"Not before I kill you."
Lararl's eyes went back to Varg, and he bared his fangs in a slow, almost-leering smile. "I am pleased to see that the demons across the sea have not deprived me of the pleasure of showing your guts to the sky."
"Not yet," Tavi said. "But who knows? The night is young."
Lararl's ears quivered back and forth in a gesture of brief surprise, and his gaze shifted to Tavi. "You speak our tongue, little demon?"
"I speak it adequately. I understand it fairly well."
Lararl narrowed his eyes. "Interesting."
"Lararl, of Shuar," Varg growled. "Tavar of Alera. He is gadara to me, Lararl."
"As Varg is to me," Tavi added, guessing that it was the proper thing to say.
Lararl's ears quivered again, and he shook his head. "Tavar, is it? A demon gadara." He glanced back at the table and the model there. "Sometimes I think that the world is changing. That I am too old to change with it." He shook his head. "Varg, your word of peace for this night?"
"You have it."
Lararl nodded. "And you mine. Will you vouch for Tavar and his pack?" Varg looked at Tavi. "Will you give your word that you and your people will abide peacefully here tonight, so long as no harm is offered to you?"
"Of course," Tavi said. "Provided we receive the same word in return."
"He will," Varg told Lararl.
The golden-furred Warmaster nodded. "And will you vouch for my word to him?"
Varg looked at Tavi. "I will. Lararl keeps his word."
Tavi nodded. "Done, then."
Lararl nodded to the other Canim in the room. "Leave us."
His officers filed out rapidly and quietly. Anag was the last out the door, and he shut it behind him.
Lararl crossed to the coal fire and crouched beside it, holding out his hands. "Sit, sit."
They did so. Tavi was grateful for the fire's warmth. The interior of Lararl's command tower was quite literally as cold as a cavern.
"There is much work for me to do," Lararl said. "What would you have of me?"
"First, your protection," Varg said. "I am here with nearly one hundred thousand of my people."
Lararl froze for a second, blue eyes locked on Varg. "Where?"
"Molvar," Varg replied. "We arrived five days ago."
Lararl sat in silence for several seconds. "And what protection do you ask of me?"
"My intention when I came here was to ask only for room enough to debark until our ships could be repaired to a condition suitable to return to Narash. Now..."
Lararl nodded. "No longer. Narash is no more. None of them are anymore, Varg. It's all..." His hand lashed out behind him and struck at the table, cracking its surface and scattering green sand. "All that hideous offal. And those things. Those Vord."
"You're sure?" Varg asked.
"Yes."
"How did it happen?" Tavi asked quietly.
"It started in Narash," Lararl replied. "The ritualists and their sects among the makers rose up against the Warmasters, with these Vord as their allies. But soon it became clear that ritualists from the other ranges were eagerly smuggling more Vord into their lands to help with their own uprisings. Soon, Warmasters in every range were putting down one rebellion after another."
Tavi could see where this was leading. "And once the Vord had a solid foothold everywhere, they turned on the ritualists."
Lararl nodded. "The stupid taurga. Now, they are all but extinct. Within days, every range was in flames. Battlepacks roamed over every portion of the countryside. There was no communication, no order. Some fought longer than others, held on longer than others-your own line, Varg, longer than any, even though the poison began in their own range. But in the end, it didn't matter. They fell. One by one, they all fell."
Tavi shivered and held his hands closer to the coals.
After a silent minute, Varg said, "Then I must ask you for sanctuary for the makers under my charge. And pledge my warriors to aid in your defense."
Lararl grunted. His eyes flicked to Tavi. "And you, Tavar?"
"I would like to ask your permission to spend a few days here, resupplying my ships and repairing damage. Then I intend to sail back to my home and, with any luck, never bother you again."
Lararl grunted, stood, and walked to the door. They all watched him.
He paused at the door.
"Varg. There is not enough food in my range to feed my own people, much less yours."
Varg's lips peeled away from his fangs.
"There may not be many ritualists left," Lararl continued. "But they are mine, now. Your people are going to die, Varg. At least I can make their deaths have meaning. At least I can give their blood to the ritualists to use to defend Shuar."
"Lararl," Varg snarled, rising. "Do not do this."
"My people are dying," Lararl spat. "My duty is to them. Not to you. Were our positions reversed, you would do the same, and you know it."
Tavi rose. "And what of us? What of my people?"
Lararl turned and gave Tavi a look that was pure, cold, bloodthirsty hate.
"Demon," he snarled. "Do you think we are so foolish that we do not know that the Vord came to Canea upon one of your ships? Do you think us so stupid that we have not puzzled out that it is you who unleashed this terror upon us, to destroy our people?"
"That is not true!" Tavi snarled.
"Aleran demon," Lararl spat, "you have no honor. Every word from your lips is a lie. I have a range to defend, and no time to waste on your deceit. But your people's blood will serve as well as Varg's people's." He slammed open the doors. "Guards!"
A great many warrior Canim appeared in the doorway.
Lararl turned to face them. "You will go with these guards, or you will die, here and now. Choose."
Chapter 18
The Shuaran guards offered them no violence or disrespect. They simply escorted Varg and the Alerans to the roof of Lararl's dark granite tower, closed the heavy metal door, and locked it, sliding home large bolts that would make it impossible to open.
Then they left them there, on the flat, open expanse of the cubic building's roof. It was nearly the size of a cohort's training field, and overlooked every other structure in the fortified city. Tavi did not need to look to know that there would be no way to climb down, no other building close enough to leap onto. There was no need for bars, locks, or guards. One would need to be able to fly to escape this prison cell.