“One woman against all of us, VelKalevi. She can’t win. And you are dead.”
“I know.” He angled one gun toward the Kinsman Second, who seemed about to move. “I have sent a message to those who will aid Captain D’Accorso and stand against you as traitors to shaauri-ja.”
“You’re the traitor. You have nothing.”
Ronan’s mind sang with joyous certainty as Cynara sent him a parting gift, so strong and clear that even he could hear it. “My teacher Sihvaaro learned part of the truth, and I know the rest. You planned to use the Archon’s death as a means of returning to Concordat space and regaining your power there, regardless of the consequences in shaauri-ja. That was always your intention—to rule humans rather than serve shaauri masters. Cynara knew the location of the world where the alien drive technology was discovered. You would steal it and keep it to yourselves.” He showed his teeth. “Did you believe we would give ourselves up to you without plans of our own? Word of your treachery has already been sent to the War-Leader, ne’lin.”
“Your claims against ours,” VelRauthi said. “Even Ain’Kalevi will not speak for you.”
“I will fall first, but you will fall with me. You believed the Concordat would collapse without the Archon, but your own fears set you on the wrong Path. It is your people who must decline when you are gone.”
VelRauthi’s expression grew blank, but not out of fear. Ronan’s ravaged mind felt the attack, a barrage of mental power turned against his hands and his grip on the weapons.
He had wanted this final battle to be a true and proper challenge, but VelRauthi would never permit it.
“For Sihvaaro,” he said, and squeezed the triggers. But his fingers had lost their strength. One gun clattered to the deck, and the beam of the other went wide, catching one of VelRauthi’s subordinates on the shoulder. He shrieked and spun away.
VelRauthi held Ronan paralyzed while he snatched the second weapon from Ronan’s hand. Immediately he aimed it at Ronan’s heart.
“You’ve lost your power,” he said, almost wonderingly. “You’re completely helpless.”
“Finish it.”
“You do want to die, don’t you? Ah, yes. I remember Sihvaaro. He never trusted us and spoke against our plan. It’s fortunate he’s dead as well.”
“Face me in honorable challenge, ne’lin.”
“Oh, no. I was put in that position once before, and it did not end to my advantage.” He cocked his head. “Since you have no defenses, it will be a simple matter to drain your memory of any useful knowledge.”
“You may take everything,” Ronan said, “but you will never use what you learn.”
“Like your parents, you have a fatal tendency to underestimate your enemies.” He glanced behind him. One of the guards was stirring, and the Kinsman who had been shot lay groaning on the deck in the arms of his companion. “Belloq, the man you wounded, has a peculiar fondness for the suffering of others, both mental and physical. I’ve found him useful in the past. I’m certain he’ll be pleased to take charge of you. We may even lure the versatile captain from hiding.”
“She will not come.”
VelRauthi turned his back in contempt. The recovered guard attended his fallen comrade while a medic entered the bridge with another armed Kinsman, who went directly to Ronan. The medic set about treating Belloq’s shoulder. As soon as she was finished, she and his comrade helped him to his feet.
Belloq came forward, clutching his shoulder. He nodded to VelRauthi. “Bind him,” he commanded the guard.
For a moment Ronan was free to act. He lunged. The guard shoved his gun barrel into Ronan’s stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. Someone bound his hands in steel cuffs. Belloq stared into Ronan’s eyes, emotionless.
Pain. At first Ronan could not tell if it came from within or without, for it filled his skull and spilled over into his veins like liquid fire. His eyes threatened to burst from their sockets. His empty stomach attempted to turn inside out.
Then the pain stopped, and the guards picked him up from the deck. Ronan heaved and tasted blood. Belloq smiled.