Free Hell's Heart by John Jackson Miller

to plan, in a couple of hours the emperor would wait inside the temple before ascending to a rostrum on top, addressing the nobles and veterans ringing the arena.
    Except one thing had not gone according to plan. Seizing a quiet moment amid the ongoing construction work, Worf finally had told Kahless what he had learned about the events of the Battle of Gamaral. The emperor had listened intently, his outrage growing. Then he had stormed off the plaza, down from the plateau, and into the wilderness.
    Worf needed no tricorder, no tracking skills to find Kahless. In anger, the clone had barreled through undergrowth sodden by a recent rain, slashing at trees and vines with the ceremonial mek’leth he had been given for the event. Worf found him at the end of a trail of destruction, chopping at an offending bit of foliage obstructing his path.
    â€œKahless!”
    â€œNot now, Worf.” The gold-colored mek’leth had tangled in something, and Kahless struggled to dislodge it. The emperor was in his finest ceremonial garb, now dirtied and disheveled. Frustrated, Kahless finally ripped the weapon free. Then he turned and cast it into the mud at Worf’s feet. “If Galdor wants that back, he can have it!”
    Worf knelt to pick up the weapon. Even soiled, it shone as Gamaral’s morning light peeked through the greenery above. It had been a gift from the House of Kruge to Kahless for the event; inscribed on it were the names of the nobles to be honored that day. The letters were tiny, almost as if the inscriber knew how little the recipients deserved the honor. Galdor had yet to encounter Kahless, sending it to the emperor by courier while on Enterprise . Kahless had been impressed by the weapon—but no longer.
    â€œYou hold an engraved record of warriors,” Kahless said, “warriors of a kind I’ve never heard of in the history of the Empire.” He stomped toward Worf and seized the weapon from him. “By all means, let’s give them the Order of the Bat’leth !”
    â€œI think,” Worf said gravely, “that most of them already have it.”
    â€œWonderful! No wonder the Typhon Pact does not fear our alliance, Worf. Your Federation has joined forces with a toothless tiger.”
    Worf shook his head. He had waited too long, but told the truth, as he knew it. Worf was pleased that Riker had not asked him to compromise his principles—though on reflection, he knew there was never any chance of that happening. Riker wasa man of honor, who understood and respected it in others. “I am sorry to have waited, Kahless. But I was—”
    â€œEmbarrassed for your fellow Klingons?” Kahless laughed. “You should be.” With a snarling expression on his face, he read the names inscribed on the mek’leth . “This battle that was staged in these absent cowards’ names—the one against the general’s coup. Was it a massacre?”
    â€œThere was a trial,” Worf said, “but I cannot find much more about it. Chancellor Kesh was a weak leader, afraid of his own military. He seems to have accepted the family’s account and made an example of the conspirators.”
    â€œHe put them to death?”
    â€œI could not find out. Certainly their names were purged from history. The records from those days are mostly about the restoration of the peace of the house, of the may’qochvan .”
    â€œA ridiculous concept,” Kahless said. “If this Kruge had no single heir, they should have fallen on each other and let honor decide.”
    â€œThey were more concerned about rival houses doing the same thing,” Worf said. “Kruge had been dead for some time. The carrion beasts were circling. A unified force gave them their only chance at survival.”
    Kahless gave an audible sigh. “Is there not a warrior to be found in the whole family?”
    â€œThere is,” Worf said after a moment.