Shadowkill

##

A small flit dropped to the ground ahead of them, opened up its side. Ginbiryol Seyirshi stepped onto the ramp, beckoned to them.

Shadith kicked her heels into her pony’s sides, dropped the lead rope, and rode forward.

Tsipor pa Prool stayed back, watching, rifle held loosely under her arm.

Ginny held up a hand. “Truce,” he called out. “Do you agree?”

Shadith stopped the pony five meters off, sat frowning at him. “Last time you didn’t bother asking, just grabbed. Why all this?”

“I need your active cooperation.”

“Why should I have anything to do with you?”

“Omphalos.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend? I never much believed that.”

“Does it matter? No matter what you think of me, you do have friends and Omphalos has them. Not for long. Experimental material has a short life line in their hands.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Read me.”

“Tell me.”

“Destruction breeds round you, Singer. I need you.”

“I don’t trust you. I can’t.”

“Your own words, Singer. Last time I didn’t bother asking, just grabbed. We both remember how wrong that went.”

“True. How did you get away? You were a prisoner, weren’t you?”

“They meant to use me to take a world for them, so they sent me out on a ship with a workshop built to my specifications.”

“Fools.”

“Yes. As big a fool as I was, trying to contain you.”

“Truce till when?”

“One year, during which time neither attempts to kill the other.”

“Good enough. One last thing. My companion. She has reason to loathe Omphalos. She comes.”

“Necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Agreed, provided she swears truce also.”

Shadith twisted around, waved Tsipor to them.

The Raska came slowly, her dark red eyes fixed on Seyirshi.

“He offers truce,” Shadith said. “While we go after Omphalos.”

“Is true ssaying?”

“At the moment.”

Tsipor flipped the rifle around, handed it to Shadith. She slid from the saddle with a boneless ease and walked up the ramp. She stopped in front of Seyirshi, reached toward him.

“Let her touch you, Ginny. There’s no harm in it. Tsipor, the right arm, not the left.”

Tsipor pa Prool dropped her hand lightly on Seyirshi’s true arm, jerked it away, hissing as she did so. She stepped back, turned to face Shadith. “Bad,” she said. “To trust, now iss yess.”

“All right,” Shadith said. “We’re in.”

Dyslaera 11: Rohant Edges Toward Escape