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“I would speak with the shaper aboard the failing vessel,” Nas Choka said.

The mistress stroked the appropriate villip, which inverted and assumed the sickly likeness of the shaper who had been poisoned at Caluula.

“My only surviving villip is dying, Warmaster,” the ashen shaper reported. “It lacks the vigor to portray your visage, but I suspect it is capable of relaying your words.”

“Speak to the health of yourself and your crew, shaper,” Nas Choka said. “Do you have the vigor to carry out what has been commanded of you?”

The villip’s thick lips formed words. “Four slayers have died; six remain—a sufficient number to pilot this ailing vessel. I am alive only by dint of chemical compounds I managed to mix and ingest at the onset of my paralysis, but my time is short, Warmaster.”

“If need be I will send hale warriors and youthful villips to assist you, shaper. But only you can keep the vessel itself alive. If it dies before we reach Zonama Sekot, then all is lost.”

“I fear it is incapable of going to darkspace, Warmaster.”

Nas Choka ground his filed teeth and swung to his chief tactician. “Advise me of our options.”

“Allow it to be ingested by a larger vessel, Warmaster,” the tactician said. “A sacrifice of yet another vessel and its crew, but essential to our task.”

Nas Choka nodded and turned back to the transmitting villip. “Shaper, command the vessel’s dovin basals, villips, and weapons to rest. I will dispatch a vessel of sufficient size to engulf yours and carry it through darkspace to Zonama Sekot. Once there, the slayers will pilot your vessel from its carapace. Then, under whatever escort I deem necessary, you will consign yourself and your vessel to the living world.”

“An honor that finds me undeserving, Warmaster.”

“Succeed, and undreamed-of rewards await you, shaper. Fail, and suffer the disgrace of having sentenced our entire species to oblivion.”

When the shaper’s villip had resumed its familiar shape, Nas Choka gestured for the tactician to follow him into the command chamber’s blister transparency.

“What have you learned of our enemy’s plan?”

“Muscave has become the gathering place for the Alliance battle group that struck Corulag, and an even larger force of capital ships sent from Contruum. The enemy is now poised between us and our target.”

“Part of our trial,” Nas Choka said evenly. “Before we can even engage the planet the gods have placed in their hands, we must break through the enemy’s line.”

“At the same time, the enemy entices us away from Yuuzhan’tar.”

Nas Choka grunted. “They have devised a clever assault.”

“Though ignorant of the fact, they have the complicity of the gods.”

Nas Choka clenched his right hand. “We will do the same at Muscave, by offering ourselves as an enticement, so that our poisoned barb can fly true to its mark. We will present ourselves as a warrior would, brandishing his amphistaff in challenge on the battlefield!” He nodded in self-assurance. “When will the infidels arrive at Yuuzhan’tar?”

“The Alliance commanders have already sundered the fleet they assembled at Contruum,” the tactician said. “We suspect that the vanished battle groups have jumped to darkspace and will emerge in our absence, to all sides of Yuuzhan’tar, and from unfamiliar vectors. A study of villip memories of the battle at Ebaq Nine has revealed worthwhile comparisons. There, too, the enemy made use of darkspace corridors of which we had no knowledge. But the comparison ends there. After our spear has been thrust into Zonama Sekot’s flesh, there will be no need for a ground assault, or an ill-conceived hunt for Jeedai. Satisfied that we have overcome the trial, the gods will add their might to our armada and we will be able to wipe the Jeedai from existence.”

Nas Choka smiled lightly. “It is a rare occasion when well-matched warriors have an opportunity to face each other a second time, in a different arena.” He paused for a moment, then said: “As yet no communication from Domains Muyel and Lacap?