*
From the ground erupted a whirlwind of smoke. It solidified into a great four-armed creature, vaguely manshaped but twice the height of a normal man. Spikes and crests of bone seemed to run along every limb. The compound eyes were midnight black.
It looked around, and its gaze settled. “Duff."
"Spare me your posturing,” Duff said. “What do you want?"
"My master wants a reckoning.” Its voice sounded much like the slabs had when they burst apart. “He calls for you to settle your bill."
"And who's your master?” Duff said, voice level. “He can't afford much if a Levid's all he can run to."
The creature didn't reply but gazed at Duff, then leapt, blades extending from the heels of each hand. They slashed at Duff, who leapt back, then narrowed his eyes.
The creature's throat dappled, as if unseen fingers pressed at its throat. It shook its head, and the spell was broken. It swiped at Duff again, then toppled forward, the metal spike Task had thrust into its back sticking out.
"More to come,” the Levid said in its slab-voice. “Many more.” Then it died.
"Damn,” Duff muttered.
"Nothing much to worry about there.” Sinhalese motioned for Task to right her couch.
"Just nuisance value,” Duff admitted. “Whoever sent it is either making a point or is more interested in quantity than quality. The Spell of Sending so they emerge underground—where we have less protection—was a good idea."
"Making a point?” Sinhalese asked.
"Yes,” Duff said. “They're offworld mercenaries—a nuisance rather than a serious problem. Perhaps a distraction while someone makes a real attack.” He stretched and waved his hands in a pattern. He waited for some time, then when the creature twitched, said, “Arise."
The Levid stood, waiting.
"Task will accompany you.” Duff motioned to the zombie, who gripped the creature's arm.
"Father!"
"He'll be back before you know he's gone,” Duff said. He turned to Task: “When you've found who it is, return to me.” He handed Task a small object. “Use this to return."
Duff muttered the counterspell to the sending under his breath, and both Levid and zombie vanished.
* * * *
An afternoon of silence passed, Duff making it perfectly clear he had no desire for conversation. Sinhalese, having misread the warning signs before, had no intention of repeating the mistake. Nonetheless, it upset her that he'd once again withdrawn when she needed him to talk to her, to trust her. The afternoon turned to an equally silent, strained evening.
Twilight stretched the shadows. Duff and Sinhalese had changed into dinner clothing and sipped spiced wine while servants laid out their evening meal. Duff put his glass down when Task reappeared and said, “Come,” without waiting to see if he was obeyed, and marched from the dining area to his study.
Sinhalese cursed. She might as well have not existed. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. He'd ignored her for years, after all. “Ever since Momma died.” She blinked back tears, annoyed at herself for getting upset. “The only time you've ever noticed me, is when you've wanted something, when I could be useful to you,” she whispered.
She'd blanked out the times when he'd worse than ignored her—raged, shouted at her that it was her fault he didn't have a son to pass on the line, that she should have been the one to die, not her mother. Sinhalese knew enough to recognize misplaced guilt when she saw it. She guessed her father had pressured her mother into the archaic pregnancy rather than a sensible, civilized arrangement with clones, all to keep up with some faddish friends—and when the process had gone wrong whilst his wife was in labour, had blamed the survivor and not himself.
Recognizing the reason for his anger and being able to deal with it were two different things.
This time she decided not to back down. She trotted to her father's study, wondering whether she should announce herself or watch from somewhere
From the ground erupted a whirlwind of smoke. It solidified into a great four-armed creature, vaguely manshaped but twice the height of a normal man. Spikes and crests of bone seemed to run along every limb. The compound eyes were midnight black.
It looked around, and its gaze settled. “Duff."
"Spare me your posturing,” Duff said. “What do you want?"
"My master wants a reckoning.” Its voice sounded much like the slabs had when they burst apart. “He calls for you to settle your bill."
"And who's your master?” Duff said, voice level. “He can't afford much if a Levid's all he can run to."
The creature didn't reply but gazed at Duff, then leapt, blades extending from the heels of each hand. They slashed at Duff, who leapt back, then narrowed his eyes.
The creature's throat dappled, as if unseen fingers pressed at its throat. It shook its head, and the spell was broken. It swiped at Duff again, then toppled forward, the metal spike Task had thrust into its back sticking out.
"More to come,” the Levid said in its slab-voice. “Many more.” Then it died.
"Damn,” Duff muttered.
"Nothing much to worry about there.” Sinhalese motioned for Task to right her couch.
"Just nuisance value,” Duff admitted. “Whoever sent it is either making a point or is more interested in quantity than quality. The Spell of Sending so they emerge underground—where we have less protection—was a good idea."
"Making a point?” Sinhalese asked.
"Yes,” Duff said. “They're offworld mercenaries—a nuisance rather than a serious problem. Perhaps a distraction while someone makes a real attack.” He stretched and waved his hands in a pattern. He waited for some time, then when the creature twitched, said, “Arise."
The Levid stood, waiting.
"Task will accompany you.” Duff motioned to the zombie, who gripped the creature's arm.
"Father!"
"He'll be back before you know he's gone,” Duff said. He turned to Task: “When you've found who it is, return to me.” He handed Task a small object. “Use this to return."
Duff muttered the counterspell to the sending under his breath, and both Levid and zombie vanished.
* * * *
An afternoon of silence passed, Duff making it perfectly clear he had no desire for conversation. Sinhalese, having misread the warning signs before, had no intention of repeating the mistake. Nonetheless, it upset her that he'd once again withdrawn when she needed him to talk to her, to trust her. The afternoon turned to an equally silent, strained evening.
Twilight stretched the shadows. Duff and Sinhalese had changed into dinner clothing and sipped spiced wine while servants laid out their evening meal. Duff put his glass down when Task reappeared and said, “Come,” without waiting to see if he was obeyed, and marched from the dining area to his study.
Sinhalese cursed. She might as well have not existed. Still, she shouldn't be surprised. He'd ignored her for years, after all. “Ever since Momma died.” She blinked back tears, annoyed at herself for getting upset. “The only time you've ever noticed me, is when you've wanted something, when I could be useful to you,” she whispered.
She'd blanked out the times when he'd worse than ignored her—raged, shouted at her that it was her fault he didn't have a son to pass on the line, that she should have been the one to die, not her mother. Sinhalese knew enough to recognize misplaced guilt when she saw it. She guessed her father had pressured her mother into the archaic pregnancy rather than a sensible, civilized arrangement with clones, all to keep up with some faddish friends—and when the process had gone wrong whilst his wife was in labour, had blamed the survivor and not himself.
Recognizing the reason for his anger and being able to deal with it were two different things.
This time she decided not to back down. She trotted to her father's study, wondering whether she should announce herself or watch from somewhere
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