Chapter Twelve

 

“Oh, Ysaulte,” Jim groaned out loud, for the moment forgetting Bones, Spock, and the Muuyeans.  The double edges of his understanding slashed into Jim, betraying the magnitude of the ZaworthIan’s intentions.  She vowed the ul ku Tuura defense; against the undead spirit of the thoughtmaster as well as the entire Romulan Fleet.  She would do these things, not because she wanted to, nor because she was sure she could (for she did have doubts), but because it was her sworn obligation as one of the sha’deh du Khyn to see it done. 

 

From the beginning, she’d been given no choice.

 

“Jim?”

 

“I__ excuse me, Bones, Spock.  No, it’s all right,” waving the Vulcan back.  “I have to talk to Ysaulte.”

         

“What’s wrong?”  McCoy demanded, but all Jim could do was shake his head and duck out of the room.

 

“Spock, we oughta go with him.”

 

“Please, stay,” Laaru invited quietly.  He was willing to permit the starlord leave, for he knew Dyer was hovering near Silivia and the odds would only be even.  Further, he was ill prepared to grant.  “The Elder treats her, and your services unnecessary, Healer.”

 

“My professional services, maybe, son,” McCoy informed him with a fine disregard for their relative years.  “Not my services as her friend.  I have to ask myself why you want us to stay here so bad… and how far are you planning to go to make us?”

 

The ul ku Tuura councilman asked himself a question, too.  Why had he assumed these men would be less dangerous without their captain?  Just the expression in their paired gazes was enough to chill his blood.

 

“I would not restrain you, of course.  I will remind you, however, it is really none of our business.”

 

Bones deliberated, then hit on an answer he hoped would disconcert the Muuyean.

 

“Fine.  Ysaulte will call us if she needs us.”

 

***

 

Jim had paused outside the door, sudden impulse prompting him to wait for his friends’ reactions before leaving them.  Overhearing Bones, Jim spared himself a smile and left the house, cutting through the backyard garden to find the trail to the creek.  He found it easily, drawn by his awareness of Ysaulte’s location, although he felt an unusual distance in her thoughts.  Considering the circumstances, he guessed he could forgive her.  As impossible as he deemed their situation, he knew it was worse for Ysaulte.  At least he had experience in meeting legends face-to-face, he thought, remembering Excalbia and the images of Lincoln and Surak.

 

Another being who’d addressed him as ‘James’, and another situation where he and his crew had sort of been along for the ride.  There had been plenty to disbelieve then, too.  Rocks had come to life before their eyes, and a legend had died, again, this time in Jim’s own arms.  The only thing that had saved his ship and crew, as it happened, was the quality of their mercy.

 

The memory occupied him halfway down the last hill.  He thought there might be an idea in it__ then he caught sight of his Lady and forgot how to think.

 

Ysaulte turned at his approach, her head lifting as she met his stare.  Jim wondered helplessly how many colors the human eye could bear.  She quite dazzled him with the brilliance of her relieved pleasure, and that just those ZaworthIan irises.  Ysaulte seemed to glow all over, from where the sun struck sparks in her hair to where her feet were lapped by the shimmer of silvery water.

 

He began to understand part of the glittering mental, spreading from a power he could feel around her, connected somehow to the chains at her hips.  Jim gathered himself, concentrating, and pushed it all away to reach into her mind.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

She took Jim’s hands as he crossed the last few feet to stand in front of her, placing his palms against the wrought metal.

 

“What is this thing?”  Jim wondered hoarsely, his throat tightening against the tingle in his spine.  “Ysaulte, it feels alive.”

 

“It lives, in truth.  It is the KamarIa, worn last on my own world by the Zaltana herself and lost for four thousand years.”  As if responding to the introduction, that rushing sense of force throbbed more strongly.

 

“Is it something you can control?”  Jim asked, feeling it like wild magic, covering his nerves and soaking into him.

 

Ysaulte stared into Jim’s eyes, hearing the voice in d’KamarIa that urged her, demanding she seek out Radomil, join together with her Lord of Stars to strike at the thoughtmaster__

 

She straightened, irises darkening Romulan black.  Jim felt her suborn the gathering powers, willing the spirit buried in the object respond to her whim.

 

Those arrogant eyes fixed on him, and Jim wanted to laugh.  He didn’t care how Talented Ysaulte’s ZaworthIan forebears had been.  They couldn’t have been stronger than she was… and with his conviction, voiced in mind, the forces faded, banked.

 

Ysaulte permitted herself a long breath.

 

Jim saw her irises lighten, but not beyond a murky worried violet.  He knew what her chief concern was, and wanted to argue, only just recalling the elder’s presence.

 

“Lady Silivia.”

 

“Captain Kirk.  There is much to discuss.  Shall we__”

 

“Hold you, ul ku Tuura,” Ysaulte ordered rather coldly.  “I agree discussion due, but between James and I, first.”

 

“Why?  Do you need additional motives?”  Silivia asked with impatience.  “Even I see how Kirin affects you, limits your reach and comes between you and your Sisters.  Have you considered his removal might be your only escape from here?  How likely is it the tunnel beneath the ul Nru collapsed with the tremors?”

 

“Thou art presumptuous to question me so, or beg our hurry,” the ZaworthIan informed Silivia with a long, hard stare.  The elder nodded reluctantly, and Jim got the impression he’d missed something in this little exchange.  Especially when Silivia spoke.

 

“Very well, sha’deh du Khyn.  Given your reach, it is foolish for me to argue.  I will remind you, however, it was you who earlier tried to convince me of the urgency in the situation.”

 

“Things must be considered before decisions are made, by those who must decide them.”

 

Silivia sniffed, then turned away to march up the hill.  Jim waited until she was out of sight (and, he hoped, out of earshot) to catch Ysaulte by her upper arms.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“I suppose it would do me no good to ask you to leave, try the passage, return to the ship.”

 

“You’ve got that right.  How can you stand there and wish me away from you?”

 

“One more presumption.  My fear for your safety.”  Her sarcasm took Jim by surprise.  It didn’t soften Ysaulte’s tone.  “You should be on your ship when the Rihannsu come.”

 

“Damn you, Ysaulte!  Do you really think I’m going to leave you now?”

 

“When Leonard is right to name this an insurrection?  It is a charge even Silivia substantiates.  Understand?  I must remove what remains of the thoughtmaster Q’rin in order to defeat the nullifier.  If you stay, you will surely be presiding over another war.  What will your admiralty say to this?”

 

“Do you think I give a rat’s__”

 

“James!”

 

“Would you listen to me.”  Jim took Ysaulte’s face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes once more.  Ysaulte held his wrists without trying to pull his hands away, and Jim’s touch became an involuntary caress.  “Ambassador, everybody keeps forgetting Star Fleet has given me my orders, and I’m supposed to do what you say,” Jim reminded her, his tone as gentle as his touch.  He was never more thankful for the luxury of obedience!

 

“I doubt Admiral Zeitsev had this in mind,” Ysaulte told him dryly.

 

“Are you ever going to tell me how you know him?”

 

“One of these days, if the Fates are kind to us,” she answered, that shadowed fear crossing her thoughts once more.  Ysaulte might try to hide it, but she still wished Jim was far away from here… and Jim decided he was tired of the discussion.

 

Wrapping his fingers around the ZaworthIan’s throat, Jim lowered his mouth to hers.

 

“Do you really want me to leave you, my beautiful Lady?  Don’t you need me?”

 

Ysaulte could not possibly prevaricate.

 

“Of course I do.”  She slid her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, settling on each side of his neck.  “I am so much less without thee, a’shas, but the danger is such that I felt I had to try to convince__”

 

“I understand, and I forgive you,” Jim murmured against her lips, before kissing her with deliberate, thorough care.

 

“Well, thanks.  Thou wilt stop at nothing to persuade me, I see,” Ysaulte eventually noted.

 

“Nothing, Ysaulte.  We’re in this together.  Now tell me, how does your magic belt fit into all this?”

 

“Magic?  May be.  The KamarIa is a weapon, half of a whole and separated from its other.  The KamarIa, with Radomil, are creations of will for the use of the Talented.”

 

“Created as weapons?”  Jim asked, not certain he understood completely.

 

“Yes.  Meant to focus will.”

 

“And the other half, Radomil? is at that place Silivia was talking about.  What did she call it?”

 

“d’han geaa,” Ysaulte confirmed, with an arched eyebrow for his neatly glossed-over confession of eavesdropping.

 

“You know, you look wonderful,” Jim said quickly, and she let him distract her.  “We should go.  Spock and Bones will be worrying.”

 

“I can scarcely feature their remaining behind.”

 

Jim chuckled; taking her hand and leading her back to the house as he recounted the conversation Bones had had with the councilman Laaru on that very issue.  By the time they arrived at Silivia’s, Ysaulte was laughing out loud.

 

***

 

Dyer dashed in bare moments before Jim and Ysaulte.  McCoy marked this with an elbow to Spock’s ribs, which the Vulcan bore with stoic patience.  Dyer’s timing did not particularly surprise Spock, who had suspected the boy of conducting surveillance for the elder when he had failed to come in with her earlier.  As for the elder herself, even to Spock’s eyes she appeared irritated, saying nothing beyond a terse report that the captain and his Lady would be along soon.

 

True to her usual form, Ysaulte entered the room relaxed and smiling, instantly persuading them to share her mood.  The doctor was the first to go to her, followed by Spock, who inspected her and Jim closely.

 

“Jim.  Ysaulte.  You look__”  Bones shook his head.  Beautiful, he wanted to say.  Invulnerable.  “__fine,” he settled for muttering, ignoring Spock’s rising eyebrow.

 

"The ul ku Tuura care has evidently been… adequate,” the first officer added, so pointedly letting McCoy off the hook Ysaulte wanted to laugh.

 

“Silivia’s kindness most thorough,” she informed them, bowing her head to the Muuyean elder.

 

On a whim, Jim escorted Ysaulte toward where Silivia stood with Dyer and Laaru.

 

“Thank you, Councilman,” Jim said smoothly, nothing but gratitude in his tone.  “I must congratulate you on your eye for fashion.  I have seldom seen clothing suit the Lady so well.”

 

“Elegantly put, Captain,” Laaru remarked, silently asking Silivia which of their guests was superior at the double entendre.

 

“I imagine you want to talk some more,” Silivia interjected as if she was simply thinking out loud.  She had found this a useful diversion for centuries.  “Your situation, that is.”

 

“I imagine we do,” Jim responded, and just to prove something, added in a dry tone, “I’m sure you want to hear Dyer’s report.”

 

“Huh.  Terrans talk too much,” Silivia announced as a parting shot, shooing her people out ahead of her.  “Don’t take all day.”

 

“She’s got a lot of nerve,” McCoy accused admiringly when the elder followed her council out and left the landing party alone.

 

“They all do,” Jim stated, grinning.  “So do we.  We’ve learned a few things__”

 

“Your pardon, Captain,” Spock interrupted, one long finger aimed at the Lady’s chain belt.  “What manner of mechanism is this?”

 

Jim caught back his impatience, recognizing with resignation that nothing was going to happen until the Vulcan satisfied his curiosity.  Especially when Spock’s curiosity only echoed that within Ysaulte, who could hardly wait to see how logic was going to react to this.

 

“No mechanism, a’he’Ra.  This is the KamarIa, spirit bound and magic.”

 

“I see,” in that tone which so obviously did not.  “I am unfamiliar with this type of metal.”

 

“In all the universe, there is but one other example of it.”

 

“I suppose it is connected to some legend,” Spock invited.

 

Ysaulte regarded the Vulcan and wondered how much more legend any of them could stand.  Who needed another old story to compare one’s self against?  Then again, maybe she was just scared of telling this particular tale.  No matter.  Right now they had the future to contend with, and the present, and it was time to… let the chips fall.

 

  “The story can wait.  Know you that the KamarIa is the living proof__”

 

“Living?”

 

“__of my obligation here.  This is an obligation, I might add, from which I have attempted to dissuade James.”

 

“I have refused to be dissuaded,” the captain told them steadily.  “I have no illusions about the uncertainly of what lies ahead.  The nullifying field emanates from the continued existence of the Romulan thoughtmaster Q’rin.”

 

“The KamarIa verifies this,” the ZaworthIan said to their doubt.  “It intensifies the evidence of will, worked.  The immortal remains of Q’rin razS a’Man extant unto the very stone and laid into the mountains.”

 

“The nullifier has to be removed,” Jim started to explain.

 

“Do you mean to tell me, we have to exorcise some undead spirit?”  McCoy demanded, long gone past skepticism.

 

Jim actually ducked, wincing at the doctor’s tone.

 

“Bones, you and Spock don’t have to stay.  You can probably still go back through the tunnels and beam up to the ship.”

 

“Jim, have you lost your__ strike that, we’ve already established that.  I’m not about to leave you and Ysaulte alone down here.  Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you.”

 

“Spock?”

 

“I shall also remain, Captain, unless you order otherwise,” Spock replied, hoping he didn’t have to admit the truth.  He could no more leave Ysaulte than leave Jim, irrespective of orders or their sanity in being here.

 

“Very well, gentlemen, and thank you.  I think.  Ysaulte?”

 

“You do know, danger exists in the mage’s chamber,” she warned in an uneven whisper, because the unadmitted truth was her specialty.

 

“Yeah, well, didn’t you know, danger is our middle name,” Bones quipped sarcastically.  “How are we supposed to find these damned possessed rocks?”

 

“I will take you there,” Silivia said, stepping back in with Dyer at her side.  “It is my right, and my responsibility.”

 

“Even so, elder Sister.  Even so.”

 

***

 

It was almost noon by the Etumuuyea sun when the landing party, with its ul ku Tuura guides, traveled the width of the valley to climb the farside slopes.  The land on this side was steeper and rougher, striking Jim as somehow newer.  He knew without being told they were nearing the place where this chain of mountains had been linked.

 

“It’s incredible to think Ilyuuron and Iananthe were so powerful together, Ysaulte,” he mentioned to her as they worked their way along a path so faint Jim had mentally labeled it a goat trail.

 

“That they were together is the key.  A total worth more than the sum of their parts.”

 

“The nullifying field is getting stronger,” he noted next, very aware of the increasing effects.

 

“The residue of the mage’s will appears on every rock.  I worry.”

 

"Why?  You don’t think it’s going to be too much for us!”

 

He sounded so plainly, honestly surprised that Ysaulte had to giggle.

 

“The universe bends to thy will, James,” she assured him as he took her hand, and for a while the trail got a little easier.

 

Eventually the path deteriorated into an almost impenetrable maze of crevices.  Just when it became an actual tunnel bored into the mountains, Jim wasn’t sure.  There was a glow in the stone surrounding them that made it seem lighter than day.

 

“The thoughtmaster,” Ysaulte informed them, her voice pitched for everyone to hear.  “We near the center of his influence.”

 

“I feel it,” Jim realized.  In fact, he thought the psionic pressure was increasing, lowering with growing threat.

 

Another twist in the passage brought them up against an unexpected obstacle__ a dead end.

 

“What now?”  Bones asked.  “Where do we go?”

 

“We go as we wish!”  Ysaulte startled them by insisting loudly, gesturing at the featureless stone.  The air became abruptly stifling, thickening with heat.

 

The ZaworthIan never faltered, refusing to recognize the swelling presence, which was as great a defense against it as anything.  She had her own power, gathering…

 

The luminous rockshine blazed brighter, challenged.

 

“Ignore it!”  Ysaulte ordered, tone harsh.  “Push it away!  Be there none here stronger than we!” and since this was what Jim believed, the conviction resounded between every member of the party.  The ul ku Tuura added their own assurance, being in no fear of their continued existence and trusting the ZaworthIan’s ability to ensure it.  Spock anchored them all in his eternal Vulcan certitude, and Ysaulte needed only one other thing to help her strike (and without the KamarIa, of which she was yet uncertain).

 

“Leonard, I need you, but you cannot help me if you are still suspicious of my reach.”

 

McCoy inspected the Lady, who had turned to face him.  Her hands touched both sides of the stone corridor as she barred his way.  Wondering if the rocks were hot to touch, he laid his hands beside hers.  They were.

 

“Whatever you need, Ysaulte,” he said, staring into the restive shimmer of her irises.  He thought of everything she had done for them, and everything she was trying to do, and realized he wasn’t afraid of her any more.  He was finally ready to take her on faith.  “Will you forgive me for every time I underestimated you?”  He asked to her hearing alone, as the ZaworthIan seized his will and joined it to hers, drawing on his fiery spirit.

 

“Always, Brother,” Ysaulte spared a moment to answer, turning again to face Jim, Silivia, Spock, and Dyer, but looking past them at the blank rock barrier.

 

They watched Ysaulte brace herself, lowering her shoulders as if preparing for a blow, or a burden.

 

“James?”

 

“I’m ready.”

 

Not even raising her hands, the ZaworthIan merely wished and made it so… or so it seemed to her companions, who stared on as the stone dissolved before their eyes to reveal the continued length of the tunnel.  The heated glow of the walls vanished cool, leaving them in silvery dimness.

 

“Where does the light come from, Ysaulte?”  Dyer inquired, while the adults around him took a moment to catch their collective breath.

 

“We must learn, Dyer.”

 

Single file, with Jim taking the lead, they navigated around another bend, where the passage opened into a small cavern.  Simple, but in no way unimpressive, for the rock felt alive with interest.

 

“d’han geaa,” Silivia said softly, pointing to a plain wooden door set into the far wall.  Before the door was revealed the source of the illumination… one more example of glaring unreality.

 

Hanging horizontally across the door was a shining silver sword; there and not-there in the way of mystic things, near-illusion, unsupported.

 

“Radomil.”  Ysaulte’s strangled whisper cut through them.  “Radomil, t’saie khar’sha?”  Radomil, wilt thou come to me?

 

The ZaworthIan’s hands came up involuntarily and the sword fell away from the door to land in her grasp, something Jim witnessed with a sort of unsurprised disbelief.  Energy jolted through Ysaulte and into him, easily handled and balanced between them, although that ease did nothing to diminish the pure rush of force.

 

“Thou beloved treasure, thou art as legend pains thee, and free of ill.  I should have known,” Ysaulte said out loud, a murmured laugh in her voice.  Laying the blade flat against her right arm, Ysaulte wrapped the fingers of her left hand around the hilt and held the sword before her horizontally.

 

“Lady of stars, do you know how__”

 

“This legend of Za!” and the ZaworthIan’s laughter became exultant as the power in the sword connected to the power in the KamarIa, hardly subject to her restraint for one brilliant, lingering moment.  “Radomil, Za’aIa sha’va’ir.”

 

Blinking at the light in their eyes, the rest of them almost missed seeing the sword collapse at Ysaulte’s command.  It transformed into a palm sized oval disc, which she touched to her forehead then set against her left hip (her gun hand, Jim thought idly).  The disc fastened itself in some indeterminate manner and melted into the design, matching it, one other example of that strange metal.  Even without its illusory luminescence, the cavern was far from dark, being illuminated by what the men recognized as the ZaworthIan’s own psionic resonance.  She was that much stronger.

 

“Ysaulte.”  Jim steadied her by hand and mind.  “Tell us about it.”

 

“The Daysword, Radomil.  By history, it was forged from the blood of our sun, aShaiLan and created for the defense of our Mother Za.  It was the weapon of the first Zaltana, Akilah du’Kefirah.  Radomil is as old as Za Herself, a symbol of our place within the All… and gone so long from home.”  The husky ache in Ysaulte’s tone made Jim’s chest hurt.  “I cannot possibly explain what it will mean to my Sisters to know it still exists.”

 

“If you live to get it there,” the ul ku Tuura elder said impatiently, wary of the younger woman’s distracted fascination.  “Is the thoughtmaster going to wait for you?”

 

Ysaulte’s irises glittered like black ice, and Jim’s grip on her tightened.  Both actions gave Silivia pause, which was all Dyer needed.

 

“If we aren’t minutes away from destruction, Lady Ysaulte, will you tell us how the Daysword came to be?”

 

Those irises frosted emerald with the ZaworthIan’s wicked grin.

 

“The one owed the tale,” she concurred, nodding at Spock.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” McCoy muttered under his breath, not so low that Ysaulte couldn’t hear it.

 

“Until we open the door, we… haven’t committed to battle,” she told them somberly, her use of the military term deliberate.

 

Bones shook his head with an unexpected smile.

 

“We’re committed, Ysaulte… or we oughta be.”

 

“What?” then James explained it to her, and Ysaulte’s expression warmed.

 

“Mad we may be,” she conceded.  Becoming aware of Spock’s patient curiosity, she drew Radomil from her belt and handed it to him.

 

Spock registered this as another act of faith, bowing over Ysaulte’s fingers as he accepted the object.  Examining the opalescent exterior of the disc, he discovered something that astonished him.  Deep in the metallic surface there were colors rivaled only by those echoed in the ZaworthIan’s irises.

 

“How is it operated?”

 

“One must__”

 

Silivia gasped in shock.  The reaction could hardly go unnoticed, although she controlled herself quickly.

 

“Your pardon, Ysaulte.  I do not presume to doubt you, but do you know what it means to give this information to an outworlder?”

 

“We are all outworlders here, daughter of Iananthe.  You should be the first in echoing this sentiment.  This world may fall to invasion, and without our efforts, this world without defense.  My Sisters will not move knowing nothing of our motives for aid.”  The Lady’s voice softened as she gestured at Jim, Spock, and Bones. “Besides, these I take to my heart know whatever they choose.”

 

Unable to respond to this barefaced confession of vulnerability, the ul ku Tuura elder shrugged.

 

“All right,” Silivia nodded.  “Tell him the legend of its creation before you show him how to use it, for tradition’s sake.”

 

Ysaulte buried a sigh.

 

“Very well.  The tale of the Daysword’s creation.

 

“In distant days, early in the existence of people, was born to Khorodon, the King of the House du’Kefirah, a daughter he named Akilah.  From the one’s birth she was marked, for she held sight beyond sight, voice beyond voice, and knowledge beyond years.

 

“Fair grown to youth, the one was forced to flee her homeland on its invasion.  The king’s line was the first slain by the conquerors, who coveted the throne, and Akilah suffered the loss of every member of her family.  That Akilah escaped was not chance, for her life was spared by condition of her leaving, but the one swore an eventual return.

 

“Taking unto mountains, Akilah bided her time, studied the Way of things, and learned to hear the voice of our Mother Za.  As it happened, those in violation of the land ad’Kefirah’za’de began to plant the seeds of their own destruction.  The people of the House Me’ereden were a people of might, but their use of the land unkind, and the land not theirs by blood nor right and knowing this.

 

“Passed years, and one by another member of the House Me’ereden met their death, and all at the land’s level.  These tragedies are remembered by Za’s children, that we might never share them; Morven, dead by earthslide.  Moshe his brother, lost to flood.  Son Dabit to windstorm.  Loss followed loss; the land sickening with grief, until in time, only left living in the usurped palace a’d’Kef was Matope,

 

“Came down mountain she whose place was there, the Princess Akilah.  In confrontation, Matope presumed to challenge the one leave, which Akilah could never do.  Not again.

 

“Matope took the Fire Throne.  Akilah asked the one cede.  When he refused, Akilah called storms until the palace fell to rubble.  Still, Matope foreswore leaving and dared Akilah to force him out, casting such poison as to further blight her land, for such was Matope’s ignorance of the Way of things.

 

“Akilah sorrowed, unable to bear the pain in the world, until our Mother appeared to her in body and comforted her.  The world Akilah’s, and this the Me’ereden never comprehended.

 

“Akilah bade the sun fall from the sky and come to her hands; Za, in turn, spoke for the one to her brother aShaiLan, begging a single drop of his beloved blood, which he surrendered out of his passion for her.

 

“Akilah, by virtue of hearing and speaking the voice of our Mother Za, became Zaltana.  She fashioned by mind a sword from the molten blood of our sun and named it Radomil, after her hunger for peace.  In wielding Radomil, Akilah subsumed Matope’s spirit into the land and restored it.  Her Talent was such that the land was made whole, even to the full reintegration of the palace a’d’Kef.”

 

Ysaulte took Spock’s right hand, curling his fingers around the ovoid.

 

“Bring thou thy will to bear, Brother, and wish thou Radomil appear.  Bid thou the Daysword.  Need thou only wish to make it so.”

 

With no choice but to believe her, Spock turned his gaze on the warm metal disc.

 

“Radomil, tu qal dutua,” he commanded in Vulcan, curious to learn if it would make a difference.  It did not.  In the space of his heartbeat the metal twisted and grew, until he held the shining silver sword full length before him, having to lay its blade against his sleeve while he adjusted to the sudden weight.  “Fascinating,” he had to say, aware of the life in the thing.  “I do not perceive a sentience, however__”

 

“Radomil lives, in truth, Spock.”

 

Spock didn’t know if he heard Ysaulte out loud or not, and decided he did not care.

 

“What was done with Radomil and the KamarIa is what the Lady Iananthe was attempting to do with Q’rin razS a’Man and the ul Nru,” the first officer extrapolated, based on the evidence at hand… so to speak.

 

“I believe so.  These antiquae of Za are spirit laden, as are the ul Nru embedded with the continued presence of Q’rin razS a’Man… and the one restless.”  The ZaworthIan stopped for a moment, openly debating with herself over what to add, if anything, then cleared her throat and went on.  “The ability to see this done, this soul-ensconcing, requires the Talent of a Zaltana.  The e’Negah Iananthe was gifted in creative thought, but incapable of completing the process as must be done.  That the one came so near success speaks well of her, and no doubt owing to her mother’s blood, no disrespect intended, Silivia and Dyer.  See you, the union meant to last as long as the planet.”

 

“Iananthe’s has lasted four thousand years,” the elder noted.

 

“Indeed,” Ysaulte said in genuine tribute to her long dead Sister.

 

“What happened to Akilah, Ysaulte?  After she became Zaltana?”

 

“I cannot feature your reason for wanting to know, Leonard, but I shall tell you as we are told.”  It took Ysaulte a minute to pull the remembered tale from the back of her mind.  She had not heard it since she was a small child.  Who had told her?  Oh, yes, Anthe herself.  When?

 

Ysaulte did remember now.  She had been left on ZaworthIa for training while her parents were parsecs and parsecs away.  Very much a solitary person, even as a child, she had taken to wandering at night, and with a ‘voice’ too loud in her unhappiness.  Anthe had caught her up, comforted her… and this particular story just the first.  One of many occasions when a fractious child had been put to sleep with a story only she could hear.  The memory made her smile.

 

“You would name this human nature, Leonard.  The Zaltana Akilah, living as she did on a world of telepaths, was known and feared by all.  No living person dared ad’Kefirah’za’de’s borders.  The one spent long years alone.

 

“There came a winter fiercer than any past, catching in it a man who traveled from the southernmost continent and not experienced of cold.  The one’s name was Tal Reiss.  He was considered unremarkable save for one thing; the one was essentially psi-null.  Being so, Tal Reiss knew nothing of the Zaltana, not even her name, for these closely guarded among the Talented.”  Always teaching, the K’intohrza Anthe, and the manner of the lesson rarely clear.

 

“Tal Reiss arrived on a’d’Kef in the midst of a blinding snow, and he saw neither physical barrier nor defenses placed by mind.  He sought only surcease, staggering into the palace’s great hall to crawl beside the fire.

 

“There the Zaltana found him the next morn, for such was his lack of mental voice, his presence failed to alert her sooner.”  As an aside, Ysaulte informed them this ability was now recognized as an enormous Talent in itself.

 

“Akilah, intrigued, tended the one well and learned to adore him for his silence.  When Tal Reiss recovered and the weather cleared, it was with heavy heart the Zaltana bade the one fare well, his travel to resume.

 

“Tal Reiss walked a hundred steps when he began to hear a crying.  He walked a hundred more when it stopped, as did Tal Reiss.  It came to the one at last; he could never leave Akilah.

 

“By the time Tal Reiss walked back into the palace, the whole of Za was hearing Akilah’s laughter.  She bore her Prince a dynasty, Leonard."

 

“I’m a sucker for a happy ending, Ysaulte,” Bones admitted, getting her to share his grin.

 

“Then it is their spirits which still animate the sword and belt,” the Vulcan concluded.

 

“Not precisely.  In the way of our people, Akilah and Tal Reiss passed into their next life at the end of their days in the world.  What we feel in Radomil, and d’KamarIa are only… echoes.”

 

“With that much power?”

 

“Do thou never doubt it.”

 

“What now, Lady Ysaulte?”  Dyer asked hurriedly before the adults around him could get sidetracked again.  “What do we do next?”

 

“Next?”  Ysaulte closed her eyes.  “We open the door, I suppose.”

 

Long silence took the party and held them, while they turned as a body to regard that modest portal.

 

“Is this the hard part?”  Jim wondered wryly, aware of Ysaulte’s subtle reluctance.

 

“One of,” Ysaulte agreed.  “I am sorry.”

 

“For what?  Coming up against something that might be beyond your control?  Ysaulte.”  Jim shook his head and made a tsk tsk tsk sound, then drew her to face him.  “I know it hasn’t happened very often, but get used to it.  It happens to everybody.  We aren’t looking for guarantees, we don’t expect you to be infallible or omniscient.  Why do you expect these things of yourself?”

 

“I act for my Sisters, James.”

 

“And they’re all waiting to see how you’re going to handle this.  I understand, but I’ve got news for your Sisters, Ysaulte.  Whatever happens when we open that door, you are not responsible, because you are not in command.  I am.”

 

Anybody listening with just ears would have thought Jim’s words harsh and peremptory.  Jim and Ysaulte had an audience that heard better, and even they anticipated an argument.  So everybody was effectively startled by the huge smile that lit the ZaworthIan’s face.

 

“Understood, Captain, with my thanks for… the luxury of obedience.”

 

In serving her notice of her limitations, James only freed her of them, and Ysaulte wondered if he had any idea how relieved she was to be in his charge.  Responsibility for herself alone was one thing; taking authority over others was something else again__ and none more suited for that duty than her Terran Prince of stars.  Of course he was in command.  James T. Kirk was ever thus, where ever he was.

 

She laid one palm against his cheek and asked him if he knew how much she loved him.

 

“Naturally, you will do as I wish,” she remarked out loud, greatly pleased to see they all knew right away she was only teasing.

 

“Oh, naturally, my Lady.  And to answer your other question,” you’ll just have to show me, later, Jim said into her mind before releasing her.  It was a rosy and breathless ZaworthIan who straightened to take the Daysword from Spock.

 

“Za’aIa sha’va’ir, Radomil,” Ysaulte requested, and again they watched the glowing metal collapse into an oval disc the ZaworthIan secured to her belt.

 

“You aren’t going to use it to open the door?”  Dyer asked, surprised.

 

“My thought, its use too easy, and a waste of strength we might later need,” the Lady answered.

 

Moving to stand in front of the wooden panel, Ysaulte ran her hands over its frame without actually touching it, once with eyes open and once with them closed.  Jim, standing behind her, shivered against the force of her psionic probe.

 

“The portal guarded.  As daughter of Iananthe, Silivia, you are needed in its opening, if you wish it open, my Lord James.”

 

“Like we have a choice?”  Jim rubbed the back of his neck, thinking it through one more time.  “Ysaulte, is it a question of removing the thoughtmaster, or destroying him?”

 

Jim asked, but everyone realized they all had that question.

 

Ysaulte was relieved to hear it out loud.  She’d been wracking her brain trying to figure out what was bothering her most about going further with this.

 

“Well.  I submit to you, we face no less a dilemma than Iananthe’s.  It is well within my power to eradicate the mage from all existence, thus ridding this world of his influence.  For me to… free Q’rin of these mountains will require the Talent of a Zaltana.”  The ZaworthIan had the nerve to laugh.  “As you command it, Captain, I shall attempt it, but I cannot promise success… and forgive my humor.  It is only that I am very pleased I can be commanded.”  Ysaulte’s irises darkened as she looked at Spock, mood abruptly sober.  “You know, there are other considerations.”

 

“The… transplantation of katra has not been performed on Vulcan since ancient times, to my knowledge.  I am not qualified to counsel you on this.”

 

“Please, Spock, don’t tell me.  Of course, you are.  I cannot tell you how many times over the last few days I have heard someone think this;  “As Spock goes, so goes Vulcan.”  So we are met here, I believe.  Your counsel needed.”  Ysaulte held her palms open.

 

The faintest of grins hovered across Spock’s face.  He allowed it, sure she knew what he was going to say.

 

“My counsel would be to do as you think best, my Lady Ysaulte.  Is it your wish to destroy the thoughtmaster?”

 

The ZaworthIan smiled, eyes lightening to that happy turquoise hue.

 

“I have learned in these few days spent among you, there is little profit in vengeance, and the taking of life merely cheapens one’s own.  This being true, it is my heartfelt wish, a’he’Ra, even knowing I may fail, to see Q’rin survive his… relocation.”  The Lady bowed.  “Friend thou art, Spock, for asking.”

 

Spock, who also knew who prompted that decision, could only bow in return.

 

“Ysaulte, what’s the worst case scenario?”  Bones requested quietly.

 

“Q’rin razS a’Man resists, destroys us all, and the mountains fall to rubble.”

 

McCoy whistled soundlessly.

 

“And the best case?”  Jim countered.

 

“Q’rin’s spirit will be transferred into a form I can remove by mind__” and that startling laughter broke out of Ysaulte again as she made another decision  “__to Mount Seleya.”

 

“That’s going to come as quite a shock on Mount Seleya, isn’t it?”  Jim said, grinning.  “What’s the most likely case?”

 

“Somewhere between the two, I suppose.  The order thine.”

 

“Iananthe’s dilemma.  Why didn’t she kill the thoughtmaster?”

 

“Her pregnancy, the child she bore Ilyuuron.  Unborn, it was too vulnerable to the negative energies around it.”

 

“So she took a chance.”

 

“And fashioned a psionic binding which proved only temporary, and bequeathed her problem to history.  Even so, James, she did the best she could.  I do not fault her.  In the one's doings, she ruined the voice of her will and silenced her mind, exiling herself from her homeworld and her family.  The cost most high, and unjust.”

 

“It’s not fair to any of us, Ysaulte,” Jim pointed out seriously.  He hated to see her take on such a burden, for she'd born so much already.  All he could do was help her bear it.

 

“I suppose your family line goes all the way back to Akilah du Kefirah,” he remarked on a sudden whim, watching emeralds replace the gray clouds in her eyes as she nodded.  “Do you know,” Jim wondered into her heart, “how honored I am to be with you, and how much a part of me wants a permanent place in this dynasty?  I could almost wish we… shared Iananthe’s restriction.”

 

“My best beloved, I have always told thee, as thou wish it, so shall it be… and the honor mine… yet know, thy place in the history of my world already stands secure for the next ten thousand years.”

 

“Ysaulte.”  Jim took her hands and lifted them to his mouth. “Open the door.”

 

“Wait.”  Silivia stepped up to the door and inspected the aged wood uneasily.  “Dyer, what is your thought?”

 

The boy stuck his hand in Silivia’s.

 

“I expect Ilyuuron said he wasn’t ready for this either, when it happened to him.”

 

“There is a Terran saying… let sleeping dogs lie,” Silivia remarked.

 

“Are you having second thoughts, Lady Silivia?  It’s your world__”

 

“No, James, although I forgive you for misunderstanding.  By blood, circumstances, and sworn word, the world Ysaulte’s.”  No sooner had the answer left the elder’s moth did she realize its truth.  “Child, do as you must.  If you can stand the Muuyean version of your saying, as Silivia goes, so goes Etumuuyea.”

 

Dyer giggled.

 

“You should see how much Ryu Gnaur hates it when she shows up in Aruun!  She drives him crazy!  Mother always gets her way.”  The little boy informed them with glee.

 

“Must be genetic,” Bones muttered.

 

"Dyer.”  Silivia shook her head at him.

 

“I shall not press him, but soon I shall want to know how his relationship to the Negus is measured,” Ysaulte informed her with a smile before she brought her focus to bear on the door.  Jim was a force in her mind, joined to the ul ku Tuura’s belief in their need for the door to be opened.

 

The ZaworthIan raised her hands, pressing lightly on the door.  The wood seemed to give under her fingers, bouncing back when she removed her touch.  This irritated Ysaulte, being a defense almost insulting in its simplicity, but she was sufficiently self-aware to suspect that reaction might be desired.

 

“Patience.”

 

She put her hands out again, this time directly on the door, palms flat.  Her perception of the thoughtmaster roared along her nerves.  Q’rin waiting on the other side to see if the door would fall.

 

Taking a breath, Ysaulte set her will on the wood and ordered the dispersal of its component molecules.

 

Jim felt it vanish and still couldn’t stifle his gasp.  Where the wood had barred their passage a bright tunnel appeared.  Chimneys leading to the surface interspersed the rock, and brightened with daylight.

 

The path led up, so no one was surprised when the party emerged into a valley, no more than a tiny clearing hidden in the mountain peaks.

 

“d’han geaa,” Silivia murmured, hardly able to get the words out.  As if they were some signal, the surrounding mountains began to rumble and moan, hot winds sweeping blasts through the summit.

 

“I feared this!  The geas holding the stones together is broken!”  Silivia yelled to make herself heard over the increasingly loud thunder from the land.  “The Beeyt ul ku Tuura will be destroyed!”

 

“Oh no, it won’t!  Dyer!”  Ysaulte shouted for the boy and drew Radomil in the same instant, not hesitating at all.  “Attend me, son of the ul Nru!  Radomil, h’rtria’sk az’or!”  Swinging the lengthening sword overhead, the ZaworthIan sent out a visible curtain of showering light to fall around them.  Dyer crouched to run to her side, laying one hand on the KamarIa without being told.  “You are Ilyuuron’s heir!  Straint thou thy mountains, Brother!”

 

Jim felt the boy add his power of mind to Ysaulte’s, and was again forced into gulping his air.  He and Ysaulte had suspected it, Silivia had alluded to it, but he still hadn’t been prepared for the radiant purity of Dyer’s Talent.  The ul ku Tuura boy ascended readily to the punishingly fierce level at which Ysaulte operated, sustaining a mental grip on his ancestral land the ZaworthIan could use to enforce quiet on the tremors.

 

This settled into a battle of wills, between the living and the dead, with a clear threat to both woman and child.

 

“What do you want me to do?”  Jim asked, ducking to brace Ysaulte as the ground heaved then settled.

 

“I must have the measure of the mage’s thoughts to act,” she told him, too late recognizing her stupidity.  Her Terran sorcerer was too well learned, taking all her lessons to ‘gather’ himself and ‘jump’__

 

“James!”  Reacting, Ysaulte started to follow him, stopped only by the renewed trembling in the ground.  “No!  Damn!”  She screamed out of fury as the reality of the situation became plain.  She could not leave Dyer to hold the ul Nru alone, which meant leaving James alone to meet Q’rin.

 

“Spock!”  Turning, the ZaworthIan flung the sword at the Vulcan, hilt first.   He caught it easily, holding it blade high.  “Take Radomil.  Follow him__”

 

“Ysaulte, how will the sword manifest on a psionic plane?”

 

“Don’t ask questions, Spock!”  She ordered wildly.  “Just go!”

 

Spock went, one eyebrow rising as his body collapsed on the grass beside Jim.  The Daysword promptly vanished into thin air.  It was left to Silivia and Bones to tend the motionless figures of the captain and first officer, while Ysaulte and Dyer joined hands and minds to suborn the quakes.  The task, for the ZaworthIan, was now twice as difficult; without Radomil, and with her worry for Jim and Spock.

 

***

 

Jim was congratulating himself on managing the transition from his physical existence to the one within reach of his mind.  The way he saw it, he was doing the best thing for all of them.  He couldn’t stand aside and watch Ysaulte overextend herself, which is what she would have been doing, although he thought she thought he didn’t know that… anyway, she would have risked her life, when he had sufficient opportunity, and willpower.  How strong could the mage’s spirit be?  He’d been trapped for four thousand years.

 

Sensing a presence, Jim spoke.

 

“Q’rin razS a’Man!”

 

“Impertinent soul.  What manner of lifeform art thou, to so announ’ mine name?”  Facing what was left of the thoughtmaster was intensely unreal to Jim.  He could see nothing, but he was being spoken to in Old Form Vulcan that interpreted itself directly into his mind.  Jim wouldn’t let himself think he might have miscalculated, but the vibrancy in the presence surrounding him did give him pause.  Evidently, four thousand years hadn’t weakened Q’rin (enough?) much.  “Speak!”

 

“My race was unknown in your time, Sir.  I come from a planet called Earth, the third planet orbiting our Sun.”  For once, Jim was glad of the anonymity in the vain Standard euphemisms… and how had his words come out in the thoughtmaster’s language?  “My kind are called Terrans, or more generally, humans.  My name is James.”

 

“Huh.  I perceive youth.”

 

“In the eyes of your people we are a young race.”

 

An odd distance overtook Jim, which he recognized as the thoughtmaster’s shielding over his private musings.  That he was aware of it gave Jim hope that he might get past it…  then it was gone in the strength of Q’rin’s interest.

 

“Humans.  What know ye of my world?”

 

“Your homeworld is known to us as Vulcan, the heart of an interstellar congress of worlds called the United Federation of Planets.  Your people are respected throughout the galaxy for their intelligence and clarity of thought.”

 

“And the homeworld.  Peaceful?”

 

Jim could not dodge, deny, or delay.  He knew that.  So he gritted his mental teeth and hoped for the best, and answered.

 

“Yes, Sir, it is.”

 

“So Surak prevailed,” Q’rin remarked without surprise.

 

Jim deemed it politic to think nothing further on the subject, occupying himself with trying to recall more Vulcan/Romulan pre-history.

 

“How many years gone, human?”

 

“Four thousand Standard years," and a voice in the back of Jim’s mind dug up the correct Vulcan term for that length of time, repeating it to the mage.

 

“A long time.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

There was a distance again, but this time Jim could almost hear Q’rin’s thoughts.  Almost.

 

“What of my Fleet?”

 

Jim hesitated despite himself, and knew Q’rin noticed.

 

“They took possession of a pair of worlds__”

 

“This I know.”

 

“__and founded an Empire spanning hundreds of planets.  The Federation knows them as Romulans, or more properly, Rihannsu.”

 

“Not part of the Federation.”

 

“No.”

 

“And relations between the two?”

 

“Remain tenuous, at best.”

 

“War?”

 

“There has been.”

 

“Fascinating,” Q’rin declared, his interest in Jim somehow increasing.  “Tell me who won.”

 

“It was a… draw,” Jim replied, having to explain the term to the mage’s satisfaction, and only then realizing they were now speaking in Standard.  He was afraid to wonder what else Q’rin might have learned.

 

“Is there a balance of power?”  Q’rin asked, reminding Jim the man had been a tactician in more bodily days.

 

“Most of the time,” he said slowly, remember a few of the times when that balance had shifted, and sharing the memories with the thoughtmaster.

 

“You have a great deal of respect for your foes, human.  What of the Sisters of Za?”

 

Instinct alert Jim to sudden danger, a perception the mage could scarcely ignore. 

 

Q’rin said nothing.  In his opinion, the human mastered himself well. 

 

Jim got a grip on himself and gave the only response he could.

 

“ZaworthIa, and her children… endure.”

 

Astonishingly, this brought a smile to the thoughtmaster’s mind, which he openly shared with Jim.

 

“Tell me, what is Za’s place in the galaxy?”

 

“ZaworthIa has isolated herself for millennia, and is unaligned with either Federation or Empire.”

 

Jim felt an odd tingle in his mind, and knew Q’rin searched him for the truth.  Since his words had been true, as far as they went, the thoughtmaster found no contradiction.

 

“Then thou art bound to a Lady of Za.  So thou doth as thou doth.”

 

Jim decrypted this after a moment’s review.

 

“That’s how I have the ability to meet you like this,” he agreed.

 

“You do not deny it?”

 

“Never.”

 

 Q’rin considered that.

 

“You are strong, human.  What occupies you in the life of the body?”

 

“I am a starship captain.”

 

“The stars.”

 

Q’rin tried to block his reaction, but he couldn’t do it fast enough.  Jim had already struck on this key to unlocking the mage’s shields.  Will rushed over and through them, as their minds exposed this mutual understanding, as well as a certain… thirst.  Also shared.

 

“So mages live between stars, now.  I salute thee, Captain.  How do you humans see so clearly?  Know thou my soul.”

 

“Because I know mine, thoughtmaster.  Do you wish to be free of this planet, Sir?  Q’rin razS a’Man, do you no longer want the ul Nru?”  Now that Jim could verify his own truths, he felt up to asking.

 

“You say I have been here for millennia.”

 

“But do you wish to remain?”

 

“Wishes are dangerous, starlord.  Once, I wished for these mountains.  I wanted them, dreamed of possessing them, living upon them and staring down at my Muuyean sheep, superior.  I even challenged Ilyuuron himself for them, and have you appreciated the fact that I got precisely for what I wished?”

 

“That was then.  What do you want now?  I have to know.”

 

“Now?  Now I am grown weary of existence thus.  Would freedom be mine, I might rejoice, but with respect, I doubt you are sufficient to the task, and I am too old and too tired to wish any more.”

 

“What of the wishes of others?  It is the wish of my Lady Ysaulte to free you, Q’rin, and return your katra to the Hall of Ancient Thought on Mount Seleya.”

 

“You lie!” Q’rin protested, even knowing he was wrong to say this, for the alien sorcerer spoke honestly, from his soul.  Unable to silence his disbelief, Q’rin let it keep talking.  “I cannot be freed.  It is impossible.”

 

“We don’t believe that,” Jim said simply, aware of Ysaulte’s efforts in his perception’s periphery… as well as another presence.  Spock!  How did he shield himself from the mage?  He bore Radomil!  Jim recognized the implications right away.  Ysaulte would be holding the ul Nru, she and Dyer alone.  He had to hurry up and convince Q’rin of the potential alternatives.  “Ysaulte of ZaworthIa can do it, with your help.”

 

“Mine!”

 

Q’rin wanted to discount this as a madman’s ravings, but underneath his surface desire, his interest was well and truly caught.  Jim, sensing it, held his imagined breath and waited.

 

“How can I help?”

 

The answer to Q’rin’s suspicious question presented itself by inspiration.

 

“You can stop the tremors in the ul Nru, for one.”

 

“Oh, indeed!”  Q’rin actually laughed.  “I was wondering when you would ask!”

 

Jim suffered a peculiar flux in his mind then felt his inner vision clear, and realized the mage was looking through his eyes to see Ysaulte.

 

By now, she and Dyer were on their knees, each with one hand on the ground and one hand holding the other’s.  Dyer looked badly tired, but the ZaworthIan continued to subdue the mountains to only the occasional shrug.

 

“She too is strong, which behooves the woman of a strong man.  Do you believe she can do what you say?”  Q’rin asked the human.  He really wanted to be persuaded.

 

“If you will permit it,” Jim answered honestly.

 

“I see.”  A singularly Vulcan aggravation moved through Jim as Q’rin expressed his dislike at the prospect of getting himself mixed up in more accursed ZaworthIan witchery.  The captain elected to play his trump card.

 

“Perhaps it will comfort you to know the Lady is not solely of ZaworthIa, Q’rin razS a’Man.”

 

“Huh.  Very well.  Despite the pinch of my nonexistent liver, I’ll bite.  What else is she, human?”

 

“Stop the tremors, and I’ll tell you.”

 

“Arrogant.  I could just look for myself, you know.”

 

“But you won’t, will you, thoughtmaster?”

 

Jim had the idea Q’rin was thoroughly enjoying himself, hearing again the mage’s rare laughter.

 

“So.  Humans and… Vulcans… are confederates.  I am not surprised.”

 

Psionic energy pulsed forth from the mage, circling Jim to dissipate across his mental borders, vanishing__

 

***

 

Ysaulte perceived the incoming surge of force with barely enough time to yank Dyer’s hand off the ground and shield him.  She protected the boy and did not quite manage as much for herself, crying out when the backwash sizzled over her nerves and slapped her prone.

 

“Damn it, Q’rin!  Watch what you’re doing!”  Ysaulte could have sworn she heard Jim roar, then she couldn’t hear anything but her blood in her ears as she pushed herself up.

 

“Ysaulte?  Are you all right?  The earthquakes have stopped.  What did you do?”

 

“Not me, Leonard,” she gasped, waving him off.  “James has done something.  I’m all right… see to Dyer.”

 

Trying to balance herself, Ysaulte still stumbled as she went to Jim.  Kneeling, dizzy, beside him, she accepted the thoughtmaster had created the tremors cease, and it scared her to wonder what Jim had mortgaged for the favor.  She watched Silivia and Leonard help Dyer up, while she debated the wisdom of following Jim now… and where was Spock?

 

***

 

Jim quickly determined to acquaint the mage with that very fact.

 

“You should be aware, I’m not alone.”

 

“Don’t underestimate me now, young thoughtmaster.  I know of the one who waits.”

 

“Your pardon.”  Warned, Jim fought down his anger at Q’rin’s rough handling of Ysaulte.  “My friend waits for my order.”

 

“And is shielded by the Daysword of ZaworthIa.  I remember it.  Have your friend return it to the Lady and we will... bargain.  Didn't you have something to tell me?”

 

“I think it’s better demonstrated,” Jim said, finding a grin with his anticipation of the introduction.

 

***

 

Radomil materialized in Spock’s unconscious grasp, at once collapsing into its innocuous ovoid form.  Ysaulte, blanching, left it there in case the Vulcan had call for it, and resigned herself to patience.  She had to believe Spock would not disarm himself in the face of a threat.

 

“Can’t you do something, Ysaulte?  Go get them?”

 

“Leonard, James will call us if he needs us,” Ysaulte said sharply, deliberately paraphrasing McCoy’s own words.

 

“Well spoken, Lady,” came a voice at their backs.  Ysaulte started and almost fell, held from it by Leonard.  She was immediately distracted by Jim and Spock reincorporating.

 

“James?”

 

“I’m all right,” Jim answered her most urgent questions first.  “So is Spock.  We have someone with us__”

 

“Someone!”

 

“Be easy, ZaworthIan.”

 

That voice!  Before Ysaulte even turned, Jim had to stay her hand’s automatic reach for Radomil.  Warrior’s reflexes.

 

“Get a hold of yourself, Ambassador.  We’re all right,” he insisted as he and Spock rose.  Jim helped Ysaulte to her feet.  “Don’t panic.”

 

“Panic?  Why not!”  Ysaulte, knowing the ‘someone’ could only be Q’rin razS a’Man, happened to believe there was reason for panic, but pulled herself together as ordered.  Naturally, for her, fear ran to fury aimed at the mage.

 

“Wouldst thou seek reassurance for thyself!”  She snapped, her outburst abruptly halted by McCoy’s putting a hand over her mouth, which surprised the ZaworthIan so much she lost her train of thought.

 

“Diplomacy, diplomacy,” Bones hissed in her ear before taking his hand away.

 

“Forgive me, thoughtmaster Q’rin,” Ysaulte corrected herself in a tone so loaded with exaggerated conciliation her living listeners lowered their heads instinctively.  So striking a reaction did the Lady find this she was diverted to calm.  This was as well, for her next reaction was looking on the mage’s incarnation.

 

razS a’Man chose to appear as he had in the life of the body, with, however, an unfortunate tendency to transparency at alternating sections of his anatomy; for all the universe fitting the popular human conception of a ghost.  Ysaulte wondered if the thoughtmaster had gotten the idea for his manifestation from Jim.  Whatever the source, it was truly effective.  Q’rin was a formidable sight, very tall and Vulcan but with the most amazing waist-length fall of black hair, kept out of his eyes by a coronet of beaten gold.  Frozen in his prime, he was taller than Spock and nearly as slender, clad in soft robes of desert tan.

 

Bones motioned Silivia and Dyer behind him.  The elder practically dragged the boy along; his stare was so fixed on Ysaulte and the mage.  Those two glared at each other with piercing estimation, eyes meeting across more than meters of grass.

 

Jim and Spock shared one of those supposedly unreadable gazes that really didn’t say much more than ‘thanks for being here’.  This left the entire party grouped at Ysaulte’s back, and not even Jim was inclined to stop her when she approached the waiting apparition.

 

“So, Captain.  She seems no different from any of her kind,” Q’rin remarked.

 

Ysaulte regarded him narrowly, irises a diamond bright glare that faded to black as she perceived, without benefit of telepathy, the hook by which Jim had snared the mage.

 

She lifted her hands to her hair, pulling it away to reveal the elegant slanting pinnae marking her dual heritage.

 

Q’rin razS a’Man put a hand to his own remembered ear, and raised an eyebrow (and made those watching conclude, for the last time, the habit was an inherited trait).

 

“You aren’t one of his kind of Vulcans?”  The thoughtmaster asked sourly, pointing at Spock.  “One of Surak’s?  Bred to peace?”

 

Ysaulte, whose knowledge of Rihannsu/Vulcan pre-history was essentially limited to what she had learned from Jim, understood this was a pivotal issue without quite understanding why.

 

“I am sired of ch’Rihan,” she said quietly, marveling it should all come down to this, again, and her Sisters must have known it would… and was it possible, her very birth the fulfillment of some ancient prophecy?

 

“ch’Rihan?  James, does she mean she is descended of my Fleet?”

 

“Certainly, thy Fleet no longer, revenant.”  Ysaulte hated to be talked over.  “Didst thou not abandon them in thy lust for the ul Nru?”

 

“Ysaulte__”

 

“Leonard, you are my friend, and therefore due my patience, which I remind you, is not unlimited.  Please, do refrain from asking me to act with Terran diplomacy!”

 

“I suppose one might consider it abandonment,” Q’rin went on as if he’d heard no interruption, noting with interest the Lady’s companions were all apprehensive of her wrath, for differing reasons and to differing extents.

 

“I begin to believe I should have stayed with them and guided them, if they can have fallen to interbreeding with ZaworthIa’s witches,” the thoughtmaster prodded, curious to see how the one would react.

 

Ysaulte’s eyebrow’s drew down, irises ranging through a spectrum of hue and shade.  Jim held his wince, refusing to deter or distract her again.  She had to find her own way to deal with the thoughtmaster, in all his aspects and personifications… and as much as Q’rin stood in front of them, he also stood inside every mountain, stretching from peak to peak and blanketing the Beeyt ul ku Tuura.

 

Choosing her moment, the ZaworthIan Sister responded.  She laughed.

 

“A mere matter of time, that.  Know thou, du’Riah’annsu, hadst thou thine own opportunity lost.  Four thousand years ago, the world of my birth might have sought alliance with thy Fleet.  Imagine, an thou canst, no Federation being founded.  See now ZaworthIa, ch’Rihan, ch’Havran, Etumuuyea, and the Halil worlds as the crown jewels of an Empire, welcoming Vulcan and Terra as favored additions.”

 

“So would galactic history read, had your world acted otherwise.”

 

“Intend thou accusation, thoughtmaster, or thanks?  Believe this, wast fully within ZaworthIa’s power to have arranged it, an that the wish ours.”

 

“So ZaworthIa did not wish my__ your pardon.  The Fleet,” Q’rin supposed sarcastically.

 

“Perhaps Iananthe herself wished not for thee,” Ysaulte countered, her intuition caught by something in the mage’s tone.

 

Q’rin faded then reappeared, eyes black with remembered anguish.  It was gone so quickly Jim would have thought he mistook it, if he could not still taste it on his tongue; a bitterness that pressed out any momentary wonder at Ysaulte’s alternate galactic order.

 

“I had forgotten the reach of the sha’deh du Khyn,” Q’rin bowed to the Lady.  “Of course, I wanted Iananthe, but there was Ilyuuron.”

 

“Indeed.”  Ysaulte rubbed her eyes.  “There are aspects to this tale that cut with every telling.  Apart from the circumstances of your binding, Archimage, we must count the loss of the Halil.  My guess, was those peoples’ extinction which ZaworthIa could not forgive.”

 

“You guess correctly, again.  What happened to the Halil was unintentional.  Their existence went undiscovered until over half the population was already dead.”  Q’rin shrugged.  “Blame me, if you must.  I… heard their voices and dismissed them as a figment.”

 

“I cannot set blame,” Ysaulte said quietly, aware of the mage’s regret and sharing it.  “Their voices neither known to me, ‘til told.  We hear them now, eh?”

 

“All the time,” the thoughtmaster replied, his gaze sharpening.

 

“Tell me your proper name.  Your… Rihannsu name.”

 

Ysaulte froze, then forced herself to relax before anyone but Jim could notice, an effort the captain applauded.  He understood the risk for her in that name given; understanding too the intensity of Q’rin’s interest.  “You have to tell him,” Jim said unnecessarily, and watched her spine stiffen.

 

“Very well.  My father’s world knows me as Aesaulte’h, daughter of Aeviane, of the House tr’Arriellus.”

 

“Ah.  Aesaulte’h, daughter of light.  Lovely.  Do you believe, Aesaulte’h t’Aeviane, you can extract from the ul Nru what remains of my katra and send me to Mount Seleya?”

 

“I see thou art acquainted with all the details,” she noted wryly.

 

“Your human sorcerer has been very helpful.  For instance, he says my fleet has become an Empire itself over the last four millennia.  Just as I told S’task and Surak__”

 

“And with no need of thee at all, evidently,” the ZaworthIan pointed out, unimpressed.

 

“Evidently.”  Q’rin decided not to be offended.  “Does that suggest to you I have no place with them?”

 

“Art thou not meet in returning to thine own homeworld?”

 

“I think you are prevaricating, Aesaulte’h.  You haven’t told me__”

 

“And neither shall I, Archimage,” she interrupted, tone hard enough to cut glass.  “Thou art not to question me, for thine not the right.  Make thee no mistake, I offer thee a chance, at best.  The chance my wish, mine, and I am sha’deh du Khyn d’ZaworthIa.  All things being equal, thou wilt answer my questions!"

 

“God, Ysaulte,” Bones muttered, sure she was going to get them all killed.

 

“The Lady may speak as she pleases, Leonard.  Yes, I know who you are.  You know, it relieves me to learn she truly isn’t one of Surak’s ‘Vulcans’,” Q’rin told them in a dry voice.

 

Ysaulte lowered her head in a half-nod, and Jim abruptly appreciated the ZaworthIan interpretation of diplomacy.  This Sister of Za dealt from a position of power based on her psionic superiority.  It had nothing to do with command, explained her disdain for the often obsequious nature of Terran diplomacy, and made Jim wonder all over again at his meeting her in a moment of profound weakness.

 

“Things being equal, Lady Aesaulte’h, what questions do you have?  And why should I answer when you haven’t convinced me of the wisdom of my participation?”

 

“I am not convinced of the wisdom in my participation, Archimage,” she replied smoothly, irises bright enough to draw the mage’s raised ‘brow.  “I would know, first, why Iananthe left thee so much… alive.”

 

“Be fair, daughter.  The Sister didn’t leave me this much alive.  With respect to your ancestor, mine was the greater will,” Q’rin corrected her with an indulgent smile.  Both words and expression brought the ice back to the ZaworthIan’s eyes.

 

“Describe to me the manner of the years passing,” she said, barely managing to make it a request.

 

“Huh.  We could speak of the end of my physical life, but I suspect you have heard that tale.  The manner of the years passing…  at the beginning of my tenure here, there was only darkness and nothing.  How long this state persisted, I cannot say.

 

“My initial sensation was of the passage of time.  The next, my… lack of real form.  For a while, I occupied myself with exploring the limits of my new existence, but as I became more… conscious, I began to remember myself, and realized what Iananthe had wrought.  The ul Nru were mine, every particle of stone alive by my mind__ and I was immortally bound.

 

“I went mad then,” the mage told them conversationally, his image at once solid as he put up one hand to summon a breeze that stirred Ysaulte’s hair without moving anything else. 

 

Jim found himself at Ysaulte’s left, the Daysword alive in his hand, apparently commanded by his sense of danger.  He didn’t know when he’d picked it up, yet if felt like he’d always held it, the shining length balanced in his grasp and echoing his force of will.

 

“I don’t hold Aesaulte’h accountable, young thoughtmaster,” Q’rin promised mildly.  “I don’t even hate Iananthe for it any more.  I came to my senses, spent some time learning the value in merely being, and even used a few millennia to reflect on Surak’s crazy logic… and I had my pastimes.  I stifled the voices of the ul ku Tuura,” he added, for such was the power of Radomil that the truth was demanded.

 

“Do you know, Captain, how remarkable it is that you bear the Daysword so?”  Q’rin just had to ask.

 

“I think I’d term it… educational,” Jim said, watching the mage for a minute longer before mentally asking Radomil to stand down.  The sword collapsed, and Jim turned to press it against the chain belt at Ysaulte’s hip, in no doubt the thing would respond to his wish and meld into the KamarIa.

 

His certainty insured this, and none of his casual Terran confidence was lost on Q’rin.  The thoughtmaster felt the energies the starlord and his Lady called forth in each other, recognizing them as soul-sourced.  He’d sensed a similar phenomenon once__  Iananthe and Ilyuuron had shared the same type of bond.  Maybe not even this strongly.

 

“A good term, educational,” the mage agreed.  “I, for one, am learning a lot.  Are you, Aesaulte’h?”

 

“Yes, thoughtmaster,” Ysaulte matched his honesty and thanked the All for providing her these days of practice at debate with James T. Kirk and his crew.  Without that experience, she would never have been able to tolerate this.

 

“Given my wish to learn, Aesaulte’h, perhaps you could instruct me on your true purpose here.  Why now, after four thousand years?”

 

“As it happens, we learned of your situation only today.  Our reasons for seeking you no less immediate.  Circumstances await resolution in which the ul ku Tuura need to act, yet their action inhibited.”

 

“By me.  I inhibit your reach too, do I not, Aesaulte’h.”

 

The mage’s apparition regarded Ysaulte narrowly; his imagined handsome vitality close to overwhelming.

 

“Minor aspects of my Talent are delayed,” she bluffed magnificently, irises glittering.  “Very little inhibits the sha’deh du Khyn.”

 

“Do you specialize in revisionist dictionaries to go along with your revisionist histories?”  Q’rin inquired sarcastically.  “What do ZaworthIa’s witches consider an inhibition?”

 

“du’Riah’annsu, ask me what we think art provocations.”

 

Secure in his own arrogance, Q’rin pretended a weary sigh.

 

“Enough fencing.  I don’t feel compelled to leave the ul Nru, halfling.  Instruct me.  What kind of circumstances ‘wait?”

 

Ysaulte exchanged a look with Jim, neither needing to put the implications into words.  Tell Q’rin a Romulan Fleet was approaching?  Whose side would he support then?  There were a thousand justifications for hiding the truth, and none of them superseded one fact.  Ysaulte was sha’deh du Khyn of ZaworthIa.

 

“I have also made some enemies in my lifetime, thoughtmaster.  My Rihannsu family sits at the heart of the Empire, and my ZaworthIan family line can be directly traced back ten thousand years.  I am a descendant of power, and among us I shall disallow conceit and say, my favors sought, or sought destroyed.  One such effort recently made by a Rihannsu kinsman, which left me near death.  My life is due my Lord James and his men.”

 

“Get to the point.”

 

“The point?  The point well known to you, mage.  My sorcerer Lord commands me by will and by word, and power ours.  This power coveted by those who would possess it themselves… and the Fleet of the Twin Worlds comes again to take this system, seeking me as well.”  She indicated Silivia and Dyer.  “Defense of this world and its system better taken up by the ul ku Tuura who are its rightful heirs.”

 

“You are not in their number.  Don’t you really mean once you get rid of me the ZaworthIan Circle can take this system over itself?”  Q’rin asked in the harshest tone he could manage, deliberately probing.

 

This was a question Ysaulte had been asking herself for some time now, so she was willing to allow it of the mage.

 

“I have never known any among the Circle to have such aspirations, but even so, I accepted Iananthe’s charge by mind, duty being the continued freedom of her heirs, the ul ku Tuura.  If they wish no alliance with Za, I shall offer them sufficient strength to forego even her.”

 

“What?”  Dyer burst out, certain his hearing deceived him.  “You mean, at need, you would protect Etumuuyea from your own Sisters?”

 

“Well, he was silent far longer than we had a right to expect, and he has a valid inquiry,” Silivia was quick to defend, although it was not needed.

 

“I do not dispute it, elder Sister.  Of course, I hope things don’t progress to this point, and I might add, you are capable of your own witness in this matter.  You heard Iananthe, Silivia.  How may it be elsely done, and I not bow to this world’s wishes?”

 

A long silence ensued, interrupted by the thoughtmaster’s derisive laugh.

 

“I see mortal matters are still impossibly involved.  As fascinating as they are, I plead more selfish interests.  I still want to know from you, daughter of light.  What’s going to happen to me?”

 

***

 

Ysaulte pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to drive away the quick anger that surged with Q’rin’s demand.

 

“Careful, Ambassador,” Jim counseled, voice unspoken giving her the strength to collect herself; while Leonard was silently telling her she could ‘catch more flies with honey’, whatever that meant.  Ysaulte waited for Spock, saluting the one for his restraint when no comment came.  Which, incidentally, was not to say the Vulcan had none to make.

 

“Sah’des ka, James.  Diplomacy.  Caution.  I get it.  I warn you, balancing shields against the thoughtmaster is every bit as difficult as I expected, and I think he is capable of reaching past them, if he chooses.  The forces he commands fall beyond my full reckoning,” Ysaulte told her bondmate, like he didn’t already know, hoping in the back of her mind he could hold them both together.  She herself felt… divided.  Part of her froze at the idea of confronting Q’rin’s arcane energies, but another part was fueled on a very elemental understanding of life as an art, much like war.

 

“What’s scaring you, actually moving him out of here, or explaining it to him?”  Jim wondered, aware of her confusion.

 

“I cannot explain it.  I don’t know what to do,” Ysaulte admitted with the slightest of shrugs, settling on an approach to the subject with its principal component.

 

Q’rin stood, the image of patience, the Etumuuyea sun shining through him.

 

“Please pardon my delay, O mage of razS a’Man, but it strikes me inconceivable thou hath not more interest in these mortal matters.  Art thou understanding, those who come art kin to thee, descended of… thy Fleet,” she began in a tone that practically had ‘Terran diplomacy’ written on it.

 

“Yes.  Distant kin, who won’t even remember my name,” the thoughtmaster replied, plainly reassuring the ZaworthIan, or trying to.

 

“Feel thou no ties?”  Ysaulte asked skeptically.

 

“Well, of course there are ties,” Q’rin chided with unexpected kindness, shaming her into a blush.  “I am pleased by their daring, and curious, but you understand this, and get it through your thick ZaworthIan skull__” he pushed at her defenses, making her believe him.  “__I listened very well to what your starship captain said.  I do not wish to disrupt the balance of power between Empire and Federation.  It sounds to be an equity relative, at best, and I trust you will accept the notice served, and neither disrupt it yourself… and I really am being selfish.  I don’t want to lose a chance, however slim, for freedom.  Even if it’s a freedom I haven’t decided I want.  I ask you, though, am I expected to defend you against this coming Fleet?  If this is the price of your assistance, it is bitter.”

 

Insulted, Ysaulte forgot to pretend a calm she did not feel.  She set her hands at her hips and lifted her chin, raising too the strength of her will, which she impressed on the mage with an immediacy that took her living listeners’ breath.

 

“Claim thou to know my people, du’Riah’annsu?  Our support is not bought, nor compensation required, if the cause is just.  Swearing thusly, didst the Way come unto the children of Za, and understand me, that Way mine.  I foresee no possible time when I might ask thy defense.”

 

The mage crossed his arms, incarnating his respect.

 

“Do pardon my impudence, but you should never say never, Lady Aesaulte’h.  You don’t have to warn me,” Q’rin informed her silkily, loosing a mental probe to search over her shielding with thorough care.  “Do you worry, because your starlord stands outside your control, as I do, and you can’t guarantee your results?”

 

The ZaworthIan didn’t move, but managed somehow to look taller.

 

“If in fact I warn thee, undead spirit, I warn thee for my Lord of stars stands not rooted in these ul ku Tuura mountains, as Iananthe found Ilyuuron.  Even as thou art sourced in all time and space, so stands my Lord sourced in the heavens.  Besides,” and she smiled, the magnetic pull of her humor erasing the shared tension,  “Everything stands outside mortal control, neh?  One learns to live for different priorities.”

 

“What are yours, Aesaulte’h?  I want to know what moves you,” the thoughtmaster invited, fully aware his question was an open admission to the Lady’s companions he was as fascinated by her as they.

 

“Be thou very certain thou art wishing truth told,” Ysaulte recommended, a faint grin lingering in her blue-green irises.  Q’rin felt her warning very clearly, now, and nodded his nonexistent head.

 

“Please.”

 

“Then know, he who binds me holds too my first allegiance, before all other things.  James, and his, my primary considerations.”  Ysaulte went on over the subliminal protest from her lover’s mind, audible to all as she repeated their other objectives.  “By my sworn word, the ul ku Tuura will be free, and Muuye rid of any will but her own ruling House’s, which can see to her defense as we free her of thee.”

 

“So you have said, you and your starlord.  I am not satisfied, halfling witch.  I am Q’rin razS a’Man, not some naïve Terran, logical Vulcan, nor planet-bound Muuyean, and I do know the Way.  Compassion for me is not demanded, and this kind of mercy is not the ZaworthIan norm.  Why, then,” and his words burned across their minds as his mental energies hovered just outside of taking the Lady’s over, “Why consider such a thing as sending my… katra home?”

 

“Halfling I am, and more than ZaworthIan,” Ysaulte replied steadily, her friends at her back both literally and figuratively, waiting for her word.  “I have said the Way mine, and so it is, as much as I wish.  My way my own, too, and we share a blood tie of sorts.  Thou art long wishing__”

 

“I have never wished this!”

 

“__wishing, always, for I am seeing it, thy longing for thy place in the Hall of Ancient Thought, belonging there, as any of thy bloodline doth.”  Ysaulte spared a glance at Spock.  “Do thou not deny my sight, Q’rin.”

 

“Only a fool could deny you, or yours, sha’deh du Khyn.  If by wild chance you succeed in taking me to Mount Seleya, how will you persuade the adepts to accept it?”

 

“They need no persuasion.”

 

“However, in the event they do, I shall persuade them,” Spock announced, his long quiet weighing his words.  “What the Lady Ysaulte has not said, and what I believe you really want to know, is this.  Her decision to excorporate your katra from the ul Nru was made out of her consideration for us.”

 

“Huh.  So Vulcans rival the Sisters of Za for the truth,” Q’rin surmised into the large silence following the first officer’s declaration.  As if reminded of her own voice, the ul ku Tuura elder spoke next.

 

“It is, in fact, popular opinion that no Vulcan can lie.  To this ‘planet bound Muuyean’ a question is suggested.  Do you consider yourself Vulcan or Rihannsu, mage?  Will you lie to us?”

 

“I marvel at your nerve,” Q’rin remarked.

 

Raising his hands, the mage clapped once, soundlessly, and their surroundings dissolved to reform into stone.  A rock-walled chamber took shape around the seven of them, the room boasting two remarkable qualities; great age, and absolutely no visible way out.

 

“Shortly after regaining my self-awareness, I amused myself by creating a home I could see, although of course, I did not need it,” the thoughtmaster told his audience, noting their assembled watchful stares.  “Aesaulte’h, you may take them out at any time,” Q’rin added, giving her the key to leaving by mind, so she could not doubt its veracity.  “I believe you may rely on my honesty.”

 

“Well enough,” Ysaulte answered, determined to suspend her amazement and accept this.  The thought occurred, acceptance might lie in that compassion Jim displayed so effortlessly.

 

A padded sofa appeared at another flick of the mage’s fingers, and she seated herself without batting an eye, James and Spock standing behind her.

 

“I should think the millennia lonely, Q’rin,” she murmured so gently Jim felt his throat tighten.  He set his hands on her shoulders, but Ysaulte never took her eyes off the mage, and Jim could appreciate Q’rin’s growing distraction at becoming the focus of those iridescent irises.  The mage delayed answering long enough to seat McCoy and the ul ku Tuura.

 

“More damned truth, Lady?  It wasn’t all lonely.  I had the natives to entertain me.”

 

“I knew it!” Dyer exclaimed with a satisfaction his elders envied.   “I always believed the stories about the mountains having eyes.”

 

“Indeed,” the mage said, bowing at the boy.  “You I have observed, often.  You bear the blood of your ancestors in your spirit.”

 

“Another tribute to having dominant genes,” Ysaulte muttered audibly.

 

“Huh.”  Q’rin repeated himself, overhearing, and returning the Lady’s gaze with a face as impassive as Spock’s.  “You seem remarkably at ease yourself, daughter of light.  Particularly for one who proposes to walk with me through the unknown.  Confess.  Do you know what to do?  Do you know how to free me?”

 

Ysaulte surely did wish she could lie.

 

“The process is not a thing we are taught.  I ask you, do you remember the specifics of your own binding?”

 

“I do not.  I have never been able to remember.  Needless to say, it’s a sore point with me,” Q’rin declared in deliberately colloquial Standard.

 

“I expected as much.  Are you then able to redirect your force of will in a fashion which would permit me the farsent voice unspoken, that I might consult my Sisters?”

 

“I can’t do that either.  And I can’t let you rummage through my mind to look for the memories, in case that’s your next request.”

 

Ysaulte had also half-expected this, but felt her stomach lurch on hearing the mage’s flat refusal.

 

“Can’t, or won’t?”  Jim asked sharply.

 

“Can’t, really.  To alter my projection of will in the manner your Lady wants would bring the ul Nru crumbling into dust.  I assume you don’t want that.”

 

“No.  I don’t suppose we do,” Jim sighed, exchanging a mental shrug with Ysaulte.  What now?

 

“The Talent required belongs to but a few,” Q’rin commented, his low tones offering an excuse, if one was necessary.

 

“So it is believed on Za,” Ysaulte agreed, without betraying what she believed.

 

“Can you do it?”  The mage prodded.

 

“I believe I can.  We can.”

 

“But how will you know what to do, Ysaulte?”  Dyer wondered revealingly, his curiosity echoed in his own glittering irises.

 

“How shall I learn?”  Ysaulte rephrased, her gaze skipping from Q’rin to Dyer.  “In my position, little Brother, what would your suggestion be?”

 

Bones started to protest, the argument going no further than his mind.

 

“Let him answer, Leonard,” Silivia interrupted.  “She seeks the voice of his Talent, which is a profound compliment to him.”

 

McCoy shook his head, bit his tongue, and warned Ysaulte anyway about putting too much pressure on the child.

 

“It isn’t, Doctor, really,” Dyer said, startling them all.  “When I am Negus, I shall aspire to her vision,” he added gravely, and not one of them doubted him.

 

“If you cannot speak to your Sisters, Ysaulte__”

 

“Our Sisters, Dyer.”

 

“__ours, then.  If we cannot speak to them, perhaps they can speak to us.”

 

“Like we heard Iananthe?”  Ysaulte cocked her head sideways, a gesture Jim found herself imitating as her imagination struck him.  “To return to her portrait would require too much time…”  Her head came up so quickly the thoughtmaster hissed out loud.

 

“The knowledge embedded in Radomil!”  Ysaulte realized, inspired.

 

“You don’t mean__ what do you mean?”  Bones spluttered, staring from her to the captain.  “Jim?”

 

Jim covered his face with his hands and wanted to pretend he didn’t understand.  Before he could come up with an answer that would camouflage the alarming truth, Q’rin cut him off.

 

“You can do that, Aesaulte’h?”

 

McCoy decided he wasn’t having any more of this and proved he could practice diplomacy with the best of them.

 

“Do what, God damn it?  For once, will somebody just say what the devil is going on?”

 

“Leonard, within the Daysword lies the memory of its creation.  It can be used as a gateway to the past, pathed by mind.  I can go__”

 

“We can go.”

 

“Forgive me, Spock.  We can go to the source of this method of binding, where spirits are laid to substance, and learn its undoing.”

 

“It’s dangerous,” Jim pointed out and drew himself at least three pairs of disbelieving eyes.  “Yeah, I know.  That’s… not my line.”

 

“God help us if you think it’s dangerous,” Bones said under his breath, wishing he’d never asked.

 

“My friends, it’s all dangerous,” the Muuyean boy interceded with exquisite courtesy, his tone so matter of fact his listeners felt rather ashamed of themselves.

 

“Go on, Dyer.  You are descended of truthtellers, after all.”

 

“I think the legends conceal the dangers, or perhaps we let them.  Right here today, we have the archimage’s confession of his part in centuries of psionic oppression.  Ilyuuron condemned his heirs to division and weakness, and even Iananthe left her Sisters’ children sacrifice and controversy.  We can’t afford to see these things as any less than the tragedies they are, however long ago started.”

 

Ysaulte agreed ruefully.

 

“It is no easy thing to find yourself the pawn of history,” she noted.

 

“I refuse to be a pawn,” Jim protested, torn between feeling like one, and knowing he had to be here.

 

“Believe me, Lord of stars, I hardly think you are,” Silivia replied, certain facets of the present catching the light of her own perception.  “I think yours might be the very influence that finally turns history to our favor.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“In the last four thousand years, the position of Negus has passed in and out of ul ku Tuura hands no more than forty times, yet every time a son of the ul Nru took heirship, he died, usually at Rihannsu hands.  Hence, the plan resulting in the current Negus, Ryu Gnaur.  Separated from his twin at birth to be reared by kin with no… ZaworthIan ties, and believing himself no kin to us.  I have explained how strongly we are affected by our legends__”

 

“I think we’ve accepted that, Silivia.”

 

“You may not realize a great deal of research has gone into distinguishing their fact from fiction.  I have also told you, it has always been believed only one of the sha’deh du Khyn could know.  Therefore, our historians anticipated the return of a Sister of Za as the ‘child of two worlds’.  That she might also be of ch’Rihan, too, was predicted by a few.  Radical thinkers, in their time.

 

“You, James__  No one could have predicted you, or anticipated Terrans.  You’re the random factor, the ‘wild card’.  Those same scholars assumed the ‘prince of a farflung star’ would be Rihannsu__”

 

Ysaulte went quite pale, her appalled comprehension washing through Jim like ice water.

 

“That’s why Marlak__  He intended to use me to turn Etumuuyea to the Empire, in the one way neither ZaworthIa nor the Federation could defend or prevent.”  Completely unable to help herself, Ysaulte put her hands over her mouth and retched.  “I’m sorry__”

 

“It’s all right.”  Jim turned her face against him, shielding her from Q’rin’s curious eyes and mind.  Unfortunately, he could do nothing about the doctor’s broadcast realizations.  “Damn it, Bones!”

 

The thoughtmaster moved toward them, but Spock was there first.

 

“You will not lay even an imagined hand upon the Lady, Q’rin razS a’Man,” the Vulcan announced with bedrock implacability.

 

“Or what?  Do you think yourself capable of stopping me?  You’re a halfling yourself.”

 

“Halfling Terran,” Spock conceded, his tone managing to turn the words to caution.  The thoughtmaster glared, aware of the corollary implication.

 

“So who knows what you’re capable of doing.”  Q’rin looked past Spock to where the ZaworthIan was straightening, balance restored… with her active force of will.  “That’s the strength of these Terrans, isn’t it?”

 

“They believe their capability limitless, Q’rin,” the Lady waited while Spock backed to her side.  “Do you understand what that means in terms of their reality?”

 

“They have no limits,” the thoughtmaster answered wryly, nodding his head with an unmistakable smile on his face.  “What an odd company you keep, Aesaulte’h… and how apt.  In their time, Iananthe and Ilyuuron were equally as unexpected.”

 

Ysaulte made no reply, and the mage turned his attention to Dyer.

 

“As far as those ‘centuries of oppression’ go, boy, I must say, you don’t seem very oppressed.”

 

“It depends on how you judge oppression,” Dyer told him, looking much older than his years.  “I too was separated from my family at birth, to satisfy the demands of legends.  Ryu Gnaur is my father, and I have never seen him.”

 

“Sah’des ka,” Ysaulte whispered, while Q’rin raised his eyebrow.

 

          “So, your belief I bear responsibility,” he said to her.

 

“Not solely my belief, obviously,” she replied.

 

Now the thoughtmaster rubbed the bridge of his remembered nose and paused for consideration.

 

“So, boy.  What must I do?”

 

“Some might find your leaving sufficient, archimage.”

 

“I salute you, youngest thoughtmaster,” Q’rin bowed, and took them back out into the sunshine, shadowed now by afternoon.

 

“He gives me a reason that moves me, Aesaulte’h.  I perceive the reparations owed.  I will hold the ul Nru against your absence, and shelter any you leave behind.”

 

In other words, the full weight of the mage’s support.  Ysaulte didn’t know how afraid she’d been that Q’rin would withhold this, until she heard it promised, sworn by mind.  A huge sigh moved through her as she got to her feet, the rest of them standing with her.  Q’rin’s contrived furnishings vanished the same way they’d appeared, and Ysaulte lowered her head to the mage.

 

“I thank you, Q’rin,” she said formally, grateful when Jim offered his arm.  His flesh, through his sleeve, was warm to her chilled fingers.

 

"What do you mean, any you leave behind?  Aren’t we all going?”  McCoy asked suddenly.

 

“That’s your decision, Bones, Spock,” Jim told them, covering Ysaulte’s hand with his as if to keep her from leaving without him.

 

“Silivia, about you and Dyer__”

 

“I have to stay,” Silivia realized, feeling the Lady’s need to leave eyes she could trust.  “Dyer?”

 

“I want to go, Mother,” the boy answered, smiling.

 

“Gentlemen?”

 

“I’ll go, Jim,” Spock said quietly.

 

“Go where?  What do you think, Jim?”  McCoy snapped, and Ysaulte, who knew what they all really thought, drew Radomil from the KamarIa.

 

“Radomil, al sha’tr vi er, du weyIa,” she commanded, holding the sword’s shining length to catch the sun.  “Al t’sai du Khyn, d’khar.”  Turning the Daysword point down, the ZaworthIan drove it into the soil and their footing trembled.  Jim gasped involuntarily, stunned blind by the energies blazing forth from his Lady’s thoughts as reality disconnected, in a way unlike any he’d ever felt her manage.  “Radomil, a’voh drei khar sha’deh du Khyn, al sha’tr Ia, and by the blood of mine ancestors, I order thee!”

 

Perspective wrenched, throwing Jim’s body to the ground.  He didn’t feel it.  All he had left was hearing, inward and out.

 

“Jim!  Spock!  God damn it, Ysaulte!  Just because I thought I didn’t want to go doesn’t mean I don’t want to go!”

 

“Come, Leonard,” Jim heard her say, before the silence in his mind became absolute.  He sensed time passing, an eternity of a journey undertaken in thought…

 

End Chapter Twelve