillness then it fired. The impact sent Keir flying backward and he crashed to the floor. The machine marched forward as his gun clattered out of reach.

Stunned, Keir lay helpless as it strode toward him, halting with its splayed feet either side of his legs. Another burst of whirring gave him a warning a second before a blade slashed down. At the final instant, he jerked aside to evade the blow then squirmed across the floor in search of his lost weapon.

With one hand, he unsheathed the blade and, as the machine struck for the third time in a shower of sparks, he thrust blindly upward, plunging his knife deep into the glowing ovoid above. The machine juddered with an animalistic screeching sound and a frantic buzzing. Gelatinous sludge gushed down his arm. As he withdrew the knife, more fluid poured out and the globe collapsed like a punctured balloon.

Keir rolled out and crouched, panting. He stared at the now immobile machine as gunge trickled down its frame to puddle on the floor. Shaking the cold fluid from his arm, he got to his feet, wincing as he put his left hand to his side. The fight had opened his wound but he forced himself to move on. Seeing his gun, he snatched it up as he ran.

He turned the corner and almost collided with another sentinel, which activated the instant he came into sight. He loosed off a shot and dodged back the way he had come, not waiting to see if it rebounded as the mechanoid charged after him. In the curious twilight of the ship he could hardly see where he was going and nearly ran into the remains of the first sentinel. He knelt down, slid himself beneath it, and waited, blade in hand.

As the second guard approached, it thrust out mechanical arms to seize and lift its disabled twin. The movement left the attacker’s nerve center exposed. Keir pounced, burying his knife in the bright globe, then yanked the blade out and ran without checking to see if the blow had been fatal. He heard squealing behind him and assumed it had at least been damaged.

Quin’s faint presence in his mind dwindled further. The pain in his side nearly drove him to his knees. Limping now, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he reached a door he knew was the right one–her tortured cries echoed within.

The door was sealed shut. He sheathed his blade and tried to use his power but either his encounter with the guards or the worsening of his injury had weakened him too much. Despairing, he rested his head wearily against the cool metal of the door and closed his eyes. Had he come so near just to fail?

Quin screamed again and rage flamed in his chest. He pushed deep inside himself, clawing for the flickers of energy he needed. Dull blue embers filled his core, weak and fleeting. He fed them his anger, his anguish and fear. He poured his love for Quin into them, the ecstasy they shared at the height of passion, the light she had seen in his soul when he had seen only the dark.

Fire blazed in his heart and the Sentiac’s power rose within him once more. The door opened at his touch and he entered warily, clutching his bad side. Inside, the room was a vast, empty chamber, with curving walls disappearing into the half-light. Quin lay in a huddle in the center of the floor, whimpering. Over her stood a tall, blond man who observed her suffering with a blank face. The Emissary looked up and Keir froze.

“Who are you?” the Emissary asked, his voice eerily expressionless.

“I have come for Quin.”

Black eyes stared, burning into him. Keir stood hypnotized as the darkness seemed to drain all resistance. His remaining strength bled away, his will faltering under the man’s silent assault. No matter how hard he fought, he could not tear himself free of it. The gun fell from his hand, clattering when it hit the floor, and Keir’s knees buckled.

Limbs slackened, vision blurring, he fell to the ground on all fours and fought to draw a breath, to claw his way back. He sensed, rather than saw, the Emissary’s approach, the seeping chill of his presence like a deathly mist spreading over his body. With excruciating effort, he raised his head. The black eyes smothered his senses.

Then Quin moaned and snapped him free of the spell. Power flowed, Keir raised his hand, and the Emissary flew across the room to slam into the far wall. As Keir struggled back to his feet, quivering with the effort, the man rose with an eerie grace and crossed the room at supernatural speed. He dived at Keir and they tumbled across the floor, each fighting for a hold. Keir smacked him hard in the face once, twice, before the Emissary snarled and punched him so hard in the chest it drove all the air from his lungs. As he gasped in a breath, the Emissary drove his feet into Keir’s stomach and shoved him backward.

Agony flared through his wound. Wheezing, sprawled on his back, Keir reached deep inside himself, desperate for something more, something that would stop his opponent. Azure flame answered his summons, surged upward, prickled over his skin, but the Emissary was on him before he could use it. Instead, the last few tendrils of his ability flared over them both. The Emissary threw back his head and howled, his body jerking as lightning flickered about them. Then he laughed as the white energy died and dimmed, as Keir’s hands fell away and he lay gasping, powerless.

The Emissary’s cold fingers locked around his throat. Keir choked, steel bands closing around his neck as the man squeezed. Unable to break his hold, he twisted in desperation, and gouged his nails into the hands that held him. The Emissary merely tightened his grip. His face loomed close and everything else faded into the depths of those terrible eyes until they were the only thing left in Keir’s vision.