has to be a Farris Channel.
In the bubble of controlled silence, his head cleared and he searched for the channel. There! Right inside the door. He shouldn’t be out here! It’s too dangerous.
Too stunned to protect his own senses, Solamar zlinned right through the wooden Fort walls. Another larger group of Raiders came boiling over the wagons in a howling mass of raging Need and unbridled Killust. The defenders retreated before them. They’ll surely take the Fort. We’ve destroyed Fort Rimon!
Solamar stood, transfixed by failure.
A strong, bony hand suffused with that massive Farris nager grabbed Solamar’s hand and shoved it against the rung of a ladder. “Up!”
Solamar climbed, pushed by the Farris, and in moments was standing on top of the Fort wall beside an older man who pulsed with that peculiarly overwhelming nager. The Farris channel. In the midst of battle.
The Farris was tall, hawk nosed, with the typical black hair, brows, and eyes, dimpled chin, high cheekbones that Solamar had seen only in drawings. Definitely Farris.
“Zlin there!” A nageric prod directed his attention to the view over the wall and down into the boiling mass of hand-to-hand combat around the overturned wagons. The defenders were being cut off and systematically destroyed by the Freebanders. Six wagons were on fire.
A group of Freebanders pushed one of those burning wagons up against the Fort’s wall. On top of the wall, a squad of renSimes hurriedly deployed a trough from the cistern at the corner to a point above the burning wagon and sluiced the fire with water, wetting down the wall too.
As Solamar stared, two more Fort renSimes were overwhelmed by Raiders. We’re going to lose this Fort too.
A male voice off to his left called, “Rimon, we’ve got to get that door closed!”
“Not yet, Jhiti!” answered the older Farris channel. “We still have people out there.” Even as he spoke, more renSime defenders beat off Raiders and retreated through the narrow opening of the door. Two more Raiders followed them in. There were more defenders still out there fighting.
So this is Rimon Farris! No wonder he has such a nager.
Then Losa’s searingly penetrating nager shattered the ambient. The Farris whipped around to gaze down into the stockade’s yard. Unconsciously, Solamar spun in sync with him.
Losa had been cut off from the hatchway leading down into the shelter. Raiders surrounded her. She had given Solamar transfer only five days ago. As brightly attractive as her nager seemed, she didn’t have enough selyn to withstand being attacked by so many renSimes.
Two of the Raiders slashed at her with their long knives, toying with her fear. Blood spurted as she backed up, selyn energy pluming forth from the wound making the Raiders grin. Solamar’s whole body went into healing mode, reaching toward his Companion to staunch the loss of selyn with his own body’s fields, even though he was too far away.
It was what channels did—heal wounds, fight disease, bring Gens and renSimes to peak of health. More than instinct, it had become for Solamar a total way of life as he pushed and pulled the Tanhara refugees toward the legendary Fort Rimon, where they were all going to die.
“Snap out of it!” commanded the Farris.
“They know what she is!” protested Solamar transfixed. “They’ll murder her and try to strip her dead body of selyn.” Below in the yard, the two Raiders stalked Losa, attracted by the pluming selyn they could zlin. It was just one small skirmish in a yard full of fighting, running, chaos and dying.
The Farris glanced from Solamar to Losa. “She’s your Companion.”
“Yes.”
“Help me get the Raiders’ attention!” the older channel commanded grimly and turned to the yard below.
Suddenly the ambient around the Farris was pure Gen—bright, hot, incredibly enticing. Solamar joined the effort to create the illusion of two great Gens hidden visually from below by the guardrail and part of the water tank but nagerically obvious.
“Good, now a little fear for spice, like doing a disjunction lure. Follow me.”
It was remarkably easy, just like dancing with an expert. In counterpoint, they swirled and pulsed with fear, using the channel’s unique control of the body’s nageric projection to seem to be Gen to the senses of the Simes below.
Solamar, tired, aching, terrified and desperate, let himself float on the Farris nager, let that ineffable power sweep through him, using his body as an extension.
One by one all the Freebanders in the yard, and even those still fighting the defenders outside by the wagons turned toward the spot above where two replete and terrified Gens waited to be Killed, to be savagely stripped of all their selyn energy.
The Raiders would see only two heads, one black haired, one blond, and maybe a bit of shoulder, not enough to tell Sime from Gen visually. But every renSime, Raider or not, zlinned those two deliciously terrified Gens and so they knew they were seeing two delicious Gens no matter what their eyes might report.
Now, even the Fort renSimes were responding to that projected Gen fear, only they did have an idea of what was actually going on. Freeband Raiders fed on Gen fear as well as selyn. The Fort Simes never Killed, never craved fear, but got all their selyn through their channels. The Raiders had no clue what a channel could do with selyn fields.
Losa’s attackers ignored her, but she just stood panting, swaying on her feet, dazed from loss of blood, unable to take the moment to run. There were so many people, so many bodies, so much blood, there was no way to run.
Two other channels caught near the entry to the underground shelter also paused, halting their guards from hustling them into safety below, and joined Rimon’s effort. One of them was a Farris, but Solamar couldn’t zlin which one. He just felt another massive, dominating nager emerge into the chaotic ambient.
Suddenly, the courtyard was pulsing with four huge, golden Gen presences. Rimon joined them all as he had joined seamlessly with Solamar, and created a junct’s greatest fantasy.
The renSime defenders looked upward, waiting for a command.
“Now what?” Solamar asked the older channel. “If your renSimes attack, we’ll lose the Raiders’ attention.”
“When I signal, quickly shift your showfield to renSime.”
Solamar zlinned the Fort Rimon renSimes outside, creeping toward the Fort wall, trying hard not to disturb the Freebanders’ fascination with the “Gens” above. In the yard, the defenders shifted to clear a path between the Raiders and the still open door beside the main gate. Then Solamar understood what the older channel planned and real fear spiked into his showfield.
That galvanized the Raiders, and suddenly five of those outside armed with long, ugly bullwhips, hurled themselves at the palisade wall. One whipmaster, standing on another Raider’s shoulders, lashed his whip around a spike at the top of the wall, and suddenly two Raiders swarmed over the whipmaster and started over the wall at the “Gens.”
All along the catwalk, Fort renSimes closed in from both sides to protect the channels.
“Now!” shouted Rimon Farris.
Rimon’s order seized the four of them in a nageric pulse and wrenched their showfields from Gen to renSime.
To all the Simes within zlinning range the “Gens” had disappeared.
The two Raiders climbing the wall paused, shocked to find no Gens awaiting them atop the wall, shocked to find two Simes standing where two Gens had been, shocked to be attacked from both sides by renSimes they hadn’t been able to zlin through the massive “Gen” fields.
Jhiti tackled one of the Raiders, and at that second, the other leapt for Rimon, a dagger in one hand, screaming, “Wer-Gen!” sure he had zlinned a Sime turn into a Gen then turn back into a Sime.