rd a stun-bolt go by overhead, and saw
a gray-kilted Irschchan fall two corridors ahead. "You okay, Rina?"

"I am fine." Corina had also dropped at the warning; now both Rangers
stood. She turned to the Sandeman. "How did you do that?"

Nevan gave a tiny shrug. "I heard @, probably. Or saw a flash of
kilt, I can't be sure. Since I knew it wasn't one of our people, I
fired."

Medart managed a chuckle, despite the circumstances. "They call it
combat instinct, Rina--but I'm beginning to think it's an aspect of
Talent."

"An aspect that works through a shield," Corina said. "That will have
to be explored later--for now, we can only use it. How much further?"

"Not much." Medart began moving again, taking a straight line until he
made an abrupt turn that took them into a corridor with several
widely-spaced doors. "Our offices--this hall brings us out behind the
Throne, but I have to check something. Wait a minute."

He went into one of the offices, emerged seconds later. "The security
cameras are getting the whole thing--we've got plenty of evidence.
Let's finish this up."

He led them through a door at the end of the corridor. It opened
behind draperies; when the three stepped through those, Corina found
they were on the Throne's marble dais, two meters behind the plain,
high-backed wooden chair. She moved forward, between it and one of the
swirling-silver columns that flanked it.

The scene below her was sickening. Bodies scattered around were bad
enough, but there was worse: Thark's calm, merciless beating of the
helpless Kennard, while Valla and Kainor looked on in apparent
approval. These couldn't be the gentle, affectionate people who had
taught her with such patience over the last four years, now bloody and
fearsome.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward to the edge of the dais and
called, "Thark!"

He turned, startled, and looked up at her. "Corina!" he exclaimed.
"What--" Then he noticed the drab green kilt, totally uncharacteristic
of her. Now what? he wondered. He strode to meet her as she descended
from the dais, drawing his bloody soul-blade as he went.

Corina unsheathed her own blade, the movement attracting Thark's
attention to the bit of metal at her belt. A human would have paled in
deep shock; Thark's only visible reaction was an agitated twitch of his
ears.

"You? A Ranger?" It was too much for him to accept. First humans
with shields--blades, with Talent!--an