- Chapter 13 -

 

Raven clung on to one comforting thought from Mararen's lecture as the Succubus started to decelerate, angling the elements of its web-like power-sail away from the energy-stream as it approached the region of space around Jaglundar's Rock. "A bite victim isn't necessarily doomed to become Dravwaeri", he had told her, Sshraada and Marishanna. "The venom takes time to have its full effect, and requires the close proximity of the "parent". Kill the Dravwyrn responsible for the bite, and the victim may recover - but only within a certain period of time."

"And will we get there in time?", Raven had asked.

"This is a good, fast ship", Mararen had said. "A Dyal ship. They don't make many, but when they do, they build the best."

He didn't seem at all bothered to talk about Dyals then, Raven thought. Perhaps he did it intentionally, to see if he could.

"Dravwyrn wings function in the same way as power-sails", Mararen had also said, "and that makes them sensitive to changes in the local energy currents. We should close down the main sail some time before we arrive, to avoid drawing some unwelcome attention our way."

He later said that "rumour has it that the first power sails were created as a result of experiments carried out on a captive Dravwyrn", although he would not confirm whether this was true, but it did make Raven appreciate why the mighty dragons of the stars might want to take special care to avoid being detected by other races. Why buy new sails, when you can catch a new set in the wild?, she thought.

As the Succubus drew closer to Jaglundar's Rock, Marishanna called her passengers up into the control tower, to observe their approach and see for themselves what lay ahead. Raven thought back to her time on the personal yacht of the Prince of The Sapphire Cluster, and the tour of the vessel she and the other dancers had been given, when she saw the control panels and blinking lights, but this, she quickly realised, was quite a different set-up. The instruments and display screens appeared far more advanced, and not a little out of place on a ship with sails...

"Your friend Strides-Tall isn't the only one to do business with the Reclamationists", Marishanna explained, smiling smugly. "We found some material, and they were eager to buy. I saw the kind of devices they could give us, and a sale became a trade. Now, watch and see what these gadgets can do!"

"We appear to be reading a ship, not far from the Rock", reported Nayodil, the Succubus's half-Shaelin junior navigator, interpreting the data coming up on a circular screen. "Must be the Reclamationist ship. It looks in a bad way, but I am reading a power source and intermittent signals feeding to the steering sails - a standard testing pattern, by the look of it, so I guess there's someone aboard, trying to fix it."

"We should go and help them", said Raven, but Mararen was adamant.

"No", he said firmly, and pointed to an image of the vessel, projected on a panel of glass at the centre of the room. "See the damage to the power-sails? That's not done by lightning-guns - that's done by claws. The Dravwaeri crippled her, so that they could have a captive food supply."

"At least we should contact them...", Raven began, but the Waeribane shook his head.

"Too risky", he told her. "Normal communications are made by firing a focussed pulse through the cosmic currents, with the power-sails of the two ships acting as transmitter and receiver respectively. The pulse has to be very strong to cover any distance without fading, and our enemies would certainly sense it - the Dravwyrn itself may even be able to understand the signal...that is, if there was a functioning sail to receive the message in the first place."

"So we just leave them", said Raven, rather disgusted with the idea of abandoning people to die, drifting in space.

"Their best hope lies in our confronting and destroying the Dravwyrn that nests here", the Waeribane told them all. "Hopefully, the Dravwaeri, once freed from their creator's influence, will choose self-preservation over any lingering loyalty, and flee rather than face us. As a group, under their creator's control, Dravwaeri can be a deadly force - free, and prey to their own self-interest, they are just so many selfish individuals, happy to see one of their number die so that the rest can escape, and flourish elsewhere."

"The use of the word 'hopefully' hardly fills me with confidence, Master Mararen", said Marishanna scornfully. "That's one 'hopefully' too many, where my ship is concerned."

"Unfortunately, there is little by way of precedent to draw upon", admitted Mararen. "One rarely finds nest-sites like this. Our activities normally involve tracking down and destroying individual free-willed Dravwaeri, not the Dark Breed themselves, in their lairs."

"Your claim to be an expert on these creatures holds less and less weight with each word you utter", said Marishanna, in a rather threatening fashion. "I only tolerate your presence on my ship because you're supposed to know these creatures."

"And before I came aboard did you even know the Dravwyrn existed?", Mararen retorted. "The Dark Breed are secretive creatures because they are aware that they have opposition. Opposition that has proved itself effective on many occasions."

"'Many occasions' are of no interest to me", snorted the Salvandireen adventuress. "It's what you do here and now that matters."

The captain of the Succubus whirled round on one elegant spiked heel and strode away, vanishing into a small room to the rear of the control room. Raven thought to go after her, and try to defuse any tension that could hamper the rescue attempt, but Nayodil got up from his seat to hold her back.

"Best leave the captain to simmer on her own", he advised. "Don't worry - when the time comes for battle, she'll be ready, and the fight will be her sole concern. We've taken more than our fair share of chances since she took over, but we've always come out of them in one piece. Her methods may not sit well with all of us, but we survive, and profit from her command."

"Money can be a great motivator", admitted Mararen, "but it can sometimes blind the unwary. Be careful you don't blind yourself to darkness too often, my friend, or darkness will surely blind you forever."

Mararen then left as well, going back down to the deck to start putting the rescue plan in motion.

"There's a ship out there!", one of the Brilliant Future's crew exclaimed as he sat crouched over one of the ship's few functioning instrument panels. "I can see it!"

"The boy's delusional", muttered Lemmesk, his spirits on the wane. "Who in their right mind would venture in these parts...?"

Bresquet jumped up, and hurried over to see for himself. Yibnor, the Reclamationist technician, had rewired that panel so that he could operate the probe drone from the relative safety of the hold, as an attempt to get some early warning about another attack by the hungry monsters - but he got it working just fractionally too late. Bresquet could still see the wicked claws reaching in, and snatching the man's head from his shoulders...

The Reclamationist agent had seen the technician at work for long enough to attempt to operate the drone himself, but he dared not touch the controls on the view-panel, intended for guiding the loading of cargo, for fear of ruining his fellow Reclamationist's final triumph. "Yes!", he cried. "There is a ship. Not one of ours, but it's a ship! They're running on minimal power, almost silent..."

"Maybe they're all dead already", mumbled Lemmesk. "Their batteries are probably running down."

Bresquet did not - could not - listen. He focussed solely on the ship, which was only just moving, but it as drawing nearer. "I think I recognise that ship", he said thoughtfully. "The silver sword painted on the bow, that's...that's the symbol of Marishanna. Gearwheels of eternity, it's the Succubus!"

"And that's something to cheer about?", queried Lemmesk glumly.

"A friend of mine submitted reports about Marishanna", said the Reclamationist. "She may be a rather unorthodox captain, but she's good, and she supplied us with some very interesting devices..."

Bresquet looked away from the loading viewer, his face alive with hope and anticipation. "...and we reciprocated!", he exclaimed. "Her ship has a lot of our products on board! I should be able to contact them!"

The Reclamationist hurried over to where his communication device was sitting, but in his haste, a few steps away from the transmitter, he tripped over the comatose form of Bjalser, and pitched forward, sprawling across the deck and slamming his head against the machine. The only man left able to operate the transmitter plunged into unconsciousness, but that hardly mattered - the impact had tripped the power switch, and unknown to anyone, the machine's reserves of power leaked away in a few minutes, wasted.

Bjalser stirred for a second, moaned almost inaudibly, then fell silent again.

Reaching out with her mind-powers, inching forward warily like a person reaching into a dark corner for a lost ring, fearing they would be bitten by hidden rats or spiders, Raven searched for the familiar psychic impressions of Strides-Tall. It was difficult to make anything out, for the very substance of Jaglundar's Rock seemed to be laced with deeply-ingrained fear and despair - the centuries-old emotional residue of the Murgands' flight from the invading Dravwyrn and its servants.

Some of the traces were fresh, and much stronger. There had clearly been a battle, and it had been brutally one-sided, for all Raven could detect was panic and the terror caused by the intense pain of violent death...most of the impressions "voiced" in the distinctive psychic "accent" of Hu'Men. I don't feel Strides-Tall's "voice" amongst them, though, she thought. That's a good sign.

The deeper Raven probed into the Rock, the harder it became for her to sense anything, let alone a "voice" she recognised. Murgands, a race she had not yet encountered - they had next to no interest in any woman who did not have a beard - were reputedly very resistant to any mind-power, partly due to the single-mindedness they had developed as a mining people, and Raven wondered if some of their resistance was due to their close relationship with the living rock, which almost seemed to be actively resisting her.

If I was fully telepathic, this would be much easier, she said to herself, outwardly sighing in frustration. Strides-Tall is, but how can she contact me if she doesn't know I'm here?

Raven found herself wishing Ashyra was with her, the Shaelin girl having the necessary telepathic abilities - and with that thought, a possible solution dawned upon her. Bjalser!, she cried inside. Strides-Tall said she usually worked with a Shaelin Reclamationist telepath, who kept her linked with her employers, in case she got into trouble!

"I'm sorry, mistress Raven - what was that?"

Raven emerged briefly from her semi-trance when she heard Sshraada mention her name. I must have said his name out loud, she thought, and apologised to her body-guard before submerging herself in the psychic realm once again. This time, she concentrated on the Shaelin psychic's name, and searched for a "voice" that would respond to it...

Suddenly, Raven opened her eyes, and what she saw startled her. She was back at The Phantasia, in the Red Lounge during the day-time when the girls rehearsed. The Lounge was almost empty - almost, because Strides-Tall was up on stage, dancing slowly to music only she could hear, and a reddish-haired Shaelin, a young man, was seated nearby, watching her writhe as though she was dancing in her sleep.

Raven approached, as quietly as the high heels of her boots would allow, but still the Shaelin man sensed she was there, and turned to face her. "What are you doing here?", he demanded. "This is a private...performance...?"

"You're dreaming - I think", Raven replied. "Are you Bjalser?"

"Yes - to both questions", the Shaelin answered. "You're Raven, aren't you?"

Raven nodded, and Bjalser offered her a seat, which she graciously accepted. "Strides-Tall is in grave danger", he told her, turning his attention back to the stage. "This represents my link to her, possibly the only thing that's keeping her from losing her fight."

"What fight?", asked Raven.

"The fight to stay who she is", responded Bjalser. "Something inside her is trying to change her, transform her into one of the monsters that attacked her and the others..."

"Dravwaeri", Raven informed him. "We know what they are - we have someone on our ship who's fought them before."

"Ship?", queried the russet-haired Shaelin, finding Raven's words rather startling. "Then...you're actually here? Here, at Jaglundar's Rock?"

"Yes."

"Then you are all in great danger", he said coldly. "They will sense you, and they will come for you."

"Not if we get to them first", Raven told him. "We have a plan."

The dream-image of Strides-Tall suddenly doubled over, and silently gasped with pain. Patches of dark scales briefly appeared all over her body, but quickly faded, and the ghost-image went back to her slow, sinuous dance.

"Then act on your plan quickly", said Bjalser anxiously, gazing imploringly into Raven's eyes, "or you may no longer have a friend to save."

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