“Get the door,” Pyanfar yelled, waving at them, and they jumped and started running: more of the Mahn and some of their hangers-on were on the colonnaded porch, and of a sudden Chur and Tully were on the low garden wall which flanked that, Chur yelling as if encouraging a whole band of supporters. The Mahn darted this way and that, herdwise, and scattered from the door in the face of the three-way charge. Pyanfar raced up the steps and converged with Haral and Chur, gun in hand, burst through the doorway half a step ahead of them, into dimmer light and a chaos of bodies and the reek of smoke. It was a huge room, lit from barred windows, the wreckage of double doors at the end: hani there turned and faced their rush in a sudden paralysis, a hundred intruders who stared at leveled Chanur guns.
Some moved; young women put themselves into the fore of things. Others shifted about the fringes, carefully. Voices echoed deep within the halls. Pyanfar kept the pistol braced in her two hands, her eyes wide-focused, taking in all the movements.
That young woman — her own image, red-gold mane and stature more than her Mahn sisters: Tahy. Her focus narrowed. The young man — gods, tall and straight and broad-shouldered… years since she had seen them. Longer years for her planetbound daughter and son, growing-up years; and they had allies… a score of Mahn youths, male and female; and about the walls of the room — Kahi Tahar, na Kahi, the old man, Chanur’s southern rival; and others — senior women of holds she suspected as Enaury and others of Tahar’s hangers-on, here for the scavenging.
“Out of here,” Pyanfar said. “Out of here, all of you.”
“Guns,” Tahy spat. “Is that the way of if? We have our own. Is that what you choose, while na Kohan hides from us?”
“Put them away,” Pyanfar said. She pushed the safety back on, pocketed hers. In the tail of her eye Haral did the same, and the others followed suit. “Now,” Pyanfar said. “You’re somewhat strayed from the field, son of mine. Let’s walk this back out where it belongs.”
“Here,” Kara said.
A movement in the corridor behind the Mahn: Pyanfar noted it and drew in her breath. Chanur. A good score of the house. And Kohan, a head taller than the others.
“Hold it,” Pyanfar shouted, moved suddenly to the side, distraction: the invaders shifted in confusion and hands reached for weapons, a moment’s frozen confusion and suddenly Chanur at the Mahn’s backs. The Mahn retreated in haste, backing toward the wall that had been at their left, but Tahy and her companions who thrust themselves between Kara and Kohan quick as instinct; Pyanfar dived for the other side, Haral and Chur and Hilfy moving on the same impulse, interposed themselves. She touched Kohan’s overheated arm. He was trembling. “Back,” she said. “Back off, Kohan.” And to Tahy: “Out. No one wins here. If Kohan delayed — it was my doing; and I’m here. With Ginas Llun, who’ll back up what I say. With an Outsider, who’s proof enough we’ve got trouble. We’ve got kif at the station: they’ve called the captains in… to defend Gaohn. It’s like that up there. We can’t afford a split in the han.”
Tahy gave a negative toss of her head. “We hear a different story — all the way. No. You want to settle something on our own — we’ll oblige you. Kohan need help, that you had to drag him up out of the brush? We’ll settle that.”
“Station’s fallen,” a voice said out of Chanur ranks, and one of the captains thrust herself forward, Rhean, with crew in her wake. “Word’s on the com: they’ve called for help — it’s no lie, ker Mahn.”
Noise broke out in the room, a ripple of dismay through all those present. The Llun strode into it, neutrality abandoned. “How long ago? Chanur… how long?”
“Message is still going.” Kohan answered, self-controlled, though his breath was coming hard. “Kara Mahn. I forget all this. It’s over. Leave now. We’ll not talk about it.”
Kara said nothing. There was a glassy look in his eyes. His ears were back. But Tahy looked less sure of herself, motioned the others back.
“You’ve got your chance,” Pyanfar said quietly, evenly. “Listen to me: you’ve got Mahn. Tahar’s not your ally. You go on with this challenge, and Tahar’s here to take on the winner: worn down, you understand me. To take two Holdings. Their ambition’s more than yours. The Llun can tell you that — a Tahar captain, dealing with the kif—”
“Rot your impertinence,” Kahi Tahar shouted, and one of his sisters interposed an arm. “A lie,” that one said.
“Perhaps,” Pyanfar said levelly, “a misunderstanding. An… excess of zeal; a careless tongue. Back out of here. We may not pursue it. — Tahy… out of here. The Compact’s close to fracturing. It’s not the moment. Get out of here.”
’’Na Mahn,” Kohan said. “It’s not to your advantage.”
“You’ll lose Mahn,” Khym said suddenly, thrusting past Hilfy. “Hear me, whelp — you’ll lose it… to Kohan or to Kahi. Use your sense.”
Kara was past it. The eyes were wide and dark, the ears flat, nostrils wide. Of a sudden he screamed and launched himself.
And Khym did. Pyanfar flung herself about, bodily hurled herself at Kohan as her crew did, as Hilfy and Huran Faha and Rhean and her crew. He backed up, shook himself, in possession of his faculties: Pyanfar saw his eyes which were fixed on the screaming tangle behind her — herself spun about, saw Khym losing the grip that would keep Kara’s claws from his throat.
“Stop it,” she yelled at Tahy, and herself waded into it, trying to get a purchase on either struggling body, to push them apart. An elbow slammed into her head and She stumbled, hurled herself back into it, and now others were trying to part the two. “Tully!” Hilfy shouted; and suddenly a fluid spattered them, straight into Kara’s face, and over her, stinging the eyes and choking with its fumes. Kara fell back with a roar of outrage; and she did, wiping her eyes, coughing and supported by friendly hands. Chanur had hold of Tully, she saw that through streaming eyes — his arms pinned behind him, and Khym was down; and Kara was rubbing his eyes and struggling to breathe, She caught her breath, still coughing, shook off the hands which helped her, She knew the aroma; saw the small vial lying empty on the floor — the smell of flowers got past her stinging nasal membranes. “Tully,” she said, still choking, reached out a hand and pulled him to her by the back of the neck, shook him free of the Chanur who had seized him — patted his shoulder roughly and looked across at her son, whose eyes were still running water. “Break it off, na Kara. You have Mahn. Call it enough.”
“Off my land,” Kohan said. “Tahar. Be glad / don’t challenge. Get clear of Chanur Holding. Na Kara: a politer leave. Please. Priorities. I’ll not come at you now. I could. Think of that.”
Kara spat, turned, stalked out, wiping his eyes and flinging off offered help, dispossessed of his impetus, his dignity, and his advantage. Tahy remained, looked down at Khym, who had levered himself up on his elbows, head hanging. She might have flung some final insult. She bowed instead, to Pyanfar, to Kohan, last of all to Khym, who never saw it. Then she walked out, the other Mahn before her.
Tahar lingered last, na Kahi and his sisters.
“Out,” Kohan said, and the Tahar’s ears flattened. But he turned and walked out of the hall, out the door, and took his sisters and his partisans with him.