give his life for her, and he very nearly had when his detachment had sneaked back into the city from across the river to attack the Vegans guarding her. He stole a glance at the face hidden under the cap of god-metal and thought, with all the sincerity of his eighteen years: I shall defend her with my last breath. Then he thought sadly that in a palace now suddenly filled with mutinous Imperials, it seemed likely that he would soon be called upon to fulfill that promise.
Ariane said, “Erit, can you hear me?”
The Vulk did not reply. Her hands clenched and opened with the effort to maintain contact.
Do you see what is around me? Do you know where we are?
Erit trembled with eagerness. Yes. Now I see. You are in the tower.
Can you bring her here?
She will seek your --The idea was a Vulk concept for which there was no human counterpart. It contained elements of brotherhood, devotion, kinship, almost symbiosis. It was to the other Vulk what Ariane was to Erit--that human person without which no Vulk could be complete.
Excitement. Hope.
Find him! He is in pain. I can feel it.
It will endanger her. The ancient Vulk conflict now: one trapped into opposition with another because their human symbiotes’ interests might clash.
Erit felt an overpowering command. The Vulk Gret was far older and more nearly mature than she. Her mind wavered under the power of his authority. Erit shivered and withdrew. She sank to the cold stone ramp, trembling and exhausted.
Ariane cradled Erit in her arms. Presently, the Vulk murmured, “Rhadans. In the tower. Somehow they think they can escape--”
“Kier’s men. Gret.”
“Yes, Ariane. Gret.” Erit shivered again as she said the name. “They said to come, if we can.” “And Kier?”
The Vulk remained silent.
“Gret must know where he is. He has been with him since childhood.”
“As I have with you, Ariane.”
Ariane’s anger flashed suddenly. “Where is he? I command you, Erit. Speak or I send you from me!”
Erit did not reply that in their present circumstances-- or for that matter, in any others--what Ariane threatened was impossible for them both. She shrugged her thin shoulders in a Vulk gesture of resignation. If Ariane died, then Erit would die as well. So in the cosmic eternity, what did it matter?
“He is with the Questioner,” the Vulk said.
The question room lay deep in the tel under the Citadel. To reach it meant a journey along passageways that had once, long ago, been lined with rails of god-metal. No one knew how long ago these tunnels through Tel-Manhat had been built nor for what purpose. In most places the ancient rails had rusted away, and in others the metal had been removed to be resmelted into armor and weapons.
Kier had tried to remember the route the squad of Imperials had taken, but he was unaccustomed to these underground warrens, and by the time he had been delivered to the black-garbed executioners who served the Questioner, he was thoroughly lost. His Rhadan courage sustained him, but his Rhadan melancholy prepared him for a lingering and painful death.
At the moment he was thinking of Gret. The contact was very strong. Gret was still alive and filled with strange Vulk excitements, perhaps caused by the nearness of freedom. It would be almost time for the starship to appear.
The Questioner was a large masked man in black. The post was traditionally anonymous to safeguard the person of the state torturer from the vengeance of his many victims’ relations and dependents. And the man’s very anonymity surrounded him and his domain with dread.
The Imperials had stationed themselves outside the torchlit room, and the executioners, seven of them by tradition and law, had delivered the young Rhad to their master in silence.
In the question room all commands were given by signal, and only the Questioner himself spoke to the detainee.
The huge, black-clad man had a surprisingly high-pitched and effeminate voice that heightened the
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