That delicate meat refused to yield. He bit, sucked and probed with his tongue, but it woudn’t separate. It was right then that it happened.
While he was conscious for attacks, considering strategy and concentrating on food, that inner beast came howling up toward the surface. It craved that meat more than he did, and it needed release.
Tirdal dropped the husks and shook as his self-control and Jem discipline fought a quick, painful battle. Tal could not be allowed to win. Lintatai, no matter how blissfully pleasing, was death. He was sweating profusely now, struggling even more. When the opponent advances, the warrior retreats, the warrior evades. The warrior seeks battle on his own terms only. The opponent’s force must be bent as a tree in the storm… but this opponent was himself, and retreat was not possible. It was a frontal clash, and his consciousness was fading into dusky haze.
Then he was back. How close had he come, he wondered. But he had not succumbed. Lesson learned: eat fast, dispose of corpse, keep moving. Complacency and contempt were not to be allowed. Every time he courted tal, it would be like this he realized, and he felt a cloud descend. Centuries of philosophy, training and triage had not yet defeated the genetic tampering of the Aldenata. How many other races had been left damaged and incomplete by their deific meddling? The Posleen, the humans, Indowy, Tchpth, Himmit, Ruorgla… and those were the ones known to the Darhel. Were even the Tslek bastard offspring of the Aldenata?
Still, he had much to report to his Masters, should he survive this. They would be grateful of the knowledge, and it would further the Art.
“Hello, Tirdal.” His musing was interrupted by another transmission.
“What can I do for you, Dagger?” he replied, glad of the distraction.
“You can die, you little freak,” Dagger snarled. What was taking so long? Even given greater strength, the Darhel lacked the legs and hips to move quickly. Dagger should be catching up to him, should have caught him by now.
“What a coincidence, Dagger, I was about to ask the same of you.” The Elf’s voice was almost conversational, as if he wasn’t under any stress at all, just taking a walk in the park.
“Yes, you’d need that, wouldn’t you?” Dagger taunted. “After all, you can’t do the deed yourself.”
“It is very difficult for Darhel to kill,” Tirdal admitted. “But it can be done. And in your case, it will be a pleasure.”
“Good luck on that, then,” Dagger said, smiling. “I mean, you leaving a trail like a lovesick blunderbeast is bound to make my task easier and yours harder.”
“I thought you could use the advantage, Dagger,” Tirdal replied. “You humans are so weak it is laughable.” He still didn’t sound worried. Screw the little bastard.
Dagger needed something to prod with, and saw just the thing. “Hey, look what I just found! It’s a rock! Not only a rock, Tirdal, but a turned rock, damp underneath. And this crushed leaf here seems to have your boot’s tread pattern on it. Unless there’s another Darhel here with number forty-three boots, right boot with a V-shaped cut in the third tread, it’s yours. How about that?” The trail really wasn’t that easy, but he’d seen the bootprint earlier and did have a goodly number of blazes to follow. That and the tracker. But the little fuck was moving at a hell of a clip.
Tirdal replied at once, “Good for you, Dagger. If you can maintain that pace nineteen hours a day here for the next ten local days, you can meet me at the pod and we can fight this out. The gravity is high for you, low for me, and woods skill aside, we both know which of us is the more intelligent.” He didn’t sound worried. Dammit, Dagger had him pegged, knew his every step, and the goddamned Elf acted as if it were no big deal.
“If you were really smart, Tirdal, you would have died at once when it would have been painless,” he said. As soon as he did, he knew it sounded weak. He tried another tack. “Of course, you’re a coward, like all Darhel. Can’t fight. Won’t fight. You not only used humans to fight your wars, you felt the need to bully and screw us into it by keeping back the weapons tech we needed. Live humans are a threat to you, and you know it.”
“Dagger,” came the reply, “I’ve been very patient so far. Now, if you don’t want to see me angry, at least come up with an intelligent argument or a real threat. And your simplistic, childlike knowledge of politico-historical events is amusing.
“Remember, also, that killing is a mental discipline, not concerned with the physicalities of rocks and leaves. I’ve been letting you live because my philosophy calls for it. You mistake that for cowardice. That’s not my issue. But if we continue this, you will find out what a Bane Sidhe is. Do you recall that term, Dagger?”
“Never heard of it,” he snapped. “Some Darhel boogeyman?”
“No, Dagger,” Tirdal replied. It had to be a deliberate condescending tone in his voice as he said, “Perhaps you’ve heard it as ‘banshee.’ A Bane Sidhe is a demon who calls men to their deaths. Though I won’t be calling, I’ll be visiting personally. And I intend to make it very personal.” That sonorous voice was suddenly a vicious slap with a gravelly undertone. “I’m going to kill you, Dagger. I intend to rip your heart out through your ribs while it’s still beating, and, because it’s such an issue for you, I intend to eat it, raw, while your dying corpse watches.”
“My, my, aren’t we bent out of shape about that pack of assholes getting nerved,” Dagger said, trying to chuckle. His opponent didn’t sound like a shivering, neurotic sensat without combat experience. He sounded like a killer, almost like Dagger himself. He knew it was all act, but he trembled despite himself. That low, deep voice that sounded so cold and calm had been mean. Could the little bastard actually mean it?
“They don’t even enter into this, Dagger,” he heard. “That’s an issue for your chain of command. I’m going to kill you for trying to, in your terms, ‘fuck me over.’ ”
“Fuck you over?” Dagger asked, outraged, fear forgotten. “Who’s got the goddamned box here? And what do you expect to do with it if I let you live?”
Tirdal said, “The box is none of your concern, since it’s only money to you. But since you ask, I intend to take it to the proper authorities.”
“Proper authorities?” Dagger yelled, incredulous. “Proper authorities? It’s worth a billion credits. A billion. Even after taxes, as if we couldn’t figure out some way to avoid them, it’s a goddamned fortune. ‘Fortune’ isn’t even enough of a word. It’s like winning the lottery, except it’s been earned the hard way. That money is mine, ours if you weren’t being a fool about it. You want to take it to the authorities? Hell, if you weren’t such an asshole, I could cut you in. I even know who to fence it through.”
Tirdal replied, “For some reason that last fact doesn’t surprise me. So that’s your motive here? You killed your whole team for money?”
“Yes, Tirdal,” Dagger laughed. He’d outflanked this Elf who thought himself some kind of genius. “That’s pretty much it. Call it a weakness, but a billion credits is worth more to me than those whining little wussies. And I get to use you as an alibi. ‘The Darhel freaked out under stress, couldn’t handle facing the enemy.’ You’re perfect. You tossed the grenade in panic, I hunted you down and took care of it. I’m a hero. Then I take leave to console myself over the loss of my friends and disappear. Next thing no one hears, I’ve got women lined up to blow me four times a day and a mansion full of slaves.” He was babbling, he realized. Dammit, keep control.