The Protectors delivered the Doctor to a spacious apartment, richly (if not tastefully) furnished. In tones of vast annoyance, the single servant informed the soldiers that the Lords Raynig were Not At Home. Unimpressed, the guards attached the Doctor to an ornamental pillar near the window and departed. No sooner had the door closed after them, then the servant took himself off with all haste -- presumably to find his masters.
Fortunately, the Protectors had never heard of Harry Houdini. It took the Doctor an entire three minutes to divest himself of binders and leash, and another two minutes to disable the scanner mounted over the apartment door. Letting himself out into an empty hallway, he considered his options. Alas, these were not numerous.
He could make all possible speed back to the Wall of Heaven and snatch the dancrystal before the Dev stumbled across it. However, he had only the haziest notion of where that was in relation to Sidhain. Another option was to continue with the mission and reactivate the Beacon. That meant finding his way through the Outer Tarn and who-knew-how-many Dev to get to the Old Tarn.
Well, he'd been up against fierce odds before. He would muddle through this as well.
A bank of windows along the corridor looked down over Sidhain, but little sign of the city itself could be seen. Built into the mountainside overlooking a deep valley, all that was visible through the dense blanket of forest was an occasional tower roof, a lone turret, a stray dormer. The Doctor remembered snatches of scenery on their ride in -- houses built into massive trees, apparently random piles of boulders that cleverly resolved themselves into shops. From time to time he had seen more buildings of a more typical design, but these had been much newer.
The tarn he had glimpsed only once through a break in the forest canopy. He'd had the impression of a sleek predator sprawled along a rocky promontory, walls so black they seemed to absorb and quench the daylight that fell upon them. Yet, for all its foreboding, the Doctor could not deny the tarn's sinister beauty. Like the other tarns he had seen, Sidhain Tarn was aesthetically perfect. Each line and angle was precisely where it should be to create a perfect whole. The mystery teased him. Once upon a time, the Dev had been a creative, vital race, clearly in love with their universe and all its myriad forms. What had happened? When had the rot set in?
It was not long before his absence was noted. Trying to decide whether to take a west or north passage, the Doctor was abruptly aware of a telepathic alarm. Quickly dampening his own psi field, he hastily made up his mind and turned left. Almost at once, he realized his mistake. Ahead, a servant was sweeping the carpet, his back to the Timelord. Footsteps coming from behind narrowed the Doctor's choices still further. He opened the nearest door and stepped inside.
"Doctor!"
Heart lurching painfully, he turned slowly around. A familiar dana in a very fetching blue silk gown stood before a wall-sized window. She stared at him in astonishment, a goblet halfway to her lips.
"Lady Alysia! I do beg your pardon!" He reached for the latch at once, only to hear a decisive click. Locked.
"Not this time, Doctor." The warwitch set down her glass and crossed the room. Her expression was stern, but her eyes sparkled. "Keeping you in one place seems to be extraordinarily difficult. The Sher'dana herself has called for your immediate capture."
"You're going to turn me in?"
"Of course."
"Ah, yes. I forgot. I'm a Heretic. How goes the war, by the way? Have you repelled our invasion force?"
She frowned slightly. "There has been no recent news...."
"Because there is none!" He ran a distracted hand through his hair. "Lady Alysia, your Sher'dana is lying to you. Her 'invasion force' comprises myself, Captain McAllister and an iri'dan by the name of Danner Renwolf. Danner and the Captain are humans from the planet, Earth. I am a Gallifreyan. We're not here to harm Devia - or to invade it. We -- oh, dear - it's a very long story."
"And one I did not believe the first time around. Please do not waste your breath."
Frustrated, he took a step toward her, stopping when she frowned and moved away.
"What would convince you that I'm not Dev! Can you take a pulse?"
"This is absurd. . ."
"I have two hearts, two heartbeats. Please, Lady Alysia, would it hurt to check?"
"I don't think . . ." She was wavering.
"Please?"
"Oh, very well, but if you try anything, I'll kill you." She picked something up from the table beside her - a dagger with a wicked, jagged blade. The Doctor, wincing at the sight of it, nonetheless extended his wrist, pulling back the now sadly tattered lace cuff. After a moment, she warily set her fingers upon it. Her eyes widened.
"A trick!"
"It's not, I swear!" He considered inviting her to listen against his chest, then thought better of it.
"There must some explana. . ." She broke off as a soft chiming fill the apartment. The Doctor's hearts plummeted.
"In there," Lady Alysia said unexpectedly, and pointed toward a doorway half hidden behind a silk drapery. "And be silent, for Vis' sake!"
Startled, the Doctor did as she instructed, letting himself into a small bathroom. He kept the door cracked, one eye to the opening as Lady Alysia went to admit her visitor.
It was another dana -- Lady Mistal!
"Shaela?" He poked out his head and both women jumped.
"Vis! Doctor, what are you doing here?"
"You know this man, Shaela?"
"I do. Doctor, are you all right?"
Alysia was outraged. "What is going on? Benara herself is looking for this creature! When I told Mzara I would help your cause, I never meant . . ."
"Shhh!" Lady Mistal placed a plump finger over her lips. "Is this room protected?"
"Of course." Scowling, Alysia beckoned the Timelord imperiously. "This is more risk than I agreed to, Shaela. Get him out of here!"
"I'm sorry, Lys - but I've only just arrived from Visandri. You know there is to be a Challenge?"
Apparently not. Lady Alysia's mouth dropped. "Who?" she squeaked. "Who would dare?"
"The l'Shylian's High Dana." Shaela's eyes gleamed. "The Exiles are returning, Lys!"
"Then --he is truly from another world?" Voice faint, Lady Alysia collapsed into a chair. "The Exiles are real?"
"As real as you and I!"
Alysia was unconvinced. "This is all too much to take in. And even if it were true -- Exiles? Everything I've heard of those Clans says we would be worse off under their rule!"
"Lies," Shaela retorted, "put forth by Benara and her cronies."
"But the Exiles were responsible for so much evil."
"That was a over a thousand years ago! And what of Benara?" Shaela moved forward to lay a hand on the other dana's arm. "Have you forgotten Jaelin so soon, Alysia?"
The dana paled. "No," she whispered. "No, I have not!"
"What goes on in the Sher'dan is just as evil, and it is happening now, to us and those we love!"
Alysia turned, wringing her hands, torn.
"The l'Shylian are no longer a threat to you," the Doctor said quietly, "nor to anyone. Most are dead, and those who still live are barely cognizant. A disaster overtook their ship not long after they left Devia. I doubt you would recognize what survives as Dev."
Shaela blinked. "No Clan? But who -- the danship...?"
"Humans took the ship, defeating the remnants of the l'Shylian after it all but destroyed their world. Lady Palas, who Challenges your Sher'dana, was instrumental in their defeat, as was the iri'dan even now held prisoner somewhere nearby."
"Then there are no Exiles." Shael was stunned. "We have no hope against Benara!"
"That's not true. l'Shylian may be lost, but there are other Clans. When l'Shylian's dan engines went up after a millennium of silence, the Beacon was activated. It sent that information to all of the Exiles. I saw the danship's files on this. They're on their way, Lady Shaela -- following the Beacon home."
"But how long will it take for them to get here if these dan engines no longer function?" Lady Mistal's eyes were huge and frightened. "Doctor, in less than three days, your dana will Challenge Benara and die. When that happens, she will take the memories of Lady Palas and know about the rebellion. She will kill us all!"
"Much of the Exiles' technology is very similar to that of my own world. There, we have a complex computer that can, among other things, track every TARDIS anywhere in space and time. " He paused, adding drily: "Under some circumstances, the Council can even pull a TARDIS back to Gallifrey, regardless of the condition of the TARDIS, or whether its owner wishes to return. I would not be surprised to find that the Beacon has similar abilities. Find the right command and they could be back here in minutes."
Shaela looked blank, but Alysia nodded. "I have had a little alorin training, Doctor - I think I understand. But why would Benara risk keeping the Beacon operational if she knew it could return her enemies in the blink of an eye."
"Maybe she doesn't know. Was it, by any chance, built by an Exiled Clan?"
Understanding blossomed in the other dana's bright eyes. "It was," she said slowly. "The Clan Isthiene. Engineers, descended directly from Vis."
"Yes! I thought as much!" the Doctor exclaimed. He seized Lady Mistal's hands, looking earnestly into her bemused face. "If I could get to the Beacon and re-establish contact with the Exiles, there is a chance I could form a time-bridge between Devia and at least one of their ships. You could still have your allies -- and we could get home!"
"Doctor, I haven't any idea what you're babbling on about," Lady Mistal said frankly. She made no effort to remove her hands from the Doctor's grasp. "But if you need to get to the Beacon, than get to it you will. And I know just how to do it."
*****
"This is madness," Romana snapped for the eighth or ninth time. "Why couldn't you have stayed behind? Let me take care of this?"
"Trust a Timelord?" Alan retorted derisively. "Not likely. Where is this Panopticon?"
"On the other side of that gate -- could you at least try to look dignified?"
Anna smoothed the shining folds of her gown with nervous hands. She was not used to long skirts or the absurdly formal air that clung to everything on this world. Gathering up the soft, entangling fabric, she hurried through the gate after the others. The guards on either side of it gave them only an incurious glance, but bowed slightly to Romana.
"Now where?" Alan scowled suspiciously up and down a columned, crowded promenade. Overhead, the fierce Gallifreyen sun filtered through the dome. Anna elbowed him in the ribs.
"Do as Romana says. Pretend you've got a stick up your butt."
The Timelady made a sound that sounded perilously snort-like. "Flavia's office -- our Madame President. She's the leader of the Timelord High Council."
"Go right to the top," Alan said. "That's what I like about you, Romana. You don't waste time. What are you doing this weekend?"
Anna's attention wandered. In this place, she found herself distracted ceaselessly by an ever- present whispering. It was not really sound she was "hearing," she knew that much. It was the telepathic buzz of a thousand minds. Gallifreyens probably learned in the cradle to filter it out, but for Anna, one of only a handful of telepaths on Earth, the ever-present noise was not easy to ignore.
A hand on her arm brought her back to herself.
"Look alive," Alan muttered.
She nodded as they walked through another guarded door and into an office. Leaving the two humans standing awkwardly by the door, Romana went to the receptionist and spoke in a low, urgent voice. The man rose and disappeared through the door behind his desk. A moment later, he emerged.
"The President will see you now, Lady Romana."
He moved to stop Anna and Alan from following, but the Professor shoved his face into the receptionist's and gave him a toothy, feral grin. The poor Gallifreyen stepped back in hasty alarm and missed his chance.
"Romana, what is this about?"
An elderly woman frowned across her desk at the blond Time Lady. Leaning over her was one of the Timelords who had come to the danship - Tiberius. He straightened, brows drawing sharply together.
"Yes, indeed, Romana! What are these humans doing here?"
Romana did not respond. She strode to the desk and slammed something down in front of the President. The woman picked it up. Anna recognized the component Alan had removed, the component that had precipitated this dash across star-systems.
"I took this out of the alien time-ship, Flavia."
The Council president went very still.
"But this is a. . ."
"Let me see that!" Tiberius snatched the thing from the old woman's gnarled fingers.
"Tiberius!" Flavia objected, half-rising. "Give that back, if you please!"
"I'm sorry, Flavia," replied the other Timelord smoothly, dropping it into a pocket in his robe, "but I think this should go to the College at once for study."
"You think? How dare you!" She held out her hand insistently. "Give it back at once!"
He shrugged, returning his hand to his pocket. Something teased at the edge of Anna's thoughts. Her lips parted as a sudden dark wave of enmity flowed from the man. He withdrew his hand.
"Look out!" Anna screamed flinging herself toward the desk. She had a confused impression of Romana half turning, mouth open, of Alan's eyes widening. Then a brilliant burst of light filled her vision. There was an unbelievable shock of pain -- and nothing.
****
The Doctor ran a finger under the band of
gold around his neck. The skin beneath was already sweaty and itched
ferociously.
"Shaela, are you sure this is necessary?"
The collar's delicate engravings were repeated on the bands circling his wrists and ankles. One could almost pretend they were not badges of servitude, but fine jewelry. Almost.
"It's a perfect idea," replied Lady Mistal confidently. "You're going to Court, for Vis' sake! No one will look twice at a slave. Although I still think you should go naked."
"Absolutely not!" The Doctor stole another
look in Alysia's full length mirror. His white silk shirt was so
fine that light passed easily through its generous folds, hinting at the
outline of his torso. There were only a few fasteners near his navel,
so the garment kept slipping off his shoulder in a fashion Shaela pronounced
"intoxicating." The trousers, like the shirt, were deceptively loose,
the fabric very soft and supple. They clung to his hips and thighs,
leaving precious little to the imagination. Surreptitiously, he ran
a hand down his flank, rather liking the
smooth feel of the cloth.
"Lys! Did you find it?"
"Not yet." The other dana's voice drifted from the next room. "I know it's here somewhere."
The Doctor returned his gaze to the mirror, but he wasn't seeing his reflection.
"Who is Jaelin?"
Shaela started, then threw an anxious look toward the bedroom. "Lys' sister, a powerful warwitch and very popular. She had an iri'dan - they were so much in love. That does not often happen anymore in Devia among high danae. But he was a commoner and his beauty attracted the Sher'dana. One night, she had him abducted. They were not compatible and he died. Although Alysia's clan searched desperately, they could not find another iri'dan to bond with her sister." Lady Mistal hesitated. "It was Lys who had to administer the overdose of ithix."
The Doctor set his jaw and turned away from the mirror.
"Found it!" Lys hurried back into the chamber, a long, white wig in her hands. "How fortunate that I saved this. It was such a horrible party."
"Oh, no. . ."
"There are no red-haired Dev," Lady Mistal pointed out, taking the wig and giving it a good shake. "Put it on, Doctor."
Reluctantly, he jammed the thing down over his head, tucking his own errant locks into the cap. Sighing, he turned to face the ladies. Lady Mistal's eyes got very wide: Alysia dropped her wineglass.
"Well," Lady Mistal managed in a strangled voice, "you'll do very nicely. I only wish I could come along, but alas, I have no entree to the Court in the Old Tarn."
"I've not been there since Jaelin's death, myself" Alysia looked grim, "And truthfully, I would as soon not go there now. I said things that Benara will not easily forgive. But Shaela is right. This reign of evil must come to the end."
The warwitch and her meek "slave" blended easily into the tarn's crowded corridors. The Doctor saw a handful of Protectors moving through the throng of courtiers and servants, but none of them gave him a second glance. By the time they reached the antechamber marking the entrance to the Old Tarn, he began to think they just might pull this off.
Security was very strict. He and Lady Alysia was forced to wait in an adjoining chamber with a handful of other courtiers and dignitaries while everyone had their credentials checked. The room was abuzz with excited speculation. A dangerous Heretic prisoner was loose, intent upon murder, rape, sabotage -- or worse.
"What can possibly be worse than murder, rape or sabotage?" the Timelord hissed to Lady Alysia.
"You've never been to Benara's court," she replied shortly.
He wondered if she was joking.
Their turn came at last. Two warwitches stood guard at the door. One of them, older and with a very elaborate tattoo, greeted Alysia. She seemed astonished to see the other dana, and said as much.
Alysia smiled ruefully and shrugged. "Life goes on, Mara. There will always be pain in my heart for my sister, but Benara is Sher'dana and I realize now that I should not judge her by the same standards as we judge ourselves."
Mara shook her head. "A wise decision, Lys, but perhaps now is not the best time to approach her. Your words were, er, imprudent, to say the least, and she is not presently in a felicitous mood."
"Yes. I heard of the Heretic's escape. However, I'm not going to her empty-handed."
Before the Timelord realized what she was about, Alysia took his arm and pulled him around to face the older woman. His shirt slipped yet again, but when he reached to pull it up, his hand was gently, but firmly pushed down. The Doctor quickly dropped his eyes, acutely aware of the other warwitch's scrutiny.
"Vis! What a lovely creature!"
He felt callused fingers beneath his chin, tilting his face toward the light. Perhaps his consternation showed, for he heard a low chuckle and was released.
"Charming, but rather shy, is he not?"
"Not when it counts."
The warwitches laughed and Mara waved them through. Just as the Doctor was certain they were going to get away unscathed he felt a sudden, sharp pinch on his posterior. His face heated furiously as Mara's chuckle followed them down the short corridor and into a transmat chamber.
"Is the Old Tarn not connected to this one?" he whispered to his companion.
"It is adjacent, but there is no other way in than through this device. Come - it's our turn."
* * *
The transmat chamber in the Old Tarn was filled with Protectors and warwitches. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as the Doctor hurried after Lady Alysia. Once again, however, he was ignored. Alysia turned left, leaving behind most of the crowd.
"Where are they all going?" the Doctor asked as he and the Lady Lys hurried down a relatively deserted corridor.
"Court, mostly. Vis, but I hate this place!'
The Doctor looked over at her in concern, saw how pale and strained she was. "You're very brave to do this," he said. "If there's any way I can repay you..."
"Doctor, my reward will be seeing Benara's lifeless husk consumed by the funeral pyre!" Hatred shook the woman's voice. "Beware. We're very near the royal apartments."
Laughter reached them, drifting along the passage. They rounded a corner and came upon a handful women, some dana, some not, but all richly dressed and more than a little intoxicated. One of them saw Alysia and started, stumbling and spilling her drink.
"Alysia! Look, everyone! It's Lys! Could not keep away, eh?" She laughed, offering her goblet. Alysia returned the smile, but shook her head while the Doctor's hearts started their anxious pounding again.
"And what have we here?"
He jumped as warm fingers slid toward the waistband of his trousers. Alysia firmly removed the invader.
"No, Vetta. Not this time. He's a gift for Benara - a peace offering. Where is she?"
"Not here. Some boring business with a Heretic loose in the tarn." Giggling, she tried again for the Doctor and was repulsed much less gently.
"Oh, Lys, don't be a spoilsport. He's pretty, but you should see the toy she has now! Tall, strong, with hair like the darkest night -- and iri'dan! Benara gave him to Miyel and Ksirin to, er, convince him that submission is his wisest choice."
There were titters and someone added: "If you hurry, you can get in on the fun."
The Doctor drew a sharp breath. Danner! Perhaps sensing his alarm, Alysia laid a warning hand on his arm as the women brushed past them and continued on down the hall. Clenching his fists, the Timelord watched them go.
"Is it your friend they spoke of?" Alysia asked, not without sympathy. "I'm sorry, truly I am. But there is nothing you can do for him now. If it were just Ksirin, I would not worry, but Miyel..." her voice trailed away and she shook her head. "Come. The Beacon lies a little way from the royal suite."
He could heard laughter now, music and the clink of glasses. Ahead, the corridor widened into a long chamber flanked by arched doors. The noise became a din, as if a huge party was going on in the room beyond. Warwitches stood guard before the doors.
"Stay here," said Alysia in a low voice. He nodded, and she left him to approach the nearest witch. They spoke for some time. When Alysia returned, she was smiling.
"Good news," she told the Timelord. "Benara has gone to the Outer tarn, looking for you. The way to the Beacon is clearer than it will ever be."
A slave hurried past them, carrying an armful of glass flasks holding yellow liquid. Bobbing her head respectfully to the warwitches, she opened a door and scurried through. For a moment, the noise from within swelled to near deafening proportions and through the babble and laughter, the Doctor heard someone scream. Then the door slammed shut and Alysia was hurrying him down the length of the room toward an arched opening.
Shaken, the Timelord followed his guide along the passage, trying to memorize all the twists and turns. They passed more courtiers and more guards, but other than an occasional greeting to Alysia, no one heeded them. Finally, the warwitch turned down a passage narrower than the rest and pushed open a door. The Doctor, scooting in after her, stopped dead.
The room was round and quite large, with a high, curved ceiling supported by a ring of columns. In its center was a circular bank of computers. A blackstone in a slave collar and a white smock attended the machinery, moving from section to section, consulting read-outs and making adjustments here and there. He looked up and, seeing them, started.
"My Lady? May I be of assistance?"
"Yes, please," smiled Alysia. The Doctor felt a shiver in the air. Eyes rolling up, the alorin folded noiselessly to the floor. "You don't have much time, Doctor. There is an excellent chance that Benara is monitoring for dan use."
"Is he. . .?"
"Sleeping like a babe. Hurry."
Stooping, the Timelord picked up the fallen clipboard. Running his eye along the columns of numbers, he nodded, seeing exactly what he had expected. Hurrying to the opposite side of the machine, he pulled out a small chair.
His familiarity with the computers aboard the danship came in handy here. The two were very similar. This particular computer, however, had some subtle differences.
"Doctor?"
"A minute!" He found a voice-module and activated it. At once, where there had been darkness before, several lights appeared on the console face. Startled by that, he leaned tentatively toward the module: "Display directory," he tried.
Nothing happened. Brow furrowed, he leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers on the console surface. "Display contents."
Nothing.
"Show contents? Show directory? Information, please?"
Nothing.
"Rassilon!" he muttered, reaching for the keypad.
"UNRECOGNIZED COMMAND. PLEASE REPHRASE."
The voice rang out in the still room, making him jump. Alysia, at his shoulder, squeaked in alarm and looked wildly around. The Timelord straightened. With dawning apprehension, he leaned forward and, in a voice that shook, said in archaic Gallifreyen: "Display directory."
Above the computer, light shimmered. Words appeared, insubstantial, dancing on air. Hands trembling, he adjusted the holographic image.
"What did you do?" whispered the warwitch.
"Found what I hoped I wouldn't," he replied tersely. "Please sit down, Lady Alysia. This may take a while."
*******
Something woke Cthilian. He lay on his cot, staring into darkness, heart pounding. Silence lay thick around him. Djan shifted and muttered, nestling closer. Small fingers tightened briefly on his arm before relaxing again.
His son. It was still not real to him. The ir'dan wanted to exult to the heavens -- and bitterly curse them. Vis knew that Djan deserved better than a fugitive alorin slave for a sire. What could he give the boy? Nothing. Only the bitter choice of life in exile or slavery worse than any that bound Cthilian.
The sound came again, distracting him from
coming heartbreak. Footsteps. Careful not to wake Djan, Cthilian
slid away from his son and sat up, eyes adjusting quickly to the gloom.
He caught a glimpse of someone through the door to the parlor, a deeper
shadow slipping past in the dark.
His first thought was for assassins and,
like a fool, he went after them.
It was the Lady. Outlined by the faint glow of a sphere, she was pulling on her cloak. The Scholars had consigned her Earth clothing to the refuse heap - quite without her permission -- and given her what they deemed appropriate. It startled him to see her in the form-fitting dark-blue warwitch uniform. Somehow, the familiar garb only made her seem all the more otherworldly.
Sharp ears caught his footsteps and she spun around.
Chilian!" Her voice was low, angry. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Where are you going, Lady?"
She took a deep breath. "That's none of your business. Go back to bed."
A lifetime of conditioning urged him to obey, but he stayed where he was. "No, Lady, I will not. Where are you going?"
"Rebellion, Cthili? From you?" He thought he saw her smile in the shadows. Irrationally, her use of his nickname made his heart lighten.
"Please, Lady, I mean no disrespect."
"You? You could not be disrespectful if you chose." She laughed softly. Bending, she picked up her las-rod, slipped it into her belt.
"You cannot leave - you have another day of Purification. . ."
"I don't have time for meaningless religious rituals. Danner's in trouble."
"If you leave now, you will not be prepared. You are not Dev, and cannot know what you face. Lord Visandri. . ."
"Exactly, Cthilian, I am not Dev." She spun to face him directly. "I look like a warwitch, but I'm not. I'm something else and you don't really know what that is. Neither does that psychotic bitch in Sidhain!"
"Do you know what you are, Lady?"
Her mouth thinned. Afraid that he had overstepped, Cthilian bowed his head, spread his hands placatingly. "Please, Lady. Be patient. Mzara and Lord Avran are bringing ir'dan to serve you -- volunteers, my lady!" He knew how she felt about that. "You cannot face her without an ir'dan!"
"Watch over your boy, Cthili," was all she said. "If possible, get back to the danship. Anna will take care of you both."
"Yes, Lady."
Her eyes gleamed, bright and suspicious at his easy capitulation. He quickly returned his gaze to his feet and she was gone, door closing quietly after her.
Cthilian wasted no more time. Taking care to make no sound, he crossed the parlor. There was a small desk by the fireplace. He found pen and paper, quickly scrawled a note. It was brief, saying nothing of what he felt. There was no time for that.
And he had hoped for more time. He had wanted to tell Djan things, to see him through a father's eyes just a little bit longer. Fate had decreed otherwise. An alorin learned early how much he counted in the scheme of things. Folding the note, Cthilian returned to the bedroom. He did not look again at Djan. Shieann slept nearby, hand resting on a slim fist. He knelt and slipped the note carefully beneath her fingers.
There was no one in the garden. Dream lilies were sparkles of silver in the moonlight. A breeze stole through the tall drafia, drenching him in their heady scent. He could smell rain - never far off this time of year and hear the distant trill of a madrigal. Everything seemed unnaturally bright and clear.
Inside the Temple, a Student dozed gently on a bench just inside the door. Danner tiptoed past him. He knew vaguely where he was going - down a corridor, across the great Hall of Vis to another hall that led to the transmat chamber.
She had been there, unmistakably. Two Scholars and a Student lay unconscious by the door; the transmat console blinked at him, unattended. Stepping over the unconscious men, he looked at the display. This was a skill learned much later in an alorin's life, but he had seen it done. Gingerly, he touched a keypad. Numbers sprang up. Coordinates -- the last to be entered into the machine.
At that moment, Cthilian almost lost his courage. He saw Djan laughing, outraged bibbit clutched in his muddy hands, sunlight glancing off his soft, fine hair. The ir'dan's fingers trembled above the controls. Swallowing hard, he tapped the display coordinates back into the machine, tried to remember how to set the time-delay. The console blurred; angrily he dragged his hand across his eyes and walked onto the platform.
Ten seconds later, the Temple chamber was empty.