By Honor Betray'd: Mageworlds #3 by Debra Doyle, James D. MacDonald Page B

she’d said, with as much persuasion behind the words as she dared to use, “ the Republic’s fleet is regrouping. All we have to do is hold out until they come back.”
    That had brought a skeptical look to the face of the Ministry rep who’d been asking most of the questions, but his manner had softened a little afterward. Whatever the Gyfferan’s feelings about the local Space Force contingent, at least Llannat and Vinhalyn—surprised themselves by the outbreak of war—weren’t being held personally responsible.
    The hovercar came to a halt outside the main building of the Space Force installation. Llannat and Vinhalyn got out, the lieutenant thanked the driver, and the hovercar sped back toward the gate.
    Llannat let out her breath in an explosive sigh. “Well. At least that’s over.”
    “Temporarily, at least,” said Vinhalyn. He glanced over at the sleek black hull of the Magebuilt ship. “Some of our hosts are certain to find the Daughter as fascinating as I do—there are one or two academics on Gyffer with an interest in Old Eraasian artifacts. But the preparations for war will keep them occupied for a while, I hope.”
    “Until you’ve got enough notes to publish something first?”
    The lieutenant smiled, a bit grimly. “I may be fated to end my scholarly career the way I began it—as a lieutenant in the Republic’s service—but the full report on Night’s- Beautiful-Daughter will keep my name alive in the archives all the same.”
    “Worse things could happen,” said Llannat. “And we may see a few of them, if we’re not careful. Let’s go on in and tell the others what the Ministry’s going to do with us.”
    Vinhalyn nodded, and led the way into the main building, where they’d left the rest of the crew. The courier ship’s original complement had been augmented by the four crew members of a Pari -class scout that had been docked with the Deathwing raider when the Mageworlds warfleet broke through the Net. That brought the crew up to twelve people, counting Llannat and Vinhalyn; not much of a Space Force presence on a planet facing imminent attack.
    The interior of the building was dim after the sun glare over the landing field. Llannat stood for a moment just inside the tinted armor-glass of the door, letting her eyes—and her other, nonphysical senses—adjust to the change.
    The Space Force installation hadn’t yet lost all traces of its previous inhabitants. She could sense the residual shock and tension of their hurried departure, overlaid by the auras of the building’s new occupants. After their time aboard the Deathwing, all of them were known to her. She relaxed a bit in their familiarity. With relaxation came a sudden awareness of another presence, one whose strength and steadiness had almost lulled her into accepting it as a part of the pattern.
    She caught her breath in surprise. That’s not one of the Daughter’s crew! That’s —
    “Ari?” she said, and heard her voice quaver on the edge of a shaky laugh. “What in the name of everything in the civilized galaxy are you doing here ?”
    He stood up. As usual, he’d found the lowest chair in the most inconspicuous corner of the room, and had occupied it with a stillness that even some Adepts never managed to learn. It was a hunter’s stillness, that he’d learned from the Selvaurs who controlled Llannat’s homeworld. Ari had been fostered among the big saurians—he and they were built to the same scale—and the nonhuman training showed in the way he held himself. Most big men were awkward and clumsy, or at least to Llannat they seemed to be, but Ari moved with the easy grace of the Forest Lords.
    The bow of respect he gave Llannat had never been learned on Maraghai, however, and his Galcenian had the pure native accent.
    “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I thought about going to the Defense Ministry, but decided that coming here would be easier.”
    She took a step closer, putting out a hand to