Relentless, the alarm sounded. Anna stirred and reached for it blindly. Something glanced off her hand and struck the floor. Late for work again. No! It was the access bell! "Alan, wake up."
In the bed beside her, the blackstone only muttered and burrowed closer, one arm flopping over her hip. In spite of herself, she smiled. "Alan. Someone's here."
"Unnggh." He rolled over, rubbing his face sleepily. "Who cares?"
"Alan!"
Anna pulled away, got out of the bed. Her robe was draped across a nearby chair. Alan muttered something and dragged the sheet over his head. She called: "Come in."
Leela was grinning in the doorway. "Sorry to break things up," she said, "but you've been sent for."
An hour later, Anna and Alan were once again in the President's antechamber, waiting. Her eery sense of deja vu was shared by the blackstone. Sitting together on the hard, office couch, they did not touch, did not need to. Electrical awareness bound them together. She was still puzzling over it.
What had happened last night between her and Alan bore no resemblance to the hurried, desperate coupling with Danner on the Devian mountain side. Bonding seemed the most appropriate term; she certainly could not call it love. Alan was not precisely her friend. She might find many of his characteristics irritating in the extreme, but there was simply no way she would ever be willingly apart from him again. Given time to think this over, Anna knew she would probably resent this new dependency. At the moment, however, she felt too good to care. Alan clearly felt the same way, reaching for her hand and holding it in both of his.
The secretary emerged from the President's office. "If you will come in, please?"
Alan was on his feet first, pulling her up. His shy grin held her transfixed a moment. Then the more familiar mulish expression took over as he turned and started after the young man.
A stranger sat where Flavia had died, an attractive young woman with straight blond hair and patrician features. Romana! The face was different, but the mannerisms were the same. She waved the receptionist imperiously from the room, and said: "Professor, Dr. Taylor. It's good to see you again. Please sit down."
There were other Timelords present. One stood at her shoulder, another leaned against the far wall, arms folded over his chest. Anna recognized neither of them.
"You're the Council President?" Alan burst out. "What happened to whatsisname?"
Romana's jaw set grimly. "Like his fellow conspirators, the vice-president is under arrest. I have been asked by the Council to stand in as Acting President. That, however, is not your concern"
"OK," snapped Alan, unfazed. "How about all your soldiers - the ones crawling all over our danship? There's something that's our concern!"
Romana looked to Anna, who only shrugged and smiled blandly. Scowling, she said: "The troops are being recalled as we speak, Professor. What you may -- possibly -- find interesting is that there is once again probe activity."
"What?" Anna straightened.
"It's different -- there are significant deviations in the signal. Also, the Doctor's TARDIS is in use." Romana hesitated. "Two proposals of action are before the Council at the moment. One is that we recall the Doctor at once, if indeed it is he operating his TARDIS. We would debrief him -- take charge of the situation." She hesitated, looking at the Timelord by the wall. "Personally, I have my doubts about the wisdom of this."
"With all due respect, Madam President," interjected the Timelord beside her, "this is the wisest course. We must not move precipitously. Leaving things up to the Doctor is equivalent to embracing chaos."
"On the contrary," replied Romana coldly. "We Timelords do not 'meddle' well, Councilor Rennsalova. In fact, to my knowledge, the only one to do so with even moderate success has been the Doctor."
"He is half-human, Madam President and, as
such, subject to fits of irrationality and
impulsiveness. With the other danships
on the move, this situation is quickly escalating into a critical stage
. . . "
"Other danships?" Alan stared, eyes alight. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure." Rennsalova looked down his hooked nose at the blackstone. "They appeared on our long-distance scanners twelve hours ago, the same time the probe signals resumed on the Terran danship."
"This is why we have summoned you both," Romana said. "Anna, the Doctor's report claims that you are a 'Prime,' that you have the ability to provide power to the danship. Is this true?"
"Not without the dancrystal," she replied, "and the Doctor took that into Devia with him."
Romana looked over at the Timelord standing against the wall. He stooped, picking up a large box at his feet.
"Shortly after we received the first set of signals," Romana continued, "we received another -- a coded series of coordinates. The nearest location described was a dead star, Boria Minor, in what you know as the Crab Nebula. There was a danship in decaying orbit around it, a derelict. We salvaged this."
The Timelord set the box on the desk and lifted the heavy lid. Anna gasped and stumbled back. Alan caught her, kept her from falling as the dancrystal's song drowned out all other sensation. She was caught in it, tossed and buffeted like a leaf on white water. The next instant, she was back in the office, shaking in Alan's arms, and the lid was once more closed.
"Our other option," said Romana, "is to reactivate your danship and let it follow the signal home. Will you help us?"
***
Challenge had begun. Danner felt the energy stirring, the merest ripple in a sea of dan. He straightened. Neither Palas nor Benara had moved. They remained as statues on their stone pedestals. The other danae, however, were breaking formation, fanning out across the grass. Between the two towers, at a point equidistant from both, they drew into a circle. The ground shook faintly. Something teased the edge of his consciousness. An alorin on his right, little more than a boy, started to shiver. Another shudder ran through the earth. And another. Inside the circle of danae the ground erupted, debris exploding outward as something forced its way toward the light.
***
Lord Derlyn scowled at the accelerating flood of data. At his side, the Ignathi techs were in a state of extreme agitation, hopping back and forth, exclaiming to each other in the high-pitched consonants of their native tongue. Ordinarily, all languages but Devian were strictly prohibited on the bridge. He did not bother calling them into line, however. They had every reason to be upset.
"My lord?"
The Commander turned. A young woman, hair tied in the knot of a Visian scholar, handed him a small box of data wafers. It was very old. He took it, brushing the dust fastidiously from the lid. There was a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. It had been there since the signal first imposed itself on their main computers. He turned to the head technician. Its myopic gaze fixed anxiously on him.
"Load this into the anterior stream," he commanded. "Then all non-Dev are to leave the bridge at once."
It bowed its furry head and took the box. Handing it to a subordinate, the Ignath repeated the order. The underling selected the topmost waver and, holding the fragile tissue between two spindly digits, looked nervously at its superior.
"Load," growled Derlyn.
The Ignathi did as he was ordered. Then all of them hurried from the deck. In moments, only Dev remained. Deep in the bowels of the ship, a bass rumble vibrated up through deck after deck. Derlyn could imagine the reaction of the Clan to this. He thought about getting on the public address system and urging calm, but changed quickly his mind. It had been so long since that system had been used, it was likely to start a panic in and of itself.
On the view screen a large symbol appeared. Beside him, his cousin Avnara, chief navigator, said something unintelligible.
"So," he remarked, curiously calm. "It would seem we have verification of Recall."
"It -- it's impossible!" Avnara looked up at him, her face very pale. Her hands trembled above the nav-board. "After all these centuries -- I had begun to think . . ."
"That the home world was a myth," he agreed. "L'Shylian is behind this, I'd lay a wager on it." He looked back at the screen. Coordinates were unfurling before them, measurements and locations only their ancestors had ever seen. The data moved too fast for Devian eyes to follow, but the computers were taking them in. There was another tremor. The screen blinked again.
"My lord!" This from scan-station. Eborn's voice held panic. "My lord Derlyn, we have a new signal!"
This was not expected, was not part of the
prescribed sequence. Derlyn strode over to the
bewildered officer. The odd signal
was local. It was, in fact, focusing on the bridge.
"Security!" Lord Derlyn roared, drawing his sidearm. Across the room, doors flew open and the indigo-clad guards rushed in.
A strange wheezing filled the bridge. The Dev commander felt a marked distortion in his time-sense. Avnara squeaked in alarm, leaping to her feet as a large, blue container topped with a flashing light appeared beside the nav-comp. A door opened. Derlyn aimed his las-rod and waited. A moment later, a head popped out.
"Hullo?" The alien, astonishingly Dev-like in appearance, peered warily around. "I'm coming out and I'm unarmed!"
The creature's Devian was flawless. Derlyn allowed his las-rod to lower slightly. A quick glance to the right and left showed the guards on alert.
"Hold all fire," he commanded. "Who are you? What in Vis' name are you doing here?"
The man stepped out onto the bridge. His hair was curly and reddish-brown, not quite long enough to reach his shoulders. Eyes of a curious, cool green met the Dev's. There was a gray silk cravat at his throat; he adjusted it with a graceful twist of his wrist.
"I'm called the Doctor," he replied, canny
eye sweeping across the bridge and making Derlyn nervous all over again,
"and I was wondering if I might have a few minutes of your time?"
*****
The obsidian dome lay fully exposed. Man-high, twice that distance across, its rune-worked surface reflected a changing sky. There were clouds now, thick and low, moving fast above the endless, open plain. Silence lay heavily over the towers and the circle of danae around the dome.
In response to some unheard signal, the danae joined hands. A new rumbling shook the silence as the dome split, sending fine, crimson rays skyward to pierce the boiling clouds. Electricity crackled across Danner's skin. Ponderously, the crack widened. Dan energy, raw and unrestrained poured out. It set the blackstone's teeth on edge and filled his head with strange fancies, odd snatches of memory and incomprehensible images.
Red lightning ran through the clouds; thunder mingled with a faint, eerie music. Picking up speed and strength, the wind caught the danae's dark skirts and lifted their frost-white hair. The last of the dome's black shell sank into the ground, exposing a pit and the fallen star that lay within.
The Eye of l'Shylian was open.
****.
Miles was in the brig, together with most
of the Horde and Consortium officers. To say that he was suspicious
of them at first was to wildly understate the case. Seeing Anna and
Alan all "lovey-dovey," as he put it, did not help matters. From
behind the force-bars, he glowered first at them, then at the Gallifreyens.
"Cooperate, my ass!" and spat as close to them as he could. Romana muttered something about thick-skulled humans.
"Explain it to him - Palas style," Alan suggested with a wicked grin. Anna sighed.
Miles, I don't have time for long explanations.
The Horde officer drew a sharp breath, whitening. The men at his back growled threateningly, but the bars were on the highest power. Touching them once was sufficient deterrent for the most belligerent prisoner.
I'm sorry. I don't like doing this. But we may need your help.
Miles forced himself not to panic; she could feel his distaste and sense of violation. Patiently, she waited, wasting time they could not afford. In the end, finally, he dared to take a look. After that, he was with them.
****
Cthilian crouched before the access panel. At his side, Marrin took out the last of the bolts. The other alorin reached to pull the panel away and hesitated. To Cthilian, he said: "I can't believe you remembered this. It was in the appendix, for Vis' sake. Nobody reads the appendix."
"I did," replied the ir'dan apologetically. "You were a very demanding teacher, sir. I was afraid I would miss something and fail the exam."
Shaking his head, Marrin seized the edges of the metal plate and pulled. It came away suddenly and in a shower of rust. Dank air sighed out from the tunnel. Ropes of cable stretched off into the darkness. There was not much room.
"We'll never get troops through there," said Lord Sulinar. "What a shame!"
Cthilian's heart plunged at the bitter disappointment. The clanlord was right. A child might squeeze through, but no full-grown Dev, especially in battle gear, would make it.
"Maybe not," Marrin said slowly. "On the other hand -- where's a sphere?"
Cthilian dropped to hands and knees before the tunnel mouth while Marrin sent the light a few feet into it. A large relay board obstructed the passage further. Something about that board and the arrangement of the cables inserted through it.
"My lord?" Marrin turned to the rebels' acting commander. "Among the alorin who have joined you is a man named Eshvar. Would it be possible to find him and bring him here?"
Sulinar bellowed the order. A few minutes later, a spindly, rather untidy alorin appeared, apprehensive, between two guards. Marrin beckoned to him. After hesitating, the new alorin joined them in front of the tunnel.
"Isn't that a main switch-over?" Marrin asked the newcomer, Eshvar, and pointed to the board.
"Yes." Trepidation vanished, Eshvar studied the thing with narrowed eyes. "I think so, but I've never seen a real one, only illustrations. Boryl's the expert."
"Those illustrations were Vis' original design," Cthilian interjected, recalling the half-forgotten page and its caption.
"The blue light," Marrin nodded, "just under that group of wires."
"Power source," agreed Eshvar eagerly, "and still active. The junction must be right at this point!"
"What is it?" demanded Sulinar. "What are you talking about?"
The alorin exchanged glances. Cthilian stood up. "My lord," he said respectfully. "It is possible that we can activate the main transmat without activating the entire system. That would enable you to bring your allies through, wouldn't it?"
Sulinar's mouth dropped. Around him, a muttering rose. Anxiously, Cthilian waited.
"Are you sure it won't reactivate all the other transmats? We cannot afford to give the Sher'dana access to them!"
Cthilian looked at Eshvar, who chewed a thumb nervously, but nodded. "Quite sure, my lord. That main power coupling can be disengaged at this point. The power comes from the new Tarn to the main transmat, then to this junction where it is distributed to the Old Tarn. Its design is, er, eccentric -- you'll find it nowhere else in the tarns but here."
The clanlord shouted with laughter:
"By Vis, boy - do it!"
****
Anna stared through the transparent ceiling. Already the ship was awakening. As they had one year ago, the distant girders and cables were turning to mist. In their place bloomed a pale rose sky. Pink clouds with mauve underbellies drifted across its arch.
Sunrise on ancient Devia.
The interface table was cold against her naked back. A blanket laid over her did little to alleviate that discomfort. If she tilted back her head, she could see the post at the head of the table, its intricate carvings coming into focus as the sky lightened.
"You doing OK?" Alan appeared beside her.
"Fine," she lied and hoped he could not hear how loudly her heart was pounding. Something crashed in the bowels of the danship. She nearly jumped off the table.
"I'll be here," he promised solemnly.
"Damn straight, you will!" she replied.
"Doctor Taylor?" It was one of the Gallifreyen scientists. Anna racked her brain for his name. Ah, yes. Dr. Vivandrakana. "We're about to initiate the power transfer. Are you ready?"
"Of course not -- I mean, yes. Any time."
He peered doubtfully at her, shrugged, and headed toward a knot of his colleagues some distance away. Alan's hand tightened on hers.
Light filled her eyes. She gasped. The dancrystal's song, ever-present but muted, suddenly swelled in a roaring crescendo. Was that her voice amid the chorus? The music flooded her senses, wrapped around her, poured through her. Opening her eyes, she saw an endless sea of stars, spinning galaxies, vivid clouds of interstellar gasses. Her heart beat, powerful and strong. Blood thrummed in her veins. Solar wind blew through her hair. She laughed aloud as it carried her onward through the ever-changing stars.
* * *
Word spread quickly through the corridor - the barricade was down at last. Cthilian pressed himself against the wall as a rainbow of clan colors surged past. The firefight was over. Most of the bodies scattered over the passage floor were clad in indigo. More rebels were coming through the main transmat now. Already came word that the city was theirs. The new Tarn had fallen; the Old Tarn was within their grasp.
Cthilian shook with fatigue, las-rod heavy in his aching hand. Its charge was depleted. He could barely remember firing it. Just a few minutes rest, he told himself, and he would follow the others up. A part of him, however, acknowledged the unpleasant truth. His Need, held at bay by Lady Anna's magical drug, was returning with a vengeance. He started wildly as a hand fell on his shoulder.
"Easy, boy." It was Marrin. A fading bruise discolored the man's jaw and he looked as weary as Cthilian felt. "Lord Sulinar wants you up with -- you're sick, lad!"
"I'm fine." Running his tongue over parched lips, Cthilian pushed himself away from the wall, stuck the las-rod in his belt. Marrin's eyes, old in a young face, were bright with worry.
"Don't give me that nonsense," he retorted. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Forgot." Which was the simple truth. "Let's go."
The sound of fighting was far away. Increasingly light-headed, Cthilian kept doggedly with Marrin through more corridors, over more bodies. The moans of the wounded echoed in his ears. Someone shouted an order. He spun around. A clanlord was directing a patrol down another passage. Nothing to do with him.
"Careful!" Marrin's voice sharpened, recalling Cthilian to his surroundings. His mouth dropped. They were in the midst of the Court apartments! Marrin was drawing him through the crowded, noisy corridor. Ahead, Lord Mzara's lieutenant stood in a knot of other clanlords. Seeing the alorin, he beckoned them over.
"There was no resistance. We're into the Sher," he announced shortly. "Either of you been inside?"
They had not, of course. Only alorin sent to service the high danae ever passed through that portal. No one returned. Sulinar accepted that with a resigned shrug.
"I'd like to go anyway, my lord," Cthilian said. "They have my s . . . young lord Raynig."
"The Sil iri'dan," agreed Lord Sulinar, face darkening. "You were the one that brought the boy to Chel. Good work, that. Still, there's likely to be traps everywhere -- and half the high danae in Benara's circle have yet to be accounted for. Safer that you stay here."
"Lord Sulinar, I would like him with us."
Danner's heart stopped its downward plunge. Lady Shieann came forward, eight Mzarans at her back. She had exchanged her gown for Mzaran guard uniform. The loose shirt and trousers were a bit too large, the cuffs on the latter rolled up several times. For a moment, to Cthilian's tired eyes, she looked heartbreakingly like Katha. "If nothing else, he knows the technology."
"Aye - and that's why I don't want to risk him," was Lord Sulinar's grumbling response. "Very well, but the other stays."
So Marrin reluctantly remained behind as Cthilian followed the Mzarans' into a place unexpectedly open and breezy. Plants hung overhead. Spheres drifted in starlike clusters beneath what Cthilian at first thought was open sky, but was in fact a vaulted glass roof. Through that ceiling he saw real stars and Zaehl, the fourth moon, harbinger of dawn. There was little damage here compared to the rest of the tarn - an overturned divan, a plant lying crushed amid a scattering of soil and broken crockery.
Ahead, a crowd of men and danae gathered. Cthilian saw Lady Mistal among them, a disconcerting sight in her warwitch garb. She turned her head abruptly and looked straight at him. This did not pass unnoticed.
"Stay close," Lady Shieann advised quietly. "How bad are you?"
Of course they would both know how ill he was. Cthilian put a good face on it, shrugging and smiling. It seemed for a moment that she would not be persuaded, that she might send him back. Then, abruptly, Shieann nodded.
A young man in Mistal colors was addressing the troops: ". . .secret passages, ideal for ambush. There is Challenge, so most of the high danae are in the Sanctum. Still, there may be others and top Protectors, as well. Be very careful. Groups with a dana keep in constant contact."
"Where's the Sanctum?" someone called.
"We don't know," he confessed. "If you find it, report at once and *do not* attempt to enter."
He broke up the groups after that, sending them in different directions. Cthilian tried to hold himself apart from Lady Shieann, knowing his condition would distract her. She was not high dana. Aloridan between them would not be fatal, but the risk of bonding was great. He was careful to keep his distance.
They found a broad, spiraling staircase at the far end of the chamber. It led down to a wide corridor, richly furnished and carpeted. A wall of windows on their right overlooked a moonlit garden. Cthilian saw light spheres moving between trees and dark mounds of shrubbery as the rebel patrols moved further afield.
One of the Mzarans opened a door on their left. They found an empty bedroom with evidence of a hasty departure -- closets standing open, drawers pulled out and their contents spilled across the floor. The next door revealed the same, and the next. No sign of anyone, not even slaves.
They completed their search of the floor without seeing a soul. At the bottom of another stair, they found the Mistal patrol. Lady Shaela hurried forward to meet the Mzarans. "No one," she said. "Do you feel anything, Shieann?"
The other dana shook her head. "Nothing. There must be a Silent room somewhere."
"Or a passage out," agreed Lady Mistal. "This could take days!"
Lord Mistal joined his sister. He wore a Protector's uniform, but pinned on his shoulder, clan colors attested to his loyalty. "The tarn is surrounded and our people are patrolling the city. If there is a tunnel, they'll be caught coming out of it."
Cthilian, head thumping, acutely and intensely aware of the two danae, turned his back on the little group and walked a way down the corridor. He felt their eyes on him, first Lady Shieann, then Lady Mistal. Both were very close to Need themselves.
Think of Djan. Think of Katha. Think of the Lady.
Think of anything except the fire in his blood and aching bones. Anything but a woman's satiny skin and haunting curves.
Idly, he opened the door to another bedroom. It was the same as the floor above. Disordered sheets upon a bed. A waterstone ring lay on the floor. He imagined the occupant hastily gathering up armloads of silks, spilling her jewels in her panic to be away. Another gleam of metal caught his eye. For lack of something better to do, the ir'dan had a closer look.
"LADY!"
His hoarse shout brought both danae at once. Lady Shieann was first to reach him. He pointed to the tiny toy truck that lay, upside down, beside the wall.
"Djan's."
She drew him back from the wall while Lord Mistal called his men forward. In moments, they found the hidden opening. On the other side, stairs fell into darkness. The thick coat of dust upon them had been recently disturbed by several pairs of feet. Cthilian would have been down at once, but the others were in his way.
"Don't go until we Seek," Lady Shieann said softly. She laid a hand on his arm, and he heard her catch her breath. "Vis! Cthilian, you're afire!"
"Lady, please don't order me to stay behind."
"Would you obey if I did?"
He looked at his toes and heard her sigh.
***
Atop the tower above them, Benara lifted her staff. The action was mirrored by Palas. From his vantage point below the tower, Danner could see the Sher'dana only from the waist up. Her eyes were wide open, staring across the Eye at Palas. The human dana was likewise motionless, wind plucking at her dress, teasing her hair free from the careless knot at her neck. She, too, lifted the staff above her head in both hands. Sparks ran along its length.
There came the peculiar sense of airlessness that heralded a violent outburst of dan. For a moment, the wind dropped away. Lightning ran back and forth along Benara's staff, shot without warning across the Eye. Palas shifted her weight, twisted the staff sideways. Lightning bathed the redhead in its brilliance. Danner saw her head knocked back, mouth twisted in pain. His heart thudded unevenly against his ribs.
The Sher'dana smiled and sent another bolt. Palas was ready for it this time, caught it deftly and hurled it back. But Benara was sending another. The lightning crossed above the Eye. Palas cried out and would have fallen but for the cord holding her to the obelisk. Danner bit his lip until blood came and pulled angrily at his chains.
The lightning was constant now, lancing back and forth in rapid bursts. He tried to see through the eye-searing blaze and could not. Electricity hung in the air, ran across his skin like a million tiny insects. Next to him, the boy was sobbing; another alorin had fainted. And through it all was the mad, melodic call of the Eye.
***
Cthilian was certain the stair led straight
through Devia. Their little group was deep in the bowels of the cliff,
well below even the catacombs. Of course, it might only seem as if
they had been descending forever. His heart pounded, his breath came
in burning gasps. Once he found himself sitting, motionless on a
step, the others out of sight below. A sphere hovered patiently at
his shoulder as he struggled to his feet and kept going.
Some time later he realized he was no longer going down, but weaving along a passage cut through sweating rock. Ahead was the bright glow of the other spheres.
"Cthilian!" Lady Shieann caught hold of him. He shivered as their skin made contact.
Further down the tunnel stood Lord Ksirin and several other nobles. Among them was Lady Clayre, but the high dana was almost unrecognizable. Need poured out of her -- desperate, voracious and so powerful the ir'dan almost missed seeing the boy standing white and silent beneath the serrated edge of Ksirin's dagger. Cthilian pulled free of Lady Shieann and took a step toward them. This time, two sets of hands held him back.
"Ahh - the disobedient slave!" Ksirin's voice was rich with mockery. "So conscientious in your duties. Or have you finally figured out what your purpose was in all this?"
"Let Djan go, milord. Let him go and you can leave. No one will stop you."
Laughing, Ksirin sneered: "You are in command now, slave?"
"He speaks for Clan Mzara!" Lady Shieann called back. "Give us the Sil iri'dan and go."
"I think not," sneered Ksirin. "Unless we hear a promise of safe conduct from the city."
There was consternation, but: "You have it," agreed Lord Mistal unhappily.
Ksirin started to withdraw his dagger when Lady Clayre cried: "And the alorin!"
Cthilian felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with fever.
"No," replied Shieann at once. "Safe passage only."
"Then there is no agreement!" Lady Clayre shrieked. The passage reverberated with power held uncertainly in check, by the madness of Need.
The dagger was back at Djan's throat. Ksirin's hands were shaking. "Do as she says!" he shouted, just as scared as they.
Cthilian pulled free of Shieann's hand. "I'm coming! Let him go."
Ksirin looked uncertainly at Lady Clayre. There was little resembling sanity left in her face. The Protector made up his mind and pushed the child away. Djan ran toward Cthilian. Not trusting himself to do what he must, the ir'dan ordered harshly: "Go to Lady Shieann, boy. I've no time for you!"
Refusing to return the shocked, hurt look, Cthilian thrust Djan toward the dana and walked shakily toward Ksirin. He was vaguely aware of Shieann calling to him, but he kept walking. Things had a disconcerting habit of fading in and out. When he finally reached the Dev lord, it came as a vague surprise.
Ksirin took hold of him, fingers digging deep into his arm. Other hands seized him, as well, hauling him through the small knot of clanlords and danae. Seconds later, Lady Clayre was beside him, ahead an empty tunnel. Her nearness raised the hair on his arms. Her fingers were as cold as ice. She laced them through his and Cthilian read the level of her Need in that touch. He wondered distantly if she would take him on the spot.
But instead, she cried out angrily and for some reason, they were running. Each step sent jolts of pain through Cthilian's aching head. Shouts, footfalls echoed confusingly. Delirium loomed; Cthilian recognized the signs and was grateful. Perhaps, when the time came, he would be mercifully unaware.
Down more stairs. His blurred vision
broke the spheres' light into rainbow splinters. Cold air,
smelling of age and mildewed stone, filled his lungs. He stumbled
and went sprawling as shouts of rage and fear rose around him. A
man fell, laid out beside him on the cold flagstones.
Cthilian had seen enough of death this day to recognize it once again.
Dan energy crashed through the passage, adding to his own misery.
Lady Clayre was shrieking. Her hatred beat him
down as he tried to find his feet again.
Something fell, rolled near his hand. His las-rod. Palsied
fingers fumbled for the controls. The meter was on recharge.
One shot -- maybe.
Fingers locked in his hair. He gasped as unnatural strength hauled him back to his feet, spun him around, slammed him against the wall. Through tears of pain, he saw golden-eyed death. His heart faltered, every muscle contracted. There was a flash of brilliance, screaming that went on and on . . .
"Cthilian? Cthilian!"
Gentle hands pried open his fingers. The ir'dan shivered, released the las-rod abruptly. Shieann was beside him. He swallowed again and again, but his throat was so dry. He didn't see any of the others. There were only bodies around them. One was Lady Clayre's. What had happened? If only his head would clear.
"Come." It seemed that Shieann was speaking from far away. He tilted his head, trying to make out her words. "Djan is safe. Now it's time to make certain you are, too."
***
Danner released his breath. He was dizzy, brain buzzing from the Eye's relentless radiation, from the raw dan power crashing around them. The Challenge had moved to another level, invisible to mortal eyes, but flooding the other senses with chaos. It was getting harder to string together a coherent thought as his neurons were scrambled by the arcane energy that flooded the plain.
Suddenly, it stopped. Time again for aloridan - twice already the Challenge had been suspended. Twice, dead alorin were carried from Palas' tower. One of them was Chel Mzara, high blood lord of the ancient and powerful Clan Mzara.
This time, however, it was Benara who sagged against the obelisk, shaking in weakness. The attendant danae at the tower base started toward the waiting, fearful alorin.
Across the Eye, Palas suddenly lifted her own staff. There was a cry of outrage from the danae as the human shot a jagged bolt toward the Sher'dana. A subsonic thud rocked the plain. From the Eye rose a shimmering wall of energy, stopping the bolt cold, deflecting it harmlessly away. Palas threw herself back against the obelisk, wiped hair away from her face. Her eyes met his; she looked away.
The warwitch attendants picked their way through the alorin to Danner's side. His chain was unlocked from the ring and they pulled him to his feet. Pain shot through cramped muscles, left him off balance. Two more witches waited outside the circle; no fools, they. He balked, wanting a few more seconds for his equilibrium to stabilize. They pushed him roughly toward the Sher'dana's tower.
At the bottom of a short, winding stair, he suddenly dropped, upsetting two of the witches with a sweep and was back on his feet. His next target escaped a broken neck by a hair's breadth, his foot glancing off her jaw. Something exploded at the back of his head and when next he could think, he was staring into the racing clouds. One of the warwitches loomed over him, sliding her las-rod back in its sheath. He was lifted and dragged up the steps.