Page 83 of Lorran
“Enough,” he snapped. “Cease your chatter. Do you want to draw the Suhlik? Or perhaps you would like your son to have the opportunity to attain maturity himself?”
In the lantern light, the female paled. Her hand tightened on Mikah’s shoulder. She gave a stiff nod. “Lead on.”
Lorran found the appropriate door to the maintenance tunnels. It remained locked, the control panel dead.
They waited. The silence, the absolute lack of any noise, grew deafening. No whirl from ventilation. No hum of power. Not even a drip of condensation.
Mikah tugged on his hand. “Did the Suhlik leave?”
“No. They are waiting for us to panic and make a mistake,” Lorran answered. This was a classic strategy: a hard press attack to test defenses, wait for the target to relax and grow sloppy, and then attack again.
Recognition struck Lorran.
The increased raids. The hatchery.
The Suhlik planned to invade again. Soon. That was their pattern. He had said as much to Mylomon early in the mission.
“Do not tell my son such things,” Saavi said.
“A warrior is prepared, even for unpleasant truths,” he replied.
“Are you saying my mate was unprepared?”
Ah. He understood. The female suffered an emotional hurt and needed to lash out. “Your mate knew the risks of his research, as did you.”
Saavi sucked in her breath, as if preparing to argue. There was nothing to argue about. They knew the risks, took pains to hide the nature of their research, and he would tell her as much.
Wyn touched his wrist, derailing his thoughts. She tilted her head in that questioning way of hers, asking if now was the time to argue with a stubborn female when they were running for their lives again.
Yes. His mate had a valid point.
A clang sounded from the other side of the door, like metal striking metal. The door ground before it swung open. The scent of stagnant water and mildew rolled forward. The temperature of the tunnels was significantly colder than the surface level.
Mylomon stood on a metal grated platform, an iron bar in hand. “Follow me and mind your step. The stairs have corroded and are unstable.”
The three Mahdfel males moved quietly, but the rest of the party clanked and clattered their way down the stairs. Sound reverberated off the tunnels, loudly announcing their presence. If the Suhlik did land on the surface, they would be easy prey.
They came to a junction. The maintenance tunnel split into the four directions.
“Lead the way,” Mylomon said, pushing Caldar forward. The male stumbled; his hands bound behind his back.
“I am uncertain,” the older male said.
“I am perfectly capable of putting you in a wall and leaving you there,” Mylomon said in a bored tone. Lorran noted the use of the wordinand notthrough.
“As much as I long to witness that, this is the way.” Lorran pointed to the tunnel at the far left. The tunnel stank of rain, and the concrete in the archway crumbled at an alarming rate. “Despite its appearance, it stinks less. The rain got in recently from the exit.”
After an eternity—or twenty minutes—the tunnel ended at a ladder bolted to the wall.
“I will go first and secure the area,” Lorran said. He climbed up the ladder and blinked in the light.
Wyn
Wyn climbed up the ladder and crawled onto the floor of a garage.
The building was stuffed with what looked like a very modern ship, various crates, canisters that looked like oil drums, and other items hidden under tarps.
A smuggler’s hideout.
