Fire Margins Read online

  “I ASK YOU, KAID,

  DID THE GOD SPEAK TO YOU?”

  The tips of Kaid’s ears twitched as he answered. “The God spoke to me, Father Lijou, but which God, I’m unable to tell you.”

  “Then I’m not alone,” Lijou murmured. He roused himself, capturing Kaid’s gaze with his own. “Kaid, I truly believe that for the good of Shola, you, Carrie, and Kusac must go to the Fire Margins, and return alive!”

  Kaid remained silent, his ears tilting fractionally in anger.

  Lijou leaned forward, grasping him by the forearm and shaking him. “Do you hear me? You must go to the Fire Margins, no matter what!”

  Kaid nodded once. “I hear you,” he said, his voice barely audible. “What is the Fire Margin ritual, Lijou? What is it a test of but faith? To succeed you need to put your life in the hands of the Gods, Vartra in particular.”

  “No one knows what you need to do to survive, Kaid. No one has survived according to my records at Stronghold.”

  “How much truth do you think there is in the legends that telepaths once fought as well as any Warrior?”

  “The Sholans in the new Leska pairs fight.”

  “They’re reverting to type, Lijou. Those who walked the Fire Margins before were telepaths who couldn’t fight; who lost their faith in the capacity of the ritual that took them back to the Cataclysm to return them to their own time. It’s no wonder they didn’t return.”

  “Will you go?” demanded Lijou, hands clenched so tightly Kaid could see the whites of his knuckles showing through his pelt.

  “To the Fire Margins? I haven’t lost my faith, Lijou,” said Kaid. “Yes, I’ll go. The God told me we have an appointment there… .”

  DAW BOOKS

  is proud to present

  LISANNE NORMAN’S

  SHOLAN ALLIANCE Series!

  TURNING POINT

  FORTUNE’S WHEEL

  FIRE MARGINS

  RAZOR’S EDGE

  DARK NADIR

  STRONGHOLD RISING

  BETWEEN DARKNESS AND LIGHT

  SHADES OF GRAY

  FIRE

  MARGINS

  LISANNE NORMAN

  Copyright © 1996 by Lisanne Norman.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover art by Romas Kukalis.

  Maps by Michael Gilbert.

  DAW Book Collectors No. 1039.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-66370-7

  First Printing, November 1996

  DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED

  U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES

  —MARCA REGISTRADA

  HECHO EN U.S.A.

  Version_1

  For Tal, who started it all.

  And

  Mike, for all his support during the dark years.

  Special thanks must go to two people:

  Judith Faul, who has lived through

  just about every scene with me.

  And, of course, my editor, Sheila Gilbert,

  who has the rare gift of being able to accompany

  me on my journeys to Shola.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Prologue

  “Approaching the trading world now, General M’ezozakk,” said his navigator.

  “Inform Priest J’koshuk that his skills are needed,” said M’ezozakk, watching as the planet grew larger on the main view screen.

  “No need, General, I’m here,” said the priest, stepping out of the bridge access corridor. Behind him the door ground noisily as it closed.

  “Hasn’t anything been done about that damned door yet?” M’ezozakk demanded testily, ending on a sibilant hiss of displeasure.

  “No, General. Maintenance and engineering are monitoring the hull patch continuously lest it is breached again. We can’t afford to lose any more …”

  “I don’t want excuses,” snapped M’ezozakk, his crest rising as he turned to look at the First Officer. “I want results! If it isn’t fixed within this shift, I’ll throw you to J’koshuk to play with!”

  The officer’s skin paled visibly, his tongue flicking out nervously as he glanced at the carmine-robed priest who now stood to the left of the General.

  “I’ll see to it personally, General,” he said, ducking his head down in a low bow of obeisance.

  “Do so.” M’ezozakk turned back to the screen. “Wait,” he said. “On your way, see that the captives are cleaned up. We need to get a good price for them. Make sure that they understand this, because if they don’t cooperate, I’m sure J’koshuk could spare a few last moments with them.”

  “Yes, General,” said the officer, beginning to sidle toward the exit.

  “We’re within communications range, General,” ventured the crew member manning the comm unit.

  “You realize our information regarding this world is minimal,” said J’koshuk quietly, leaning toward the General. “I can’t be sure that the language we have on our data banks is their universal port language.”

  M’ezozakk turned his unblinking gaze on the priest. The vertical slits narrowed slightly. “Are you telling me you don’t think you can communicate with these … savages?”

  “By no means, General,” said the other, his tone more conciliatory. “I don’t yet know just how … basic … that communication will be.”

  “Your position gives you many privileges, J’koshuk. Should I, on your advice, have detoured to this world and be unable to accomplish our mission, those privileges can be rescinded. I believe Mzayb’ik has ambitions …” He left the rest of his sentence hanging.

  “If I cannot communicate with these barbarians, General, then none of Mzayb’ik’s ambitions will help you,” said J’koshuk, his own eyes narrowing as he bowed his head slightly to the General.

  “If you can’t make yourself understood, then his lack of knowledge would hardly be an impediment,” M’ezozakk said smoothly.

  “We’re being hailed from the planet’s surface, General,” the comm interrupted politely.

  M’ezozakk relaxed back in his seat. “Are the cargo shuttles ready?”

  “The shuttles are ready, General,” said his security officer. “Shuttle One awaits your command for the automatic launch. Shuttle Two is fueled and ready. It awaits the crew and captives.”

  “The comm is yours, J’koshuk. I’ll watch with interest while you negotiate with these beings,” said M’ezozakk waving his hand lazily in the direction of the main viewer. “Open a channel to the surface,” he ordered his comm officer.

  J’koshuk bowed again, barely concealing the mixture of anger and fear on his face.

  Let him hate me, just as long as he also fears me, M’ezozakk thought.

  *

  The cuboi
d sat at the back of the room, beyond the reach of the four Sholans. The Valtegans hadn’t been about to let the unclean bodies of their captives go anywhere near their holy object. They’d lived alongside it for weeks, its brooding presence reflecting their mood just as it reflected the light. Just why they’d been kept there, Jeran had never been able to figure out. He had noticed that the ordinary troops on this vessel were even more afraid of the cuboid than of them. That was another puzzle. Why should the Valtegans fear them? Four half-starved and beaten Sholans chained to the floor hardly represented much of a threat to them, surely.

  At first, Miroshi had tried to work out what the cube was. The mental exercise had diverted her thoughts from anticipating the next session with their tormentors. It had been futile, though. There was little she or any of them could glean from its featureless surfaces. It just was.

  A short time before, the Valtegans had come and taken it away, carefully hauling it from the room on its obviously frictionless base. With it gone, they’d all felt easier. It was as if a weight they hadn’t realized was there had been lifted from them. He still felt a sense of unease about it though, as if it was connected to them in some way he didn’t understand.

  The sound of the door opening roused Jeran from his reverie. It was all he could do to raise his head, ears facing forward, and look toward the noise. He saw the priest first, then the five armed soldiers behind him. He let his head fall back to the deck floor as the priest hissed out an order.

  They wanted all of them this time. Usually they were taken singly. Maybe the damned lizards had tired of their uncooperative captives and their nightmare was finally about to end. Death held no fear for him any more: death meant freedom from their torturer, J’koshuk.

  His body tensed, waiting for the kick or the blow—or even the shot that would finish him. Instead, he was grasped by the neck and hauled to his feet. A yelp of pain escaped him as the nonretractible claws dug into his flesh. So much stronger than the Sholans, they made no effort to temper that strength when handling their captives. His uniform jacket was stripped off him then, just as abruptly, he was released. Naked apart from his pelt, he staggered, trying to keep his balance, but he was too weak to stand. The heavy chain attached to the rigid metal collar round his neck dragged at him, pulling him down to the floor again.

  He’d barely had a chance to see the same had been done to his three companions when they were hit by a jet of freezing water. Claws extended, his feet scrabbled against the metal-plated floor as he tried at least to get up onto his haunches. He’d expected to be killed, but not by drowning! Turning his head away from the stream of pressurized water, he bit down hard on his lower lip, trying not to yell curses at them in the few words of Valtegan he’d managed to pick up over the weeks they’d been on board.

  Turning back to look at the others, he saw that even Miroshi had roused herself enough to try and keep her head free of the water. Their captors had quickly realized she was the most vulnerable member of the group and had targeted her for their special attention. What they’d done to her would have been despicable even had she not been a telepath. Her mental scars, like those on her body, might never heal.

  Jeran’s chain was just long enough for him to reach her and while the water was playing on the other two, he crawled along the floor toward her. The jet hit him again. Ears plastered flat to his head, he held her close, turning his back to take the worst of the torrent of water, lending her what little strength he had in an effort to keep her from falling back down to the deck.

  The water stopped suddenly, gurgling as it flowed down the drains to the reservoir. He let Miroshi go, not wanting to add to her pain by continuing to touch her. As he turned back to the guards, one of them stepped forward and threw a bundle of cloths at him. Jeran grabbed at them instinctively, managing to catch them before they fell onto the wet floor.

  The guard snapped an order at him. Confused, Jeran shook his head, blinking as he wiped his forearm across his eyes. The officer at the door spoke and the guard stepped forward. Leaning down, he snatched a cloth back from him and began rubbing it across his own arm.

  The officer spoke again, this time addressing Jeran briefly, then they all turned and left.

  Tesha looked over at him. “What did he say?” she demanded, curling her tail, which now resembled a piece of old rope, protectively round her haunches.

  Jeran handed two towels over to her. “We’re to dry ourselves.”

  “Even I got that!” she said acidly, passing the other to Tallis.

  “I didn’t get it all, but it had something to do with us being put down on this planet we’re orbiting in exchange for … supplies, I think,” he said, hunkering down beside Miroshi again.

  She stirred, taking the towel from him.

  “Can you manage?” he asked.

  She nodded, beginning to wipe the cloth along her arms.

  “So why the cold shower?” asked Tesha, shivering as she began to rub herself.

  “Don’t want the goods to be seen covered in matted fur and dried blood,” said Tallis bleakly as he made an equally half-hearted attempt to dry himself.

  “There was an implicit threat concerning J’koshuk,” added Jeran.

  “He’s selling us,” said Miroshi, speaking for the first time in days. “He said if he doesn’t get a good price, he’ll give us back to J’koshuk.”

  Tesha broke the silence that followed. “Well, what do we do? Make a break for it so that they kill us, or go down to this world like tame rhaklas?”

  Jeran began to dry himself, trying not to knock the scabs off the half-healed wounds. His fur was matted into the cuts on his face and arms but there was nothing he could do about it.

  Before he could answer, the door opened again, this time to admit the ship’s medic, flanked by two guards, one carrying a tray holding four beakers.

  “Eat,” said the medic as the guard came over with the tray. “Been cooked. Need eat. Soon you leave.”

  A beaker was thrust at Tallis. Reluctantly he took it, sniffing the contents. “It has been cooked,” he said, surprised. “It’s some kind of stew, not raw meat.”

  Jeran was given his. It wasn’t worth the beating that would ensue if he refused it. He raised the beaker to his lips.

  As he drank, the medic came over and deftly grasped his arm, pressing the hypo gun against it, then he was gone. A brief surge of giddiness, then almost immediately he felt a warm glow spread through him.

  “It’s some kind of sedative,” he said, watching Miroshi flinch as the lizard touched her. There was no point in objecting.

  The guard collected the empty beakers then followed the medic out, leaving the soldier with his rifle trained on them.

  Tesha sat down suddenly. “I don’t feel so good,” she said faintly.

  Jeran looked up, seeing her inner lids beginning to show at the edges of her eyes. “You’ll be all right,” he said, aware that he should be feeling more concerned than he was. With an effort, he kept his mind on what he wanted to say. “You know their drugs do strange things to us, especially you. It’s not lethal. They wouldn’t kill us like that. There’s no amusement for them in it.”

  “If you focused your thoughts, you’d be able to control the effects of the drug,” said Tallis.

  “I can’t, you know that,” said Tesha, wrinkling her nose. The skin visible around her eyes had an unhealthy greenish tinge.

  “You just won’t …” began Tallis.

  “Stop it, both of you!” said Miroshi tiredly, sinking back onto the floor. “Must we fight among ourselves? All we’ve got left is each other, and we may not even have that for much longer! In Vartra’s name, shut up!”

  Jeran moved over to Tesha, the chain dragging behind him. “Leave it, Tesha,” he said quietly. “Just ignore Tallis. Being telepaths, it’s been worse for them. Every time they’ve been touched, they’ve been mentally tortured, never mind what they’ve done to them physically. It’s only when they use drugs on us that Tallis and Mi
roshi can feel they’re fighting back.”

  “I know,” she muttered, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It’s been bad for all of us. What do you think our chances of being rescued are?”

  “If they know we’re missing, they’ll make an effort to find us, but from the size of those craft we saw around Szurtha, I’d say they’ll have a lot more to worry about than the four of us.”

  “They’re coming back,” said Tallis, ears flicking in distress as he moved closer to the other three.

  Chapter 1

  As Kusac opened the door to the staff lounge, he caught the tail end of their conversation.

  “You gave him the right to decide, Kaid,” Rulla was saying. “No one made him choose Stronghold.” Hearing the door open, he looked up.

  Kaid sat at the table reassembling his rifle.

  “What’s going on?” Kusac asked, watching Rulla’s eyes flick from him back to Kaid.

  “Everything’s under control, Liegen,” Kaid replied blandly, snapping the power pack into place. “There’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  Kusac could feel the tension in the room. Something wasn’t right. He shut the door behind him, mentally scanning Rulla’s surface thoughts. “Where’s Vanna?” he demanded. “I know this concerns her. Where is she?”

  “She’s paying a brief visit to Stronghold,” replied Kaid, getting up and turning to face him. “I’m on my way to collect her now.”

  “Stronghold? What in the name of all the Gods is she doing visiting there at this time of night?”

  “That’s what I intend to find out,” said Kaid, his voice grim as he picked up his rifle. “I’m afraid one of my people took her there.” He walked toward Kusac, stopping in front of him, obviously waiting for him to step aside.

  “I’m going with you,” said Rulla, getting up and moving over to join him.