“Leap!” Pouncer roared and leapt himself, just as their tuskvor collapsed half on the bank, half into the Quickwater, and the back half of the tsvasztet tore off to sink in the current. His grav belt surged as he arced for the parapet. A Tzaatz was waiting for him there, but he parried the first attack with his variable sword, then cut the attacker in half with a well timed counterswing. Pain flared in his mind as his opponent died, the echoes of the mind-trance spiking his death agony into Pouncer's awareness. The distraction nearly cost him his life, but he saw, in a single brilliant flash, the second Tzaatz, felt his developing attack and the rage in his killscream. He pivoted, slicewire blurring, and the other was dead and falling over the edge.
Shapes landed beside him. The two kz'eerkti. Where are the others? There was no time to worry about that. “Tskombe-kz'eerkti! Your mate! Go to that tower!” He pointed to Forgotten Tower, overshadowing the Puzzle Garden, where he could sense the dulled awareness of the tortured Cherenkova-Captain. “Go down the stairs, all the way. At the bottom there is a corridor with cells. At the end there is a chamber. She is there!”
Tskombe nodded in acknowledgment. Pouncer had changed since his recovery from the sthondat drug. He was more distant, more commanding, and the depth in his eyes was frightening. What does he see there? He followed the pointing talon to the distant tower, locking it into his memory. All along the wall czrav warriors were gaining the battlements, and a storm of arrows came up from the courtyards and the inner curtain wall. He looked to Trina and swallowed hard. It wasn't the first time he'd faced death in combat; it was the first time he'd brought a teenage girl with him. But I couldn't leave her, and she's lucky… He would need luck himself, and lots of it. He grabbed her hand and they leapt for the tower, grav belts whining as they arced toward it.
Pouncer watched them go, and more shapes landed beside him, C'mell and Z'slee, he knew without looking. In the courtyard below them the Tzaatz were bringing up another siege rapsar with powerful secondary legs meant to cock and fire the heavy ballista mounted on its back. Behind him Ztrak Pride had secured the outer north wall and Dziit Pride were leaping in to reinforce them. The attackers had taken heavy losses, and their hold on the battlements was precarious. If the rapsar below came into action it could cost them that tentative victory. He reached out with his mind, felt again the presence-of-absence that was the Black Priest. He is close. He found another mind, nearby, Ftz'yeer Leader waiting in ambush in the Citadel's central courtyard, ready to lead his elite force out on his master's command, to crush any czrav penetration of the inner sanctuary. He knew beyond doubt that Ftzaal-Tzaatz was directing the defenders now. Behind him he sensed his own forces, the vast array now embroiled in lethal combat with the rapsari. We need reinforcement or we will lose the battle here and now.
He keyed his beltcomp. “Assault prides, leap to the north wall. Support prides, saturation fire from the east across the Quickwater.” Below him the Tzaatz were bringing their launcher creature to bear. He screamed and leapt, and the two kzinretti screamed and leapt with him. As he touched down a sword of Tzaatz leapt at them. I will earn victory here, or a death of honor.
Seize what your enemy desires and he will conform to your wishes.
There was little arrow fire as Tskombe jumped for the tower, and he and Trina touched down unmolested. The tower was old, its stones worn smooth by the ages, and a tightly coiled spiral stairway ran down it. He led the way down. It coiled down to the left, as tower stairs did on Earth. And on Earth that's done so that right-handed attackers fighting up the stairs have their sword arm hampered against the inner wall. It occurred to him to wonder if kzinti had a preferred hand, and then he had an answer as a warrior screamed and leapt in front of him, variable sword held in the left hand with maximum freedom of motion. He parried the blow awkwardly with his right hand, then thumbed the retractor until his slice wire was dagger short. He ducked the next attack and stabbed it down, getting the tip into the shoulder articulation. The hit wasn't crippling, but his opponent fell back, bleeding, and dropped his weapon. Tskombe reextended the slice wire and swung, this time getting the edge inside the Tzaatz's belly articulation and gutting him. So the spiral is no help, but being on the high ground is always an advantage. He leapt over the body, nearly slipping in fresh spilled blood and continued down.
Thirty seconds later something was wrong. Pouncer said a corridor, but he was in a garden, aromatic and well manicured hedges and complex sculptures. A panicked Jotok ran past, arm/legs undulating, but he could see no other way down. He breathed deep while Trina caught up.
“Which way?” she asked.
He looked left and right, then inspiration struck. “You tell me.”
She nodded, and without hesitation ran across the garden. On the other side was an open archway, and another set of stairs spiraling down. Trina's luck. He took the lead again and found a corridor two flights underground, musty with the damp of ages. But Pouncer said cells. This corridor ran straight, with occasional arches leading to cross corridors. Trina ran and Tskombe followed her, trying to keep track of the twists and turns so they could find their way out again. I'm trusting her luck so why bother? Because her luck wasn't his luck, he realized. The image of her turning just in time to avoid the ballista shaft that went on to kill Ferlitz-Telepath was burned in his mind.
They took stairs spiraling down again. It was an old part of the fortress, the walls made of huge stones. At the bottom was another corridor, this one with cells, and at the end of it a chamber. A kill scream paralyzed him and he turned to see a black blur in midleap. Instinctively he swung the variable sword and his attacker was cut in half. The body parts slammed into Tskombe and knocked him over, covering him in gouting blood. Another scream split the air and a second black-furred kzin flew through the space he had been standing in. He struggled to his feet shakily. He had no mag armor. If the kzin had been wearing any, strength and mass alone would have made the match a short one.
He wiped blood from his eyes, saw the second attacker impaled through the forehead on a long, wicked looking skewer stuck into one of the large wooden support posts that held up the ceiling. Trina was standing in front of him looking shocked. There was smeared blood on the kzin's feet and it took half a second to put the picture together. He leapt at Trina even as I killed his companion, and got blood on his feet and slipped, hit the skewer and died. Trina's expression told of horror and he followed her gaze. He saw a human figure staked to a heavy table with cruel steel spikes. It took him longer to realize it was a woman, and he did not want to think it was Ayla, but it was. She was naked, her body twisted into an unnatural position by the skewers. Coagulated blood caked around the larger wounds, and her hair was matted. He knew from Ferlitz that she had been there three days, at least. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady, but he could tell she was not asleep. Her face looked strangely relaxed, as though she had somehow come to terms with the constant, excruciating pain.