Kethry turned her head away, unable to bear the sight of the Kal'enedral struggling vainly against the evil power containing him. Tarma turned back to her teacher to see that he had given up the effort to speak -- and she saw that his hands were moving, in the same Shin'a'in hand-signs she had taught Kethry and her scouts.
'Keth -- his hands -- '
As Kethry's eyes were again drawn to the leshya'e's figure, Tarma read his message.
Death-danger, she read, and Assassins. Wise one.
'Warrior! It's Jadrek -- he's going to be killed!' She reached behind her for the door, certain that they were never going to make it to Jadrek's rooms in time.
But Warrl had been watching her thoughts, probably alerted through the bond they shared to her agitation.
At the same moment, as if he had heard the Kyree's reply the leshya'e Kal'enedral made a motion of triumph, and dissolved back into moonlight and shadow.
While Kethry was still staring at the place where the spirit had stood, Tarma was clawing the door open, all thought of subterfuge gone.
She headed down the corridor at a dead run, and she could hear Kethry right behind her; this time there would be no attempt at concealment.
Warrl's 'voice' was sharp in her mind; angry, and tasting of battle-hunger.
There was no answer to that, as she put on a burst of speed down the corridor -- at least not an answer in words. But there was a surge of great anger, a rage such as she had seldom sensed in the kyree, even under battle-fire.
Then Tarma had evidence of her own of how strong the mindmate bonding between herself and the kyree had become -- because she began to get image-flashes carried on that rage. A man, an armed man, with a long, wicked dagger in his hand, standing outside Jadrek's door. The man turning to face Warrl even as Jadrek opened the door. Jadrek stepping back a pace with fear stark across his features, then turning and stumbling back into his room. The man ignoring him, meeting the threat of Warrl, unsheathing a sword to match the knife he carried.
Tarma felt the growl the kyree vented rumbling in her own throat as she ran. Felt him leap --
Now they were in the older section -- running down Jadrek's corridor. Kethry was scarcely a step behind her as they skidded to a halt at Jadrek's open door.
There was blood everywhere -- spilling out over the doorsill, splashed on the wall of the corridor. The kyree stood over a body sprawled half-in, half-out of the room, growling under his breath, his eyes literally glowing with rage. Warrl had taken care of the intruder less than seconds before their arrival, for the body at his feet was still twitching, and the kyree's mind was seething with aggression and the aftermath of the kill. His hackles were up, but he was unmarked; of the blood splashed so liberally everywhere, none of it seemed to be Warrl's.
'Goddess -- ' Tarma caught at the edge of the doorframe, and panted, her knees weak with relief that the kyree had gotten there in time.
'Jadrek!' Kethry snapped out of shock first; she slid past the slowly calming kyree into the room beyond. Tarma was right behind her, expecting to find the Archivist in a dead faint, or worse; hurt, or collapsed with shock.
She was amazed to find him still on his feet.
He had his back to the wall, standing next to the fireplace behind his chair, a dagger in one hand, a fireplace poker in the other. He was pale, and looked as if he was likely to be sick at any moment. But he also looked as if he was quite ready to protect himself as best he could, and was anything but immobilized with fear or shock.
For one moment he didn't seem to recognize them; then he shook his head a little, put the poker carefully down, sheathed the dagger at his belt, then groped for the back of his chair and pulled it toward himself, the legs grating on the stone. He all but fell into it.
'Jadrek -- are you all right?' Tarma would have gone to his side, but Kethry was there before her.
Jadrek was trembling in every nerve and muscle as he collapsed into his chair. Gods -- one breath more -- too close. Too close.
