He started to speak, then snapped his mouth shut and vanished once again.
Miralys turned to Anyagyn, ears up and quivering. Anyagyn wiggled her nose. “They can’t hear for the moment.”
“Any chance the worm can come up with a defense?”
“If Digby’s right, no.”
“Hmm. Get Hannys.”
“You sure? Her Mum raised crazy kits.”
“We need craziness right now.”
A side hexa pulsed awake. Hannys was a red Dyslaerin with bright yellow eyes and a round face. Her eyes sparkled and her lips were curled in a friendly grin, teeth carefully covered. “Toerfeles,” she said. “Can we bite ’em? Hey-hey, can we do it?”
“Maybe, cousin. I want you ready go in and snatch ours if the worm down there starts trying to argue with me.”
“Forget him. Let’s do it.”
“Cool your blood, cousin, you don’t move till I give the word, you hear?”
“Aaah.”
“Not a whisker, or I’ll snatch you naked and feed you to the nearest Ri-tors.”
Tinggal slid back into view. “I must apologize, Toerfeles,” he said easily, with a quick charming smile to underline what he intended to be a rueful sincerity. “We have two young guests who appear to be Dyslaera. It seems one of my subordinates was overzealous in his attempts to please our clients and acted without authorization. Be sure he will be dealt with. This will not occur again.
“Only two?”
“If you doubt my word, Toerfeles, ask them yourself.” He stepped aside.
Azram and Kinefray moved into the viewcone; they were thin and strained, but seemed otherwise unharmed.
Miralys sucked in a breath, then said quietly, “Azoe, Azram, Kinefray.”
Kinefray stared down at his feet; Azram answered her. “Azoisha, Toerfeles.” There was a touch of mischief in his reddened eyes.
“Worm says there’s only the two of you.”
Azram’s ears crinkled forward, his eyes glazed over, spilled tears despite his effort to stay calm. “True,” he managed. He rubbed at his nose with the back of his fist. “Rest ’re dead. ’Cept the Ciocan,” he added hastily. “That other lot kept him.” He looked to one side, nodded, then he and Kinefray shifted out of sight and Tinggal was back.
“As you hear, Toerfeles.”
“As I do see, slime. You’re not thinking nonsense like hostages, are you?”
“Certainly not, Toerfeles. Purely as a matter of curiosity though, say we were?”
“We take our own by force, then Black House and everything in it will be slagged to bedrock.”
“And if there is no further fuss?”
“We collect ours and leave. My word on it.”
“And what is your word worth?”
“More than anything you’ve got within your walls.”
“Very well. We will send the young Dyslaera out immediately. The main entrance. There is sufficient room in the garden there for one of your landers to alight.”
##
Miralys watched tensely as the Hannys’ lander touched down, collected Azram and Kinefray, zipped up, and leapt off for the circling disk of landers.
As soon as Hannys was in place, the landers swirled up in a grand helix, reached the transports, and were swallowed by them.
The transports went arcing onward, going deeper into the dark.
Mimishay
Savant 4: (Answering the com) The Grand Chom is elsewhere at the moment. I speak for the Council. What is the problem?
Tinggaclass="underline" Problem? I’ll tell you the problem. We’ve got a fleet of Dyslaera hanging over us. Someone talked. They know about the subjects you passed to us.
Savant 4: Fleet?
Tinggaclass="underline" (speaking with a growing impatience) Three armed transports and I didn’t bother to count the landers. Armed! Better than a lot of governments. Took out our defenses before they bothered to say a word. Knew just where to hit, too. Someone talked. Yes, someone talked. Burned down four suites, killed everyone inside and what we’re going to tell their families I don’t know.
Savant 4: And?
Tinggaclass="underline" (with obvious satisfaction) Better look to your own defenses. The Toerfeles has given us ten minutes to produce her kin and turn them over. We’ll do that, we’ve got no choice. Which means less than half an hour from now she’s on her way to you.
Savant 4: Ward Master, I want that Dyslaera brought to the Question Chamber. (His voice took on a shrill note despite the distorter he was wearing.) I want him there so fast the air smokes around him. You hear?
Ward Master: Yes, Savant. Anything special you want, tools, personnel, whatever?
Savant 4: Prepare for full hostile Probe.
Ward Master: The Chom…
Savant 4: The Chom isn’t here, he’s not going to be here any time soon. This is an emergency, fool, the Dyslaera are on their way here now.
Ward Master: Should I order a full alert? You have to authorize it.
Savant 4: Do it. Don’t just stand around asking stupid questions. Do it.
Rohant
“On your feet!” The wardbrother was rattling the door-grill, shrieking the order; he sounded terrified, as if he were apt to do something terminal if given half an excuse. And he was alone.
Rohant rolled off the cot and stood beside it, hands clasped behind him, head, down. They hadn’t come for him before like this, in the middle of the night, or sent a singleton guard after him; he stared at the floor and wondered what was going on.
After a delay that drove the young ward twitchy, the grill slid open and the watchandroid came in.
Rohant snatched a look at it. Yes… good… not just hesitations, the warning light by its left sound receptor was pulsing red. This wasn’t his usual escort, no scratch; it was older, too. They were scraping bottom with this one. Why? No matter. He pressed his arm against his body, felt the stunrod in the hem of his shirt. Yes. If they took him past the Novice quarters, this was it, good-bye Mimishay.
When the watchandroid was in position behind Rohant, the guard yelped, “Out, blitsor. You know the drill. Move it. Hup hup.
##
Rohant trotted through the corridors, the meat in a loose sandwich between guard and android, the android lagging farther and farther behind. One more turn… if we go to the right… past the Novice quarter. Go right, he thought at the youth ahead of him. Right, not left. He reached under his tunic, began sliding the stunrod from the hem.
The wardbrother turned right, turned again, the watch-android clattered along far behind… out of sight…
Rohant stunned the guard, kicked the door open to the Novice area, and plunged inside. His bare feet padding silently on the thick matting, he ran full out past the closed doors of the sleeping cells, first block, not a sound, not even a snore, second block…
The Novice Master backed from a cell, pulled the door shut, turned…
Claws out, Rohant slammed his hand into the Omphalite’s throat, jerked away before the gush of blood could saturate his fur. He caught the man as he started to fall, threw him across the narrow hallway like a fleshy speed bump, and ran on.
Just before he reached the door at the end of the corridor, he heard a metallic clatter and curled his lips back, baring his long, yellow tearing teeth. Android tripping over the dead man. Good. He slapped his palm on the sensor and pushed out before the door was halfway open.
It was dark out, wind howling round corners, clouds covering the moons. Blinking at the rain that stung his face, he raced along the walkway to the small Pleasure House built into the wall. He kicked the door open, ran inside.
A woman came from one of the bedrooms, bleary eyed and still half asleep. “Wha…”
He ignored her and ran for the back of the House, jerking doors open, cursing the barriers that kept slowing his flight. The android was coming after him, gaining on him…
He reached the postern door, ran through it. It was open as it always was, day and night. The Omphalites hadn’t yet got round to closing the holes in their defenses, God be blessed. And Ossoran and Feyvorn be blessed for killing off half the Council, apparently the smarter half. And a triple blessing for whoever took the Chom out.