Shadowkill

##

The sweaty, furious face of a man filled the central hexa. His thick gold hair straggled about his ears; his eye paint was smudged and his lip rouge rolled into crumbs at the corner of his mouth, a mouth working in a futile frenzy, futile because the sound was off.

Anyagyn sniffed, the small sound heavy with distaste. “You want to hear that, Toerfeles?”

“No. Can that hear me?”

“When you want.”

“Do it.”

“Done.”

The man blinked and started yelling more furiously, waving his arms, hands appearing and vanishing as they swung in and out of the viewcone.

Miralys dug her claws into the padding on the chairarms. “Shut your mouth, fool, listen to me.” Her ears twitched, her lips curled up and back in the Dyslaera threat grin.

There was a flicker of fear in the man’s eyes, understanding immediately suppressed. His face smoothed out, acquired a sudden patina of grooming. He smiled, bowed his head, spoke briefly, then waited.

“I am Miralys vey Voallts tol Daravazhalts, Toerfeles of Voallts Korlach. You have blood kin of mine prisoner in that abomination of yours. I want them, without delay and intact.” She turned to Anyagyn. “Let me hear that.”

The man smoothed nervous fingers over his hair, pressing it into a semblance of order. “What are you talking about, Toerfeles?” His voice was pleasantly rough, more interesting and attractive than his surgically enhanced face. “There are no Dyslaera here. Someone’s been lying to you.”

“Who are you? Would you know?”

“I am Pinjaro da Tinggal.” He was almost purring now that he knew what he dealt with, sure of his ability to defuse the situation. “I am Pengurra of this House. I know what happens here.”

Miralys’ ears went back against her skull. “Anyagyn Szajes, do it.”

“Hannys, Sugnam, Tasylyn. Go.”

Three Capture Landers left the disk, swooped down and blew away a section of Black House, went spiraling back to their places. A breath and a half and the attack was over.