the glass rattled, pulling Kahtar rudely from memories of an Arc in the Serengeti. Honor Monroe stood grinning in the doorway of the police station in Willowyth, the picture of health.
“Chief.”
Obviously there’d been trouble in town, nothing tickled Honor like action and apparently being shot hadn’t changed that, he already had his bulletproof vest in his hand.
So young.
“911 over on Pearl Street,” said Honor.
“Where? The only life on Pearl Street is Cerulean Blue. Who’d call 911? They don’t even have a phone.” Despite his argument, Kahtar got to his feet and moved.
Honor Monroe ran in front of him, shouting, “It came from a cell. Consider heard the recording, said some guy is threatening someone’s life.”
THREE SQUAD CARS seemed overkill. The men doubled up piling into vehicles, and jockeying for the opportunity to drive. One barked command in Kahtar’s second voice and they fell into order like the well trained Warriors of ilu they were.
“Stop smiling.” Kahtar hurtled through town in his vehicle, scanning the short distance to Pearl Street while griping at Honor Monroe. Sitting in the passenger seat, with his spiked hair sticking up in all directions Honor wiped the smile off his face, but even his frown looked thrilled. Scanning ahead, Kahtar couldn’t sense anything unusual from Cerulean Blue. Hidden inside an abstract, the public had no access to the eatery. Unfortunately even millennia of experience hadn’t given Kahtar the skills to scan inside the thick cloaking of an abstract, so he couldn’t be certain nothing had happened.
Honor’s right hand opened and clenched over his hip, as though worrying the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there.
Kahtar snapped at him. “And kill the siren, what’s the point in announcing we’re coming? There are three plebes sitting inside Cerulean Blue, eating their lunches outside the abstract, they’ll probably run outside in broad daylight if they hear us.”
“You can scan that from this far?”
“There’s a reason I’m the Warrior Chief, Monroe. Wear a vest anyway.”
Honor’s reply was muffled as he hurried to don the vest in the confines of the squad car, but Kahtar was fairly sure he’d muttered the word ‘cool’.
They pulled onto Pearl Street and Kahtar realized there were people in the old Victorian, next to Cerulean Blue. He noted the line of vehicles parked along the usually quiet street the same time his warriors did. Communicating only in second voice the warriors raced across the yard, mounted the steps silently and then stood outside the door with weapons drawn. Kahtar had no idea who or why people were inside the old abandoned house. Though the half dozen people inside seemed to have no weapons, this anomaly so close to Honor’s shooting struck Kahtar as far too curiously coincidental. Kahtar did not believe in coincidence.
Almost expecting to find assassins, they attacked. Kahtar kicked and the antique door came off the hinges. It slammed against an interior wall and glass crumpled with a faint tinkling sound and his men poured in, weapons drawn.
The room filled with shouts of protest and a handful of men ran back and forth in confusion, but in times like this Kahtar shone. In the midst of chaos he could access a situation in a glance, it was his particular gifting—gestalt. What he saw made him point his weapon in the air and shout to his men in second voice.
“Draw up.” As one they obeyed. The tumult in the room continued for several moments while workmen with tool belts, and one lone businessman, in a suit, ducked for cover. Within seconds they were under tables or behind a counter. Kahtar’s warriors remained standing, and one lone woman. Beth White stood staring at them in disbelief.
The Orphan of the Inquisition he had threatened to arrest, if he ever saw her again. He certainly had not expected to ever see her again. Yet here she stood, right in the middle of his territory, staring in wide
“Chief.”
Obviously there’d been trouble in town, nothing tickled Honor like action and apparently being shot hadn’t changed that, he already had his bulletproof vest in his hand.
So young.
“911 over on Pearl Street,” said Honor.
“Where? The only life on Pearl Street is Cerulean Blue. Who’d call 911? They don’t even have a phone.” Despite his argument, Kahtar got to his feet and moved.
Honor Monroe ran in front of him, shouting, “It came from a cell. Consider heard the recording, said some guy is threatening someone’s life.”
THREE SQUAD CARS seemed overkill. The men doubled up piling into vehicles, and jockeying for the opportunity to drive. One barked command in Kahtar’s second voice and they fell into order like the well trained Warriors of ilu they were.
“Stop smiling.” Kahtar hurtled through town in his vehicle, scanning the short distance to Pearl Street while griping at Honor Monroe. Sitting in the passenger seat, with his spiked hair sticking up in all directions Honor wiped the smile off his face, but even his frown looked thrilled. Scanning ahead, Kahtar couldn’t sense anything unusual from Cerulean Blue. Hidden inside an abstract, the public had no access to the eatery. Unfortunately even millennia of experience hadn’t given Kahtar the skills to scan inside the thick cloaking of an abstract, so he couldn’t be certain nothing had happened.
Honor’s right hand opened and clenched over his hip, as though worrying the hilt of a sword that wasn’t there.
Kahtar snapped at him. “And kill the siren, what’s the point in announcing we’re coming? There are three plebes sitting inside Cerulean Blue, eating their lunches outside the abstract, they’ll probably run outside in broad daylight if they hear us.”
“You can scan that from this far?”
“There’s a reason I’m the Warrior Chief, Monroe. Wear a vest anyway.”
Honor’s reply was muffled as he hurried to don the vest in the confines of the squad car, but Kahtar was fairly sure he’d muttered the word ‘cool’.
They pulled onto Pearl Street and Kahtar realized there were people in the old Victorian, next to Cerulean Blue. He noted the line of vehicles parked along the usually quiet street the same time his warriors did. Communicating only in second voice the warriors raced across the yard, mounted the steps silently and then stood outside the door with weapons drawn. Kahtar had no idea who or why people were inside the old abandoned house. Though the half dozen people inside seemed to have no weapons, this anomaly so close to Honor’s shooting struck Kahtar as far too curiously coincidental. Kahtar did not believe in coincidence.
Almost expecting to find assassins, they attacked. Kahtar kicked and the antique door came off the hinges. It slammed against an interior wall and glass crumpled with a faint tinkling sound and his men poured in, weapons drawn.
The room filled with shouts of protest and a handful of men ran back and forth in confusion, but in times like this Kahtar shone. In the midst of chaos he could access a situation in a glance, it was his particular gifting—gestalt. What he saw made him point his weapon in the air and shout to his men in second voice.
“Draw up.” As one they obeyed. The tumult in the room continued for several moments while workmen with tool belts, and one lone businessman, in a suit, ducked for cover. Within seconds they were under tables or behind a counter. Kahtar’s warriors remained standing, and one lone woman. Beth White stood staring at them in disbelief.
The Orphan of the Inquisition he had threatened to arrest, if he ever saw her again. He certainly had not expected to ever see her again. Yet here she stood, right in the middle of his territory, staring in wide
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