Cross Blades

Author’s Note: Y’know all those warnings on this story about torture, nonconsensual activities, and that kind of stuff? This is where that part begins. If you choose not to read that kind of thing, or want a fairy tale romance, consider the end of Chapter 12 your “happy ending” to the story and hit your back button now.
If you choose to read on: I ask you to stay with it to the end. As in real life, falling in love doesn’t erase your past, nor does it automatically solve your problems. It may, or may not, change how you face them…


Cross Blades

Chapter the Thirteenth: Renegade's Blade


N’tho tried his best to convince Usze to stay in bed the next morning, but the Blademaster was insistent—he had some business in town that could not wait, and he was depending on Perez to give him a ride in a Warthog. N’tho had noticed with great amusement that Uzi’s cheeks turned purple every time he said the word “Warthog.” Nitro had still been laughing when Usze, still scowling, stalked out.

Now N’tho had bathed and dressed and was hanging around in the room he shared with Usze, idle and bored. He stared at the clock in his room, watching the numbers change. There was still a lot of number-changing left to do before the mess hall would open for lunch; N’tho was rarely hungry before evening, but he enjoyed the company of the Marines, and he was rapidly growing accustomed to the taste of coffee. He didn’t think he’d ever grow accustomed, though, to the Human penchant for cold drinks. Just the thought of icy liquid sliding down his throat made him shudder. What was the appeal?

Desperate for something to do, N’tho began sorting through his armour plates, polishing them as he went. The helmet was pretty good, the chest plates needed work, the right thigh piece wasn’t even worth cleaning… N’tho pried open the storage compartment to see if there was anything worthwhile inside it and discovered his comm link in there, still functional.

Condemnation! He hadn’t looked at the thing since the Halo mission. He hadn’t even turned it on.

He flipped it on now. There were two messages in his inbox.

TO: N’tho ‘Sraom
FROM: Zhaal ‘Lymuxee
RE: The Ark

Meet up with me when you come back to the fleet. We can finish what we started on the Ark.
I hope ‘Taham rots in hell.

Zhaal

N’tho frowned as he realized that nobody on the fleet had any idea of what had gone on between himself and Usze in the past few days. He ran a search on the name “Zhaal” and had his suspicions confirmed: Zhaal had been the Major Domo with Ki ‘Chaz in the Phantom on the Ark. N’tho made a note to avoid Zhaal when he returned to Shadow of Intent; he didn’t want to be the first to tell the sexually aggressive Major Domo that he was no longer in the market for another casual mate.

The other message was simple:

TO: N’tho ‘Sraom
FROM: The Arbiter (Thel ‘Vadam)
RE: Recall

Following the memorial service tomorrow, we will be returning to Sanghelios.
You will be resuming your prior position as a SpecOps Minor Domo.
Thank you for your exempliary service as my Honour Guard. Your conduct has been noted on your record.
You are to report to Admiral Rtas ‘Vadum tomorrow at noon local time.

The Arbiter

N’tho felt a bolt rush through him as he realized the message had been sent yesterday. He’d been so busy fooling around with Uzi that he’d left the unit turned off in order to avoid distraction. The “off” feature was designed for combat, when transmissions could give away his position. He’d have been in real trouble if he’d been caught abusing the feature. Any relief at dodging that bullet was washed away by his fears about the Arbiter’s message.

Last night had been his last night on Earth. He only got one night to share a room with Uzi? Where was the justice in that?

Then his hearts begam to pound as another thought occurred to him.

Was Uzi coming to the fleet too?

N’tho quickly dialed in Usze’s live transmission coordinates. There was a buzzing sound indicating that Usze was accepting live transmissions; then Uzi’s voice came over the device. “Blademaster ‘Taham.”

“Uzi?”

“Yes?” ‘Taham sounded like he was doing his best not to be irritated.

“It’s Nitro. Did you get recalled to the fleet?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. N’tho felt a sudden panic that the Arbiter had decided to leave Usze here, as an Ambassador to the Humans.

‘Taham spoke at last. “Yes.”

N’tho let the air rush out of his lungs following the incredible feeling of relief. “Me too. So, I’ll see you on Shadow of Intent, hm?”

This time the pause was longer.

“I…I’m going to have some business to settle, Nitro. Ascetic business. I don’t know how long it’ll keep me…”

Usze’s voice sounded strange. Strained. N’tho didn’t feel comfortable declaring Usze a liar, but he could guess there was something the Blademaster wasn’t telling him.

“Uzi? What is it?” N’tho wished he was able to look ‘Taham in the eye instead of trying to guess what his expression might be.

“It might be a very long time.” Uzi’s words were strangled now, coming out tight and fast. “Take care of yourself, my hero.”

The transmission cut.

Nitro stared at his comm unit, unable to explain the sudden premonition of disaster he felt creeping down his spine.

*

Usze sat in the passenger seat of the Warthog as it sped towards the shadow of the massive Covenant carrier, with Marine Mbeki at the wheel. His trip in town had been cut short, though he’d gotten what he’d gone for. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever have a chance to use it now, though he turned the simple grey box over and over again in his hands.

He wondered if he’d ever see N’tho again.

The Humans had offered him a ride back to Shadow of Intent in a Pelican, but Usze had declined, claiming that he did not mind using Shadow of Intent’s grav lift. This was only a partial truth; Usze needed every second of the drive to come to terms with what lay before him.

Mbeki could not read the Covenant script on the datapad on his lap. He had received the message shortly after he arrived in the town, and now he stared down at his comm unit and the message on its screen, thinking there had to be some mistake.

He ran the decryption key over and over. He verified the sender time and time again. He read and reread his own address. He sent authentication requests, one after another, and watched them all come back positive. He rebooted the unit, ran the anti-tampering program, and opened his mailbox again.

The message was still there. It was still addressed to him. It was still from the Ascetic Temple on Sanghelios, transmitted via a Slipspace drone satellite. It still passed authentication. And it still said the same thing:

Kill The Arbiter

*

Somewhere on Earth, the Arbiter was attending the Humans’ memorial service with Lord Hood. Above, aboard Shadow of Intent, N’tho ‘Sraom entered Rtas ‘Vadum’s office.

“Welcome back,” Rtas said as he returned N’tho’s salute. “Congratulations on your performance. The Arbiter has returned a very favourable report on you, Minor Domo. We are considering how best to reward you, but know this, you will be receiving due notice for your accomplishments.” He stroked his remaining jaws. “I am now trying to decide where you would fit best on this ship.”

N’tho blinked. “I’m not staying as the Arbiter’s honour guard? Me and Uzi…I mean, the Blademaster?”

Rtas frowned. “When you and ‘Taham were assigned to act as the Arbiter’s honour guard, it was a last minute decision made out of necessity. It was never intended to be permanent. After all, you’d only just arrived in SpecOps, and as for ‘Taham, well, suffice it to say he has a history of turning down ceremonial positions.” He stroked his mandibles. “I am hesitant to send you back to SpecOps now that Rycl ‘Otsed is the new SpecOps commander. Rycl is a very capable soldier but I do not think he…or the Shipmaster…will be able to forgive and forget.”

Nitro could not hide his face from falling. Rtas saw the expression; his next words made it clear that he knew the whole story about N’tho’s run-in with Rycl and Epse.

“You should steer clear of Shipmaster ‘Gamul. I have evidence suggesting that he was the one who put those pictures of you on the BattleNet.”

N’tho’s jaws gaped. “The Shipmaster did that?”

“Do yourself a favour, ‘Sraom, and stop getting on the bad side of your superiors. ‘Taham, ‘Otsed, ‘Gamul…you’re setting a dangerous precedent.”

“’Taham?” Nitro repeated stupidly.

“Don’t worry about ‘Taham. I doubt you’ll be seeing him again.”

Nitro felt sick. “I won’t?”

“No, that one’s been settled. You don’t need to worry about the Blademaster any more.” He tilted his head. “Don’t look so surprised, ‘Sraom. I’m well aware of the animosity between the two of you.”

N’tho’s mandibles quivered as he realized just how little Rtas and the Arbiter understood what had happened between himself and Usze in the short time that they had been the Arbiter’s honour guard.

“Where is he?”

Rtas narrowed his eyes curiously. “I received a communication from Admiral Xytan ‘Jar Wattin’s flagship claiming that Usze ‘Taham had caught a ride on one of our supply ships and is en route for the Ascetic Temple on Sanghelios.”

N’tho bowed his head, uncertain how to phrase his request. “With all due respect, sir, that’s not right. ‘Taham got a ride from the Humans to Shadow of Intent earlier this morning. I know, because Private Mbeki told me when she gave me the same ride two hours later, from the base to Shadow’s grav lift. And, sir, if you see Usze, please let him know I really want to talk to him, because…” His voice broke.

Something was very wrong. Usze was nowhere to be found. Even Rtas didn’t know where he was. N’tho was getting a sickening feeling that it was something to do with him. “Because I have a lot of things I need to tell him,” N’tho finished.

“I can pass on a message, if a comm is not sufficient.”

“Personal things. Sir.” ‘Sraom flushed. “You understand…right, sir?”

‘Vadum tilted his head skeptically. “I thought you didn’t get along with ‘Taham.”

“We…came to an understanding during the last of the Halo mission.”

“I thought ‘Taham didn’t get along with you,” Rtas said more bluntly.

N’tho would not succumb to paranoia or despair. He had to defend Uzi in front of Rtas. “When you see him, sir,” N’tho said, “you can ask him yourself.”

*

Usze ‘Taham melted into the shadows along the corridor. If the crew of Shadow of Intent had fallen for the Ascetics’ ruse, they would all believe that he was on his way back to Sanghelios to the Ascetic Temple.

Catching the Arbiter alone was going to be a lot more difficult considering that the Arbiter spent his nights in Rtas ‘Vadum’s stateroom. Confronting the Arbiter would be challenge enough; confronting the Arbiter and ‘Vadum together would be suicide. As a result, Usze had forced himself to be patient.

He’d started by finding a quiet, neglected area in the storage hold and constructing a makeshift shelter using an old missile crate and some blankets he scavenged. It would give him a place to conceal himself while he slept; only Huragok ever visited the area, and Huragok kept their secrets well.

In his new lair, he commed the Ascetic Temple and received a response before Shadow of Intent entered Slipspace.

He could no longer hope that his orders were an error. The Ascetics wanted to remove the Arbiter from power and install Imperial Admiral Xytan ‘Jar Wattin as the new head of state. ‘Jar Wattin’s vision more closely matched their own: a Sanghelios where the powerful reveled in their power, and those who did not ascend in rank were beaten into the dust for their failures.

And Usze ‘Taham was the blade of the Ascetics.

Now, as Shadow of Intent travelled through Slipspace, Usze watched as Rtas ‘Vadum left his stateroom and headed for the bridge. He seemed preoccupied, holding a data pad in his hand and muttering to himself. Usze knew his opportunity had arrived. ‘Taham, fully cloaked, stuck out his hand to catch the door before it locked. ‘Vadum did not notice.

The Blademaster pried open the door and stepped inside.

In the bunk, the Arbiter was still sleeping. His ceremonial armour and his sword rested on the desk beside the bed; his jumpsuit hung off the back of a chair. Usze closed the door behind him, certain it had locked, and moved forwards.

He could smell the musky scent of lovemaking in the air and guessed what the Arbiter and Rtas had been doing in the hours before. It made him think of Nitro; his hearts clenched. Usze tried to shake off the feeling and concentrate. He was walking into a predator’s den where any misstep could be fatal.

Usze stood over the bed, looking down at the Arbiter.

The Arbiter stirred, sniffing. He had caught Usze’s scent. His eyes flew open.

Usze decloaked.

The Arbiter startled—Usze could see it in his eyes—but to his credit, though he had been caught by surprise, he sat up swiftly yet gracefully. “Blademaster. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I received this message.” Usze activated his comm unit and passed it to the Arbiter. He watched the Arbiter’s eyes widen as he read the message on the screen.

“If this is accurate…” The Arbiter’s expression hardened as he turned his face to ‘Taham’s. “Are you going to follow this order, then? Do you seek a duel?”

“No.”

The Arbiter tilted his head in a gesture of inquiry.

“If I intended to follow that order, one of us would already be dead. Had I chosen to duel, it would probably be me. Had I simply struck from the shadows…well…” Usze let his voice trail off. He was fairly certain he could have taken the Arbiter if he had exploited the element of surprise quickly enough, but he didn’t want to offend the other Sangheili by saying so.

“Then why have you come sneaking into my quarters by night?”

“I am here to dishonour myself.” ‘Taham dropped to his knees and hung his head, trusting the Arbiter not to simply reach for his blade and decapitate him. “To break my vows. To go against the orders of the Ascetics and deliberately fail to kill you. And, furthermore, to warn you: they plot your death, and that of Admiral ‘Vadum and your supporters, as well.”

“Rise.”

Usze rose.

“Sit.”

‘Taham obeyed, sitting in the desk chair. The Arbiter rose to his feet, apparently unconcerned about his nakedness, though he did grab up a doarmir-fur cloak and fasten it around his shoulders, as if he knew Usze was uncomfortable under the face-concealing helmet. The Arbiter’s cloak was a flamboyant shade of purple, and when it swirled open, it served only to emphasize rather than hide the Arbiter’s bare physique. The Arbiter, graciously, held it closed in his left hand.

The Arbiter was a very fine figure of a Sangheili, and Usze could see now what Rtas saw in him, but Usze would never trade N’tho for the Arbiter.

“The Ascetics are philosophers, administrators, governors,” the Arbiter mused, “but not warriors. With Rtas at my side, how can they overthrow me?”

“They have formed an alliance with Imperial Admiral Xytan ‘Jar Wattin.”

The Arbiter allowed his face to show his dismay. “A mutiny?”

“A coup,” Usze agreed.

“They entrusted you to kill me. To send us into disarray, so they might take over.”

“Yes. I am to kill you before Shadow of Intent reaches Sanghelios.”

“A suicide mission?”

“No. They are sending a ship to pick me up…I presume the same ship that will bring ‘Jar Wattin here to take command from Rtas.”

“So ‘Jar Wattin will duel Rtas, but not myself.”

“He must know you two would fight together.” Usze frowned. “He must have at least one ally on this ship.”

“And when we reach Sanghelios and I am still alive…”

“They will know I failed.”

The Arbiter frowned. “One thing confuses me in all this, Blademaster ‘Taham. Your records make it clear: you are the closest to an ideal Ascetic that I have ever seen. And yet, you betray the Order so easily. I would not have thought it of you, and I do not understand.”

“It is the Order,” Usze says, “that threatens to betray Sanghelios.”

The Arbiter stroked his mandibles. “Continue.”

“The Ascetic Order has long claimed to hold the soul of Sangheili culture. Now that the Prophets are gone, and the old ways have proven false, the Ascetics are rising, saying they have sheltered the spiritual heart of our people through the ages of alien rule. But I say now that we cannot revert to our old sins. We must become something new—something stronger.

“I have read my history, Arbiter. I know that long before the Prophets came, we Sangheili cherished our honour above all else. I know that we fought amongst ourselves, clan against clan, warrior against warrior. We had a planet capable of supporting twice our number, but instead we fought to take one another’s keeps and mates and food and ships. We said the fighting made us strong—weeded out the weak—left only the powerful to breed. But I wonder, now, whether we were mistaken.

“When we first met the San ‘Shyuum, we fought a grueling war with them, a war that neither side could win. We had strength and skill; they had Forerunner technology. We fought to a deadlock and made the devil’s bargain that gave the Prophets leadership over us in exchange for keeping our honour as warriors. But Arbiter…what would have happened had the Sangheili not been fighting to the death amongst themselves for generations?

“What use is it for us to trade the Prophets for a new master? What will we do now—resume our ancient tribal conflicts and make ourselves prey for the next threat that comes along? Or learn from what the Prophets have taught us—that we are stronger as a united whole—and continue to learn, to change, to evolve, to seek to make ourselves better?

“I ask you now, what would have happened if those who had fallen to one another’s jealousies, one another’s greed, had survived to take up swords against the Prophets? What would have happened if we had broken our oath and refused to make war on the Humans? For years we wondered why the Humans were not permitted to join the Covenant, why they had to be exterminated, but we never voiced that question, and we never challenged the Prophets’ right to control us! What kind of honour did we gain from averting our eyes and refusing to see the truth?”

“We cannot answer those questions,” the Arbiter replied, his eyes glinting. “We cannot guess the course that history might have taken.”

“It is more productive to look to the future,” ‘Taham agreed, “considering that the Ascetics aim to take us back to our ancient roots. I argue now those roots will do us more harm than good. What we call “honour” is a selfishness—you know that more than most.”

The Arbiter’s mandibles gaped dangerously. “Explain yourself.”

“When Tartarus burned that Mark of Shame into your hide,” ‘Taham dared to say, “you wished to be dead, did you not?”

The Arbiter’s eyes shone menacingly.

“I would have, in your position. I would rather have died than live with the shame. Then the Prophets made you their Blade, dangling the promise of absolution before you to make you dance to their tune.”

The Arbiter’s jaws closed with a snap. “I do not need reminding of these things.”

“Then consider another example. How about ‘Sraom? Branded with a Mark of Punishment for something his grandfather did. His grandfather. Something entirely beyond his control, and yet he was made to suffer for it. How many with a Mark of Punishment take their own lives out of a sense of so-called honour? Why do our people consider suicide preferable to making amends? Why, if we are injured in battle, can we not seek medical care, so we can survive to bring our experience back to a later battlefield? Why are we called cowards if we draw our blades and put them away without drawing blood—as though we could never think better of our actions, or negotiate a peaceful solution?”

Usze slammed his fist into his palm. “I say that death is an easy way out. Living is far harder for those like ‘Sraom who try to make their lives meaningful despite the revilement of others. Living is far harder for those like yourself who dare to take responsibility for a mistake and work to make it right. That is the true heart of Sanghelios—not a proud avarice that would lead us to prey on our own kind, like a snake swallowing its own tail, like a thornbeast devouring her own young. As long as we remain in love with death, we condemn ourselves.”

The Arbiter tilted his head, considering. “You are not what I thought you were at all. Your philosophy, and mine, are much the same. It appears we have both learned much in our recent battles, and from our strange alliances.” He smiled. “You have much to say about ‘Sraom.”

“He dared to live with his shame, and in that daring, saved my life on the Omega Halo.”

“So you are grateful to him.”

“As you should be as well. After all—had I died on the Halo—who would be in your room with you now? Someone perhaps less interested in debating philosophy, and more interested in spilling your guts across the floor.”

The Arbiter’s eyes narrowed. “Surely you do not believe that I am unfit to defeat assassins?” His hand hovered near the desk, prepared to grab his sword.

“I believe,” Usze replied, “that you are indeed fit—as long as you see them coming.”

The older Sangheili bowed his head. “You are correct, ‘Taham. I did not foresee this eventuality.”

“My blade is with you, Arbiter,” Usze said. “For as long as I shall stand.”

The Arbiter nodded, looking Usze ‘Taham in the eyes.

They both knew he would not stand for long. Not once the Ascetics discovered that the Blademaster had betrayed them.