The warrior looked at him unflinchingly, with dark, deepset eyes. "Morath," he answered. "Son of Ondagh."

Kahless shook his head. "To follow me is to invite Molor's vengeance. You must be a cretin, Morath, son of Ondagh."

Morath's dark eyes narrowed, but there was no spite in them. "No more than you, Kahless, son of Kanjis."

The warchief couldn't help smiling at that. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approaching. He turned.

It was the village headman. Behind him, a couple of women had come out with wood for the cooking pot.

Another man was setting it up again in the center of the square.

"Your wound," said the old man. "It must be cauterized and bathed, or it will become infected and you will lose the arm. :, Kahless couldn't help but see the wisdom in that. Bad enough to be hunted by Molor, but to do so with only one hand ...

"All right," he said, loud enough for all his warriors to hear. "We'll wait long enough to lay hot metal against my wound. Then we will ride."

But he still had no idea where they would go or what they would do. Unfortunately, he had never been an outlaw before.

Kahless marched the length of the long corridor that led to the Klingon High Council Chamber, he could hear the resounding clack of each footfall. He had grown to like that sound, to look forward to it-just as he had grown to appreciate the venerating looks he got from the warriors standing guard along the way.

It was right that his footsteps should resound. It was right that warriors should look at him with respect and admiration in their eyes. After all, he was Kahless.

But even here, the emperor saw, the scroll had taken its toll on him. The guards didn't look at him quite the same way as he pa.s.sed. Instead, they peered at one another, as if asking: Is it true? Can he be the utter fraud they've made him out to be?

The muscles in Kahless's jaw tightened. He wished he had Olahg's scrawny neck in his hands, for just a minute.

Ss He would repay the initiate tenfold for the damage he had done.

Regaining control, he saw the doors to the central chamber were just ahead. Kahless resolved not to glance at anyone else along the way, but to keep his gazed fixed on the entrance. Remember who you are, he told himself.

Remember and be proud.

He didn't pause at the doors, as other Klingons did. It was his right as emperor-even one who wielded no political power-to come and go as he pleased. Laying a hand on either door, he pushed them open.

Gowron was sitting in the leader's seat at the far end of the chamber, conferring with one of his councilors. When he saw Kahless make his entrance, he paused for a moment, then dismissed the councilor with a gesture.

Kahless stopped, allowing the echoes of the man's footfalls to become lost under the dark, vaulted roof.

Gowron sat back in his seat and a.s.sessed his visitor, his eyes giving no clue to his emotional state.

The emperor grunted softly. Gowron was very good at that, wasn't he?

"What do you want?" asked the council leader, his voice-like his eyes-as neutral as possible.

Kahless straightened to his full height. "I would speak with you privately, son of M'rel."

Gowron considered the request for a moment. Then he looked to the guards who stood at the door and made a sweeping motion with his arm. Kahless didn't look back to see how it was done-but a moment later, he heard the heavy, clanging sound of the doors as they were shut.

It was quiet in the chamber now. The only sound was that of their breathing-until Kahless spoke up again.

"I believe there is a conspiracy," he said, seeing no reason to be circ.u.mspect. "A plot against you and your regime-and therefore, against me as well."

Gowron's brows met over the bridge of his nose. He started to smile as if it were a joke, then stopped himself.

"And who do you believe is conspiring against us?"

Kahless told him about the incident in the dining hall.

About Lomakh, and the things he had seen Lomakh say.

And, finally, he told Gowron what he thought it all meant.

The council leader stared at him. "Why them?" He tilted his head. "They have always been among my greatest supporters. Why would they see fit to turn against me now"..."...at "One might look at a thranx bush for seven years," said Kahless, "and conclude it was incapable of flowering. But if one came back in the eighth year, one would see a vast profusion of flowers."

Gowron scowled. "In other words, they've been nurturing a plot against me for some time? And I was simply not aware of it?"

"It is certainly possible," Kahless agreed. "The question is-what are you going to do about it?"

Gowron's scowl deepened, his eyes like flat, black stones. "I will do nothing," he replied at last.

If this was humor, the emperor didn't appreciate it.

"Nothing?" he barked, his words echoing around him.

"Against a threat of this magnitude?"

The council leader leaned forward in his chair. "If there is a threat," he rejoined. "I have seen no evidence.

All I have to go on is the account of a single individual an individual with a great deal on his mind right now, who may have perceived a conspiracy where none existed."

Kahless could feel the old anger rising inside him. It was all he could do to keep from challenging Gowron to combat.

"You doubt my word?" he seethed. "You think I've made this up?"

"I think you believe what you believe," the other man responded, leaning back ever so slightly. "However, under the circ.u.mstances, your beliefs may not be grounded in reality. And I cannot accuse my right hand of clawing at my throat until I have seen its fingers reaching for it."

Kahless felt the anger bubble up inside him, refusing to be denied. "I saw what I saw!" he thundered, until the rafters shook with it. "And if you will not defend your Empire, I will!"

Gowron's eyes flashed with equal fire. But before he could answer, the emperor had turned on his heel and was headed for the exit.

Had it been anyone else, Kahless knew, the council leader would have rewarded his impertinence with a swift and violent death. But scroll or no scroll, he was still Kahless. Gowron didn't dare try to kill him, no matter how great the insult.

What was more, Kahless had suffered the greater affront. The accuracy of his observations had been questioned, as if he were some drooling half-wit, or a doddering old warrior who had outlived his usefulness.

Gowron's words stung him like pherza wasps as he threw open the doors and stalked back down the long corridor beyond.

Seeing his anger, the guards on either side of him looked away. A wise move on their part, he thought. He was in no mood for further impudence on the part of his inferiors.

Until recently, Kahless told himself, Gowron's regime had benefited mightily from the emperor's popularity.

Only now, as the controversy concerning the scroll reached new heights, did Gowron seem eager to disa.s.sociate himself from Kahless-to keep the clone at arm's length.

Kahless's mouth twisted into a silent snarl. Regardless of how Gowron had treated him, he could not let the Empire fall. And yet, he couldn't very well face the threat of Lomakh and his conspirators alone.

He needed help. But from whom? Who could he enlist in his cause?

Not the clerics who created him. They were thinkers and philosophers, useless in a situation like this one. And there was no one else he could trust implicitly, within the council chamber or without.

No ... wait. There was someone he could place his faith in.

Someone outside the empire ...

The Heroic Age There was a village in the distance, the largest one they'd seen since Kahless and his men had fallen afoul of Molor's power. The dark tower of its central keep danced in the heat waves that rose off the land, surrounded by equally dark walls.

A deep, slow-moving river irrigated the fields and the groves of fruit trees that radiated from the village like the spokes of a wheel. The wind brought the smell of the minnhor droppings commonly used as fertilizer. Swarms of blue-gray treehens scuttled across the land, screeching as they hunted for parasites.

Kahless used the back of his hand to rid his brow of perspiration. Removing his water bladder from his saddle, he untied the thong that held its neck closed, lifted, and drank. At least they'd had no shortage of water as they traveled north, away from Molor's capital-and the river up ahead would provide them with even more.

He wished the same were true of their food supplies.

Their military provisions had run out long ago, and thanks to the famine the year before, it was almost impossible to find fresh game for the fire. As a result, they'd had to subsist on a diet of groundnuts and stringy yolok worms.

"I wouldn't mind stopping here," said Porus, the eldest of them. He'd been in Molor's service longer than even Kahless himself, but he hadn't liked their orders back in M'Riiah any better than the warchief had. "I'm weary of slinking around like a ptahk, and this place looks prosperous. I'll wager they have plenty to eat, and then some.

Morath, who sat on Kahless's right flank, nodded wi/lly. "I'll wager you're right. Their location on this broad old river must have helped them during the drought." He bit his lip. "But we don't dare stop here."

"Why not?" asked a third warrior, a wiry, one-eyed man called Shurin. "What harm could it do to cajole some bread from the local baker? Or better yet, to swipe it while he's not looking?"

Kahless shook his head slowly from side to side. "No," he said, "Morath is right. Once the villagers get an idea we're outlaws, they'll report our whereabouts to the tyrant. And then a good meal will be the least of our problems."

With that, he pulled on the reins and pointed his beast's head toward a bend in the river. There were plent of trees and bushes there to conceal them while they filled their waterskins. As his men fell into line behind him, he could hear them moaning about what they'd missed.

"I wonder how these people prepare rokeg blood pie, Porus sighed. "Baked in spices? Or in its own juices?"

"Spices," decided Shurin. "Definitely."

"How do you know?" asked Porus.

"Because that's the way I like it," returned Shurin. "If I can't have it in any case, why not imagine I'm missing the best?"

Kahless cursed the circ.u.mstances that had put him and Molor at odds. After all, he'd been as loyal a soldier as anyone could ever want. He'd been brave and effective.

He deserved better.

Why couldn't he have been sent to collect taxes from a village like this one, where they had enough to pay and be done with it? Then he might have been gnawing on bregit lung and heart of targ instead of dreaming about them.

But fate had given him no choice in the matter. How could he have burned M'riiah, with all the misfortunes it already had to endure? Molor might as well have asked him to flay the flesh from his shoulders.

Given a second chance, he knew, he would do the same thing all over again. He would like it no better than the first time, he would drag his feet-but he most certainly would do it. And if that was not some particularly virulent form of insanity, he didn't know what was.

Kahless grunted pensively-then looked around at his companions. And yet, he thought, if I am insane, I am not the only one. If I am diseased, my men are doubly so. And Morath most of all.

The man had risked his life for a warchief he barely knew, just to ensure a fair fight. Given Starad's size and prowess, Morath had to have believed he was wagering on a losing cause. But, fool that he was, he had wagered nonetheless.

And when the fight was over, and Morath had had every chance to fade into obscurity, he had chosen to raise his sword and lead the cheer for Kahless instead.

The warchief shook his head.

Unlike the others, Morath was closemouthed, his motivations difficult to plumb. He didn't speak much of where he came from or how he had been raised, or how he had come to join Molor's forces.

Nor would Kahless make an attempt to pry the story from him. If the younger man wished to keep his own counsel, he would have every opportunity to do so. The warchief owed him that, at least.

Up ahead, the gray and yellow micayah trees swayed in the wind, their slim, brittle leaves buzzing like strange insects. Kahless urged his mount toward an opening between two of the largest specimens, through which the glistening surface of the river was blindingly visible.

The animal trotted along cheerfully, for a change. The prospect of a good watering would do that to anyone, thought Kahless. Cool shadows caressed him as he ducked his head to avoid a low-slung branch.

He had almost reached the river bank when he heard a cry downstream, to his left. His first thought was that he'd led his men into an ambush. His second was that Molor would have fewer outlaws to worry about tonight when he took his evening bath.

However, as Kahless slipped his sword free, he saw it wasn't an ambush at all. Not unless Molor's warriors were all females these days, and naked ones at that.

What's more, they hadn't noticed his approach. They were too busy shrieking with glee, too busy pounding at the surface of the water in an effort to drench one another-though they were already as drenched as one could be. Clearly not the behavior of steely-eyed a.s.sa.s.sins.

Kahless couldn't help smiling. The females were so lovely, so tempting as they raised rainbow-colored sprays with their splashing, their dark hair making slapping sounds as it whipped about their heads. He'd had precious little time for lovemaking these past few years, in Molor's employ. Now he was forcibly reminded of what he'd missed.

"What have we here?" murmured Shurin, as he caught up with his chief.

Porus chuckled. "Something tastier than blood pie, my friend. Our reward, perhaps, for sparing M'riiah?"

"Not likely," grunted Kahless, putting his cohorts on notice. He wasn't about to let anyone take advantage of these females. They had enough enemies without making more.

On the other hand, there was no harm in watching, was there? Certainly, Morath didn't think so. He was so intent on the females as he nudged his beast up near the bank, Kahless thought the man's eyes would boil.

"Look at you," Porus jibed, elbowing Morath in the ribs. "One would think you'd never seen a wench before."

Morath shot him a look that was altogether too serious.

"That would be none of one's business," he hissed.

But before he could say anymore, his mount gave in to temptation-and surged forward over the riverbank, landing with a noisy plash in the shallow water beyond.

Suddenly, the females" heads turned. For a moment, no one moved and no one spoke, each group seemingly paralyzed as it took stock of its situation. Then the naked ones struck out for the nearest bank.

For no reason he could identify at the time, Kahless brought his animal about and guided it through the trees.

Up ahead, he could see the females scrambling for their garments in a little clearing, where they had hung them on the lower branches.

Without even bothering to put their clothes on, they scampered away through the woods. Not that there was any reason to flee, thanks to Kahless's prohibition-but they had no way of knowing that. Amused, he watched them run, fleet as any animal and twice as graceful.

All except one of them. The tallest and most beautiful stood her ground all alone, having grabbed not her clothes but a long, deadly dagger. As Kahless spurred his s'tarahk to move closer to her, he saw her eyes flash with grim determination.