By Ann Maxwell
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Afterwards we can crawl and whimper and kiss our separate wounds. Then you can take your rope of lies and evasions and hang yourself with it. I won’t stop you. I promise that. * Lhar waited in the stretching silence for Syza to respond. She stood as though carved from the conflicting moons, remote and desolate. The quiet hummed until he wanted to batter at her stillness. Syza’s taman clicked its teeth, impatient to be turned loose. Syza drew a deep, ragged breath, then turned to the taman and stripped it of its harness.
Tomorrow would be worse; the dung smells would be fresher as they overtook the bigger, slower khaners ahead. He stretched his back muscles unobtrusively and settled in for a long ride. IV IT WAS FULLY DARK BY THE TIME THEY REACHED THE river. Kaffi had pushed the band as though their lives depended on reaching the river before moonrise. Even her own men had passed from disbelief into resignation. Lhar pulled his taman’s head out of the water. The others would be straggling in soon and would probably need help.
How could you? You would have become as mad as he if you had probed his slinking malevolence. And his mad cunning. He arranged not to die alone. Not him. Not Zomal the Wise. Never. You and the Contact team and a planet—an entire planet seething with life—all would die with him. “He blew the contact deliberately. He knew that Bjmsk was at a crucial stage, that his revelations would detonate a shockwave of panic and destruction across the planet. “But somehow you stopped him. Cleanly, quietly, tracelessly.