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At night in a barren stone valley a man sat wrapped in a thick cloak next to a roaring bonfire. The firelight flickered against surrounding stone cliffs. He sat listening to the distant roar of ocean surf, tossed sticks into the blaze. Presently, a whirring noise echoed about the valley and the man stood, squinted into the night sky.
A winged insect much like a giant dragonfly descended to land amid the brush and rock to one side. An armoured figure slowly and stiffly dismounted.
Cloak cast aside, the man approached. His arms hung at his sides, long and thick and knotted with muscle. His sun-browned and aged face wrinkled in pleasure. Grinning, he called, ‘You're late, Hunchell. But it does my heart good to see you again.’
The flames reflected gold from the figure's armour. ‘My father, Hunchell, is too old for such long flights now, Shatterer. But he sends his continued loyalty and regards. I am first son, V'thell.’
‘Welcome to my humble island.’ The two clasped forearms.
‘Will this then be our marshalling point?’
‘Yes. The island is secure. It will serve as one of our depots and staging grounds.’
‘I understand.’ The Gold Moranth, come by all the distance from far northern Genabackis, regarded the man for a time in silence, the chitinous visor of his full helm unreadable.
‘Go ahead, ask it,’ the man ground out.
‘Very well. Why do you pursue this course? You risk – shattering – it all.’
‘We can't stand idly by any longer, V'thell. Everything's slipping away bit by bit. Everything we struggled to raise. She doesn't understand how the machine we built must run.’
‘Yet she had a hand in that building.’
The man's mouth clenched into a hard line. ‘Yeah, that's true. I didn't say it was easy.’ He waved the topic aside. ‘But what about the Silver. Are they with us?’
‘Yes. We can count on a flight of Silver quorl. Some Green are with us as well. The Black and the Red … well, we shall see. As for the Blue – they tender transport contracts with everyone. I suspect it is they who will come out ahead after all this.’
‘Ain't that always the way. Will you rest here?’
‘No, I must go immediately.’
‘Well, give my regards to your father. Tell him to begin moving materiel. Contract all the Blue vessels you can.’
V'thell inclined his armoured head. ‘Very well.’
The man watched as the Gold Moranth remounted. The wings of the insect quorl became a blur. He ducked his head against the dust and thrown sand, watched the creature rise and disappear into the night. After a time another figure emerged from the darkness. He wore a long dark cloak and hood.
‘Can we trust them?’
The man named Shatterer by the Moranth barked a laugh at that. ‘Yeah, so long as there remains a chance we might win. Then they will renegotiate. What of you?’
‘My loyalty? Or my news?’
Shatterer smiled thinly.
‘There are rumours of the return of the Crimson Guard.’
A derisive snort. ‘Every year you hear that. Especially with bad times. I wouldn't give that any weight.’
The cloaked man's hood rose, yet the absolute darkness within was unchanged. ‘Have you considered the possibility that they might actually return? There are, after all, names among them that echo like nightmares.’
‘There are nightmare names among us too.’
‘When you say us – whom do you mean? Dassem is gone. Kellanved and Dancer are gone. Who remains to face them?’
‘We've always beaten them.’
‘In the past, yes.’
Shatterer rubbed the back of his neck. ‘If you're lookin’ for a sure thing you've come to the wrong place. You toss your bones and the Twins decide.’
‘I'm not one to leave anything to chance.’
‘Everything's a chance. But if you haven't learned that by now then I suppose you never will.’
‘Why should I, when I leave nothing to chance?’
‘Anything else?’
‘No. I am convinced of this Moranth connection. I will report appropriately.’
‘Then do so.’
The cloaked figure inclined its head. ‘We will remain in touch through the usual channels.’
‘Yeah. Those.’
The man – or woman – strolled away into the night.
Shatterer watched the flames for a time, sighed, cracked his knuckles. Dealing with traitors always set his teeth on edge. Especially a Claw traitor. But then, he now fell within that same category as well. He remembered the first contacts with the Moranth and how he had crushed the torso armour of one in a bear hug. They insisted on that ridiculous name after that. Easier if they'd just call him Crust, or Urko.
The traitor Claw's worries returned to him and he recalled the image of Skinner striding across ravaged battlefields, shrugging off the worst anyone could throw at him and killing, killing. He shuddered. Hood help her should he show up again. But no, all analysis said she would simply send the entirety of the Claw lists at them until only the regulars remained. It might take hundreds but eventually superior numbers would tell.
In any case, they would act regardless. It was cruel and hard but they meant to win and this was their best chance this generation. In a way he felt sorry for her; she was caught in a nightmare of her own making – Abyss, she might even thank them for it. Yet he knew in the end she would accept it. Laseen understood exigencies. She'd always understood those.
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