“Ayla!” He was afraid to touch her. If she moved the skewers might tear out. She didn't respond.
“Ayla!” Her eyes fluttered.
“Ayla, it's me.”
“Quacy?” Her eyes wouldn't focus at first. “Quacy, am I dreaming?” Her voice was distant and dreamy.
“No, I'm here, I'm real.” He put his hand on her shoulder tentatively, as though even that contact might do her further injury.
“Oh Quacy.” She looked up at him, moving just her eyes because of the way she was pinned down. The reality of his presence brought her mind back from wherever it had fled from the pain, and she shuddered. “Oh Quacy, it hurts.”
“It won't hurt much longer. Just hang on.” He tried to be gentle getting the skewers out, but it was impossible; they were driven deep into the wooden table top and had to be worked loose. “Trina, help me.”
Trina moved around to Ayla's head to pull out the smaller needles that pinned her hand to the board.
“Valya?” Ayla was staring at Trina with an odd expression. “Now I know I'm dreaming.”
Trina stopped, her expression frozen. “What did you call me?”
Ayla's eyes refocused. “I'm sorry… Valya, my sister… you look like her.”
Trina was staring, eyes round. “Valya was my mother.”
Tskombe let go of the skewer he was working on, understanding arriving with sudden shock. He looked from one face to the other, saw the family resemblance in the shape of the nose, the chin and the high cheekbones. Suddenly he remembered how familiar Trina had seemed when he first met her. And lucky Trina has come fifty light-years through two wars to find her only living relative. It made sense now.
And there was still a war on. “Come on, we have no time.” He pulled hard on another skewer.
“Quacy…” She gasped in pain as the skewer let go and pulled free. “There's a ship aimed at earth, lightspeed weapons…”
“We don't have to worry about that now. First we're going to get you somewhere safe.”
She shook her head violently, a motion that must have caused considerable pain. “No, we have to stop it. The black-furred kzin, he knows the coordinates.”
“One of these two?” He gestured to the bodies.
“No, another one. Ftzaal-Tzaatz.”
“Is he the one who did this to you?”
“Yes.” She groaned as another skewer came free, fresh blood oozing from the crusted wound.
The Tzaatz will pay for this. Tskombe smiled grimly as he worked another needle loose. The flesh seemed to be cauterized where the needles had gone in. They put them in hot. Anger flooded him. Oh yes, they will pay. Each tug caused her new pain, but Ayla gritted her teeth and bore it stoically.
Noises in the corridor. He grabbed up the variable sword and turned to face a mag armored kzin coming into the room at the bound, four more behind him.
“Kr-Pathfinder!” He lowered the variable sword, relief flooding over him.
“Tskombe-kz'eerkti. We must leave, now.”
Tskombe nodded. “Help me get her free.”
Pathfinder gave tail signals, and a pair of czrav warriors moved to secure the room's other entrance. Then he grabbed the larger skewers that pinned Ayla's thighs and calves and yanked. Ayla screamed then, but she didn't cry, as Tskombe and Trina and Pathfinder pulled the needles from her body. The tears didn't come until the last skewer was gone and she collapsed, unable even to sit up. She tried, struggling, and when she couldn't she looked down at the horrific damage done to her body and wept, and Tskombe lifted her and carried her out of the chamber of horrors that she thought she'd die in.
Pathfinder snarled. “She is lucky to be alive.”
Ayla breathed in and out, self-control reasserting itself. I am still an officer. Still she had to fight down a wave of nausea as she saw what had been done to her. “They've ruined me, Quacy.”
“Don't worry, it's nothing an autodoc won't fix.” He tried to be gentle as he carried her, but there was still a battle going on, and speed was critical. He took a moment to kiss her though, gently at first because he was afraid he might hurt her, and then hard because he loved her and had lost her and wanted her to know that he'd never let her go again. And then they had to go, so he carried her up the spiral staircase into the light. He found himself in the same garden as before, but on the other side of the tower. Pouncer's instructions were right, I should have gone right around the tower on the outside. But he hadn't and who knew how fate would have woven events if they'd taken the easy way. Trina's luck worked in mysterious ways.
“We have to get the black-furred one.” Ayla was breathless, still trembling in his arms. “Ftzaal-Tzaatz.”
“Oh we will.” He clenched his jaw grimly. Sounds of combat rose over the Citadel walls.
Kr-Pathfinder dropped to attack-crouch, searching for hidden dangers in the ornate garden. He made tail signals, commanding his half-sword into defensive positions, then keyed his vocom. “Sire, we have the Cherenkova-Captain and the other kz'eerkti.”
Tskombe looked at him, only then realizing that the big kzin's appearance was not coincidence but plan. Pouncer is winning here. He found that somehow surprising, and he realized he had never allowed himself to think in terms of final victory, even as he planned for it. Because to win I had to have Ayla, and now I do.
A crystal iron crossbow bolt embedded itself in the tower's stonework with an audible spang, a handsbreadth from his head. One of Kr-Pathfinder's sword wheeled and fired an arrow back, knocking a Tzaatz warrior from the battlements. Other Tzaatz appeared. And now I have her, we've got to get out of here while we still can.
Scream and leap.
Ftzaal-Tzaatz watched the battle unfold from the security of the Patriarch's Tower. Far below Heroes contended with sinew and steel, fighting for every last stone of the Citadel. The czrav forces had made it over the north wall and penetrated as far as the Middle Fortress. That was as it should be. He turned to the semi-comatose form drooling on the prrstet beside him, one of two telepaths he had managed to extract from the Black High Circle.
“Where is First-Son-of-Meerz-Rrit now?” He almost purred the words.
The telepath's eyes rolled back in his head. “He is… he is rallying warriors to storm the Hall of the Patriarch.”
“Is he still in the mind-trance?”
“No… Not in the trance… but still aware… aware of mind space…”
“Excellent.” Ftzaal turned his palm over. “It is time to put the bait in the trap.” He looked again to the unfolding battle and keyed his viscom. A holo appeared, showing the Command Lair where Kchula-Tzaatz watched the battle with his entourage.
“Brother.” Kchula's voice came over the voice link.
“The battle threatens you. I have created a secure area in the Patriarch's Great Hall. You must move there with your staff.”