Enemy Lines II_ Rebel Stand - Aaron Allston [81]
“No, Warmaster.” That was the voice of the priest, Takhaff Uul, young for his posting, ambitious beyond his years. “There has been no such treachery. You must not think it. Only in the true service to Yun-Yuuzhan can you save your arm, save yourself from the company of the Shamed Ones.”
“There are some who say that trust is a matter of faith,” Tsavong Lah replied. “I say that trust is a matter of knowledge, of observation. Find one who is trustworthy, and there is trust. Find one who is not, and there is none. But I will give you a chance at life. Takhaff Uul, do you trust our gods?”
The youthful priest cried up to him, “I do, Warmaster.”
“Do they trust you?”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“If they trust you, trust that your motives have been true, trust that you have thought only of their honor and not your own, I am certain they will save you. From this.” He raised his radank claw arm, pointing its pincer at the enormous leaves covering the chamber’s far entryway.
That was Nen Yim’s cue. Beneath her robe, she stroked a tiny kin to that enormous plant, coaxing it to act. It did; it curled into a tube.
So did the ones in the distance, revealing a dark gap in the wall beyond; the gap was four times the height of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior, four times as wide.
A snuffling noise emerged from the gap, then something like a low, muted roar.
Then something emerged.
Like a Yuuzhan Vong, it had two arms, two legs. But its stance was low, crouching, animalistic. It had tremendous muscles, hard and corded enough to support its tremendous weight, for it was as tall as the gap through which it emerged. Its face was tusked, its teeth were huge, and its head swiveled as it spotted the Yuuzhan Vong on the chamber floor. Its eyes followed these small creatures with the avidity of a hungry beast.
“This is a rancor,” Tsavong Lah said. “A beast of this galaxy. You do not deserve honorable death at the hands of one of our own living weapons. When you die here, it will not be as fighters, but as food to sate the creature’s appetite.”
“What if we kill it?” That was the voice of Ghithra Dal, filled with spite.
“Then you live for a while longer,” said the warmaster. “A short while.”
Through the gap emerged another rancor, then a third, and a fourth. They spread out from the gap, moving along the walls of the chamber, circling their tiny prey.
Tsavong Lah leaned back, and the tongue retracted, carrying him and Nen Yim into the ganadote mouth. As the first screams began, as the first roars echoed from the chamber walls, they turned away from the feasting scene below and the warmaster led the shaper out through the back way.
“Warmaster, may I ask two questions?”
“You may.” They emerged from the ganadote into a large, blood-blue corridor, and were joined by Tsavong Lah’s personal guards, who marched a respectful distance ahead of and behind them.
“First, will there be no outcry from the priesthood of Yun-Yuuzhan, from the shapers?”
“An outcry? Of course there will be. A cry for blood. When word returns to us that their transport was attacked by pilots of Borleias, all its passengers slaughtered, there will be a great cry for revenge.”
“Ah.” Nen Yim walked along in silence for a moment, knowing that his reply had spelled her doom, too. “Should I not go with them? Or is my death to be a different one?”
“I can’t kill you. You’re on loan from Overlord Shimmra. Besides, I have no reason to wish you harm.” They entered the stomach compartment that now housed Tsavong Lah’s private transport. The eyelidlike wall on the far side was closed now, keeping the chamber’s atmosphere intact. They walked to the transport’s ramplike protrusion and climbed into the creature’s passenger stomach. “I am pleased with you, Nen Yim. Do you plan to tell this story? To rouse hatred against me?”
“No.”
“If you did, what would happen?”
She thought about that as she settled into her seat. Its fleshy surface flowed around